Othello, leave fome officer behind,

And he fhall our commiffion bring to you;
And fuch things elfe of quality and refpect
As doth import you.

Oth. Please your Grace, my Ancient; (A man he is of honefty and truft,)

To his conveyance I affign my wife,

With what else needful your good grace fhall think
To be fent after me.

Duke. Let it be so;

Good-night to every one.

And, noble Signior,

If virtue no delighted beauty lack,

Your fon-in-law is far more fair than black.

Sen. Adieu, brave Moor, ufe Desdemona well.
Bra. Look to her, Moor, if thou haft eyes to fee,
She has deceiv'd her father, and may thee.

[Exit Duke, with Senators..
-Honeft Iago,

Oth. My life upon her faith.-
My Desdemona muft I leave to thee;
I pr'ythee, let thy wife attend on her;
And bring her after in the best advantage.
Come, Desdemona, I have but an hour
Of love, of worldly matter and direction

To speak with thee. We must obey the time. [Exeunt.
Manent Rodorigo and Iago.

Rod. Iago

lago. What fayeft thou, noble heart? Rod. What will I do, thinkest thou ? Iago. Why, go to bed, and fleep.

Rod. I will incontinently drown myself.

Iago. Well, if thou doft, I shall never love thee after. Why, thou filly gentleman!

Rod. It is fillinefs to live, when to live is a torment; and then have we a prescription to die, when death is our phyfician.

Iago. O villainous! I have look'd upon the world for -four times feven years, and fince I could diftinguifh betwixt a benefit and an injury, I never found man that knew how to love himself. Ere I would fay, I would

drown

drown myself for the love of a Guinea-hen, I would change my humanity with a baboon.

Rod. What fhould I do? I confefs, it is my shame to be fo fond, but it is not in my virtue to amend it. Iago. Virtue? a fig: 'tis in ourselves that we are thus or thus. Our bodies are our gardens, to the which our wills are gardners. So that if we will plant nettles, or fow lettice; fet hyffop, and weed up thyme; fupply it with one gender of herbs, or distract it with many; either have it fteril with idleness, or manured with induftry; why, the power and corrigible authority of this lies in our will. (12) If the beam of our lives had not one scale of reafon to poise another of fenfuality, the blood and baseness of our natures would conduct us to moft prepofterous conclufions. But we have reafon, to cool our raging motions, our carnal ftings, our unbitted lufts; whereof I take this, that you call love, to be a fect, or fyen.

Rod. It cannot be.

Iago. It is merely a luft of the blood, and a permiffion: of the will. Come, be a man: drown thyself? drown cats and blind puppies. I have profeft me thy friend, and I confefs me knit to thy deferving with cables of perdurable toughnefs. I could never better fteed thee than now. Put money in thy purfe; follow thou these wars; defeat thy favour with an ufurped beard; I say,

(12) If the Balance of our Lives had not one Scale of Reafon to poise another of Senfuality.] i. e. If the Scale of our Lives had not one Scale, &c. which must certainly be wrong. Some of the old Quarto's have it thus, but the two elder Folio's read,

If the Braine of our Lives bad not one Scale, &c.

This is corrupt; and I make no doubt but Shakespeare wrote, as I have reformed the Text,

If the Beame of our Lives, &c.

And my Reason is this; that he generally distinguishes betwixt the Beam and Balance, ufing the latter to fignify the Scales; and the former, the steel Bar to which they are hung, and which poifes them.

put

put money in thy purfe. It cannot be, that Defdemona hould long continue her love to the Moor-put money in thy purfenor he his to her. It was a violent

commencement in her, and thou fhalt fee an answerable fequeftration,put but money in thy purfe. Thefe Moors are changeable in their wills;fill thy purfe with money. The food, that to him now is as lufcious as locufts, fhall fhortly be as bitter as coloquintida. When fhe is fated with his body, fhe will find the errors of her choice.. -She muft have change, fhe muft: therefore put money in thy purfe.——If thou wilt needs damn thyfelf, do it a more delicate way than drowning. Make all the money thou canft. If fanctimony and a frail vow, betwixt an erring Barbarian and a fuper-fubtle Venetian, be not too hard for my wits, and all the tribe of hell, thou fhalt enjoy her; therefore make money. A pox of drowning thyfelf! it is clean out of the way. Seek thou rather to be hang'd in compaffing thy joy, than to be drown'd. and go without her.

Red. Wilt thou be faft to my hopes, if I depend on the iffue?

-Go, make money.

Iago. Thou art fure of me. I have told thee often, and I re-tell thee again and again, I hate the Moor. My caufe is hearted; thine hath no lefs reafon. Let us be conjunctive in our revenge against him. If thou canft cuckold him, thou doft thyself a pleasure, and me a fport. There are many events in the womb of time, which will be delivered. Traverse, go, provide thy money. We will have more of this to-morrow. Adieu.

Rod. Where fhall we meet i'th morning?

Jago. At my lodgings.

Rad. I'll be with thee betimes.

Jago. Go to, farewel. Do you hear, Rodorigo?
Rod. What fay you?

Jago. No more of drowning, do you hear.

Rod. I am chang'd;. I'll go fell all my land. [Exit.

Manet

Manet Iago.

Iago. Go to, farewel, put money enough in your purfeThus do I ever make my fool my purse;

For I mine own gain'd knowledge should prophane,
If I fhould time expend with fuch a fnipe,
But for my sport and profit. I hate the Moor,
And it is thought abroad, that 'twixt my sheets
He has done my office. I know not, if't be true-
But I, for mere fufpicion in that kind,
Will do, as if for furety. He holds me well-
The better fhall my purpose work on him;
Caffio's a proper man: let me fee now ;-
To get his place, and to plume up my will,
A double knavery- -How? how?-let's fee-
After fome time, t'abufe Othello's ear,

That he is too familiar with his wife-
He hath a perfon, and a smooth difpofe,

To be fufpected: fram'd to make women false.
The Moor is of a free and open nature,
That thinks men honeft that but feem to be fo;
And will as tenderly be led by th' nose,

As affes are:

I have't it is ingender'd-Hell and night

Muft bring this monstrous birth to the world's light.

[Exit.

ACT

A C T II.

SCENE, The capital City of Cyprus.

Enter Montano Governor of Cyprus, and Gentlemen.

WHAT

MONTANO.

HAT from the cape can you difcern at sea?
1 Gent. Nothing at all, it is a high-wrought
flood;

I cannot 'twixt the heaven and the main

Defcry a fail.

Ment. Methinks the wind hath spoke aloud at land; A fuller blaft ne'er fhook our battlements;

If it hath ruffian'd fo upon the fea,

What ribs of oak, when mountains melt on them, (13) Can hold the mortife? what fhall we hear of this? 2 Gent. A fegregation of the Turkish fleet;

For do but ftand upon the foaming shore,

The chiding billows feem to pelt the clouds;

The wind-fhak'd surge, with high and monstrous main,

Seems to caft water on the burning bear,

And quench the guards of th' ever-fired pole;

(13) Whut ribs of Oak, when the huge Mountains melt,

Can bold the mortife] This is an arbitrary Change of Mr. Pope's without any Authority or Reafon but the fmoothing the Verfification. But, I am afraid, this great Critic was dreaming of Mountains at Land; and thefe, he thought, could not well melt on Ribs of Oak (i. e.) Ships at Sea. But our Poet happens to mean, Waves as big as Mountains; and thefe are often known to melt on Ships: nor is any Metaphor more coramon in Poetry,

I never