I'll not believ't.

Def. How now, my dear Othello? Your Dinner, and the generous Islanders, By you invited, do attend your presence. Oth. I am to blame.

Def. Why do you speak so faintly? Are you not well?

Oth. I have a pain upon my Forehead here..

Def. Why, that's with watching, 'twill away again. Let me but bind it hard, within this hour

It will be well.

Oth. Your Napkin is too little;

Exeunt

[She drops her Handkerchief.
Let it alone: Come, I'll go in with you.
Def. I am very forry that you are not well,
Amil. I am glad I have found this Napkin ;
This was her firft remembrance from the Moor;
My wayward Husband hath a hundred times
Woo'd me to fteal it. But the fo loves the Token,
For he conjur'd her, the should ever keep it,
That the referves it evermore about her,

To kifs and talk to. I'll have the work ta'en out,
And give't Jago; what he will do with it,
Heay'n knows, not I:

I nothing, but to please his Fantafie.

Enter Jago.

Jage. How now? What do you here alone?
Emil. Do not you chide; I have a thing for you?
Jago. You have a thing for me?

It is a common thing

Emil. Hah?

Jago. 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,
That which so often you did bid me steal.
Jago. Haft ftollen it from her?

Æmil. No; but she let it drop by Negligence,

Mm 2

And

And to th' Advantage, I being here, took❜t up:
Look, here 'tis.

Jago. A good Wench, give it me.

Amil. What will you do with't, you have been so earneft to have me filtch it?

Jago. Why, what is that to you?

[Snatching it.

Amil. If it be not for fome purpose of import, Give't me again. Poor Lady, fhe'll run mad, When she shall lack it.

Jago. Be not acknown on't:

I have ufe for it. Go, leave me---
I will in Caffio's Lodging lofe this Napkin,
And let him find it. Trifles light as Air
Are to the jealous, Confirmations ftrong,

[Exit Emil.

As proofs of holy Writ. This may do fomething.
The Moor already changes with my Poifons,
Dangerous Conceits are in their natures Poisons,
Which at the firft are scarce found to diftafte:
But with a little act upon the Blood,

Burn like the Mines of Sulphur. I did say so.
Enter Othello:

Look, where he comes! not Poppy, nor Mandragora,
Nor all the drowfie Syrups of the World,

Shall ever medicine thee to that fweet Sleep,
Which thou ow'dft yesterday.

Oth. Ha! ha! falfe to me!

Jago. Why, how now, General; no more of that.
Oth. Avant, be gone; thou haft fet me on the Rack;

I fwear 'tis better to be much abus'd,

Than but to know a little.

Jago. How now, my Lord?

Oth. What fcent had I, in her ftoln hours of Luft? I faw it not, thought it not, it harm'd not me:

Iflept the next Night well, fed well, was free and merry, I found not Caffio's Kiffes on her Lips;

He that is robb'd, not wanting what is ftoln,

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

Oth. I had been happy if the general Camp,
Pioneers and all, had tafted her fweet Body,

So

I had nothing known. Oh now, for ever arewel the tranquil Mind. Farewel Content; arewel the plumed Troops, and the big Wars, That make Ambition Virtue! Oh farewel, Farewel the neighing Steed, and the fhrill Trump, The Spirit-ftirring Drum, th' Ear-piercing Fife, The Royal Banner, and all Quality,

Pride, Pomp, and Circumstance of glorious War;
And O you mortal Engines, whofe rude Throats
Th' immortal Jove's dread Clamours counterfeit,
Farewel! Othello's Occupation's gone.

Jago. 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 Soul, Thou hadft been better have been born a Dog, Than anfwer my wak'd wrath.

Jago. Is't come to this?

Oth. 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.
Jago. 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;
For nothing canft thou to Damnation add,

Greater than that.

Jago. O Grace! O Heav'n forgive me!
Are you a Man? Have you a Soul? Or Sense?
God be wi' you: Take mine Office. Oh wretched Fool,
That lov'ft to make thine Honefty a Vice!

Oh monstrous World! Take note, take note, O World,
To be direct and honeft, is not safe.

I thank you for this Profit, and from hence

I'll love no Friend, fith Love breeds fuch Offence,
Oth. Nay ftay--thou shouldft be honeft----
Jago. I should be wife, for honesty's a Fool,
And lofes that it works for.

Oth. By the World,

I think my Wife is honeft, and think she is not;
I think that thou art just, and think thou art not
I'll have fome proof. My 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,
Poison, or Fire, or fuffocating Streams,

I'll not endure it. Would I were fatisfied!
Jago. I fee you are eaten up with Paffion :
I do repent me that I put it to you,
You would be fatisfied?

Oth. Would, nay, and I will.

Jago. And may; but now? how fatisfied, my Lord? Would you the fuper-vifion grofly gape on? Behold her topp'd?

Oth. Death, and Damnation! Oh!.

Jago, It were a tedious difficulty I think,
To bring 'em to that profpect: Damn them then,
If ever mortal Eyes do fee them bolster

More than their own. What then? how then?
What fhall I fay? Where's Satisfaction?
It is impoffible you fhould fee this,

Were they as prime as Goats, as hot as Monkeys,
As falt as Wolves in pride, and Fools as grofs
As Ignorance, made drunk. But yet, I say,
If Imputation and ftrong Circumftances,
Which lead directly to the door of Truth,
Will give you Satisfaction, you might have't,
Oth. Give me a living reafon fhe's difloyal.
Jago. I do not like the Office;

But fith I am entred in this Cause fo far,
Prick'd to't by foolish Honefty and Love,
I will go on, I lay with Caffio lately,
Ard being troubled with a raging Tooth,
I could not fleep. There are a kind of Men,
So loofe of Soul, that in their Sleeps will mutter
Their Affairs; one of this kind is Caffio:
In fleep I heard him fay, fweet Desdemona,
Let us be wary, let us hide our Loves,

And then, Sir, would he gripe, and wring my Hand,

Cry

Cryoh fweet Creature---then kiss me hard,

As if he plucke up Kiffes by the Roots,

That grew upon my Lips, lay his Leg o'er my Thigh,
And figh and kifs, and then cry curfed Fate,
That gave thee to the Moor.

Oth. O monftrous! monftrous !

Jago. Nay this was but his Dream.

Oth. But this denoted a fore-gone Conclufion,
'Tis a fhrewd doubt, tho' it be but a Dream.
Jago. And this may help to thicken other Proofs,
That do demonftrate thinly.

Oth. I'll tear her all to pieces.

Jago. Nay yet 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 Strawberries, in your Wife's Hand?
Oth. I gave her fuch a one; 'twas my firft Gift.
Jago. I know not that; but fuch a Handkerchief,"
I am fure it was your Wife's, did I to Day
See Caffio wipe his Beard with.

Oth. If it be that

Jago. If it be that, or any, if 'twas hers,
It speaks against her with the other Proofs.

Oth. O that the Slave had forty thoufand Lives!
One is too poor, too weak for my Revenge.
Now do I fee 'tis true. Look here, Jago,

All my fond Love thus do I blow to Heav'n. 'Tis gone;
Arife black Vengeance from the hollow Hell,

Yield up, O Love, thy Crown and hearted Throne
To tyrannous Hate. Swell Bofom with thy fraught,
For 'tis of Afpicks Tongues.

Jago. Yet be content.

Oth. O Blood, Blood, Blood

Jago. Patience I fay; your Mind may change,
Oth. Never, Jago. Like to the Pontick Sea,
Whofe Icy Current, and compulfive Course,
Ne'er feels retiring Ebb, but keeps due on
To the Propontick, and the Hellefpont
Even fo my bloody Thoughts, with violent pace
Shall ne'er look back, ne'er ebb to humble Love,

Mm 4

'Till