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Rod. With him? why, 'tis not possible.
lag. Lay thy fingers thus; and let thy soul be instructed. Mark me with what violence she first loved the Moor, but for bragging, and telling her fantastical lies. And will the love him ftill for prating ? let not thy discreet heart think it. Her eye must be fed. And what delight shall she have to look on the Devil? (25) When the blood is made dull with the act of sport, there should be again to inilame it, and to give fatiety a freíh appetite, loveliness in favour, sympathy in years, manners, and beauties; all which the Moor is defective in. Now, for want of these required conveniences, her delicate tenderness will find itself abused, begin to heave the gorge, difrelith and abhor the Moor; very nature will initruct her in it, and compel her to fome fecond choice. Now, Sir, this granted, (as it is a molt pregnant and unforced position) who stands fo eminent in the degree of this fortune as Caflio does ? a knave very voluble; no further conscionable, than in putting on the mere form of civil and hunane seeming, for the better compasfiog of his salt and most hidden loose affection; a Dippery and subtle knave, a finder of occasions,
(25) When the blood is made dull with thc all of Sport, thire Jould be a game to in.ftime it, and to give faticly a fresh apprtite; lovelines in furour, fympathy in years, manners, and beau:ies.) This, 'tis true, is the reading of the generality of the copies: but, methinks, 'tis a very peculiar experiment, when the blood and spirits are dulled and exhausted with sport, to raise and recruit them by sport : for sport and game are but iwo, words for the same thing. I have retrieved the pointing and reading of the elder Quarto, which certainly gives us the Poet's senfe ; that, when the blood is dulled with the exercise of pleasure, there should be proper incentives on cach side to raise it again, as the charms of beauty, equality of years, and agreement of manners and disposition : which were waniing in Othello to rekindle Desdemona's pallica
that has an eye can stamp and counterfeit advan. tages, though true advantage never present itself. A devilish kaave! besides, the knave is handsome, young, and hath all those requisites in hiin, that folly and green minds look after. A pestilent compleat knave! and the woman hath found him. already.
Rad. I cannot bölieve that of her; she's full of most blessed condition.
lago. Blefied figs' end! the wine the drinks is made of grapes. If the had been blessed, she would never have loved the Moor: Bleiled: pudding! didst thou not see her padůle with the palm of bis hand ? didst not mark that?
Rod. Yes, that I did; but that was but courtesy.
Iugo. Letchery, by this hand; an index, and ob, fcare prologue to the hiitory of luit, and foul thoughts. They met so near with their lips, that their breaths embraced together. Villainous thoughts, Rodorigo! when thefe mutualities fo marshal the way, hard at hand. comes the master and main exercise, the incorporate conclusion: pilh-But, Sir, be you ruled by me. I have brought you from Venice. Watch you to-night; for the command, I'll lay't upon you. Cassio knows you not: I'll; not be far from you. Do you find some occasion to anger Callio, either by speaking too loud, cr tainting his discipline, or froin what other course you please, which the time shall more favourably minister.
lago. Sir, he's rash, and very sudden in choler: and, haply, may strike at you.' Provoke him, that : he may ; for even out of that will I cause those of Cyprus to mutiny: whose qualification thall come into no true taste again, but by displanting of Cafe
fio. So fhall you have a shorter journey to your desires, by the means I shall then have to prefer them: and the impediments most profitably remo ved, without which there was no expectation of our profperity.
Rod. I will do this, if you can bring it to any: opportunity.
taga. I warrant thee. Meet me by and by at the citadel. I must fetch his neceilaries alhore. Farewel. Rod. Adieu.
[Exit. Manet TAGO. lago. That Caflio loves her, I do well believe : That he loves him, 'tis apt, and of great credit. The Moor, howbeit that I endure him not, is of a constant, loving, noble nature; And, I dare think, he'll prove to Desdemona A most dear husband. Now I love her too, Not out of absolute luft, (though, peradventure, I stand accountant for as great a fin ;) But partly led to diet my revenge, For that I do fufpect the lusty Moor Hath leapt into my feat. The thought whereof Doth, like a poisonous mineral, gnaw my inwarday And nothing can, or shall, content my fonl, Till I am evened with him, wife for wife : Or failing so, yet that I put the Moor At leait into a jealousy so strong, That judgment cannot cure. (26) Which thing to 1£ this poor brach of Venice, whom I trace [do,
Which thing to do,
For his quick buiti g, stand the purring or.! A trilling infignificavi fellow may, in fome respects, very well be called trajh ;, but what confonance of metapbor is there betivist
For his quick hunting, stand the putting only
SCENE, the Street.
fra and quick hurting, and standing the putting on? The allufion to the chase Shakespeare seems to be fond of applying to Rodorigo, who says of himself towards the conclusion of This act;
I follow her in the chafe, not like a hound that bunts, but: one that fills
the I have a great fuspicion, therefore, that the Poet wrote;
If cnis poor brach of Venice ; which, we know, is a degenerate fpecies of hound, and a term generally used in contempt : and this compleats and perfe. ts the metaphorical allufion, and makes it much more harirical.
SCENE, the Castle.
Caf. lago hath direction what !o do:
[liest, Michael, good-night. To-morrow,
lago. Not this hour, Lieutenant: ’ris vot yet ten o' th'clock. Our General calt us thus early for the love of his Desdemona : whom let us not therefore blame: he hatli not yet made wanton the night with her : and she is sport for Jove.
Caf. She's a most exquisite lady.
Caf. Indeed, ihe's a most fresh and delicate crear ture.
lago. What an eye she has ! methinks it sounds a parley to provocation.
Caf. An inviting eye; and yet, methinks, right smodeít.
lags. And when she speaks, is it not an alarum to love?
Caf. She is indeed, perfection: