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He's never any thing but your true fervant.
Def. I know't, I thank you; you do love my Lord, You've known him long; and, be you well affur'd, He fhall in ftrangenefs ftand no farther off
Than in a politick distance.
Caf. Ay, but, lady,
That policy may either laft fo long,
Def. Do not doubt that; before Æmilia here,
To the last article. My Lord fhall never reft;
With Caffio's fuit: therefore be merry, Caffio;
Enter Othello, and Iago, at diftance.
Emil. Madam, here comes my Lord.
Caf. Madam, not now; I am very ill at ease,
Unfit for mine own purposes.
Def. Well, do your difcretion.
Iago. Hah! I like not that.
Oth. What doft thou fay?
Iago. Nothing, my Lord; or if I know not what. Oth. Was not that Cafio, parted from my wife? Iago. Cafio, my Lord? no, fure, I cannot think it, That he would fteal away fo guilty-like,
Seeing you coming.
Oth. I believe, 'twas he.
Def. How now, my Lord?
I have been talking with a fuitor here,
Oth. Who is't you mean?
Def. Why, your lieutenant Caffio. Good my Lord, If I have any grace, or power to move you,
His prefent reconciliation take.
For if he be not one that truly loves you,
Oth. Went he hence now?
Def. I, footh, fo humbled,
That he hath left part of his grief with me,
Oth. The fooner, Sweet, for you.
Def. To-morrow dinner then?
I meet the Captains at the citadel.
Def. Why then to-morrow night, or Tuesday morn, Or Tuesday noon, or night, or Wednesday morn, I pr'ythee, name the time; but let it not Exceed three days; in faith, he's penitent: And yet his trefpafs, in our common reafon, (Save that, they fay, the wars must make examples Out of their beft,) is not almost a fault
'T'incur a private check. When shall he come ?
What you would ask me, that I would deny,
Hath ta'en your part, to have fo much to do
Oth. Pr'ythee, no more; let him come when he will,
I will deny thee nothing.
Def. Why, this is not a boon :
'Tis as I fhould entreat you wear your gloves,
Or feed on nourishing meats, or keep you warm;
Or fue to you, to do peculiar profit
To your own perfon. Nay, when I have fuit,
And fearful to be granted.
Oth. I will deny thee nothing.
Whereon I do befeech thee, grant me this,
Def. Shall I deny you? no: Farewel, my Lord.
Def. Emilia, come; be, as your fancies teach you: Whate'er you be, I am obedient.
Manent Othello, and Iago.
Oth. Excellent Wench!-Perdition catch my foul, (22) But I do love thee; and when I love thee not,
Chaos is come again.
Iago. My noble Lord,
Oth. What doft thou fay, Iago?
Iago. Did Michael Caffio, when you woo'd my lady, Know of your love?
Oth. He did, from first to laft; why doft thou ask? Iago. But for a fatisfaction of my thought,
No farther harm.
Oth. Why of thy thought, Iago?
Iago. I did not think, he'd been acquainted with it.
(22) Excellent Wretch! Perdition catch my Soul,
But I do love thee; &c.] Tho' all the printed Copies concur in this Reading, I think it is very reasonably to be suspected. Othello is exclaiming here with Admiration and rapturous Fondnets: but Wretch can scarce be admitted to be used, unlefs in Compaffion or Contempt. I make no queftion, but the Poet wrote;
Excellent Wench! - Perdition catch my Soul, &c.
It is to be observ'd, that, in SHAKESPEARE's time, Werth, Lafs, and Girl were not used in that low and vulgar Acceptation as they are at this time of day; but very frequently with Dignity.
Oth. Oh, yes, and went between us very oft.
Oth. Indeed! ay, indeed. Difcern'ft thou aught in that? Is he not honeft?
Jago. Honeft, my Lord?
Oth. Honeftay, honeft.
Iago. My Lord, for aught I know.
Oth. What doft thou think?
Iago. Think, my Lord!
Oth. Think, my Lord! why, by heav'n, thou ccho'ft me; As if there were fome monfter in thy thought,
Too hideous to be fhewn. Thou doft mean fomething:
Iago. My Lord! you know, I love you.
And for I know, thou art full of love and honesty,
Are tricks of cuftom; but, in a man that's juft,
Iago. For Michael Caffio,
I dare be sworn, I think, that he is honeft.
Iago. Men fhould be what they feem.
Or those that be not, 'would they might feem none ! Oth. Certain, men fhould be what they feem. Iago. Why, then, I think, Caffio's an honeft mán. Oth. Nay, yet there's more in this;
I pray thee, fpeak to me as to thy thinkings,
As thou doft ruminate; and give thy worft of thoughts The worft of words.
Iago. Good my Lord, pardon me.
Tho I am bound to every act of duty,
I am not bound to that, all flaves are free to;
Keep leets and law-days, and in feffions fit
Oth. Thou dost confpire against thy friend, lago, If thou but think'ft him wrong'd, and mak'ft his ear A ftranger to thy thoughts.
Iago. I do befeech you,
Though, I perchance, am vicious in my guefs,-
Your wisdom would not build yourself a trouble
Oth. What doft thou mean?
Iago. Good name in man and woman, dear my Lord, Is the immediate jewel of their fouls.
Who fteals my pure, fteals trafh; 'tis fomething, nothing; 'Twas mine, 'tis his; and has been flave to thousands; But he, that filches from me my good name,
Robs me of that, which not enriches him,
And makes me poor indeed.
Oth. I'll know thy thoughts
heart were in
Iago. You cannot, if my
Iago. Oh, beware, my Lord, of jealoufy; It is a green-ey'd monfter, which doth mock