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Does bear all excellency.-How now? who has put
Re-enter second Gentleman. 2 Gent. 'Tis one Iago, ancient to the general.
Cas. He has had most favourable and happy speed: Tempests themselves, high seas, and howling winds, The gutter'd rocks, and congregated sands, Traitors ensteep'd" to clog the guiltless keel, As having sense of beauty, do omit Their mortal natures, letting go safely by The divine Desdemona. Mon.
What is she? Cas. She that I spake of, our great captain's cap
tain, Left in the conduct of the bold Iago; Whose footing here anticipates our thoughts, A se'nnight's speed.—Great Jove, Othello guard, And swell his sail with thine own powerful breath; That he may bless this bay with his tall ship, Make love's quick pants in Desdemona's arms, Give renew'd fire to our extincted spirits, And bring all Cyprus comfort!-0, behold, Enter DesdeMONA, EMILIA, Iago, RODERIGO,
The riches of the ship is come on shore !
Before, behind thee, and on every hand,
I thank you, valiant Cassio. Wbat tidings can you tell me of my lord ?
Cas. He is not yet arriy'd; nor know I aught But that he's well, and will be shortly here.
Des. O, but I fear;-How lost you company?
Cas. The great contention of the sea and skies Parted our fellowship : But, hark! a sail.
[Cry within. A sail, a sail! Then guns heard. 2 Gent. They give their greeting to the citadel; This likewise is a friend. Cas.
See for the news.
[Exit Gentleman. Good ancient, you are welcome ;-Welcome, mistress:
[To Emilia. Let it not gall your patience, good Iago, That I extend my manners; 'tis my breeding That gives me this bold show of courtesy.
[Kissing her. lago. Sir, would she give you so much of her lips, As of her tongue she oft bestows on me, You'd have enough. Des.
Alas, she has no speech.
You have little cause to say so. Iago. Come on, come on; you are pictures out of
doors, Bells in your parlours, wild cats in your kitchens, Saints in your injuries, devils being offended, Players in your housewifery, and housewives in your
beds. Des. O, fye upon thee, slanderer!
Iago. Nay, it is true, or else I am a Turk; You rise to play, and go to bed to work.
Emil. You shall not write my praise. lago.
No, let me not. Des. What would'st thou write of me, if thou
should'st praise me? Iago. O gentle lady, do not put me to't; For I am nothing, if not critical. Des. Come on, assay:—There's one gone to the
harbour? Iago. Ay, madam.
Des. I am not merry; but I do beguile The thing I am, by seeming otherwise. Come, how would'st thou praise me?
Iago. I am about it; but, indeed, my invention Comes from my pate, as birdlime does from frize, It plucks out brains and all: But my muse labours, And thus she is deliver'd. If she be fair and wise,---fairness, and wit, The one's for use, the other useth it. Des. Well prais d! How if she be black and
Iago. If she be black, and thereto have a wit,
Des. Worse and worse.
Iugo. She never yet was foolish that was fair;
Des. These are old fond paradoxes, to make fools laugh i'the alehouse. What miserable praise hast thou for her that's foul and foolish?
Iago. There's none so foul, and foolish thereunto, But does foul pranks which fair and wise ones do.
Des. O heavy ignorance !-thou praisest the worst best. But what praise could'st thou bestow on a deserving woman indeed ? one, that, in the authority of her merit, did justly put on the vouch of very malice itself 55?
Ingo. She that was ever fair, and never proud;
Des. To do what?
Do not learn of him, Emilia, though he be thy husband.—How say you, Cassio? is he not a most profane and liberal counsellor ?
Cas. He speaks home, madam; you may relish him more in the soldier, than in the scholar.
Iago. [Aside.] He takes her by the palm: Ay, well said, whisper: with as little a web as this, will I ensnare as great a fly as Cassio. Ay, smile upon her, do; I will gyve thee in thine own courtship. You say true; 'tis so, indeed: if such tricks as these strip you out of your lieutenantry, it had been better you had not kiss'd your three fingers so oft, which now again you are most apt to play the sir in. Very good; well kiss'd! an excellent courtesy! 'tis so, indeed. Yet again your fingers to your lips! would, they were clyster-pipes for your sake! - [Trumpet.] The Moor,-I know his trumpet.
Cas. 'Tis truly so.
Enter OTHELLO, and Altendants.
My dear Othello!