Caf. I'll do't, but it dislikes me.

Iago. If I can faften but one cup upon him,

[Exit Caffio.

With that which he hath drunk to-night already,
He'll be as full of quarrel and offence

As my young mistress' dog.

Now my fick fool, Rodorigo,

Whom love hath turn'd almost the wrong fide out,
To Desdemona hath to-night carouz'd

Potations pottle deep; and he's to watch.
Three lads of Cyprus, noble fwelling fpirits,
That hold their honours in a wary distance,
The very elements of this warlike Ifle,
Have I to-night flufter'd with flowing cups,

And they watch too. Now 'mongft this flock of drunkards,
Am I to put our Caffio in fome action

That may offend the ifle. But here they come.

If confequence do but approve my deem,

My boat fails freely, both with wind and stream.

Enter Caffio, Montano, and Gentlemen.

Caf. 'Fore heav'n they have given me a roufe already. Mont. Good faith, a little one: not paft a pint, as I am a foldier.

Iago. Some wine, ho!

[Iago fings.

And let me the canakin 'clink, clink, clink,`
And let me the canakin clink.

A foldier's a Man; ob Man's life's but a span,
Why then let a foldier drink.

Some wine, boys.

Caf. 'Fore heav'n, an excellent fong.

lago. I learn'd it in England: where indeed they are most potent in potting. Your Dane, your German, and your fwag-belly'd Hollander-drink, ho!

thing to your English.

are no

Caf. Is your Englishman so exquisite in his drinking?

5 clink, clink,

Iago.

Iago. Why, he drinks you with facility your Dane dead drunk. He fweats not to overthrow your Almain. He gives your Hollander a vomit, ere the next pottle can be

fill'd.

Caf. To the health of our General.

Mont. I am for it, lieutenant: and I'll do you justice.
Iago. Oh fweet England!...!

King Stephen was and-a-worthy peer,
His breeches coft him but a crown,
He held them fixpence all too dear,
With that be call'd the tailor lown:

He was a weight of high renown.
And thou art but of low degree:
'Tis pride that pulls the country down,
And take thy old cloak about thee.

Some wine, ho!

Caf. Why, this is a more exquifite fong than the other, Lago. Will you hear't again?

Caf. No, for I hold him to be unworthy of his place, that does thofe things. Well-Heaven's above all; and there be fouls that must be faved, and there be fouls muft not be faved,

Iago. It's true, good lieutenant.

Caf. For mine own part, (no offence to the General, nor any man of quality) I hope to be faved,

Iago. And fo do I too, lieutenant.

Caf. Ay, but by your leave, not before me. The Lieutenant is to be faved before the Ancient. Let's have no more of this; let's to our affairs. Forgive our fins gentlemen, let's look to our bufinefs. 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 ftand well enough, and I fpeak well enough." Gent. Excellent well.

Caf. Why, very well then you must not think then that I am drunk.

[Exit. SCENE

· Mont. To the platform, mafters, come, let's fee the

watch.

Iago. You fee this fellow that is gone before;
He is a foldier, fit to ftand by Cæfar,

And give direction, And do but fee his vice;
'Tis to his virtues a juft equinox,
The one as long as th'other. 'Tis pity of him;
I fear the truft Othello puts him in,
On fome odd time of his infirmity,
Will fhake this illand.

Mont. But is he often thus?

lago. 'Tis evermore the prologue to his fleep. He'll watch the horologue a double set,

If drink rock not his cradle.

Mont. It were well

The General were put in mind of it:
Perhaps he fees it not, or his good nature
Prizes the virtue that appears in Caffio,

And looks not on his evils; is not this true?

Enter Rodorigo.

Iago. How now, Rodorigo!

I pray you after the lieutenant, go.

[Exit Rodorigo.

Mont. And 'tis great pity that the noble Moor

Should hazard fuch a place as his own fecond,

With one of an ingraft infirmity;

It were an honest action to say fo
Unto the Moor.

Iago. Not I, for this fair ifland;
I do love Caffio well, and
To cure him of this evil,

would do much

Hark, what noise?

[Within, help! help!

Re

Re-enter Caffio pursuing Rodorigo.

Caf. You rogue! you rafcal!

Mont. 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 Doft thou prate, rogue?

Mont Nay, good lieutenant;

I pray you, Sir, hold your hand.

[Staying him.

Caf. Let me go, Sir, or I'll knock you o'er the muzzard. Mont. Come, come, you're drunk.

Caf. Drunk?

Iago. Away I fay, go out and cry a mutiny.

Nay, good lieutenant-Alas, gentlemen

Help, ho!- Lieutenant

[They fight.

[Exit Rodorigo.

Sir, Montano

Help, mafters! here's a goodly watch indeed

Who's that who rings the bell?-diablo, ho! [Bell rings. The town will rife. Fie, fie, lieutenant!

You will be fham'd for ever.

Enter Othello, and Attendants.

Oth. What is the matter here?

Mont. I bleed ftill, I am hurt, but not to th' death.

Oth. Hold for your lives.

Iago. Hold, ho! lieutenant

Gentlemen

Sir

-Montano

Have you forgot all fenfe of place and duty?
The General fpeaks to you

hold, hold, for shameOth. Why how now, ho? from whence arifeth this? Are we turn'd Turks? and to our felves do that Which heaven hath forbid the Ottomites?:.. For christian fhame, put by this barbarous brawl; He that stirs next to carve for his own rage,

6 place of fence

Holds

Holds his foul light: he dies upon his motion.
Silence that dreadful bell, it frights the isle
From her propriety. What is the matter?
Honeft Iago, that look'ft dead with grieving,
Speak: who began this? on thy love I charge thee.
Iago. I do not know; friends all, but now, even now
In quarter, and in terms like bride and groom
Divefting them for bed; and then, but now
As if fome planet had unwitted men,

Swords out, and tilting one at other's breafts,
In oppofition bloody. I can't fpeak
Any beginning to this peevifh odds,
And would in action glorious I had loft
Those legs that brought me to a part of it!
Oth. How comes it, Michael, you are thus forgot?
Caf. I pray you pardon me, I cannot speak.
Oth. Worthy Montano, you were wont be civil:
The gravity, and ftillness of your youth

The world hath noted; and your name is great
In mouths of wifeft cenfure. 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 fpare fpeech, which fomething now offends me)
Of all that I do know; nor know I aught
By me that's faid or done amifs this night,
Unless felf-charity be fometimes a vice,

And to defend our felves it be a fin,
When violence affails us.

Oth. Now, by heav'n,

My blood begins my fafer guides to rule,
And paffion, having my beft judgment choler'd,
Affays to lead the way. If I once stir,
Or do but lift this arm, the best of you
Shall fink in my rebuke. Give me to know
How this foul rout began; who fet it on;

And