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Othello's first Sufpicion.

Think, my lord! why, by heaven thou echo'ft me
As if there were some monster in thy thought
Too hideous to be fhewn. Thou doft mean fomething;
I heard thee fay but now, thou lik❜st not that.
When Caffio left my wife. What didst not like ?
And when I told thee, he was of my counsel,
Of my whole course of wooing; thou criedst, indeed?
And didit contract and purse thy brow together;
As if thou then hadft fhut up in thy brain

Some horrible conceit : if thou doft love me
Shew me thy thought.

Iago. My lord, you know I love

Oth. I think thou doft:


And for I know thou'rt full of love and honefty,

And weigh'ft thy words before thou giv'ft them breath,
Therefore, thefe ftops of thine fright me the more:
For fuch things in a falfe, difloyal knave,

Are tricks of cuftom; but in a man that's juft,
They're cold dilations working from the heart,
That paffion cannot rule.


Good name in man and woman, dear my lord, Is the immediate jewel of their fouls;

(8) Who steals my purse steals trash, 'tis fomething, nothing;


Who, &c.] Mr. Theobald observes, "Of riches, and other temporal poffeffions being uncertain, and often changing their masters, we meet with feveral paffages in the claffics, which might have given our author a hint for this fentiment.

Nunc ager, &c.

HOR. Sat. 2. 1. 2.

That which was once Ofellus farm is gone,
Now call'd Umbrina's, but 'tis no man's own;


'Twas mine, 'tis his, and has been flave to thoufands; But he that filches from me my good name,

Robs me of that which not enriches him,

And makes me poor indeed.

SCENE VI. Othello's Soliloquy after having been work'd up to Jealousy by lago.

This fellow's of exceeding honefty,

And knows all qualities with a learned spirit,
Of human dealings. (9) If I prove her haggard,
Though that her jeffes were my dear heart strings,
I'd whistle her off, and let her down the wind
Το prey at fortune. Haply, for I'm black,
And have not thofe foft parts of converfation,
That chamberers have; or for I am declin'd
Into the vale of years, yet that's not much→→
She's gone, I am abus❜d, and my relief
Must be to loath her. Oh, the curfe of marriage!
That we can call thefe delicate creatures ours,
And not their appetites! I had rather be a toad,
And live upon the vapour of a dungeon,
Than keep a corner in the thing I love,
For others uses.

None hath the property: it comes and goes,
As merry chance or stubborn fates difpofe :
As gods think fit, and their firm nods decree,
Now to be us'd by others, then by me.

This Lucian feems to have imitated in an epigram:

Αγρα Αχαιμενιδας, &c.

I once was Achaemenides his land,

And now Menippus claims me for his own,
Thus pafs I ftill from one to t'others hand;

Nor this nor that man's; I belong to none,
But change as fortune pleases to command.



(9) If, &c.] All the metaphor here is taken from falconry, and moft beautifully kept up.

SCENE VII. Jealousy.

Trifles light as air,

Are to the jealous, confirmations strong,

As proofs of holy writ.

SCENE VIII. The Tortures of Jealousy.

Enter Othello.

Iago. Look, where he comes! not poppy, nor mandragora,

Nor all the drowfy fyrups of the world,

Shall ever medicine thee to that sweet fleep,
Which thou ow'dst yesterday.

Oth. Ha! falfe to me!

Jago. Why, how now, general, no more of that.

Oth. Avant, be gone, thou haft fet me on the wreck ;

I fwear 'tis better to be much abused,

Than but to know a little.

Iago. How, my lord?

Oth. What fenfe had I of her ftol'n hours of luft? I faw't not, thought it not, it harm'd not me:

I flept the next night well, fed well, was free and


I found not Caffio's kiffes on her lips;

He that is robb'd, not wanting what is ftol'n,

Let him not know't, and he's not robb'd at all.
Ingo. I am forry to hear this.

Oth. I had been happy, if the general camp,
Pioneers and all, had tasted her sweet body,
So I had nothing known. Oh now, for ever
Farewel the tranquil mind. Farewel content;
Farewel the plumed troops, and the big war,
That make ambition virtue! Oh farewel,
Farewel the neighing fteed, and the fhrill trump,
The fpirit-ftirring drum, th' ear piercing fife,
The royal banner, and all quality,

Pride, pomp and circumftance of glorious war:
And O you mortal engines, whofe rude throats
Th' immortal Jove's dread clamours counterfeit,
Farewel! Othello's occupation's gone.

Iago. Is't poffible, my lord?

Oth. Villain, be fure thou prove my love a whore; Be fure of it: give me the ocular proof,

[Catching hold on him.

Or by the worth of mine eternal foul,

Thou hadst better have been born a dog,
Than answer my wak'd wrath.

Iago. Is't come to this?

Oih. Make me to fee't, or, at the least, so prove it, That the probation bear no hinge nor loop

To hang a 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 remorse;

On horrors head, horrors accumulate,

Do deeds to make heav'n weep, all earth amaz'd;
For nothing canst thou to damnation add,

Greater than that.

Iago. O grace! O heav'n forgive me!
Are you a man? have you a foul? or fenfe?
God be wi' you: take mine office. O wretched fool,
That liv'ft to make thine honesty a vice!

O monstrous world! take note, take note, O world,
To be direct and honest is not fafe!

I thank you for this profit, and from hence

I'll love no friend, fith love breeds fuch offence.
Oth. Nay, ftay-thou shouldst be honest.—
Iago. I fhould be wife, for honesty's a fool,
And lofes that it works for.

Oth. By the world,

I think my wife is honest, and think she is not;
I think that thou art just, and think thou art not;
I'll have fome proof. Her name that was as fresh
As Dian's vifage, is now begrim'd and black
As mine own face. If there be cords or knives,


Poifon or fire, or fuffocating ftreams,

I'll not endure it. Would I were fatisfied!

SCENE X. Othello's Story of the Handkerchief.

That handkerchief

Did an Egyptian to my mother give;

She was a charmer, and cou'd almost read

The thoughts of people. She told her while fhe kept it,
'Twou'd make her amiable, fubdue my father
Entirely to her love: but if the loft it,

Or made a gift of it, my father's eye
Should hold her loathed, and his spirits hunt
After new fancies. She dying, gave it me,
And bid me, when my state wou'd have me wiv'd,
To give it her. I did fo; and take heed on't :
Make it a darling, like your precious eye;
To lofe't or giv't away, were fuch perdition
As nothing elfe could match..

-There's magic in the web of it,
A Sibyl, that had number'd in the world
The fun to course two hundred compaffes,
In her prophetic fury few'd the work:

The worms were hallow'd that did breed the filk.
And it was dy'd in mummey which the skilful
Conferv'd of maidens' hearts.

SCENE XIII. A Lover's Computation of Time.

What, keep a week away? feven days and nights? Eight-fcore eight hours? and love's abfent hours, More tedious than the dial eight-fcore times? Oh weary reckoning!

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Othello, before he falls into a Trance.

Lie with her! lie on her! lie with her! that's fulhandkerchief-confeffions-confeffions-hand



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