Puslapio vaizdai
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Caf. To the health of our General.

Mont. I am for it, lieutenant, and I will do you juftice. Iago. O fweet England!

King Stephen was a worthy peer,

His breeches coft him but a crown;
He held them fix-pence 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,

C Then take thine auld cloak about thee.

Some wine, ho!

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Caf. Why, this is a more exquifite fong than the other. Iago. Will you hear 't again?

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Caf. No, for I hold him to be unworthy in his place, that does those things. Well- God's above all; and there be fouls that must be faved, and there be fouls muft not be faved.

Iago. It is true, good lieutenant.

Caf. For mine own part, (no offence to the General, nor any man of quality) I hope to be saved.

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Caf. Ay, but by your leave, not before me.

The lieute

nant is to be faved before the Ancient. Let's have no more

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of this. Let's to our affairs. God forgive us our fins. Gentlemen, let's look to our bufinefs. Do not think, gentlemen, I am drunk: this is my ancient; this is my right hand, and this is my left hand. I am not drunk now; I can stand well enough, and I speak well enough.

Gent. Excellent well.

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Caf. Why, very well then; you must not think 9 then

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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 Cafar,

And give direction. And do but fee his vice;

"Tis to his virtue a juft equinox,

The one as long as th' other. 'Tis pity of him;

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Mont. But is he often thus?

lago. 'Tis evermore " the prologue to his fleep. He'll watch the horologe a double fet,

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 Roderigo.

lags. How now, Roderigo?

I pray you after the lieutenant go.

[Exit Roderigo.

Mont. And 'tis great pity, that the noble Moor Should hazard fuch a place as his own Second, With one of an ingraft infirmity:

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It were an honeft action to say so

To the Moor.

Iago. Not I, for this fair ifland.

I do love Caffio well, and would do much

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Caf. A knave teach me my duty! but I'll beat the knave into a f wicker bottle.

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Rod. Beat me ?

Caf. Doft thou prate, rogue ?

Mont. Nay, good lieutenant; I pray you, fir, hold your

hand.

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* [Staying him.

Caf. Let me go, fir, or I'll knock you o'er the maz

zard.

Mont. Come, come, you are drunk,

Caf. Drunk?

[" They fight.

Iago. Away, I fay, go out and cry a mutiny. [Exit Rod. Nay, good lieutenant- Alas, gentlemen

Help, ho! lieutenant-Sir, Montano, Pfir

Help, mafters! here's a goodly watch, indeed

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Who's that that rings the bell?-Diablo, ho! [Bell rings. The town will rife. Fie, fie, lieutenant! hold:

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SCENE XIII,

Enter Othello, and Attendants,

Oth. What is the matter here?

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Mont. I bleed ftill; I am hurt to the death,

Oth. Hold, for your lives.

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Iago. Hold, hold, lieutenant-fir Montano, gentlemen! Have you forgot all fenfe of place and duty?

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d Hold. The General speaks to you; hold, hold, for fhame,

Oth. Why, how now, ho? From whence arifeth this?

Are we turn'd Turks? and to ourselves do that,

Which heaven hath forbid the Ottomites?

For chriftian fhame, put by this barbarous brawl;
He that firs next to carve forth his own rage,
Holds his foul light; he dies upon his motion,
Silence that dreadful bell; it frights the ifle

From her propriety. What's the matter, mafters ?
Honeft lage, that look'ft dead with grieving,

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Speak, who began this? on thy love I charge thee,

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