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For that I do fufpe& the lusty Moor
Hath leapt into my Seat. The Thoughts whereof,
Doth, like a poisonous Mineral, gnaw my Inwards;
And nothing can, or thall content my Soul
'Till I am even'd with him, Wife for Wile:
Or failing fo, yet that I put the Moor,
At least into a Jealousie to strong,
That Judgment cannot cure. Which thing to do,
If this poor Trash of Venice, whom I trace
For his quick hunting, stand the putting ung
I'll have our Michael Caffio on the hip,
Abuse him to the Moor in the right garbi,
For I fear Cassio with my Night Cap too,
Make the Moor thank me, love me, and reward me,
For making him egregiously an Ass,
And pra&ifing upon his peace and quiet,
Even to madness. 'Tis here but yet confus'd,
Knaveries plain Face, is never seen, 'till us’d. [Exit.

Enter Herald, with a Proclamation. Her. It is Otbello's pleasure, our Noble and Valiant General; that upon certain Tidings now arriv'd, importing the meer Perdition of the Turkish Fleet, every Man put himself into Triumph. Some to dance, fome to make Bone. fires, each Man to what Sport and Revels his addi&ion leads him. For besides this beneficial News, it is the Ceo lebration of his Nuptial. So much was his pleasure should be proclaimed. All Offices are open, and there is full liberty of Feasting, from this present hour of Five, 'till the Bell have tollid eleven. Bless the Isle of Cyprus, and out noble General Othello.


Enter Othello, Desdemona, Callio, and Attendants.
Oth. Good Michael, look you to the Guard to Night.
Let's teach our felves that honourable stop,
Not to out-Sport Discretion.

Caf: Jago hath dire&ion what to do.
But notwithstanding with my personal Eye,
Will I look to't.

Oth. Jago is most honest:
Michael, good Night. To Morrow with you earliest,
Let me have fpeech with you. Come, my dear Love,


for Jove.

The Purchace made, the Fruits are to ensue,
ThaProfit's yet to come 'tween me and you.
Good Night.

Enter Jago.
Caf. Welcome, fago: we must to the Watch.

Jago. Not this hour, Lieutenant: 'tis not yet ten oʻth
Clock. Our General caft us thus early for the love of his
Desdemona: Whom let us not therefore blame; he hath
not yet made wanton che Night with her: And he is sport

Caf. She's a most exquisite Lady,
Jago. And I'll warranc her full of Game.
Caf. Indeed she's a most fresh and delicate Creature.
Fago. What an Eye she has ?
Methinks it sounds a Parley to Provocation.

Caf. An inviting Eye;
And yet mechinks right modeft.

Fago. And when she speaks,
Is it not an Alarum to Love?

Car. She is indeed Perfection,
Jago. Well, Happiness to their Sheets : Come, Lieutenant,
I have a stoop of Wine, and here wichout are a brace of
Cyprus Galants, that would fain have a measure to the Health
of black Othello.

Caf. Not to Night, good Jago: I have very poor and unhappy Brains for drinking. I could well with Courtelie would invene some other custom of Entertainment.

Jago. Oh, they are our Friends: But one Cup I'll drick

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for you.

Caf. I have drunk but one Cup to Night, and that was craftily qualified too: And behold what Ionovation it makes here. I am infortunate in the lofirmity, and dare not task my weakness with any more.

Jago. What, Min? 'tis a Night of Revels, the Gallants delire it.

Caf. Where are they?
Fago. Here, at the Door; I pray you call them in
Caf. I'll do's, but it dislikes me.

[Exit Casio
Jago. If I can fasten 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 Mistress's Dog.
Now, my fick Fool, Rodorige,
Whom Love hath turn'd almost the wrong side out,
To Desdemona hath to Night carouz'd,
Potations, pottle-deep; and he's to watch.
Three else of Cyprus, Noble swelling Spirits,
That hold their Honours is a wary distance,
The very Elements of this warlike Ine,
Have I to Night -Aufter'd with Aowing Cups,
And they watch too. Now 'mongst this flock of Drunkards,
Am I to put our Caffio in fome A&ion
That may offend the Isle. But here they come.

Enter Callio, Montano, and Gentlemen.
If Consequence do but approve my Dream,
My Boat fails freely, both with Wind and Stream.

Caf. 'Fore Heav'n, they have given me a rowse already.

Mon. Good faith a little one: Not past a Pint, as I am a
Jago. Some Wine ho!

[Jago sings.
And let me the Canakin clink, clink,
And let me lhe Cannakin clink.
A Soldier's a Man; Ob, Man's Life's but a Spar,

Why then let a Soldier drink.
Some Wine, Boys.

Caf. 'Fore Heav'n, an excellent Song.

Fago. I learn'd it in England: Where indeed they are most potent in Potting. Your Dane, your German, and your swag-belly'd Hollander ---drink ho---re nothing to your English

Caf. Is your Englishman so exquisite in his drinking?

Fago. Why, he drinks you with facility, your Dane dead Drunk. He swears not to overthrough your Almain. He gives your Hollander a Vomit, e'er the next Pottle can be filld.

Car. To the Health of our General.
Mon. I am for it, Lieutenant: And I'll do you Juffice.
Jago. Oh sweet England,

King Stephen was and-a worthy Peer,
His Breeches cost 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 bigb Renown,
And thou art but of low degree :
'Tis Pride that pulls the Country down,

And take thy awld Cloake about thee.
Some Wine ho.

Caf. Why this is a more exquisite Song than the other,

Fago. Will you hear't again?

Cal. No ; for I hold him to be unworthy of his Place, that does those things. Well..--Heaven's above all; and there be Souls that must be saved, and there be Souls must not be saved.

Fago. It's true, good Lieutenant.

Cas. For mine own part, no offence to the General, nor any Man of Quality ; I hope to be saved.

Fago. And so do I too, Lieutenant.

Caf. Ay, but by your leave, not before me. The Lieu. tenant is to be saved before the Ancient. Let's have no more of this ; let's to our Affairs. Forgive our Sins----Gentlemen, let's look to our Business. 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 stand well es nough, and I speak well enough.

Gent. Excellent well.

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

Men. To the Platform, Masters, come, let's see the Watch,

Jago. You see this Fellow that is gone before,
He is a Soldier, fit to stand by Calar,
And give dire&ion. And do but see his Vice,
'Tis to his Virtues a just Equinox,
The one as long as th' other. 'Tis pity of him; 3
I fear the Trust Othello puts him in,
On some odd time of his infirmity,
Will thake this Iland.

Mon. But is he ofcen thus,

Fago. 'Tis evermore his Prologue to his Sleep.
He'll watch the Horologue a double Set,
Vol. V.


If drink rock not his Cradle.

Mont. It were well
The General were put in mind of it:
Perhaps he sees it not, or bis good Nature
Prizes the Virtue that appears in Cuffio,
And looks not on his Evils : Is not this true?

Enrer Rodorigo.
Fago. How now, Rodorigo !
I pray you after the Lieutenants go. .

Mont. And 'eis great pity that the Noble Moor
Should hazard such a place, as his own Second,
With one of an ingraft Infirmity;
It were an honest Adior, to say so
To the Moor.

Jago. Nor I, for this fair Inland;
I do love Cassio well, and would do much
To cure him of this Evil. But hark, what Noise?

Enter Caffio pursuing Rodorigo.
Cas. You Rogue ! you Rascal!
Mon. What's the Matter, Lieutenant?

Caf. A Knave teach me my Duty? I'll beat the
Knave into a Twiggen Bottle.

Rod. Beat med
Caf. Dost thou prate, Rogue ?
Mon. Nay, good Lieutenant ;

[Staging him. I pray you, Sir, hold your Hand.

Caf. Let me go, Sir, or I'll know you o'ır the Mazzard.
Mon, Come, come, you're drunk.
Caf. Drunk?

[They fight. Jugo. Away I say, go out and cry a Mutiny.

[Exii Rodorigo. Nay, good Lieutenant

Alas, Gentlemen
Help ho !-Lieutenant-Sir Montano-
Help Mafters ! Here's a goodly Watch indeed
Who's that which rings the Bella Diablo, ho !

(Bell rings. The Town will rise. Fie, fie, Lieutenant ! You will be flam'd for ever,

Enter Othello, and Attendants,
Oth. What is the matter here?


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