Either in discourse of thought, or actual deed;
Or that mine eyes, mine ears, or any sense,
Delighted them in any other form;

Or that I do not yet, and ever did,

And ever will, though he do shake me off
To beggarly divorcement,-love him dearly,
Comfort forswear me! Unkindness may do much;

And his unkindness may defeat my life,

But never taint my love. I cannot say, whore;
It does abhor me, now I speak the word;
To do the act that might the addition earn,
Not the world's mass of vanity could make me.
Iago. I pray you, be content; 'tis but his humour;
The business of the state does him offence,

If 'twere no other,

Iago. It is but so, I warrant you. [Trumpets, Hark, how these instruments summon to supper! And the great messengers of Venice stay:

Go in, and weep not; all things shall be well. [Exeunt DESDEMONA and EMILIA,

Enter RODERIGO..

How now, Roderigo?

Rod. I do not find, that thou deal'st justly with

me...

Iago. What in the contrary?

Rod. Every day thou doff'st me with some device, Iago; and rather (as it seems to me now,) keep'st from me all conveniency, than suppliest me with the least advantage of hope. I will, indeed, no longer endure it: Nor am I yet persuaded, to put up in peace what already I have foolishly suffered.

Iago. Will you hear me, Roderigo?

Rod. 'Faith, I have heard too much; for your words, and performances, are no kin together,

my

Jago. You charge me most unjustly. Rod. With nought but truth. I have wasted self out of my means. The jewels you have had from me, to deliver to Desdemona, would half have corrupted a votarist: You have told me she has received them, and returned me expectations and comforts of sudden respect and acquittance; but I find none.

Iago. Well; go to; very well.

Rod. Very well! go to! I cannot go to, man; nor 'tis not very well: By this hand, I say, it is very scurvy; and begin to find myself fobbed in it. Iago. Very well.

L

Rod. I tell you, 'tis not very well. I will make myself known to Desdemona: If she will return me my jewels, I will give over my suit, and repent my unlawful solicitation; if not, assure yourself, I will seek satisfaction of you.

Iago. You have said now.

Rod. Ay, and I have said nothing, but what I protest intendment of doing.

Iago. Why, now I see there's mettle in thee; and even, from this instant, do build on thee a better opinion than ever before. Give me thy hand, Roderigo: Thou hast taken against me a most just exception; but, yet, I protest, I have dealt most di rectly in thy affair.

Rod. It hath not appeared.

Iago. I grant, indeed, it hath not appeared; and your suspicion is not without wit and judgment. But, Roderigo, if thou hast that within thee indeed, which I have greater reason to believe now than ever, I mean, purpose, courage, and valour,—this night show it if thou the next night following en

and acquittance;] Acquittance is requital.

joyest not Desdemona, take me from this world with treachery, and devise engines for my life.2

Rod. Well, what is it? is it within reason, and compass?

Iago. Sir, there is especial commission come from Venice, to depute Cassio in Othello's place.

Rod. Is that true? why, then Othello and Desdemona return again to Venice.

Iago., O, no; he goes into Mauritania, and takes away with him the fair Desdemona, unless his abode be lingered here by some accident; wherein none can be so determinate, as the removing of Cassio. Rod. How do you mean-removing of him? Iago. Why, by making him uncapable of Othello's place; knocking out his brains.

Rod. And that you would have me do?

Iago. Ay; if you dare do yourself a profit, and a right. He sups to-night with a harlot, and thither will I go to him; he knows not yet of his honourable fortune: if you will watch his going thence, (which I will fashion to fall out between twelve and one,) you may take him at your pleasure; I will be near to second your attempt, and he shall fall between us. Come, stand not amazed at it, but go along with me; I will show you such a necessity in his death, that you shall think yourself bound to put it on him. It is now high suppertime, and the night grows to waste: about it. Rod. I will hear further reason for this. Iago. And you shall, be satisfied.

2

[Exeunt.

devise engines for my life, &c.] To devise engines, seems to mean, to contrive racks, tortures, &c.

SCENE III.

Another Room in the Castle.

Enter OTHELLO, LODOVICO, DESDEmona, Emilia, and Attendants.

Lod. I do beseech you, sir, trouble yourself no further.

Oth. O, pardon me; 'twill do me good to walk. Lod. Madam, good night; I humbly thank your ladyship.

Des. Your honour is most welcome.

Oth.

0,-Desdemona,

Des.

Will you walk, sir?

My lord?

Oth. Get you to bed on the instant; I will be returned forthwith: dismiss your attendant there;. look, it be done.

Des. I will, my lord.

[Exeunt OTHELLO, LODOVICO, and Attendants. Emil. How goes it now? he looks gentler than he did.

Des. He says, he will return incontinent;

He hath commanded me to go to bed,

And bade me to dismiss you.

Emil.

Dismiss me!

Des. It was his bidding; therefore, good Emilia, Give me my nightly wearing, and adieu:

We must not now displease him.

Emil. I would, you had never seen him!
Des. So would not I; my love doth so approve

him,

That even his stubbornness his checks, and frowns,Pr'ythee, unpin me,-have grace and favour in them.

Emil. I have laid those sheets you bade me on

the bed.

Des. All's one :-Good father! how foolish are our minds!

If I do die before thee, pr'ythee, shroud me
In one of those same sheets.

Emil.
Come, come, you talk.
Des. My mother had a maid call'd-Barbara ;
She was in love; and he, she lov'd, prov'd mad,3
And did forsake her: she had a song of-willow,
An old thing 'twas, but it express'd her fortune,
And she died singing it: That song, to-night,
Will not go from my mind; I have much to do,
But to go hang my head all at one side,

And sing it like poor Barbara. Pr'ythee, despatch.
Emil. Shall I go fetch your night-gown?
Des.

No, unpin me here.

This Lodovico is a proper man.

Emil. A very handsome man.

Des.

And he speaks well.

Emil. I know a lady in Venice, who would have walked barefoot to Palestine, for a touch of his ne ther lip.

I.

Des. The poor soul sat sighing by a sycamore

tree,

Sing all a green willow;

[Singing,

Her hand on her bosom, her head on her knee,

Sing willow, willow, willow:

3 and he, she lov'd, prov'd mad,] Mad, in the present instance, ought to mean-inconstant.

4

I have much to do,

But to go hang my head—] I have much ado to do any thing but hang my head.

5 The poor soul, &c.] This song, in two parts, is printed in Dr. Percy's collection of old ballads; the lines preserved here differ somewhat from the copy discovered by the ingenious collector,