Wherein the toged counf'lors can propofer(2) And I, (God blefs the mark!) his moor-fhip's ancient. And not by old gradation, where each fecond To love the Moor. Rod. I would not follow him then. Iago. O Sir, content you; I follow him to ferve my turn upon him. (2) Wherein the tongued Confuls.] So the generality of the Impreffions read; but the oldeft Quarto has it toged; (which gave the Hint for my Emendation;) the Senators, that affifted the Duke in Council, in their proper Gowns.. But let me explain why I have ventured to fubftitute Counsellors in the Room of Confuls and then, I hope, the Alteration will not appear arbitrary. The Venetian Nobility, it is well known, conftitute the great Council of the Senate, and are a Part of the Adminiftration; and fummoned to affist and counfel the Doge, who is Prince of the Senate; and, in that Regard, has only Precedency before the other Magiftrates. So that, in this Refpect, they may very properly be called Counsellors. Befides, though the Government of Venice was Democratick at first, under Confuls and Tribunes; that Form of Power has been totally abrogated, fince Doges have been elected: And whatever Confuls of other States may be refident there, yet they have no more a Voice, or Place, in the publick Councils, or in what concerns Peace or War than foreign Ambassadors can have in our Parliament. Wears Wears out his time, much like his mafter's afs, It is as fure as you are Rodorigo, Were I the Moor, I would not be lago: V of Plague him with flies; tho' that his joy be joy, Rod. Here is her father's houfe, I'll call aloud. Rod. What, ho! Brabantio! Signior Brabantio! ho. Iago. Awake! what, ho! Brabantio! ho! thieves! thieves! Look to your houfe, your daughter, and your bags; Thieves thieves! 1 Brabantio appears above, at a Window. Bra. What is the reafon of this terrible fummons ? What is the matter there? Rod. Signior, is all your family within? Iago. Are all doors lock'd? Bra. Why? wherefore ask you this? Iago. Zounds! Sir, you're robb'd, for fhame, put on your gown; T Your heart is burft, you have loft half your foul; Bra. What, have you loft your wits? Red. Moft reverend fignior, do you know my voice? Bra. Not I; what are you?' Rod. My name is Roderige. Bra. The worse welcome; I've charg'd thee not to haunt about my doors : To start my quiet. Rod. Sir, Sir, Sir Bra. But thou must needs be fure, My spirit and my place have in their power To make this bitter to thee. Rod. Patience, good Sir. Bra. What tell'it thou me of robbing? this is Fenice: My houfe is not a grange. Rod. Moft grave Brabantio, In fimple and pure foul, I come to you. Jago. Zounds! Sir, you are one of thofe that will not ferve God, if the Devil bid you. Because we come to do you fervice, you think we are ruffians; you'll have your daughter cover'd with a Barbary horfe, you'll have your your nephews neigh to you; you'll have courfers for coufins, and gennets for germanes. Bra. What prophane wretch art thou? Iago. I am one, Sir, that comes to tell you, your daughter and the Moor are now making the beaft with two backs. Bra. Thou art a villain. Iago. You are a fenator. Bra. This thou shalt anfwer. I know thee, Rodrigo. I thus would play, and trifle with your reverence. Tying her duty, beauty, wit and fortunes Let loofe on me the juftice of the State Bra. Strike on the tinder, ho! Give me a taper ;——— call up all my people ;- Light, I fay, light! lago. Farewel; for I muft leave you. Cannot Cannot with fafety caft him. For he's embark'd Which ev'n now ftand in act, that, for their fouls, I muft fhew out a flag and fign of love: (Which is, indeed, but fign.) Thatyou may furely find him, Lead to the Sagittary the rais'd fearch; And there will I be with him. So, farewel. Enter Brabantio, and fervants with torches. [Exit. Bra. It is too true an evil. Gone fhe is; And what's to come of my defpised time, Is nought but bitternefs. Now, Rodorigo, Where didft thou fee her oh unhappy girl! With the Moor, faidft thou? who would be a father? How didft thou know 'twas he? oh, the deceives me Paft thought-What faid the to you? get more tapers→→ Raife all my kindred-are they married, think you? Rod. Truly, I think, they are.. Bra. Oh heaven! how gat fhe out? Fathers, from hence truft not your daughters' minds Rod. Yes, Sir, I have, indeed. Bru. Call up my brother: oh, 'would you had had her; Some one way, fome another -Do you know Where we may apprehend her and the Moor? [Exeunt. SCENE |