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Othello, leave fome officer behind,
Duke. Let it be fo;
And, noble Signior,
Sen. Adieu, brave Moor, use Desdemona well.
Bra. Look to her, Moor, if thou hast eyes to see, She has deceiv'd her father, and may
[Exit Duke, with Senators.. Oth. My life upon her faith. Honest lago, My Desdemona must I leave to thee; I pr’ythee, let thy wife attend on her; And bring her after in the beít advantage. Come, Desdemona, I have but an hour Of love, of worldly matter and direction To speak with thee. We muft obey the time. [Exeunt.
Manent Rodorigo and Iago. Rod. Iagolago. What sayest thou, noble heart? Rod. What will I do, thinkest thou? lago. Why, go to bed, and sleep. Rod. I will incontinently drown myself.
lago. Well, if thou dot, I shall never love thee after. Why, thou filly gentleman !
Rod. It is frtliness to live, when to live is a torment;: and then have we a prescription to die, when death is our physician.
lago. O villainous ! I have look'd upon the world for -four times seven years, and since I could distinguish betwixt a benefit and an injury,' I rever found man that knew how to love himself. Ere I would say, I would
drown myself for the love of a Guinea-hen, I would change my humanity with a baboon.
Rod. What hould I do? I confess, it is my shame to be so 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; set hyffop, and weed up thyme ; supply it with one gender of herbs, or distract it with many; either have it steril 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 reason to poise another of sensuality, the blood and baseness of our natures would conduct us to most preposterous conclusions. But we have reason, to cool our raging motions, our carnal Itings, our unbitted lufts; whereof I take this, that you call love, to be a sect, or fyen.
Rod. It cannot be.
lago. 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 profest me thy friend, and I confess me knit to thy deserving with cables of perdurable toughness. I could never better fteed thee than now. Put money in thy purse; follow thou these wars; defeat thy favour with an ufurped beard ; I say,
(12) If tbe Balance of our Lives bad not one Scale of Reason to poi e another of Sensuality.) 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 Sbakespeare wrote, as I have reformed the Text,
If the Beame of our Lives, &c. And my Reason is this, that he generally diftinguishes betwixt the Beam and Balance, using the latter to fignify the Scales ; and the former, the steel Bar to which they are sung, and which poises. them.
put money in thy purse. It cannot be, that Desdemona should 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 shalt see an answerable fequeftration, put but money in thy purse. These Moors are changeable in their wills;
-fill thy purse with money. The food, that to him now is as luscious as locufts, shall shortly be as bitter as coloquintida. When the is fated with his body, she will find the errors of her choice..
She must have change, she must : therefore put money in thy purse. If thou wilt needs damn thyself, do it a more delicate way than drowning. Make all the money thou canst. If sanctimony and a frail vow, betwixt an erring Barbarian and a super-fubtle Venetian, be not too hard for my wits, and all the tribe of hell, thou shalt enjoy her; therefore make money. A pox of drowning thyself! 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.
Rod. Wilt thou be fast to my hopes, if I depend on the issue ? lago. Thou art sure of me.
-Go, make money. I have told thee often, and I re-tel} thee again and again, I hate the Moor. My cause is hearted ; thine hath no less reafon. Let us be conjunctive in our revenge against kim. If thou canst cuckold him, thou dost thyself a pleasure, and me a sport. 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 shall we meet i'th“ morning? lago. At my lodgings. Rod. I'll be with thee betimes. lago. Go to, farewel. Do you hear, Rodorigo Rod. What say you ? lago. No more of drowning, do you hear. Rod. I am chang'd; I'll go fell all my land. [Exit.
Manet Iago. lago. Goto, farewel, put money enough in your purse Thus do I ever make my fool my purse ; For I mine own gain'd knowledge should prophane, If I should time expend with such a snipe, 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 surety. He holds me wellThe better shall my purpose work on him ; Caffio's a proper man: let me see now; To get his place, and to plume up my will, A double knavery.
-How ? how ! - let's seeAfter some time, t'abuse Othello's ear, That he is too familiar with his wifeHe hath a person, and a smooth dispose, To be suspected : fram’d to make women false. The Moor is of a free and open nature, That thinks men honest that but seem to be so; And will as tenderly be led by th' nofe, As asies are : I have't-it is ingender'd-Hell and night Must bring this monftrous birth to the world's light.
7 HAT from the cape can you discern at sea ?
Ment. Methinks the wind hath spoke aloud at land; A fuller blaft ne'er shook our battlements ; If it hath ruffian's so upon the sea, What ribs of oak, when mountains melt on them, (13) Can hold the mortife? what shall we hear of this?
2 Gent. A segregation of the Turkish fleet; For do but stand upon the foaming shore, The chiding billows seem to pelt the clouds ; The wind-hak’d surge, with high and monstrous maing Seems to cast 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 bolil the mortise ?] This is an arbitrary Change of Mr. Pope's without any. Authority or Reason but the smoothing the VerIfication. But, I am afraid, this great Critic was dreaming of Mountains at Land; and these, 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 these are often known to melt" on Ships: nor is any Metaphor more coramon in Poetry,