Forfooth, a great arithmetician,

66

One Michael Caffio;-( “ a Florentine's

"A fellow almost damn'd in a fair wife;—)"?
That never fet a fquadron in the field,
Nor the divifion of a battle knows

More than a spinfter; but the bookish theoric,
Wherein the toged confuls can propofe

As mafterly as he; mere prattle, without pra&ice,
Is all his foldiership-he had th' election ;
And I, of whom his eyes had feen the proof
At Rhodes, at Cyprus, and on other grounds
Chriftian and heathen, muft be let and calm'd
By Debitor and Credior, this Counter-cafter;
He, in good time, muft his lieutenant be,

And I (God bless the mark!) his Moor-fhip's Ancient. Rod. By Heav'n, I rather would have been his hangman.

Iago. But there's no remedy, 'tis the curfe of fervice; Perferment goes by letter and affection,

Not (as of old) gradation, were each fecond

Stood heir to th' firft. Now, Sir, be judge your self, If I in any juft term am affign'd

To love the Moor.

Rod. I would not follow him then.
Iago. O Sir, content you;

I follow him to ferve my turn upon him.
We cannot all be mafters, nor all masters
Cannot be truly follow'd. "You fhall mark
"Many a duteous and knee-crooking knave,
"That, doting on his own obfequious bondage,
"Wears out his time, much like his mafter's afs,
"For nought but provender; and when he's old,
cafhier'd;

Whip me fuch honest knaves- -Others there are, "Who trimm'd in forms and visages of duty, "Keep yet their heart attending on themfelves; "And, throwing but fhows of fervice on their lords, Well thrive by them; and when they've lin'd their

coats,

"Do

Do themselves homage. Thefe folks have fome soul, And fuch a one do 1 profess myself.

It is as fure as you are Roderigo,

Were I the Moor, I would not be lago:

In following him, I follow but my self,
Heav'n is my judge, not I, for love and duty:
But, feeming fo, for my peculiar end:
For when my outward action doth demonftrate
The native act and figure of my heart.
In compliment extern, 'tis not long after
But I will wear my heart upon my fleeve,
For daws to peck at; I'm not what I feem.
Rod. What a full fortune does the thick-lips owe,
If he can carry her thus?

Iago. Call up her father,

Roule him, make after him, poifon his delight;
Proclaim him in the ftreets, incenfe her kinfmen;
And tho' he in a fertile climate dwell,
Plague him with flies; tho' that his joy be joy,
Yet throw fuch changes of vexation on't
As it may lose fome colour.

Rod. Here is her father's house, I'll call aloud.
Iago. Do with like timorous accent, and dire yell,
As when, by night and negligence, the fire
"Is fpred in populous cities."

Rod. What, ho! Brabantio! Signior Brabantio! oh. Iago. Awake! what, oh! Brabantio! oh! thieves! thieves !

Look to your houfe, your daughter and your bags : Thieves thieves!

SCENE II.

Brabantio appears above, at a window.

Bra. What is the matter there? •WHAT is

THAT is the reafon of this terrible fummons?

Rod. Signior, is all your family within?
VOL. IX.

Iago.

Iago. Are all doors lock'd?

Bra. Why? wherefore afk you this?

Iago. Zounds! Sir, you're robb'd: for shame, put on your Gown;

Your heart is burft, you have loft half your foul;
Ev'n now, ev'n very now, an old black ram
Is tupping your white ewe. Arife, arise,
Awake the fnorting citizens with the bell,
Or elfe the Devil will make a grandfire of you.
Arife, I fay.

Bra. What, have you loft your wits?

Rod. Moft reverend fignior, do you know my

voice?

Bra. Not I; what are you?
Rod. My name is Rodorigo.

Bra. The worse welcome;

I've charg'd thee not to haunt about my doors:
In honeft plainnefs thou haft heard me fay,
My daughter's not for thee. And now in madness
Being full of fupper and diftemp'ring draughts,
Upon malicious bravery doft thou come

To ftart my quiet.

Rod. Sir, Sir, Sir

Bra. But thou must needs be fure,

My fpirit and my place have in their
To make this bitter to thee.

Rod. Patience, good Sir.

power

Bra. What tell'ft thou me of robbing? this is Venice:

My houfe is not a grange.

Rod. Moft grave Brabantio,

In fimple and pure foul, I come to you.

Iago. Zounds! Sir you are one of those that will not ferve God, if the Devil bid you. Because we come to do you fervice, you think we are ruffians; you'll have your daughter cover'd with a Barbary horse, you'll have your nephews neigh to you; you'll have courfers for coufins, and gennets for germanes.

Bra.

Bra. What prophane wretch art thou?

Iago. I am one, Sir, that comes to tell you, your daughter and the Moor are now making the beaft with two backs.

Bra. Thou art a villain.

lago. You are a fenator.

Bra. This thou fhalt answer. I know thee, Rodorigo.

Rod. Sir, I will answer any thing. But I beseech you,
If't be your pleasure and moft wife confent,
(As partly, I find, it is,) that your fair daughter,
At this odd even and dull watch o' th' night,
Transported with no worse nor better guard,
But with a knave of hire, a Gundalier,
To the grofs clafps of a lafcivious Moor:
If this be known to you, and your allowance,
We then have done you bold and faucy wrongs.
But if you know not this, my manners tell me,
We have your wrong rebuke. Do not believe,
That from the fenfe of all civility

I thus would play, and trifle with your reverence.
Your daughter, if you have not given her leave,
I say again, hath made a grofs revolt;

Tying her duty, beauty, wit and fortunes
To an extravagant and wheeling stranger,
Of here and every where; ftraight fatisfy yourself.
If the be in her chamber, or your houfe,
Let loofe on me the juftice of the State
For thus deluding you.

Bra. Strike on the tinder, ho!

Give me a taper;-call up all my people ;-
This accident is not unlike my Dream,
Belief of it oppreffes me already.

Light, I fay, light!

Iago. Farewel; for I muft leave you.

It feems not meet, nor wholefome to my place,
To be produc'd (as, if I ftay, I fhall)

Against the Moor. For I do know, the State,

.

Q2

However

However this may gall him with fome check,
Cannot with fafety caft him.

For he's embark'd

With fuch loud reason to the Cyprus' wars,

Which ev'n now ftand in act, that, for their fouls,
Another of his fadom they have none,
To lead their business. In which regard,
Tho' I do hate him as I do hell's pains,
Yet, for neceffity of present life,
I muft fhew out a flag and fign of love:
(Which is, indeed, but fign.)

find him,

That you may surely

Lead to the Sagittary the raifed fearch;
And there will I be with him. So, farewel.

-Bra.

[Exit.

Enter Brabantio, and fervants with torches.
T is too true an evil. Gone fhe is ;'
*And what's to come of my despited time,

Is nought but bitterness. Now, Rodorigo,

Where didft thou fee her? oh unhappy girl!
With the Moor, faidft thou? who would be a father?
How didft thou know 'twas fhe ? oh, fhe deceives me
Paft thought
What faid fhe to you? get more

tapers.

Raife all my kindred-are they married, think you? Rod. Truly, I think, they are.

Bra. O heaven! how gat fhe out?

Oh treafon of my blood!

Fathers, from hence truft not your daughters' minds fee them act. Are there not charms,

By what you fee them act.

By which the property of youth and maidhood
May be abus'd? have you not read, Rodorigo,
Of fome fuch thing?

Rod. Yes, Sir, I have, indeed.

[her;

Bra. Call up my brother: oh, 'would you had had

* And what's to come of my defpiled time,] Why défpifed Time? We fhould read- -defpited time. i. e. vexatious.