Enter Herald, with a Proclamation. Her. It is Othello's pleasure, our noble and valiant General, that upon certain tidings now arrived, importing the meer perdition of the Turkish fleet, P every man put himself into triumph, fome to dance, fome to make bonfires, each man to what sport and revels his mind leads him; for, befides these beneficial news, it is the celebration of his nuptials. So much was his pleasure, fhould be proclaimed. All offices are open, and there is full liberty of feafting, from this prefent hour of five, till the bell hath * told eleven. Heaven bless the isle of Cyprus, and our noble General Othello! SCENE X. The Cafile. Enter Othello, Desdemona, Caffio, and Attendants. Oth. Good Michael, look you to the guard to-night. Caf. Fage hath direction what to do: But notwithstanding, with my perfonal eye Oth. Iago is most honeft. Michael, good night. To-morrow, with your earliest, Let me have fpeech with you. Come, my dear love, The purchase made, the fruits are to enfue; C That profit's yet to come 'twixt me and you.. Good-night. Caf. Welcome, laga. [To Def. [Exeunt Othello and Desdemona. Enter Iago. We muft to the watch. Iago. Not this hour, lieutenant: 'tis not yet teno' th' clock. Our General * caft us thus early for the love of his 2 The 1ft q. the for that. a The ift q. directed. The 1ft q. the for that. ing of caft in this place. Upon Otbella's taking leave of them for bed, Caffi, luppofes it time to begin the watch; but So the qu's and C; the reft, "tween lago objects that 'tis not yet ten o'clock; for 'twixt. d The qu's, a clock. e i. e. appointed us to our ftations. To saft the play, is, in the ftile of the theatres, to affign to every actor his proper part. 7. But this cannot be the mean Our general caft us (i, e. caft me off, or eft us) thus early for the love of his Desdemona, &c. Otbello's love for Defe demona could not be the reafon of his appointing them their stations early. Defdemons f Defdemona, whom let us not therefore blame; he hath not yet made wanton the night with her, and fhe is fport for Jove. Caf. She is a moft exquifite lady. Iago. And I'll warrant her full of game. Caf. Indeed the is a most fresh and delicate creature. Jago. What an eye fhe has! methinks it sounds a parley % of provocation. Caf. An inviting eye; and yet methinks right modeft. h Iago. And when the fpeaks, 'tis an alarm to love. Caf. She is indeed perfection. Iago. Well, happiness to their fheets. Come, lieutenant, have a stoop of wine, and here without are a bráce of Cyprus gallants, that would fain have a measure to the health of the black Othello. k Caf. Not to-night; good lago. I have very poor and unhappy brains for drinking; I could well with courtefy would invent foine other cuftom of entertainment. Iago. O, they are our friends: but one cup; Pll drink for you. m Caf. I have drunk but one cup to-night, and that was craftily qualified too; and behold what innovation it makes here. I am unfortunate in the infirmity, and dare not talk my weaknefs with any more... Jago. What, man? 'tis a night of revels, the gallants defire it. Caf. Where are they? Iago. Here at the door. I pray you, call them in. Iago. If I can faften but one cup upon him, [Exit Caffio. With that which he hath drunk to-night already, He'll be as full of quarrel and offence, As my young miftrefs' dog.-Now, my fick fool, Roderigo, Whom love has turn'd almoft the wrong fide outward, To Defdemona hath to-night carouz'd Potations pottle deep; and he's to watch. Three lads of Cyprus, noble fwelling fpirits, And they watch too. Now, amongst this flock of drunkards, Am I to put our Caffio in fome action That may offend the ifle. But here they come. If confequence do but approve my dream, My boat fails freely both with wind and stream. SCENE XI. Enter Caffio, Montano, and Gentlemen. Caf. 'Fore God, they have given me a route already. Mont. Good faith, a little one. Not paft a pint, as I am a foldier. lago. Some wine, ho! And let me the cannikin And let me the cannikin clink, clink, [lago fings. clink. A foldier's a man; oh, man's life's but a span; Come, wine, boys. Caf. 'Fore God, an excellent fong. Iago. I learn'd it in England: where indeed they are most potent in potting. Your Dane, your German, and your fwag-belly'd Hollander,-Drink, ho!--are nothing to your English. Caf. Is your Englishman fo expert in his drinking? Iago. Why, he drinks you with facility your Dane dead drunk; he sweats not to overthrow your Almain; he gives your Hollander a vomit, ere the next pottle can be fill'd. |