Puslapio vaizdai

Olympus high; and duck again as low
As hell's from heaven. If I were now to die,
"Twere now to be most happy; for I fear
My foul hath her content so absolute,
That not another comfort like to this
Succeeds in unknown fate.

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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.

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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.
I heard thee fay but now,
When Caffio left my wife.

Thou doft mean fomething:
thou lik'ft not that.-
What did'st not like?


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Oh Tupiter!

Now is the time that I could gladly yield to death;
Left life with fome affliction fhould.pollute
My heart's content.

G. E.

(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 page173) yet I am perfuaded Shakespear gave us wretch, and Mr. Upton's remark seems very just 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 counsel,
Of my whole courfe of wooing; thou cried'ft, indeed?
And did❜ft contract and purfe thy brow together;
As if thou then had'st 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,
Therefore these ftops of thine fright me the more:
For fuch things, in a false disloyal knave,
Are tricks of custom; but in a man that's just,
They're cold dilations working from the heart,
That paffion cannot rule.


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

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



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

Nunc ager, &c.

That which was once Ofellus farm is gone,
Now call'd Umbrina's, but 'tis no man's own;
None hath the property: it comes and goes,
As merry chance or ftubborn 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:

Αγρόν Αχαιμενιδες σε


HOR. Sat. 2. 1. 2.

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'Twas mine, 'tis his, and has been flaves to thousands;
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,
Of human dealings. (8) 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
To prey at fortune. Haply, for I'm black,
And have not thofe foft parts of conversation,
That chamberers have; or for I am déclin'd
Into the vale of years, yet that's not much-
She's gone, I'am abus'd, and my relief
Muft be to loath her. Oh, the curfe of marriage!
That we can call these 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 ufes.

Trifles light as air,
Are to the jealous, confirmations strong,
As proofs of holy writ.


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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 mans; I belong to none,
But change as fortune pleases to command.

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


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Enter Othello.

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; Ifwear '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 slept 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.
lago. 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

(9) See vol. 1. p. 6. note 8.


Th' immortal Jove's dread clamours, counterfeit,
Farewel! Othello's occupation's gone.

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 him]

Or by the worth of mine eternal foul,
Thou hadft been better have been born a dog,.
Than answer my wak'd wrath.

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 dost slander 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.

Iago. 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 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 should'st be honest.-
Iago. I should 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 he is not
I think that thou art juft, and think thou art not;
I'll have fome proof. Her name that was as fresh


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