Does bear all excellency.-How now? who has put in? Re-enter second Gentleman. 2 Gent. 'Tis one Iago, ancient to the general. Cas. He has had most favourable and happy speed: Tempests themselves, high seas, and howling winds, The gutter'd rocks, and congregated sands,Traitors ensteep'd32 to clog the guiltless keel, As having sense of beauty, do omit Their mortal natures, letting go safely by The divine Desdemona. Mon. What is she? Cas. She that I spake of, our great captain's cap tain, Left in the conduct of the bold Iago; Whose footing here anticipates our thoughts, A se'nnight's speed.-Great Jove, Othello guard, Enter DESDEMONA, EMILIA, IAGO, RODERIGO, The riches of the ship is come on shore! Ye men of Cyprus, let her have your knees:- Before, behind thee, and on every hand, Des. Des. O, but I fear;-How lost you company? Cas. The great contention of the sea and skies Parted our fellowship: But, hark! a sail. heard. [Cry within. A sail, a sail! Then guns 2 Gent. They give their greeting to the citadel; This likewise is a friend. Let it not gall your patience, good Iago, That I extend my manners; 'tis my breeding [Kissing her. Iago. Sir, would she give you so much of her lips, As of her tongue she oft bestows on me, You'd have enough. Des. Alas, he has no speech. Iago. In faith, too much; I find it still, when I have list to sleep: Emil. You have little cause to say so. Iago. Come on, come on; you are pictures out of doors, Bells in your parlours, wild cats in your kitchens, Des. O, fye upon thee, slanderer! Iago. Nay, it is true, or else I am a Turk; You rise to play, and go to bed to work, Iago. No, let me not. Des. What would'st thou write of me, if thou should'st praise me? Iago. O gentle lady, do not put me to't; For I am nothing, if not critical. Des. Come on, assay:-There's one gone to the harbour? Iago. Ay, madam. Des. I am not merry; but I do beguile The thing I am, by seeming otherwise.Come, how would'st thou praise me? Iago. I am about it; but, indeed, my invention Comes from my pate, as birdlime does from frize, It plucks out brains and all: But my muse labours, And thus she is deliver'd. If she be fair and wise,-fairness, and wit, The one's for use, the other useth it. Des. Well prais'd! How if she be black and witty? Iago. If she be black, and thereto have a wit, She'll find a white that shall her blackness fit. Des. Worse and worse. Emil. How, if fair and foolish? Jugo. She never yet was foolish that was fair; For even her folly help'd her to an heir. Des. These are old fond paradoxes, to make fools laugh i'the alehouse. What miserable praise hast thou for her that's foul and foolish? Iago. There's none so foul, and foolish thereunto, But does foul pranks which fair and wise ones do. Des. O heavy ignorance!-thou praisest the worst best. But what praise could'st thou bestow on a deserving woman indeed? one, that, in the authority of her merit, did justly put on the vouch of very malice itself 33 ? Iago. She that was ever fair, and never proud; Iago. To suckle fools, and chronicle small beer". Des. O most lame and impotent conclusion! Do not learn of him, Emilia, though he be thy husband.-How say you, Cassio? is he not a most profane and liberal counsellor? Cas. He speaks home, madam; you may relish him more in the soldier, than in the scholar. Iago. [Aside.] He takes her by the palm: Ay, well said, whisper: with as little a web as this, will I ensnare as great a fly as Cassio. Ay, smile upon her, do; I will gyve thee in thine own courtship. You say true; 'tis so, indeed: if such tricks as these strip you out of your lieutenantry, it had been better you had not kiss'd your three fingers so oft, which now again you are most apt to play the sir in. Very good; well kiss'd! an excellent courtesy! 'tis so, indeed. Yet again your fingers to your lips! would, they were clyster-pipes for your sake![Trumpet.] The Moor,-I know his trumpet. Cas. 'Tis truly so. Des. Let's meet him, and receive him. Cas. Lo, where he comes! Enter OTHELLO, and Attendants. Oth. O my fair warrior! Des. My dear Othello! Oth. It gives me wonder great as my content, To see you here before me. O my soul's joy! If after every tempest come such calms, May the winds blow till they have waken'd death! And let the labouring bark climb hills of seas, Olympus-high; and duck again as low As hell's from heaven! If it were now to die, |