SCENE, the STREET.

Enter Herald with a Proclamation.

Her T is Othello's pleasure, our noble and valiant General, that upon certain tidings now arriv'd importing the mere perdition of the Turkish fleet, every man put himself into triumph: fome to dance, fome to make bonfires, each man to what fport and revels his mind leads him. For, befides this beneficial news, it is the celebration of his nuptials. So much was his pleafure, fhould be proclaimed. All offices are open, and there is full liberty of feafting, from this prefent hour of five, 'till the bell have told eleven. Blefs the ifle of Cyprus, and our noble General Othello!

SCENE, the CASTLE.

Enter Othello, Defdemona, Caffio, and Attendants.

Oth.

Ood Michael, look you to the guard to-night,

Not to out-fport difcretion.

Caf. Iago hath direction what to do:

But, notwithstanding, with my perfonal eye
Will I look to't.

Oth. Iago is most honeft:

Michael, good-night. To-morrow, with your earlieft, Let me have fpeech with you. Come, my dear love, The purchafe made, the fruits are to enfue;

That profit's yet to come 'tween me and you.

Good-night.

[Exeunt Othello and Defdemona.

Enter Iago.

Caf. Welcome, Iago; we must to the Watch. Iago. Not this hour, lieutenant: 'tis not yet ten o'th? clock. Our General caft us thus early for the love of

his Defdemona whom let us not therefore blame; he hath not yet made wanton the night with her: and she is fport for Jove.

Caf. She's a most exquifite lady.

Iago. And I'll warrant her, full of game.

Caf. Indeed, fhe's a moft fresh and delicate creature. Iago. What an eye she has ? methinks, it founds a parley to provocation.

Caf. An inviting eye; and yet, methinks, right modeft. Iago. And when she speaks, is it not an alarum to love? Caf. She is, indeed, perfection.

Iago. Well, happiness to their fheets: come, lieutenant, I have a ftoop of wine, and here without are a brace of Cyprus gallants, that would fain have a measure to the health of the black Othello.

Cal. Not to-night, good Iago; I have very poor and unhappy brains for drinking. I could well wish, courtefy would invent fome other cuftom of entertain

ment.

Iago. Oh, they are our friends but one cup; I'll drink for you.

Caf. I have drunk but one cup to-night, and that was craftily qualified too: and, behold, what innovation it makes here. I am unfortunate in the infirmity, and dare not talk my weakness with any more.

Iago. What, man? 'tis a night of revels, the gallants defire it.

Caf. Where are they?

Iago. Here at the door; I pray you, call them in. Caf. I'll do't, but it dislikes me.

[Exit Caffio.

Iago. If I can faften but one cup upon him,

With that which he hath drunk to-night already,

He'll be as full of quarrel and offence,

As my young miftrefs' dog.

Now, my fick fool, Rodorigo,

Whom love hath turn'd almoft the wrong fide out,
To Desdemona hath to-night carouz'd

Potations pottle deep; and he's to watch.
Three lads of Cyprus, noble fwelling spirits,
That hold their honours in a wary distance,

M 3

The

The very elements of this warlike isle,)

Have I to-night flufter'd with flowing cups,

And they watch too. Now, 'mongst this flock of drunkards,

Am I to put our Caffio in fome action

That may offend the ifle. But here they come.
If confequence do but approve my Deem, (18)
My boat fails freely, both with wind and stream.

Enter Caffio, Montano, and gentlemen.

Caf. 'Fore heav'n, they have given me a roufe already.

Mont. Good faith, a little one: not past a pint, as I am a foldier.

lago. Some wine, ho!

And let me the canakin clink, clink,

And let me the canakin clink.

[Iago fings.

A foldier's a man; oh, man's life's but a span;
Why, then let a foldier drink.

Some wine, boys.

Caf. 'Fore heav'n, an excellent fong.

Iago. I learn'd it in England: where, indeed, they are most potent in potting. Your Dane, your German, and your fwag-belly'd Hollander, Drink, ho! - are nothing to your English.

Caf. Is your Englishman fo exquisite in his drinking?

(18) If Confequence do but approve my Dream,] All the printed Copies concur in this Reading, but, I think, it does not come up to the Poet's Intention; I rather imagine that he wrote,

If confequence do but approve my Deem.

i. e. my Opinion, the Judgment I have form'd of what muft happen. So, in Troil, and Creffida;

Cref, I true? bow now ? what wicked Deem is this?

Iago. Why, he drinks you with facility your Dane dead drunk. He fweats not to overthrow your Almain. He gives your Hollander a vomit, ere the next pottle can be fill'd.

Caf. To the health of our General.

Mon. I am for it, lieutenant, and I'll do you juftice.
Iago. Oh fweet England.

King Stephen was an a worthy peer,
His breeches coft him but a crown;
He held them fix pence all too dear,
With that he call'd the tailor lown.

"He was a wight of high renown,
And thou art but of low degree:
'Tis pride that pulls the country down,
Then take thine auld cloak about thee.

Some wine, ho!

Caf. Why, this is a more exquifite fong than the other. Iago. Will you hear't again?

Caf. No, for I hold him to be unworthy of his place, that does thofe things. Well-Heaven's above all; and there be fouls that must be faved, and there be fouls muft not be faved.

Iago. It's true, good lieutenant.

Caf. For mine own part, (no offence to the general, nor any man of quality ;) I hope to be faved. Jago. And fo I do too, lieutenant.

Caf. Ay, but, by your leave, not before me. The Lieutenant is to be faved before the Ancient. Let's have no more of this; let's to our affairs. Forgive our fins- -gentlemen, let's look to our bufinefs. Do not think, gentlemen, I am drunk: this is my Ancient; this is my right hand, and this is my left. I am not drunk now; I can fiand well enough, and I fpeak well enough.

Gent. Excellent well.

Caf. Why, very well then you must not think then that I am drunk.

M 4

[Exit.

Manent

Manent Iago and Montano.

Mont. To the platform, mafters; come, let's fet the
Watch.

Iago. You fee this fellow, that is gone before;
He is a foldier, fit to ftand by Cæfar,

And give direction. And do but fee his vice; "Tis to his virtues a juft equinox,

The one as long as th' other.

'Tis pity of him;
I fear, the truft Othello puts him in,
On fome odd time of his infirmity,
Will fhake this ifland.

Mon. But is he often thus ?

Iago. 'Tis evermore the prologue to his fleep. He'll watch the horologue à double fet,

a

If drink rock not his cradle.

Mont. It were well,

The General were put in mind of it: .
Perhaps, he fees it not; or his good nature
Prizes the virtue that appears in Caffio,
And looks not on his evils: is not this true ?

Enter Rodorigo.

Iago. How now, Rodorigo!

I pray you, after the lieutenant, go.

[Exit Rod.

Mont. And 'tis great pity, that the noble Moor
Should hazard fuch a Place as his own Second,
With one of an ingraft infirmity;

It were an honest action to say fo
Unto the Moor.

Iago. Not I, for this fair island;

I do love Caffio well, and would do much

To cure him of this evil. Hark, what noise ?

[Within, help! help!

Re-enter Caffio, pursuing Rodorigo.

Caf. You rogue! you rafcal!

Mont. What's the matter, lieutenant ?

Caf. A knave teach me my duty, I'll beat the knave

into a twiggen bottle.

1

Rod