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Forgive our fins-gentlemen, let's look to our bufiness. Do not think, gentlemen, I am drunk : this is my Ancient; 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.
[Exit. S CE N
Ε Ν Ε ΧΙ, ,
Manent Iago and Montano.
Mont. O the platform, masters; come, let's fet
Iago. You see this fellow, that is gone before ;
He is a soldier, fit to stand by Cæfar,
And give direction. And do but see his vice;
"Tis to his virtues a juft equinox,
The one as long as th other. 'Tis pity of him;
I fear, the trust Othello puts him in,
On some odd time of his infirmity,
Will shake 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 sees it not; or his good nature
Prizes the virtue that appears in Caffio,
And looks not on his evils : is not this true ?
Iago. How now, Rodorigo!
pray you, after the lieutenant, go. [Exit Rod.
Mont. And 'tis great pity, that the noble Moor Should hazard such a Place as his own Second, With one of an ingraft infirmity ;
It were an honest action to say so
Unto the Moor.
Iago. Not I, for this fair island;
I do love Casso well, and would do much
To cure him of this evil. Hark, what noise ?
(Within) Help! help!
Re-enter Caffio, pursuing Rodorigo.
Caf. You rogue ! you rascal !
Mort. What's the matter, lieutenant ?
Caf. A knave teach me my duty! I'll beat the
knave into a twiggen bottle.
Rod. Beat me
Caf. Dost thou prate, rogue ?
Mont. Nay, good lieutenant;
(Staying him. I pray you, Sir, hold your hand. Gas: Let me go, Sir, or I'll knock o'er the
mazzard. Mont. Come, come, you're drunk. Caf. Drunk?-
[They fight. lago. Away, I say, go out and cry a mutiny.
(Exit Rodorigo. Nay, good lieutenant-Alas, gentlemenHelp, ho!-Lieutenant-Sir- MontanoHelp, masters.! here's a goodly watch, indeedWho's that, who rings the bell- diablo, ho !
(Bell rings. The town will rise. Fie, fie, lieutenant ! hold : You will be sham'd for ever.
N 'E XII.
Enter Othello, and Attendants.
HAT is the matter here?
Wome. I bleed him, I am hurt, but not
to th' death.
Oth. Hold, for your lives.
Iago. Hold, ho! lieutenant--Sir-Montano-
Η Ε Ι
E L L 0. 381 Have you forgot all sense of place and duty ? The General speaks to you-hold, hold, for shame
Oth. Why, how now, ho ? from whence ariseth'this? Are we turn'd Turks? and to ourselves do That, Which heaven hath forbid the Ottomites? For christian shame, put by this barbarous brawl ; He, that stirs next to carve for his own rage, Holds his soul light : he dies upon his motion. Silence that dreadful bell; it' frights the isle From her propriety. What is the matter? Honest lago, that looks dead with grieving, Speak, who began this? on thy love, I charge thee.
Iago. I do not know ; friends all, but now, even.
In quarter, and in terms like bride and groom
Divesting them for bed; and then, but now
(As if some planet had unwitted men.)
Swords out, and tilting one at other's breasts,
In opposition bloody. I can't fpeak.
Any beginning to this peevish odds,
And 'would, in action glorious I had lost
Those legs that brought me io a part of it!
Oth. How comes it, Michael, you are thus forgot?
Caf. I pray you, pardon me, I cannot speak.
Oih. Worthy Montano, you were wont to be civil : The gravity and stillness of your youth The world hath noted ; and your name is great In mouths of wisest censure. What's the matter, That you unlace your reputation thus, And spend your rich opinion, for the name Of a night-brawler ? give me answer to it.
Mont. Worthy Othello, I am hurt to danger;
Your officer, lago, can inform you,
While I spare speech, which something now offends
Of all that I do know; nor know I aught
By me that's said or done amiss this night,
Unless self-charity be sometimes a vice,
And to defend ourselves it be a fin,
When violence affails us.
Oth. Now, by heav'n,
My blood begins my fafer guides to rule ;
And passion, having my best judgment chofer'd,
Assays to lead the way. If I once ftir,
Or do but lift this arm, the best of you
Shall sink in my rebuke. Give me to know
How this foul rout began ; who set it on;
And he ; that is approv'd in this offence,
Tho' he had twin'd with me both at a birth,
Shall lose me. -What, in a town of war,
Yet wild, the people's hearts brim-full of fear,
To manage private and domestic quarrel ?
In night, and on the Court and Guard of safety?
'Tis monstrous. Say Iago, Who began't?
Mont. If partially affin'd, or leagu'd in office,
Thou doft deliver more or less then truth,
Thou art no soldier.
Iago. Touch me not so near :
I'd rather have this tongue cut from my mouth,
Then it should do offence to Michael Cassio :
Yet I persuade myself to speak the truth
Shall nothing wrong him. Thus'tis, General:
Montano and myself being in speech,
There comes a fellow crying out for help,
And Caffio following with determin'd sword,
To execute upon him. Sir, this Gentleman
Steps in to Cafio, and intreats his pause;
Myself the crying fellow did pursue,
Lest by his clamour (as it fo fell out)
The town might fall in fright.' He, swift of foot,
Out-ran my purpose: I return'd, the rather
For that I heard the clink and fall of swords,
And Casio high in oath, which 'till to-night
I ne'er might fay before. When I came back,
(For this was brief) I found them close together
At blow and thrust; even as again they were,
When you yourself did part them.
More of this matter cannot I report.
But men are men; the best sometimes forget ;
Tho' Casio did some little wrong to him,
As men in
strike those that wilh them best,
Yet, surely, Casro, I believe, receiv'd
From him, that fled, some strange indignity,
Which patience could not pass.
Oth. I know, Iago,
Thy honefty and love doth mince this matter,
Making it light to Casio. Caffio, I love thee,
But never more be officer of mine.
Enter Desdemona attended.
Look if my gentle love be not rais'd up:
I'll make thee an example.
Def. What's the matter?
Oih. All is well, Sweeting, come to bed.
Sir, for your hurts, myself will be your surgeon,
lago, look with care about the town,
And silence those whom this vile brawl distracted.
Come, Desdemona, 'tis the soldiers' life,
To have their balmy flumbers wak'd with strife.
S С E NE XIII.
Manent Iago and Caffio.
HAT, are you hurt, lieutenant?
. Paft Surgery
Iago. Marry, heav'n forbid !
Caf: Reputation, reputation, reputation ! oh I have lost my reputation ! I have lost the immortal part of myself, and what remains is beftial. My reputation! Iago, my reputation
lago. As I am an honest man, I had thought, you had receiv'd some bodily wound; there is more