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Olympus high; and duck again as low
As hell's from heaven. If I were now to die,
ACT III. SCENE V.
A Lover's Exclamation.
(6) Excellent wretch! perdition catch my foul, But I do love thee, and when I love thee not, Chaos is come again.
Othello's firft Sufpicion.
Think, my lord! why, by heaven, thou echo'ft me; As if there were fome monfler in thy thought Too hideous to be fhewn. Thou doft mean fomething: I heard thee fay but now, When Caffio left my wife.
thou lik’st not that.
Now is the time that I could gladly yield to death;
My heart's content.
(6) Wretch] This word is found in all the copies; but nevertheless Mr. Theobald and the Oxford editor read wench, which tho' doubtlefs it was "not formerly used in the low and vulgar acceptation it is at prefent," (fee pager73) yet I am perfuaded Shakespear gave us wretch, and Mr. Upton's remark feems very juft and beautiful: fpeaking of Defdemona's name, which is deriv'd from Avoda, i. e. the unfortunate; he fays, "and I make no queftion, but Othello, in his rapturous admira tion, with fome allufion to her name exclaims, Excellent wretch,"
The antient tragedians are full of thefe allufions; fome inftances I have mention'd above: this rapturous exclamation and allufion too has fomething ominous in it; and inftances of these prefaging and ominous expreffions our poet is full of." See Critical Obfervations, p. 303.
And when I told thee, he was of my counsel,
Of my whole courfe of wooing; thou cried'ft, indeed?
As if thou then had'ft shut up in thy brain
Some horrible conceit: if thou dost love me
Shew me thy thought.
Iago. My lord, you know I love you.
Oth. I think thou doft:
And for I know thou'rt full of love and honesty,
And weigh'ft thy words before thou giv'ft them breath,
Good name in man and woman, dear my lord,
Is the immediate jewel of their fouls;
(7) Who fteals my purfe fteals trafh, 'tis fomething,
(7) Who, &c.] Mr. Theobald obferves, "Of riches, and other temporal poffeffions being uncertain, and often changing their mafters, 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,
This Lucian feems to have imitated in an epigram:
'Twas mine, 'tis his, and has been flaves 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 Iago.
This fellow's of exceeding honefty,"
And knows all qualities with a learned spirit,
Than keep a corner in the thing I love,
SCENE VII. JEALOUSY
Are to the jealous, confirmations strong,
I once was Achæmenides his land,
And now Menippus claims me for his own,
(8) If, &c.] All the metaphor here is taken from falconry,
and most beautifully kept up.
SCENE VIII The Tortures of Jealousy.
lago. Look, where he comes! not poppy, nor mandragora,
Nor all the droufy fyrups of the world,
Shall ever medicine thee to that sweet sleep, (9) Which thou ow'dft yesterday.
Oth. Ha! falfe to me!
Iago. 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 abus'd,
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 merry,
I found not Caffio's kiffes on her lips;
He that is robb'd, not wanting what is ftol'n,
Oth. I had been happy, if the general camp,
Farewel the tranquil mind.
Farewel the plumed troops,
Oh now, for ever
Farewel content; and the big war,
That make ambition virtue! Oh farewel,
Farewel the neighing fteed, and the shrill trump,
Pride, pomp, and circumstance of glorious war:
Th' immortal Jove's dread clamours counterfeit,
lago. 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 bim]
Or by the worth of mine eternal foul,
Thou hadft been better have been born a dog,.
Jago. Is't come to this?
Oth. Make me to fee't, or, at the leaft, fo 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;
Greater than that.
lago. O grace! O heav'n forgive me!
Are you a man? have you a foul? or sense?
God be wi' you take mine office. O wretched fool, That liv'ft to make thine honefty a vice!
Oh monftrous world! take note, take note, O world, To be direct and honest, is not safe.
I thank you for this profit, and from hence
I'll love no friend, fith love breeds fuch offence.
Oth. By the world,
I think my wife is honeft, and think he is not;