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No more than he'll unswear.

Oth. What hath he faid?

Iago. Why, that he did,I know not what he did

Oth. What? what?

Iago. Lie

Oth. With her?

Iago. With her; on her what you will

Qth. Lie with her! lie on her! We fay, lie on her, when they belie her. Lie with her! that's fulfome. Handkerchief-confeffions-handkerchief--handkerchief-[ to confefs, and be hang'd for his labour-Firft, to be bang'd, and then-to confefs-] I tremble at it— Nature would not invest herself in fuch * fhadowing paffion without fame inftruction. It is not words that fbake

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9 —to confefs, &c.] The words between the hooks feem to be the player's trash. WARB.

I have as little value for thefe words as any other commentator; but whether they are the authour's or player's I cannot determine.

Shadowing paffion] The medern editions have left out paf fron

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fall into a fwoon; and, as is common for people in that circumftance, feels an unusual mist and darkness, accompanied with horror, coming upon him. This, with vaft fublimity of thought, is compared to the feafon of the Sun's eclipfe, at which time the earth becomes fhadowed by the induction or bringing over of the Moon between it and the Sun. without fome inflru&ion.] This being the allufion the reaThe ftarts and broken reflexions foning lands thus, My nature in this fpeech have fomething could never be thus overshadowed, very terrible, and fhew the mind and falling, as it were, into diffe of the fpeaker to be in inexpref-lution for no caufe. There must be fible agonies. But the words we are opon, when fet right, have a fublime in them that can never be enough admired. The ridiculous blunder of writing INSTRUCTION for INDUCTION (for fo it should be read) has in deed funk it into arrant nonfenfe. Othello is just going to

an

INDUCTION of fomething: there must be a real caufe. My jealousy cannot be merely imag nary. Ideas, WORDS only, could not fake me thus, and raife all this ciforder. My jealousy therefore must be grounded on matter of fad. Shakespear ufes this word in the fame fenfe, Richard III.

fbake me thus-pish-nofes, ears, and lips-is't poffible! -confefs !-bandkerchief!-ob devil

Iago. Work on,

[Falls in a trance.

My medicine, work! Thus credulous fools are caught; And many worthy and chafte Dames ev❜n thus,

All guiltless, meet reproach. What hoa! my Lord! My Lord, I fay, Othello,

SCENE II.

How now, Caffio?

Enter Caffio.

Caf. What's the matter?

Iago. My Lord is fal'n into an Epilepfy
This is the fecond Fit; he had one yesterday.
Caf. Rub him about the temples.
Iago. No, forbear,

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vers no external caufe. This is afcribed to that general communication of one part of the univerfe with another, which is called fympathy and antipathy; or to the secret monition, inftruction, and influence of a fuperior Being, which fuperintends the order of Nature and of life. Othello fays, Nature could not inveft herfelf in fuch shadowing paffion, without inftruction. It is not words that shake me thus. This paffion which spreads its clouds over me is the effect of fome agency more than the operation of words; it is one of thofe notices which men have of unseen calamities.

The

The lethargy muft have his quiet course :
If not, he foams at mouth, and by and by
Breaks out to favage madness. Look, he ftirs.
Do you withdraw yourself a little while,
He will recover ftraight; when he is gone,
I would on great occafion speak with you.

[Exit Caffio.

How is it, General? have you not hurt your head? Oth. Doft thou mock me?

Iago. I mock you not, by heaven ;

Would you would bear your fortunes like a man.
Oth. A horned man's a monfter, and a beaft.
Jago. There's many a beast, then, in a populous
city,

And many a civil monster.

Oth. Did he confefs it?

Iago. Good Sir, be a man;

Think, every bearded fellow that's but yok'd,
May draw with you. Millions are now alive,
That nightly lie in thofe unproper beds,
Which they dare fwear peculiar. Your cafe is better.'
Oh, 'tis the fpight of hell, the fiend's arch-mock,
To lip a Wanton in a fecure couch;

And to fuppofe her chafte. No, let me know,
And knowing what I am, I know what the fhall be,
Oth. Oh, thou art wife; 'tis certain.

Iago. Stand you a while apart,
Confine yourself but in a patient' lift.

Whilft you were here, o'er-whelmed with your grief,
A paffion most unfuiting fuch a man,

Caffio came hither. I fhifted him away,
And laid good 'fcufes on your ecftafy;

Bad him anon return, and here speak with me;
The which he promis'd. Do but encave yourself,

2 in thefe unproper beds ] Unproper, for common. WARB. 3] For attention; at

of listening.

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-encave yourself,] Hide yourself in a private place.

And mark the fleers, the gibes, and notable fcorns,
That dwell in every region of his face;

For I will make him tell the tale anew,
Where, how, how oft, how long ago, and when
He hath, and is again to cope your wife.
I fay, but mark his gefture. Marry, patience;
s Or I fhall fay, you are all in all in fpleen,
And nothing of a man.

Oth. Doft thou hear, Tago?

I will be found most cunning in my patience;
But, doft thou hear, most bloody?

Iago. That's not amifs;

But yet keep time in all. Will you withdraw?

[Othello withdraws Now will I queftion Caffio of Bianca,

A housewife, that, by felling her defires,

Buys herself bread and cloth. It is a creature,
That dotes on Caffio; as 'tis the ftrumpet's plague
To beguile many, and be beguil'd by one;

He, when he hears of her, cannot refrain
From the excefs of laughter. Here he comes.

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As he shall smile, Othello fhall go mad;
And his unbookish jealousy must construe
Poor Caffio's fmiles, geftures, and light behaviour,
Quite in the wrong. How do you now, Lieutenant?
Caf. The worfer, that you give me the addition,
Whose want even kills me.

s Or I shall fay, you are all in
all in fpleen,] I read,
Or fhall I fay, you're all in all
a spleen.

I think our authour uses this expreffion elf where.

6 And his unbook ifh jealoufy] Unbookijk, for ignorant. WARB.

lago.

Iago. Ply Desdemona well, and you are fure on't. Now, if this fuit lay in Bianca's power,

How quickly fhould you speed?
Caf. Alas, poor caitiff!

Oth. Look, how he laughs already.

[Speaking lower.

[Afide.

Iago. I never knew a woman love man fo.

Caf. Alas, poor rogue, I think, indeed, fhe loves

me.

Oth. Now he denies it faintly, and laughs out.

[Afide.

Jago. Do you hear, Caffio?

Oth. Now he importunes him

To tell it o'er. Go to, well faid, well faid.

[Afide.

Do you intend it?

Caf. Ha, ha, ha!

Iago. She gives it out, that you fhall marry her.

Oth. Do you triumph, Roman, do you triumph?

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[Afide. Caf. I marry her!-What? a cuftomer? pr'ythee, bear fome charity to my wit, do not think it fo unwholesome. Ha, ha, ha!

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Oth. So, fo; they laugh, that win.

Iago. Why, the Cry goes, that you fhall

Caf. Pr'ythee, fay true.

Iago. I am a very villain elfe.

Oth.? Have you scor'd me? well.

Do you triumph, ROMAN? do you triumph?] Never was a more ridiculous blunder than the word Roman. ShakeSpear wrote,

Do you triumph, ROGUE?. Which being obfcurely written the editors miltook for Rome, and fo made Roman of it. WARB.

Of this I am in doubt. Othello calls him Roman ironically. Triumph, which was a Roman ce

[Afide.

marry her.

[Afide.

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