Fago. She never yet was foolish that was fair,

For even her Folly helpt her to an Heir.

Def. These are old fond Paradoxes, to make Fools laugh i'th' Alehouse. What miferable Praise haft thou for her

that's foul and foolish?

Jago. There's none fo foul and foolish thereunto,

But does foul Pranks, which fair and wife ones do.

Def. Oh heavy Ignorance! thou praifeft the worst best. But what Praise couldst thou beftow on a deferving Woman indeed? One, that in the authority of her Merit, did justly put on the vouch of very Malice it felf.

Fago. She that was ever fair, and never proud,
Had Tongue at will, and yet was never loud;
Never lackt Gold, and yet went never gay,
Fled from her wish, and yet faid now I may;
She that being anger'd, her Revenge being nigh,
Bad her wrong ftay, and her displeasure fly;
She that in Wifdom never was fo frail

To change the Cod's Head for the Salmon's Tail;
She that could think, and ne'er difclofe her Mind,
See Suitors following, and not look behind;
She was a Wight, (if ever fuch Wight were,)
Def. To do what?

"Jago. To fuckle Fools, and Chronicle small Beer.

Def. Oh moft lame and impotent Conclufion. Do not learn of him. Æmilia, tho' he be thy Husband. How fay you, Caffio, is he not a moft profane and liberal Counfellor?

Caf. He speaks home, Madam, you may relish him more in the Soldier, than in the Scholar.

Fago. Afide. He takes her by the Palm; ay, well faid---whifper-With as little a Web as this, will I enfnare as great a Fly as Caffio. Ay, fmile upon her, do---I will gyve thee in thine own Courtship. You fay true, 'tis fo indeed---If fuch Tricks as thefe ftrip you out of your Lieutenancy, it had been better you had not kifs'd your three Fingers fo oft, which now again you are most apt to play the Sir in. Very good-well kifs'd, and excellent Curtefie---'tis fo indeed---Yet again----your Fingers to your Lips? Would they were

Clifter

Clifter-pipes for your fake.

The Moor, I know his Trumpet.

Caf. 'Tis truly fo.

Def. Let's meet him, and receive him.

Caf. Lo, where he comes!

Enter Othello, and Attendants.

Oth. O my fair Warrior!

Def. My dear Othello.

Oth. It gives me wonder, great as my Content, To fee you here before me. here before me.

[Trumpet.

Oh my Soul's Joy! ¿

If after every Tempeft come fuch Calms,

May the Winds blow, 'till they have waken'd Death:
And let the labouring Bark climb Hills of Seas
Olympus high; and duck again as low

As Hell's from Heav'n. If it were now to dye,
'Twere now to be moft happy; for I fear
My Soul hath her Content fo abfolute,
That not another Comfort like to this
Succeeds in unknown Fate.

Def. The Heav'ns forbid,

But that our Loves and Comforts fhould increase,
Even as our Days do grow.

Oth. Amen to that, fweet Powers!

I cannot fpeak enough of this Content,
It flops me here: It is too much of Joy,
And this and this the greatest Discords be
That e'er our Hearts hall make.

[Kiffing her.

Jago. Oh you are well tun'd now; but I'll fet down the Pegs that make this Mufick, as honeft as I am. [Afide. Oth. Come, let us to the Castle.

News, Friends, our Wars are done; the Turks are drown'd. How does my old Acquaintance of this Ifle?

Honey, you shall be well defir'd in Cyprus,

I have found great Love amongst them. O my Sweet,

I prattle out of fashion, and I dote

In mine own Comforts. I prethee, good Jago,
Go to the Bay, and difembark my Coffers:
Bring thou the Mafter to the Cittadel,
He is a good one, and his worthiness

Does challenge much refpect. Come, Desdemona,

Once

Once more well met at Cyprus.

[Exeunt Othello and Defdemona. Fago. Do you meet me prefently at the Harbour. Come thither, if thou be'ft valiant; as they fay, bafe Men being in Love, have then a Nobility in their Natures, more than is native to them---lift me; the Lieutenant to Night watches on the Court of Guard. Firft, I muft tell thee this: Def demona is directly in Love with him.

Rod. With him? why, 'tis not poffible.

Jago. Lay thy Fingers thus; and let thy Soul be inftru&ed. Mark me with what Violence she lov'd the Moor, but for bragging, and telling her fantastical Lies. To love him ftill for prating, let not thy difcreet Heart think it. Her Eye must be fed. And what Delight shall she have to look on the Devil? When the Blood is made dull with the Act of Sport, there fhould be a game to inflame it, and to give fatiety a fresh Appetite; Loveliness in favour, Sympathy in Years, Manners, and Beauties: All which the Moor is defective in. Now for want of these requir'd Conveniences, her delicate tendernefs will find it felf abus'd, begin to heave the gorge, difrelish and abhor the Moor; very Nature will inftruct her in it, and compel her to fome fecond choice. Now, Sir, this granted, (as it is a moft pregnant and unforc'd Pofition) who ftands fo eminent in the degree of this Fortune, as Caffio does: A Knave very voluble; no further Confcionable, than in putting on the meer form of Civil and Human feeming, for the better compass of his Salt, and most hidden loɔfe Affection? Why none, why none. A flippery and fubtle Knave, a finder of Occafions; that has an Eye can stamp and counterfeit Advantages, though true Advantage never prefent it felf. A Devilish Knave! befides, the Knave is handsom, young, and hath all thofe Requifites in him, that folly and green Minds look after. A peftilent compleat Knave! and the Woman hath found him already.

Rod. I cannot believe that in her, fhe's full of most blefs'd Condition.

Jago. Blefs'd Figs end. The Wine she drinks is made of Grapes. If he had been bless'd, she would never have lov'd the Moor: Blefs'd pudding. Didft thou not fee

her

her paddle with the palm of his Hand? Didst not mark that?

Rod. Yes, that I did; but that was but Courtefie.

Jago. Letchery by this Hand: An Index, and obfcure Prologue to the Hiftory of Luft, and foul Thoughts. They met fo near with their Lips, that their Breaths embrac'd together. Villanous Thoughts, Rodorigo, when these Mutabilities so marfhal the way, hard at hand comes the Mafter, and main Exercife, th' incorporate Conclufion : Pish-But, Sir, be you rul'd by me. I have brought you from Venice. Watch you to Night; for the Command, I'll lay'e upon you. Caffio knows you not; I'll not be far from you. Do you find fome Occafion to anger Caffio, either by speaking too loud, or tainting his Difcipline, or from what o ther course you pleafe, which the time fhall more favourably minifter.

Rod. Well.

Fago. Sir, he's Rafh, and very fudden in Choler: And happily may ftrike at you, provoke him that he may; for even out of that will I caufe thefe of Cyprus to mutiny. Whofe Qualification fhall come into no true taste again, but by difplanting of Caffio. So fhall you have a fhorter journey to your Defires, by the means I fhall then have to prefer them. And the Impediment moft profitably removed, without the which there were no expectation of our Prosperity.

Rod. I will do this, if you can bring it to any Opportunity.

Jago. I warrant thee. Meet me by and by at the Cittadel. I muft fetch his Neceffaries afhore.

Rod. Adieu.

Farewel.

Jago. That Caffio loves her, I do well believe't:
That The loves him, 'tis apt, and of great Credit.
The Moor, how beit that I endure him not,
Is of a conftant, loving, noble Nature,
And I dare think, he'll prove to Desdemona,
A moft dear Husband. Now I do love her too,
Not out of abfolute Luft, though peradventure
I ftand accountant for as great a Sin,
But partly led to diet my Revenge,

[Exit.

For

For that I do fufpect the lufty Moor

Hath leapt into my Seat. The Thoughts whereof,
Doth, like a poisonous Mineral, gnaw my Inwards;
And nothing can, or fhall content my Soul
'Till I am even'd with him, Wife for Wife:
Or failing fo, yet that I put the Moor,
At leaft into a Jealoufie fo ftrong,

That Judgment cannot cure. Which thing to do,
If this poor Trafh of Venice, whom I trace
For his quick hunting, ftand the putting on,
I'll have our Michael Caffio on the hip,
Abuse him to the Moor in the right garb,
For I fear Caffio with my Night Cap too,
Make the Moor thank me, love me, and reward me,
For making him egregiously an Ass,

And practifing upon his peace and quiet,

Even to madness. 'Tis here but yet confus'd,
Knaveries plain Face, is never seen, 'till us'd.
Enter Herald, with a Proclamation.

[Exit.

Her. It is Othello's pleafure, our Noble and Valiant General; that upon certain Tidings now arriv'd, importing the meer Perdition of the Turkish Fleet, every Man put himfelf into triumph. Some to dance, fome to make Bonefires, each Man to what Sport and Revels his addiction leads him. For befides thefe beneficial News, it is the Celebration of his Nuptial. So much was his pleasure should be proclaimed. All Offices are open, and there is full liberty of Feasting, from this prefent hour of five, 'till the Bell have toll'd eleven.

Bless the Ifle of Cyprus, and our Noble General Othello.
[Exit.
Enter Othello, Desdemona, Caffio, and Attendants.
Oth. Good Michael, look you to the Guard to Night.
Let's teach our felves that honourable ftop,

Not to out-fport Discretion.

Caf. Jago hath direction what to do.

But notwithstanding with my perfonal Eye,
Will I look to't.

Oth. Jago is moft honeft:

Michael, good Night. To Morrow with your earlieft,
Let me have fpeech with you. Come, my dear Love,

The