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Be ready, gods, with all your thunderbolts,

Dash him to pieces.

CAS. I deny'd you not.

BRU. You did.

CAS. I did not-he was but a fool

That brought my anfwer back.-Brutus hath riv'd my

heart.

A friend should bear a friend's infirmities,

But Brutus makes mine greater than they are.

BRU. I do not. Still you practise them on me.

CAS. You love me not.

BRU. I do not like your faults.

CAS. A friendly eye could never see such faults.

BRU. A flatt'rer's would not, though they do appear

As huge as high Olympus.

CAS. Come, Antony, and young Octavius, come! Revenge yourselves alone on Caffius,

For Caffius is a-weary of the world;

Hated by one he loves; brav'd by his brother;
Check'd by a bondman; all his faults obferv'd;
Set in a note-book, learn'd, and conn'd by rote,
To caft into my teeth. OI could weep

My fpirit from mine eyes!-There is my dagger,
And here my naked breast-within, a heart
Dearer than Plutus' mine, richer than gold!
If that thou need'ft a Roman's, take it forth.
I, that deny'd thee gold, will give my heart:
Strike as thou didst at Cæfar; for I know,

When thou didst hate him worst, thou lov'd'ft him better

Than ever thou lov'd'ft Caffius.

BRU. Sheathe your dagger;

Be angry when you will, it fhall have scope;

Do

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Do what you will, dishonour shall be humour.

O Caffius, you are yoked with a lamb,
That carries anger, as the flint bears fire;
Which much inforced, fhews a hafty fpark,
And ftraight is cold again.

CAS. Hath Caffius liv'd

To be but mirth and laughter to his Brutus,
When grief, and blood ill-temper'd vexeth him?

BRU. When I spoke that, I was ill-temper'd too.
CAS. Do you confess so much? Give me your hand.
BRU. And my heart too.

CAS. O Brutus !

BRU. What's the matter?

CAS. Have you not love enough to bear with me, When that rash humour which my mother gave me, Makes me forgetful?

BRU. Yes, Caffius, and from henceforth

When you are over-earneft with your Brutus,
He'll think your mother chides, and leave you

fo.

SHAKESPEAR

IAGO.

CHAP.

XXVII.

OTHELLO AND I AGO.

Y noble Lord,·

Μ'

ОтH. What doft thou fay, Iago?

ÌAGO. Did Michael Caffio, when you woo'd my Lady,

Know of your love?

Oтн. He did, from firft to laft: why doft thou ask?

IAGO. But for a fatisfaction of my thought,

No farther harm.

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IAGO. I did not think he'd been acquainted with it.
Oтн. Oh, yes, and went between us very oft.
IAGO. Indeed!

OTH. Indeed! ay, indeed. Discern'ft thou aught in that? Is he not honest?

IAGO. Honeft, my Lord?

Oтн. Honeft? ay, honest.

IAGO. My Lord, for aught I know.

ОTH. What doft thou think?

FAGO. Think, my Lord!

Отн. Think, my Lord! Why by Heav'n, thou echo'st

me,

As if there were fome monfter in thy thought,

Too hideous to be fhewn. Thou dost mean something:
I heard thee fay but now,
"thou lik'st not that,”-
When Caffio left my wife. What didft not like?
And when I told thee, he was of my counsel,

In my whole courfe of wooing; thou cry'd'ft, "Indeed !**

And didft contract and purfe thy brow together,

As if thou then hadft shut up in thy brain

Some horrible conceit. If thou doft love me,

Shew me thy thought.

IAGO. My Lord, you know I love you.

Oru. I think thou doft:

And, for I know, thou art full of love and honesty,

And weigh'ft thy words before thou giv'st them breath,
Therefore thefe ftops of thine fright me the more:
For fuch things, in a falfe difloyal knave,

Are tricks of cuftom; but in a man's that's juft,
They're cold dilations working from the heart,
That paffion cannot rule.

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IAGO. For Michael Caffio,

I dare be fworn, I think, that he is honeft.

OTH. I think fo too.

IAGO. Men fhould be what they feem;

Or, those that be not, would they might feem knaves.
OTH. Certain! men fhould be what they seem.

IAGO. Why, then I think Caffio's an honeft man.
Oтн. Nay, yet there's more in this;

I pray thee speak to me as to thy thinkings,

As thou doft ruminate: and give thy worft of thoughts

The worst of words.

IAGO. Good my Lord, pardon me.

Though I am bound to every act of duty,

I am not bound to that all flaves are free to;

Utter my thoughts!-Why, fay, they're vile and false;
As where's that palace, whereinto foul things

Sometimes intrude not? Who has a breast so pure,
But fome uncleanly apprehenfions

Keeps leets and law-days, and in feffions fit
With meditations lawful?

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Oтн. Thou doft conspire against thy friend, Iago, If thou but think'ft him wrong'd, and mak'st his ear A ftranger to thy thoughts.

IAGO. I do beseech you,

Think I, perchance, am vicious in my guefs,
(As, I confefs, it is my nature's plague
To 'fpy into abuse; and oft my jealousy
Shapes faults that are not) I entreat you then,
From one that fo imperfectly conjects,
Your wisdom would not build yourself a trouble
Out of my scattered and unfure obfervance :
It were not for your quiet, nor your good,

Nor for my manhood, honefty, and wisdom,

To let you know my thoughts.

Oтн. What doft thou mean?

IAGO. Good name in man or woman, dear my Lord,

Is the immediate jewel of their fouls.

Who fteals my purfe, fteals trash; '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.

Oтн. I'll know thy thoughts-
IAGO. You cannot, if heart were
my
Nor fhall not, whilft 'tis in my cuftody.

in

OTн. Ha!

your

IAGO. Oh, beware, my Lord, of jealoufy;
It is a green-ey'd monfter, which doth mock
The meat it feeds on. That cuckold lives in bliss,
Who certain of his fate, loves not his wronger;
But oh, what damned minutes tells he o’er,

Who doats, yet doubts; fufpects, yet ftrongly loves.

Отн. Why, why is this?

Think'st thou I'd make a life of jealousy?

To follow till the changes of the moon

hand;

Отн. O mifery!

IAGO. Poor and content, is rich and rich enough;

But riches endless, is as poor as winter,

To him that ever fears he fhall be poor.

Good Heaven! the fouls of all my tribe defend
From jealoufy!

With fresh fufpicions ?-Tis not to make me jealous,
To fay, my wife is fair, feeds well, loves company,
Is free of fpeech, fings, plays, and dances well:

Where

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