all the whole world; why, who would not make her husband a cuckold, to make him a monarch? I should venture purgatory for't..

Def. Befhrew me, if I would do fuch a wrong

For the whole world.

Emil. Why, the wrong is but a wrong i'th' world; and having the world for your labour, 'tis a wrong in your own world, and you might quickly make it right. (49)

Def. I do not think, there is any fuch woman.

Emil. Yes, a dozen; and as many to th' vantage, as Would ftore the world thy play'd for.

But, I do think, it is their hufbands' faults,

If wives do fall: fay, that they flack their duties,
And pour our treafures into foreign laps;
Or elfe break out in peevish jealoufies,

Throwing restraint on us; or fay, they ftrike us,
Or fcant our former having in despight;

Why, we have galls, and though we have fome grace,
Yet have we fome revenge. Let husbands know,
Their wives have fenfe like them; they fee and smell,
And have their palates both for fweet and four,
As husbands have. What is it that they do,
When they change us for others? is it fport?
I think, it is; and doth affection breed it?
I think, it doth? is't frailty, that thus errs?
It is fo too. And have we not affections?

Defires for sport? and frailty, as men have?
Then let them ufe us well; else let them know,
The ills we do, their ills inftruct us to.

Def. Good-night, good-night; heav'n me fuchufes fend, Not to pick bad from bad; but by bad, mend! [Exeun'.

(49) And, having the world for your labour, 'tis a wrong in your own world, and you might quickly make it right.] I am mistaken, if by this fent ment the Author did not intend to ridicule the opinion. of thofe philofophers, who hold, that right and wrong are of fo arbitrary natures, that God, confiftently with his attributes, may autho rize injuftice. For, because it becomes injuftice only by his will, it ceales to be fo when that will is alter'd. Mr. Warburtan

A C T V.

SCENE, a Street before the Palace.

Enter Iago and Rodorigo.

IAGO.

Wear thy good rapier bare, and put it home;
Quick, quick, fear nothing; I'll be at thy elbow..
It makes us, or it mars us: think on that,
And fix moft firm thy refolution.

Rod. Be near at hand, I may mifcarry in't.
Iago. Here, at thy hand; be bold and take thy fword..
Rod. I have no great devotion to the deed,

Yet he hath giv'n me fatisfying reafons;

'Tis but a man gone. Forth, my fword; he dies.

[Stands apart. Iago. I've rubb'd this young knot almost to the fenfe, (50)

And he grows angry. Now, whether he kill Caffio,
Or Cafio him, or each do kill the other,

Every way makes my gain. Live Radoriga,

He calls me to a reftitution large

(50) I've rubb'd this young gnat almost to the fenfe,

And be grows angry.] The rubbing a gnat to fenfe, is, I be lieve, an experiment that never was communicated even to the Royal Society. The leaft frication, on the contrary, would not only rub him out of all fenfe, but out of life into the bargain. The old quarto's have it, quat: a word, which, 1 confefs, I am abfolutely a ftranger to. I have ventur'd to conjecture,

I've rubb'd, this young knot,

The knat, or knot, is a small bird, plentiful with us, in Lincolnspire and Lancashire; which took its name, as Camden fays, from its being a delicious morfel with King Canute, who was likewife call'd Knout. This bird, being once taken, as Gefner tells us, is above all others tame and tractable. In this refpect it forts with Roderigo's aracter, an easy, manageable cully. And, again, as he is amorous in his purfuit, fo this bird is of the fpecies of thofe quæ clunes agitants. It is call'd by fome of the Latin writers, cinclus..

of

Of gold and jewels, that I bob'd from him,
As gifts to Defdemona.

It must not be.If Caffio do remain,
He hath a daily beauty in his life,

That makes me ugly; and, befides, the Moor
May unfold me to him; there ftand I in peril;
No, he must die. Be it fo; I hear him coming.
Enter Caffio.

Rad. I know his gait; 'tis he: villain, thou dieft.
[He runs at Caffio, and wounds him,

Cof. That thrust had been mine enemy indeed,
But that my coat is better than thou know'ft.
I will make proof of thine.

[Fight. Iago cuts Caffio behind in the Leg, and exit.
[Then Rodorigo and Caffio fall.

Rod. Oh, I am flain.

Caf. I'm maim'd for ever; help, hoa! murder, murder! (51)

Enter Othello above at a Window.

Oth, The voice of Cassie,

lage keeps his word.

Rod. Oh, villain that I am!

Oth. It is even so.

Caf. Oh, help, ho! light! a furgeon !→→→

Oth. 'Tis he! oh brave lago, honest and just,

We are

(51) Caf. I'm maim'd for ever.] None of the editions hitherto have by any marginal direction accounted for what Caffio here fays, and likewife for what he afterwards fays, my leg is cut in two. not to fuppofe, he receiv'd this violent hurt in fencing with his oppofite; but as Rodorigo and he are engaged, lago with a broad fword hacks at him behind. In this incident our Author precisely copies his Italian novelift. Ujcendo una Sera il Capo di Squadra di cafa d' una Meretrice colla quale egli fi folazzava, essendo la notte buia, gli fi accofiò l'Alfiero con la Spada in mano, & gli dirizzò un colpo alle gambe,, per farlo cadere: & auvenne, ch' egli gli tagliò la deftra cofcia à traverfo, onde il Mife o cadde. "The captain (Caffio) coming one night "from the house of a harlot, (with whom he entertain'd himself) it "being very dark, the antient with his fword ready drawn attack'd

him, and let drive a blow at his legs with defign to cut him down: and he happen'd to cut him across the right thigh in fuch a man"ner, that with the sound the miserable gentleman fell to earth."

That

That haft fuch noble fenfe of thy friend's wrong;
Thou teacheft me-Minion, your dear lies dead;
And your fate hyes apace.- -Strumpet, I come:
F
From off my heart, those charms, thine eyes, are blotted:
Thy bed, luft ftain'd, fhall with luft's blood be fpotted.
[Exit Othello.

Enter Lodovico and Gratiano, at a diftance.

Caf. What, ho! no watch? no paffage? murder, murder!

Gra. 'Tis fome mifchance; the voice is very direful. Caf. Oh help!

Lod. Hark!

Rod. O' wretched villain!

Lod. Two or three groans. It is a heavy night;
Thefe may be counterfeits: let's think't unfafe
To come into the cry, without more help.

Rod. No body come? then fhall I bleed to death.

+

Enter Iago, in his fhirt, with a Light and Sword. Lod. Hark

[pons. Gra. Here's one comes in his fhirt with light and wealago. Who's there? whofe noife is this, that cries out

murder?

Lod. We do not know.

lago. Do not you hear a cry?

Caf. Here, here: for heav'n's fake, help me.

Jago. What's the matter?

Gra. This is Othello's Ancient, as I take it.

Lad. The fame, indeed, a very valiant fellow. Iago. What are you here, that cry fo grievously? Caf. Iago? oh I'm spoil'd, undone by villains! Give me fome help.

lago. Oh me, lieutenant! what villains have done this? Caf. I think, that one of them is hereabout;

And cannot make away.

Iago. O treacherous villains!

What are you there? come in, and give fome help.

Rod. Oh, help me there.

[To Lod. and Gra.

Caf.

Caf. That's one of them.

lago. O murd'rous flave! oh villain! [Iago ftabs him. Rod. Oh damn'd lago! oh inhuman dog!

lago. Killmeni'th' dark? where be these bloody thieves? How filent is this town? ho, murder! murder!

What may you be? are you of good or evil?
Lod. As you fhall prove us, praise us.

lago. Signior Lodovico ?

Lod. He, Sir.

lago. I cry you mercy! Here's Caffio, hurt by villains. Gra. Caffio?

lego. How is't, brother?

Caf. My leg is cut in two.

Iago. Marry, heav'n forbid!

Light, gentlemen, I'll bind it with my shirt.

Enter Bianca.

Bian. What is the matter, ho, who is't that cry'd
Jago. Who is't that cry'd?

Bian. Oh my dear Caffio,

My fweet Caffio, oh Caffie, Caffio, Cafi,

Iago. O notable ftrumpet! Caffio, may you fufpect Who they should be, that have thus mangled you? Caf. No.

Gra. I'm forry to find you thus:

I have been to feek you.

Iago. Lend me a garter, So-Oh for a chair
To bear him easily hence.

Bian. Alas, he faints. Oh Caff, Caffio, Caffio!
Iago. Gentlemen all, I do fufpect this trash
To be a party in this Injury.

Patience awhile, good Caffio; come, come:
Lend me a light: know we this face, or no?
Alas, my friend, and my dear countryman
Rodrigo? no: Yes, fure: yea, 'tis Rodorigo.
Gra. What, of Venice?

lago. Even he, Sir: did you know him
Gra. Know him? ah!

lago. Signior Gratiano? I cry your gentle pardon :

Thefa