For nothing canft thou to damnation add,
Greater than that.

Jago. Oh grace! oh heav'n defend me!
Are you are a man? have you a foul? or fenfe?
God be wi' you: take mine o ffice. Wretched fool,
That liv'ft to make thine honesty a vice!

Oh monftrous world! take note, take note, oh world,
To be direct and honeft, is not fafe.

I thank you for this profit, and from hence
I'll love no friend, fith love breeds fuch offence.

Oth. Nay ftay- thou should't be honest

Jago. I fhould be wife, for honesty's a fool, And lofes what it works for.

Oth. By the world,

I think my wife is honest, and think she is not;
I think that thou art just, and think thou art not;
I'll have some proof. Her name, that was as fresh
As Dian's visage, is now begrim'd and black
As mine own face. If there be cords or knives,
Poison, or fire, or fuffocating fteams,

I'll not endure't. Would I were satisfied!

Jago. I fee Sir, you are eaten up with passion; I do repent me that I

put

You would be fatisfied?

it to you.

Oth. Would? nay, and will.

Jago. And may; but how? how fatisfied, my lord? Would you be fupervisor, grofly gape on?

Behold her topp'd ?

Oth. Death and damnation! oh!

Jago. It were a tedious difficulty, I think,

To bring 'em to that profpect: damn them then,

If ever mortal eyes do fee them bolster

More than their own. What then? how then?

What fhall I fay? where's fatisfaction?

It is impoffible you should see this,

Were they as prime as goats, as hot as monkeys,
As falt as wolves in pride, and fools as grofs
As ignorance made drunk. But yet, I say,
If imputation and strong circumftances
Which lead directly to the door of truth,
Will give you fatisfaction, you might have't.
Oth. Give me a living reafon fhe's disloyal.
Jago. I do not like the office;

But fith I'm entred in this cause so far,
Prick'd to't by foolish honefty and love,
I will go on. I lay with Caffio lately,.
And being troubled with a raging tooth,
I could not fleep

There are a kind of men, so loose of foul

That in their fleeps will mutter their affairs ;
One of this kind is Caffio:

In fleep I heard him fay, Sweet Desdemona,

Let us be wary, let us hide our loves!

And then, Sir, would he gripe, and wring my hand,
Cry ---- oh sweet creature! and then kiss me hard,
As if he pluckt up kiffes by the roots

And grew upon my lips; then lay his leg
Over my thigh, and figh and kiss, and then
Cry, curfed fate! that gave thee to the Moor.
Oth. Oh monftrous! monftrous!

Jago. This was but his dream.

Oth. But this denoted a fore-gone conclufion,
'Tis a fhrewd doubt, tho' it be but a dream.
Jago. And this may help to thicken other proofs.
That do demonftrate thinly.

Oth. I'll tear her all to peices.

Jago.

Fago. Nay but be wife; yet we fee nothing done;
She may be honest yet. Tell me but this,
Have you not sometimes feen a handkerchief,
Spotted with strawberries, in your wife's hand?
Oth. I gave her fuch a one; 'twas my first gift.
Fago. I know not that; but fuch a handkerchief,
(I'm fure it was your wife's,) did I to-day
See Caffio wipe his beard with.

Oth. If it be that

Fago. If it be that, or any, if 'twas hers,
It speaks against her with the other proofs.
Oth. Oh that the slave had forty thousand lives!
One is too poor, too weak for my revenge.
Now do I fee 'tis true. - Look here, Fago,
All my fond love thus do I blow to heav'n:
'Tis gone;

Arife black vengeance from the hollow hell!
Yield up, oh love, thy crown and hearted throne
To tyrannous hate! fwell bofom with thy fraught,
For 'tis of afpicks tongues.

Fago. Yet be content.

Oth. Oh blood, blood, blood

Fago. Patience I fay; your mind may change.
Oth. Never, Jago. Like the Pontick fea,
Whose icy current and compulfive course,
Ne'er feels retiring ebb, but keeps due on
To the Propontick, and the Hellefpont :
Even fo my bloody thoughts with violent pace
Shall ne'er look back, ne'er ebb to humble love,
'Till that a capable and wide revenge

Swallow them up---- Now by yond marble heav'n,
In the due rev'rence of a facred vow;

I here engage my words

[He kneels. Jago.

This fimile is omitted in the first edition: I think it should be fo, as an unna

tural excurfion in this place.

Fago. Do not rife yet:
Witness you ever-burning lights above!
You elements that clip us round about!
Witness, that here Jago doth give up
The execution of his wit, hands, heart,

k

To wrong'd Othello's fervice. Let him command,

* Not to obey shall be in me remorse,

What bloody business ever.

Oth. I greet thy love,

[Jago kneels,

Not with vain thanks but with acceptance bounteous,

And will upon the inftant put thee to't:

Within these three days let me hear thee say,

That Caffio's not alive.

Jago. My friend is dead;

'Tis done at your request. But let her live.

Oth. Damn her, lewd minx! oh damn her, damn her!

Come go with me apart, I will withdraw

To furnish me with fome swift means of death

For the fair devil. Now art thou my lieutenant.
Jago. I am your own for ever.

[Exeunt.

Enter Defdemona, Emilia, and Clown.

Def. Do you know, firrah, where lieutenant Caffio lyes?

Clown. I dare not fay he lies any where.

Des. Why man ?

Clown. He's a foldier, and for me to fay a foldier lies, 'tis ftabbing. Def. Go to; where lodges he?

Clown. To tell you where he lodges, is to tell you where I lie. Def. Can any thing be made of this?

Clown. I know not where he lodges; and for lodging, and say he lyes here, or he lyes there,

mine own throat.

k and to obey.

me to devise a

were to lie in

Def.

Def. Can you enquire him out? and be edified by report? Clown. I will catechize the world for him, that is make questions, and by them answer.

Def. Seek him, bid him come hither; tell him, I have mov'd my lord on his behalf, and hope all will be well.

Clown. To do this is within the compafs of man's wit, and therefore I will attempt the doing of it.

[Exit Clown.

Def. Where should I lofe the handkerchief, Æmilia?

Emil. I know not, madam.

Def. Believe me, I had rather have loft my purse

Full of cruzadoes. And but my noble Moor

Is true of mind, and made of no fuch baseness

As jealous creatures are, it were enough
To put him to ill thinking.

Emil. Is he not jealous?

Def. Who he? I think the Sun where he was born

Drew all fuch humours from him.

Emil. Look where he comes.

Def. I will not leave him now, 'till Caffio be Call'd to him. How is it with you, my lord?

Oth. Well, my good lady. Oh hardness to diffemble! How do you, Desdemona?

Def. Well, my lord.

Oth. Give me your hand; this hand is moist, my lady.
Def. It yet hath felt no age, nor known no forrow.
Oth. This argues fruitfulness, and liberal heart:
Hot, hot, and moist ----- this hand of yours requires
A fequester from liberty; fafting and prayer,
Much castigation, exercise devout,

For