SCENE XIII,

Manent Jago and Caffio.

Jago. What, are you hurt, lieutenant ?

Caf. Paft all furgery.

Jago. Marry, heav'n forbid.

Caf. Reputation, reputation, reputation! oh I have loft my reputation! I have loft the immortal part of my self, and what remains is beftial. My reputation, Jago, my reputation

Jago. As I am an honeft man, I had thought you had received fome bodily wound; there is more sense in that than in reputation. Reputation is an idle, and most false impofition; oft got without merit, and loft without deferving. You have loft no reputation at all, unless you repute your felf fuch a lofer. What man---- there are ways to recover the General again. You are but now caft in his mood, a punishment more in policy than in malice, even so as one would beat his offenceless dog to affright an imperious lion. Sue to him again, and he's yours.

Caf. I will rather fue to be defpis'd, than to deceive fo good a commander, with fo flight, fo drunken, and fo indifcreet an officer. Drunk? and speak, parrot? and fquabble? fwagger? fwear? and difcourfe fuftian with ones own fhadow? oh thou invifible fpirit of wine! if thou haft no name to be known by, let us call

thee devil.

Jago. What was he that you follow'd with your sword? what had he done to you? Caf. I know not. Jago. Is't poffible?

Caf. I remember a mass of things, but nothing diftincttly: a quarrel, but nothing wherefore. Oh, that men fhould put an enemy in their mouths, to steal away their brains! that we should with joy, pleasance, revel and applaufe, transform our selves into beasts.

i offence ed. prim.

Jago.

Jago. Why, but you are now well enough: how came you

thus recover'd?

Caf. It hath pleas'd the devil, drunkenness, to give place to the devil, wrath; one unperfectness fhews me another, to make me frankly despise my self.

Jago. Come, you are too fevere a moraler.

As the time,

the place, and the condition of this country ftands, I could heartily with this had not befaln: but fince it is as it is, mend it for your own good.

Caf. I will ask him for my place again; he fhall tell me, I am a drunkard? had I as many mouths as Hydra, fuch an anfwer would stop them all. To be now a fenfible man, by and by a fool, and presently a beast. Every inordinate cup is unbless'd, and the ingredient is a devil.

Jago. Come, come, good wine is a good familiar creature, if it be well us'd: exclaim no more against it. And, good lieutenant, I think you think I love you.

Caf. I have well approv'd it, Sir. I drunk!

man.

Jago. You, or any man living, may be drunk at fome time, I tell you what you fhall do: our General's wife is now the General. I may fay fo, in this respect, for that he hath devoted and given up himself to the contemplation, mark, and devotement of her parts and graces. Confefs your felf freely to her: importune her help, to put you in your place again. She is of fo free, fo kind, fo apt, fo bleffed a difpofition, he holds it a vice in her goodness not to do more than fhe is requested. This broken joint between you and her husband, intreat her to fplinter. And my fortunes against any lay worth naming, this crack of your love fhall grow ftronger than it was before.

Caf. You advise me well.

Jago. I protest in the fincerity of love, and honest kindness. Caf. I think it freely: and betimes in the morning I will befeech the virtuous Desdemona to undertake for me: I am de

fperate

sperate of my fortunes, if they check me.

Jago. You are in the right: good night, lieutenant, I must to the watch.

Caf. Good night, honeft Jago.

SCENE XIV.

Manet Jago.

[Exit Caffio.

Jago. And what's he then, that fays I play the villain ?

When this advice is free I give, and honest,

Likely to thinking, and indeed the course
To win the Moor again. For 'tis most easie
Th' inclining Desdemona to subdue

In any honeft fuit: fhe's fram'd as fruitful

As the free elements. And then for her

To win the Moor, were't to renounce his baptifm,
All feals and symbols of redeemed fin,

His foul is fo enfetter'd to her love

That she may make, unmake, do what she lift,
Even as her appetite shall play the God
With his weak function. Am I then a villain,
To counsel Caffio to this parallel course,
Directly to his good? 'Tis hell's divinity:
When devils will their blackest fins put on,
They do suggest at first with heav'nly shews,
As I do now. For while this honest fool
Plies Desdemona to repair his fortune,
And the for him pleads ftrongly to the Moor;
this peftilence into his ear,

I'll

pour

That she repeals him for her body's luft:

And by how much she strives to do him good,

She fhall undo her credit with the Moor.

So will I turn her virtue into pitch,

VO L. VI.

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And

And out of her own goodness make the net

That shall † enmesh them all. How now, Rodrigo!

Rod. I follow here in the chace, not like a hound that hunts, but one that fills up the cry. My mony is almost spent ; I have been to-night exceedingly well cudgelled; and I think the iffue will be, I fhall have fo much experience for my pains; and so with no mony at all, and a little more wit, return again to Venice.

Jago. How poor are they that have not patience?
What wound did ever heal but by degrees?

Thou know'st we work by wit, and not by witchcraft;
And wit depends on dilatory time:

Does't not go well? Caffio hath beaten thee,
And thou by that small hurt haft cashier'd Caffio.
Tho' other things grow fair against the sun,
Yet fruits that blossom first, will first be ripe:
Content thy felf a while. In troth 'tis morning;
Pleasure and action make the hours feem fhort.
Retire thee; go where thou art billetted:
Away, I fay, thou fhalt know more hereafter:
Nay, get thee gone.

Two things are to be done;

My wife must move for Caffio to her mistress:
I'll fet her on to draw the Moor apart,

And bring him jump, when he may Caffio find
Solliciting his wife: ay, that's the way:
Dull not device, by coldness and delay.

ten-mesh, a metaphor from taking birds in meshes.

[Exit Rodorigo.

[Exit. ACT

M

ACT III. SCENE I.

Othello's Palace.

Enter Caffio, Muficians, and Clown.

CASSIO.

ASTERS, play here, I will content your pains,
Something that's brief; and bid good-morrow,
General.

Clown. Why, mafters, have your instruments been in Naples, that they speak i'th' nose thus ? Muf. How, Sir, how?

Clown. Are thefe, I pray you, wind instruments?

Muf. Ay, marry are they, Sir.
Clown. Oh, thereby hangs a tale.

Muf. Whereby hangs a tale, Sir?

Clown. Marry, Sir, by many a wind instrument that I know. But, masters, here's mony for you: and the General fo likes your musick, that he defires you for loves fake to make no noise with it.

Muf. Well, Sir, we will not.

Clown. If you have any musick that may not be heard, to't again. But, as they say, to hear musick, the General does not greatly care.

Muf. We have none fuch, Sir.

Clown. Then put up your pipes in your bag, for I'll away. Go,

vanish into air, away.

Caf. Doft thou hear me, mine honeft friend?

[Exit Muf.

Clown. No, I hear not your honest friend; I hear you.

Caf. Pr'ythee, keep up thy quillets, there's a poor peice of gold for

Uuu 2

thee: