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Oth. This fellow's of exceeding honesty,
And knows all qualities, with a learned fpirit,
Of human dealings. If I prove her haggard,
2 Tho' that her jeffes were my dear heart-ftrings,
3 I'd whiftle her off, and let her down the wind
To prey at fortune. Haply, for I'm black,
And have not thofe foft parts of converfation
That chamberers have; or, for I am declin'd
Into the vale of years, yet that's not much;
She's gone, I am abus'd, and my relief
Must be to loath her. Oh the curfe of marriage!
That we can call thefe 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 other's ufe. Yet 'tis the plague of Great ones;
Prerogativ'd are they lefs than the base;

'Tis deftiny unfhunnable, like death.
Ev'n then, this + forked plague is fated to us,

9with a learned jirit,] Learned, for experienced.


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To prey at fortune.-] The falconers always let fly the hawk against the wind; if the flies with the wind behind her fhe feldom returns. If therefore a hawk was for any reafon to be difmiffed, the was let down the uind, and from that time fhifted for herfelf, and prey'd at fortune. This was told me by the late Mr. Clark.

5 forked plague-] In allufion to a barbed or forked arrow, which, once infixed, cannot be extracted.

Or rather, the forked plague is the cuckold's horns. Mr. PERCY. When

When we do quicken. Desdemona comes!

Enter Desdemona and Æmilia.

If fhe be falfe, oh, then heaven mocks itself :
I'll not believe't,

Def. How now, my dear Othello?

Your dinner, and the generous Inlanders,
By you invited, do attend your prefence.
Oth. I am to blame.

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

Oib. I have a pain upon my forehead here.

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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.

[She drops her bandkerchief.

Let it alone: Come, I'll go in with you.

Def. I am very forry, that you are not well.



Manet Emilia.'

Emil. I am glad, I have found this napkin;
This was her first remembrance from the Moor;
My wayward husband hath a hundred times
Woo'd me to steal it. But she fo loves the token,
For he conjur'd her, she should ever keep it,
That the reserves it evermore about her,

To kifs and talk to. I'll have the work ta'en out,
And giv't Iago;

What he'll do with it, heav'n knows, not I:

I nothing know, but for his fantasy.




Enter Iago.

fago. How now? what do you here alone! Emil. Do not you chide; I have a thing for you. Iago. You have a thing for me?

It is a common thing.

Emil. Ha?

Iago. To have a foolish wife.

Emil. Oh, is that all? What will you give me now For that fame handkerchief?

Iago. What handkerchief?

Emil. What handkerchief?

Why, that the Moor firft gave to Defdemona ;
That which fo often you did bid me steal.
Iago. Haft ftolen it from her?

Emil. No; but he let it drop by negligence; And, to th' advantage, I, being here, took 't up. Look, here 'tis.

Iago. A good wench, give it me.

Emil. What will you do with 't, you have been fo earneft

To have me filch it?

Iago. Why, what is that to you?

[Snatching it.

Emil. If 't be not for fome purpose of import, Give 't me again. Poor lady! fhe'll run mad When the fhall lack it.

Iago. Be not you known on't:

[Exit Emil.

I have use 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 strong
As proofs of holy Writ. This may do fomething,

5-to th' advantage, &c.] I being of portunely here, took it up. 6 Be not you known on't:] Should it not rather be read, Be not you known in't?

The folio reads,

Be not unknown on't. The fenfe is plain, but of the expreffion I cannot produce any example.


The Moor already changes with my poifons:
Dang'rous conceits are in their nature poifons,
Which at the first are scarce found to giftafte;
But, with a little act upon the blood,

Burn like the mines of fulphur.-I did fay fo.

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Look, where he comes! Not Poppy, nor Mandra


Nor all the drowsy Syrups of the world,

? Shall ever med❜cine thee to that fweet Sleep, Which thou owedft yesterday.

Oth. Ha! Falfe? To me! to me!

Iago. Why, how now, General? No more of that. Oth. Avant! be gone! thou'ft fet me on the rack. I fwear, 'tis better to be much abus'd,

Than but to know 't a little.

Iago. How, my Lord?

Oth. What fenfe had I of her ftoll'n hours or luft
I faw 't not, thought it not, it harm'd not me;
I flept the next night well; was free, and merry;
I found not Caffio's kiffes on her lips :

He, that is robb'd, not wanting what is ftoll'n,
Let him not know 't, and he's not robb'd at all.
Iago. I am forry to hear this.

Oth. I had been happy, if the general Camp,

Shall ever medicine thee to debt of nature. WARBURTON. that fweet fleep, Which thou HADST yesterday:] The old quarto reads,

To owe is, in our authour, oftener to poffef, than to be indebted, and fuch was its meaning Which thou OwEDST yefterday. here; but as that fenfe was growAnd this is right, and of much ing lefs ufual, it was changed greater force than the common unneceffarily by the editors to reading; not to fleep, being fine-hadft; to the fame meaning, y called defrauding the day of a more intelligibly expreffed.



Pioneers and all, had tafted 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 makes 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, oh, you mortal engines, whofe rude throats
Th' immortal Jove's dread clamours counterfeit,
Farewel! Othello's Occupation's gone!

Iago. Is't poffible, my Lord?

Olb. 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 hadst been better have been born a dog,

Than answer my wak'd wrath.

Iago. 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!

Iago. My noble Lord

Oth. If thou doft flander her, and torture me,

8 Farewel the neighing fieed,

and the fhrill trump, The Spirit-firring drum, th'

EAR PIERCING fife,] The attributes to the trumpet and fife, in the prefent reading, feem to be too much alike for the richnefs and variety of Shak Spear's ideas. Befides, as the feed and trumpet in the one line where defigned to be characterized by their founds; fo the drum and fife, by their effects on the hearers; as appears in part from the

epithet given to the drum of spirit ftirring: I would read then,

The Spirit-firring drum, th'

FEAR 'SPERSING fife, i. e. the fear-difperfing. WARB.

Ear-piercing is an epithet fo eminently adapted to the fife, and fo diftinct from the fhrilnefs of the trumpet, that it certainly ought not to be changed. Dr. Warburton has been cenfured for this propofed emendation with more noife than honefty, for he did not himself put it in the text.

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