Iago. Well, happiness to their fheets: come, Liet tenant, I have a ftoup of wine, and here without are a brace of Cyprus gallants, that would fain have a measure to the health of the black Othello.

Caf. Not to-night, good Iago; I have very poor and unhappy brains for drinking. I could well with, courtefy would invent fome other cultom of entertainment.

Iago. Oh, they are our friends: but one cup; I'IF drink for you.

Caf. I have drunk but one cup to-night, and that was craftily qualified too: and, behold, what innovation it makes here. I am unfortunate in the infirmity, and dare not task my weakness with any

more.

Iago. What, man? 'tis a night of revels, the gal lants defire it.

Caf. Where are they?

Lago. Here at the door; I pray you, call them in. Caf. I'll do't; but it dislikes me.

[Exit Caffio. Fago. If I can faften but one cup upon him,

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, Roderigo,

Whom love hath turned almost the wrong fide out,

To Defdemona hath te-night carouzed

Potations pottle deep; and he's to watch.
Three lads of Cyprus, noble fwelling spirits,
(That hold their honours in a wary distance,
The very elements of this warlike ifle,)
Have I to-night fluftered with flowing cups,
And they watch too. Now, 'mongst this flock of
Am I to put our Caffio in fome action [drunkards,
That may offend the ille. But here they come.

If confequence do but approve my deem, (37) My boat fails freely, both with wind and itream.

Enter CASSIO, MONTANO, and Gentlemen.

Caf. 'Fore Heaven, they have given me a roufe already.

Mont. Good faith, a little one: not past a pint,. as I am a foldier.

Lago. Some wine, ho!

[lago fings.

"And let me the canakin clink, clink,

"And let me the canakin clink.

"A foldier's a man; oh, man's life's but a span; Why, then let a foldier drink,”

Some wine, boys.

Caf. 'Fore Heaven, an excellent fong.

Iago. I learned it in England: where, indeed, they are most potent in potting. Your Dane, your German, and your fwag-belired Hollander,----Drink, ho!- ——are nothing to your English.

Caf. Is your Englishman fo exqufite in his drinking?

Tago. 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 filled.

Caf. To the health of our General.

Mont. I am for it, Lieutenant, and I'll do you. justice.

(27) If confequence do but approve my dream,) All the printed copies, concur in this reading, but, I think, it does not come up to the Poet's intention; I rather in agine that he /wrote,

If confequence do but approve my deem;

i. e. my opinion, the judgment I have formed of what musthappen. So in Troilus and Creffiaa ;

Cf. I true how.now? what wicked deem is this?

Iago. Oh fweet England.

King Stephen was an a worthy peer, "His breeches coft him but a crown; "He held them fixpence all too dear, "With that he call'd the tailor lown. "He was a wight of high renown, "And thou art but of low degree: " 'Tis pride that pulls the country down, "Then take thine auld 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 thefe things. Well

Heaven's above all; and there be fouls that must be faved, and there be fouls must 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 bufi. nefs. 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 stand well enough, and I speak well enough.

Gent. Excellent well.

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

[Exit.

Manent IAGO and MONTANO.

Mont. To the platform, masters; come, let's fet 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 the other.

'Tis pity of him; I fear, the truft Othello puts him in, On some odd time of his infirmity, Will thake this island.

Mont. But is he often thus?

Iago. '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 Rod.
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 honeft action to say fo
Unto the Moor.

lago. Not I, for this fair ifland;

I do love Caffio well, and would do much
To cure him of this evil. Hark, what noife?

[Within, Help! help!

Re-enter CASSIO, pursuing RODORIGO.

Caf. You rogue! you rascal!

Mont. What's the matter, Lieutenant?

Gaf. A knave teach me my duty! I'll beat the knave into a twiggen bottle.

Rod. Beat me

Gaf. Doit 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

mazzard.

Mont. Come, come,.you're drunk.

Caf. Drunk?

[They fight. lago. Away, I fay, go out and cry a mutiny. [Exit Rodorigo. May, good LieutenantAlas, gentlemenHelp, ho!--Lieutenant-----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. Fy, fy, Lieutenant! hold: You will be fhamed for ever.

Enter OTHELLO, and Attendants.

Oth. What is the matter here?

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

Oth. Hold, for your lives.

lago. Hold, ho! Lieutenant-Sir-Montanogentlemen

Have you forgot all fenfe of place and duty?
The General fpeaks to you-hold, hold, for fhame->
Oth. Why, how now, ho! from whence arifeth
this?

Are we turned Turks? and to ourselves do that
Which Heaven hath forbid the Ottomites?
For Chriftian fhame, put by this barbarous brawl;
He that stirs next to carve for his own rage,