Manet Emilia. Emil. I am glad, I have found this napkin; To kifs and talk to. I'll have the work ta'en out, Heav'n knows, not I: I nothing, but to please his fantasy. Enter Iago. Jago. How now? what do you here alone? Emil. Do not you chide; I have a thing for you. Iago. You have a thing for me? It is a common thing Emil. Ha? Iago. To have a foolish wife. Emil. Oh, is that all? what will you give me now For that fame handkerchief? Jago. What handkerchief? Emil. What handkerchief? Why, that the Moor firft gave to Desdemona ; lago. Haft ftollen it from her? Emil. No; but she let it drop by negligence; And, to th' advantage, I, being here, took't up: Look, here 'tis. Jago. A good wench, give it me. Learneft Emil. What will you do with't, you have been fo To have me filch it? Jago. Why, what is that to you? [Snatching it. Emil. If't be not for fome purpose of import, Give't me again. Poor lady! she'll run mad, When the fhall lack it. Iago. Be not you known on't: I have ufe for it. Go, leave me [Exit Emil. I will in Caffio's lodging lofe this napkin, And And let him find it. Trifles light as air Burn like the mines of fulphur.-I did fay fo. Look, where he comes! Not poppy, nor mandragora, Shall ever med'cine thee to that sweet sleep, Which thou hadst yesterday. Oth. Ha! falfe to me! Iago. Why, how now, General? no more of that. Oth. Avant! be gone! thou'ft fet me on the rack: Ifwear, 'tis better to be much abus'd, Than but to know a little. lago. How, my Lord? Oth. What fenfe had I of her ftoll'n hours of luft? He, that is robb'd, not wanting what is ftoll'n, Oth. I had been happy, if the general camp, (36) Dang rous conceits are in their nature poifons,] I cannot poffibly account for Mr. Pope's oftentation of induftry upon this paffage. This line, fays he, reftor'd from the first edition, compleats the fenfe. But, pray, let us obferve the accuracy of this wonderful restorer. The line, 'tis true, is in the first edition; but 'tis likewife in the first and fecond impreffions in folio; 'tis in the quarto, of 1630; and 'tis in the edi tions put out by Mr. Rowe; how then is it refer'd? Huic mandes, fi quid rectè curatum' velis. 03 Farewel Farewel the neighing fteed, and the fhrill trump, Pride, pomp, and circumftance of glorious war! Iago. Is't poffible, my Lord? Oth. Villain, be fure, thou prove my love a whore ; Ee fure of it give me the ocular proof, [Catching hold on him.. Or, by the worth of mine eternal foul, Thou hadst been better have been born a dog, lago. Is't come to this? Oth. Make me to fee't; or, at the leaft, fo prove it, That the probation bear no hinge, nor loop, To hang à doubt on: or, woe upon thy life! Iago. My noble Lord Oth. If thou doft flander her, and torture me, Never pray more; abandon all remorfe; On horrors head horrors accumulate ; Do deeds to make heav'n-weep, all earth amaz'd Lao. Oh grace! oh heav'n defend me! Oh monstrous 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. By the world, I think, my wife is honeft; and think, fhe is not ; A As Dian's vifage, is now begrim'd and black : I'll not endure't-'Would, I were fatisfied!oq You would be fatisfied? Oth. Would? nay, and will. Iago. And may; but how? how fatisfied, my Lord? Would you be fupervifor, grofly gape on? Behold her tupp'd? Ork. Death and damnation! oh! lago. It were a tedious difficulty, I think, More than their own. What then? how then Were they as prime as goats, as hot as monkeys, But fith I'm enter'd in this caufe fo far, There are a kind of men, so loose of soul, In fleep I heard him fay, "Sweet Defdemona, That 9764 Over Over my thigh, and figh and kifs, and then! Jago. Nay, this was but his dream. Oth. But this denoted a fore-gone conclusion; 'Tis a fhrewd doubt, though it be but a dream. lage. And this may help to thicken other proofs, That do demonstrate thinly. Oth. I'll tear her all to pieces. Ingo. Nay, but be wife; yet we fee nothing done; She may be honeft yet.--Tell me but this, Have you not fometimes feen a handkerchief, Spotted with ftrawberries in your wife's hand? Oth. I gave her fuch a one; 'twas my first gift. Iago. I know not that; but fuch a handkerchief, (I'm fure, it was your wife's,) did I to-day See Caio wipe his beard with. Oth. If it be that Jago. If it be that, or any, if 'twas hers, It fpeaks against her with the other proofs. Öth. Oh, that the flave had forty thousand lives! Arife, black vengeance from the hollow hell! lag. Yet be content. Oth. Oh, blood, blood, blood Ingo Patience, I fay; your mind, perhaps, may change. Whofe icy current and compulfive course, Swallow them up.-Now, by yon marble heav'n, |