Till I am even'd with him, wife for wife.
Or failing fo, yet that I put

the Moor

At least into a jealousy fo ftrong,

That judgment cannot cure. Which thing to do, (26)
If this poor brach of Venice, whom I trace

For his quick hunting, ftand the putting on,
I'll have our Michael Caffio on the hip,

Abuse him to the Moor in the right garb;
(For I fear Caffio with my night-cap too,)

Make the Moor thank me, love me, and reward me, For making him egregiously an afs;

And practifing upon his peace and quiet,

Even to madness. 'Tis here-but yet confus'd;
Knavery's plain face is never seen, till us'd.

SCENE, the STREET.

Enter Herald with a Proclamation.

[Exit.

Her. 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, should be proclaimed. All offices are open, and -Which thing to do,

T is Othello's pleasure, our noble and valiant

(26)

If this poor trash of Venice, whom I trace

For bis quick bunting, fland the putting on.] A trifling, infigficant fellow may, in fome refpects, very well be call'd trash; but what confonance of metaphor is there betwixt traf and quick bunting, and standing the putting on? The allufion to the chase SHAKESPEARE feems to be fond of applying to Redoriga, who fays of himfelf towards the conclufion of this aft;

I follow her in the chafe, not like a bound that bunts, but one that fills up the cry.

I have a great fufpicion, therefore, that the Poet wrote;

If this poor brach of Venice,

which we know, is a degenerate fpecies of bound, and a term generally us' d in contempt; and this compleats and perfects the metaphotical allukon, and makes it much more fatirical. Mr. Warburton.

N 2

there

there is full liberty of feafting, from this prefent hour of five, 'till the bell have told eleven. Bless the isle of Cyprus, and our noble General Othello.

SCENE, the CASTLE.

[Exit.

Enter Othello, Desdemona, Caffio, and Attendants. WOOD Michael, look you to the guard to-night,

Oth. G Let's teach ourfelves that honourable stop,

Not to out-fport difcretion.

Caf. Iago hath direction what to do:

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

Oth. Iago is most honest.

Michael, good-night. To-morrow, with your earlieft, Let me have speech 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 lago.

Caf. Welcome, lago; we muft 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 Desdemona: whom let us not therefore blame; he hath not yet made wanton the night with her: and the is fport for Jove.

Caf. She's a moft 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 fhe has? methinks, it founds a parley to provocation.

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

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

Caf. Not to-night, good Iago; I have very poor

and

and unhappy brains for drinking. I could well with, courtesy would invent some other custom of entertain

ment.

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

Caf. I have drunk but one cup to-night, and that was craftily qualified too: and, behold, what inovation it makes here. I am unfortunate in the infirmity, and dare not task 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 diflikes 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, Roderigo,

fide out,

Whom love hath turn'd almost the wrong
To Desdemona hath to-night carouz'd
Potations pottle deep; and he's to watch.
Three lads of Cyprus, noble fwelling fpirits,
(That hold their honours in a wary distance,
The very elements of this warlike ifle,)
Have I to-night flufter'd with flowing cups,
And they watch too. Now, 'mongst this flock of
Am I to put our Caffio in fome action [drunkards,
That may offend the ifle. But here they come.
If confequence do but approve my Deem, (27)
My boat fails freely, both with wind and stream.

(27) 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 must happen, So, in Troilus and Creffida;

Cref. I true, how now? what wicked deem is this

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.

[lago 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 exquifite in his drinking? Iago. Why, he drinks you with facility your Dant 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.

Mont. I am for it, lieutenant, and I'll do you justice,
Lago. 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 renoven,
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 heart again?

Caf. No, for I hold him to be unworthy of his place,

that

that does those things. Well- Heaven's above all; and there be fouls that must be faved, and there be fouls must 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. lago. And fo do I too, lieutenant.

Let's

Caf. Ay, but, by your leave, not before me. The Lieutenant is to be faved before the Ancient. 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; 1 this is my right hand, and this is my left.

I am not drunk now; I can stand well enough, and I speak well enough.

Gent. Excellent well.

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

Manent Iago and Montano..

[Exit.

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

lago. 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 thake this island.

Mont. But is he often thus ?

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

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 ?