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Never pray more; abandon all remorfe;


On horror's head horrors accumulate;

Do deeds to make heaven weep, all earth amaz'd;
For nothing canft thou to damnation add,

Greater than that.

Iago. Oh grace! oh heaven defend me! Are you a man? have you a foul? or fenfe? God be w' you. Take mine office.-O wretched fool, That liv ft to make thine honefty a vice!

Oh monftrous world! take note, take note, oh world,
To be direct and honeft, is not fafe.

I thank you for this profit, and from hence
I'll love no friend, fith love breeds fuch offence.
Oth. Nay, ftay. Thou shouldst be honest
Iago. I fhould be wife, for honefty's a fool,
And lofes what it works for.

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I think, my wife is honeft; and think, she is not;
I think, that thou art juft; and think, thou art not.
I'll have fome proof. Her name, that was as fresh
As Dian's vifage, is now begrim'd and black
As my own face. If there be cords, or knives,
Poifon, or fire, or fuffocating streams,
I'll not endure't. 'Would, I were satisfied!

lago. I fee, Sir, your are eaten up with paffion; I do repent me that I put it to you.

You would be fatisfied?

Oth. Would? nay, and will.

Iago. And may; but how? how fatisfied, my

Would you be fupervifor, grofly gape on?
Behold her tupp'd?

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Oth. Death and damnation! oh!

Tago. It were a tedious difficulty, I think,
To bring 'em to that profpe&t: damn them then,
If ever mortal eyes do fee them bolfter,
More than their own. What then? how then?
What fhall I fay? where's faci faction?

It is impoffible you fhould fee this,

* Were they as prime as goats, as hot as monkeys,
As falt as wolves in pride, and fools as grofs
As ignorance made drunk. But yet, I fay,
If imputation and ftrong circumstances,
Which lead directly to the door of truth,
Will give you fatisfaction, you might hav't.
Oth. Give me a living reafon fhe's difloyal,
Iago. I do not like the office;


But fince I'm enter'd in this caufe so far,
Prick'd to't by foolish honesty and love,
I will go on.
I lay with Caffio lately,
And, being troubled with a raging tooth,
I could not fleep.

There are a kind of men, fo loose of soul,
That in their fleeps will mutter their affairs ;
One of this kind is Caffio:

In fleep I heard him fay, "Sweet Desdemona,
"Let us be wary, let us hide our loves!"

And then, Sir, would he gripe, and wring my hand Cry-"Oh fweet creature!" and then kiss me hard, As if he pluckt up kiffes by the roots,

That grew upon my lips; then lay his leg

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Over my thigh, and figh and kifs, and then
Cry," Curfed fate! that gave thee to the Moor."
Oth. Oh monftrous! monftrous!


Iago. Nay, this was but his dream;

2 Were they as prime as goals,] Prime, is prompt, from the Celtic or British PRIM. HANMER.

3 Give me a living reason-] Living, for fpeaking, manifeft. WARBURTON.


Oth. But this denoted a foregone conclufion; Tis a fhrewd doubt, though it be but a dream. Tago. And this may help to thicken other proofs, That do demonftrate thinly.

Oth. I'll tear her all to pieces.


Iago. Nay, but be wife; yet we fee nothing done; She may be honeft yet. Tell me but this, Have you not fometimes feen a handkerchief, Spotted with ftrawberries in your wife's hand? Oth. I gave her fuch a one; 'twas my firft gift. Iago. I know not that; but such a handkerchief, (I'm fure it was your wife's,) did I to-day See Caffio wipe his beard with.

Oth. If it be that

Iago. If it be that, or any, if 'twas bers It speaks against her with the other proofs. Oth. Oh, that the flave had forty thousand lives! One is too poor, too weak for my revenge. 7 Now do I fee, 'tis true.

Look here, Iago, All my fond love thus do I blow to heav'n: 'Tis gone;

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hearted throne with thy fraught,

Arife, black vengeance, from thy hollow cell!
Yield up, oh love, thy crown and
To tyrannous hate! fwell, bofom,
For 'tis of afpicks' tongues.

Iago. Yet be content.

Oth. Oh blood, blood, blood

Iago. Patience, I fay; your mind, perhaps, may change.

Oth. Never, Iago. 2 Like to the Pontick Sea,
Whofe icy current and compulfive courfe,
Ne'er feels retiring ebb, but keeps due on
To the Propontick, and the Hellefpont;
Even fo my bloody thoughts with violent pace
Shall ne'er look back, ne'er ebb to humble love,
'Till that a capable and wide revenge
Swallow them up.

[He kneels.

Now, by yond marble heav'n,
In the due reverence of a facred vow
I here engage my words-
Iago. Do not rife yet.

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[Iago kneels.

i. e. thy throne which was parted between me, and Defdemona: This prefents us with a fine image. The union of Othello and Defdemona was fo perfect, that love divided his throne between them: which he is now bid to refume, and give to hatred. WARBURTON.

Hearted throne, is the heart on which thou waft enthroned. Parted throne has no meaning. Ifwell, befom, &c.] i. e. well, because the fraught is of poison. WARBURTON.

2 -Like to the Pontick Sea, &c.] This fimile is omitted in the first edition: I think it fhould be fo, as an unnatural excurfion in this place.



Witnefs, ye ever-burning lights above!
Ye elements, that clip us round about!
Witness, that here Iago doth give up
The execution of his wit, hands, heart,
To wrong'd Othello's fervice.
And to obey, fhall be in me Remorse,
What bloody business ever.

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-Let him command, And to obey, fhall be in me Remorfe,

What bloody bufinefs ever.] Thus the old copies read, but evidently wrong. Some editions read, Not to obey; on which the editor Mr. Theobald takes occafion to alter it to, Nor to obey; and thought he had much mended matters. But he mistook the found end of the line for the corrupt; and fo by his emendation, the deep-defigning lago is foolthly made to throw off his mask,

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Let him command,


when he had moft occafion for it; and without any provocation, ftand before his Captain a villain confeffed; at a time, when, for the carrying on his plot, he fhould make the least show of it. For thus Mr. Theobald forces him to say, I shall have no remorse to obey your commands, how bloody foever the business be. But this is not Shakespear's way of preferving the unity of character. Jago, till now, pretended to be one, who, tho' in the trade of var he had flain men, yet held it the very fluff of th' confcience to do no contriv'd murder; when, of a fudden, without caufe or occafion, he owns himself a ruffian without remorfe. Shakespear wrote and pointed the paffage thus, Let him command, And to obey fhall be in me, RE

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