Enter Caffio, Montano, and Gentlemen.

4

Caf. 'Fore heaven, they have + given me a roufe al

ready.

Mont. Good faith, a little one.

as I am a foldier.

Iago. Some wine, ho!

Not past a pint,

[Lago fings.

And let me the canakin clink, clink, clink,

And let me the canakin clink.

A foldier's a man;

A life's but a fpan;

Why, then let a foldier drink.

Some wine, boys!

Caf. 'Fore heaven, an excellent fong.

Iago. I learn'd it in England: where (indeed) they are most potent in potting. Your Dane, your German, and your swag-bellied Hollander-Drink, ho! -are nothing to your English.

Caf. Is your Englishman 5 fo exquifite in his drinking?

Iago. Why, he drinks you, with facility, your Dane dead drunk; he fweats not to overthrow your Almain; he gives your Hollander a vomit, ere the next pottle can be filled.

Caf. To the health of our general.

4given me a roufe, &c.] A roufe appears to be a quantity of liquor rather too large.

So in Hamlet, and in The Chriftian turn'd Turk, 1612. -our friends may tell

"We drank a roufe to them." STEEVENS.

5 — fo exquifite-] The quarto reads fo expert. This accomplishment in the English, is likewife mentioned by B. and Fletcher in The Captain:

Lod." Are the Englishmen

Pifo. "

"Such ftubborn drinkers ?

-not a leak at fea

"Can fuck more liquor; you fhall have their children
"Chriften'd in mull'd fack, and at five years old
"Able to knock a Dane down." STEEVENS.

Mon. I am for it, lieutenant; and I'll do you juftice.

Iago. Oh fweet England!

King Stephen was a worthy peer,
His breeches coft him but a crown;
He held them fix-pence all too dear,
With that he call'd the taylor lown.

7

He was a wight of high renown,
And thou art but of low degree:
'Tis pride that pulls the country down,
Then take thine auld cloak about thee.

Some wine, ho!

Caf. Why, this is a more exquifite fong than the

other.

Iago. Will you hear it again?

Caf. No; for I hold him to be unworthy of his place, that does thofe things.-Well-Heaven's above all; and there be fouls that must be faved, and there be fouls muft not be faved.

Iago. It's true, good lieutenant.

Caf. For my own part-no offence to the general, nor any man of quality—I hope to be saved. Icgo. And fo I do toc, lieutenant.

Caf. Ay, but, by your leave, not before me. The Lieutenant is to be faved before the Ancient. Let's have no more of this.-Let's to our affairs.-Forgive us our fins! Gentlemen, let's look to our bufinefs. Do not think, gentlemen, I am drunk. This is my Ancient; this is my right hand, and this is my left hand. I am not drunk now; I can ftand well enough, and I speak well enough.

King Stephen, &c.] Thefe ftanzas are taken from an old fong, which the reader will find recovered and preferved in a curious work lately printed, intitled, Relicks of Ancient Poetry, confifting of old heroic ballads, fongs, &c. 3 vols. 12°.

JOHNSON.

7-lown.] Sorry fellow, paltry wretch. JOHNSON.

All.

All. Excellent well.

Caf. Why, very well then you must not think then that I am drunk.

Manent Iago and Montano.

[Exit.

Mont. To the platform, masters; come, let's fet the watch.

Iago. You fee this fellow that is

gone before: He is a foldier fit to ftand by Cæfar,

And give direction. And do but fee his vice; 'Tis to his virtue a juft equinox,

The one as long as the other.

'Tis pity of him;

I fear, the truft Othello puts him in,
On fome odd time of his infirmity,
Will fhake this island.

Mont. But is he often thus ?

Iago. 'Tis evermore the prologue to his fleep: 8 He'll watch the horologe a double fet, If drink rock not his cradle.

Mont. It were well

The general were put in mind of it.

Perhaps, he fees it not; or his good nature
Prizes the virtue that appears in Caffio,

And looks not on his evils. Is not this true?

He'll watch the horologe a double fet,] If he have no drink, he'll keep awake while the clock ftrikes two rounds, or fourand-twenty hours.

Chaucer ufes the word borologe in more places than one. "Well skirer was his crowing in his loge

"Than is a clock or abbey horologe." JOHNSON.

Heywood in his Epigrams on Proverbs, 1562.

"The divell is in thorologe, the houres to trye,

"Searche houres by the funne, the devyl's dyall wyll lye.
"The devyl is in thorologe, nowe cheere in bowles,
"Let the devyl kepe our clockes, while God keepe our
"foules."

So in The Devil's Charter, 1607.

my gracious lord,

By Sifto's horologe 'tis ftruck eleven." STEEVENS.

VOL. X.

Dd

Enter

Enter Roderigo,

Iago. How now, Roderigo!

I pray you after the lieutenant, go.

[Exit Rod.

Mont. And 'tis great pity that the noble Moor
Should hazard fuch a place, as his own second,
With one of an 9 ingraft infirmity:

It were an honest action to say fo
Unto the Moor.

Iago. Not I, for this fair island.

I do love Caffio well; and would do much

To cure him of this evil.

But hark, what noife?

[Cry within, Help! help!

Re-enter Caffio, driving in Roderigo.

Caf. You rogue! you rascal!

Mont. What's the matter, lieutenant?
Caf. A knave!-teach me my duty!

I'll beat the knave into a twiggen bottle.

Rod. Beat me!

Caf. Doft thou prate, rogue?

Mont. Nay, good lieutenant;

I pray you, Sir, hold your hand.

[Staying him.

Caf. Let me go, Sir, or I'll knock you o'er the

mazzard.

Mont. Come, come, you're drunk.

Caf. Drunk?

[They fight.

Iago. Away, I fay, go out and cry, a mutiny.

[Exit Roderigo. Nay, good lieutenant-Alas, gentlemen

Help, ho!-Lieutenant-Sir-Montano-Sir!—
Help, mafters! here's a goodly watch, indeed!-
Who's that, who rings the bell?-diablo, ho!
[Bell rings.
The town will rife. Fie, fie, lieutenant! hold:
You will be fham'd for ever.

-ingraft infirmity:] An infirmity rooted, fettled in his conftitution: JOHNSON.

1 into a twiggen bottle.] A twiggen bottle is a wicker'd bottle; and fo the quarto reads. STEEVENS.

Enter

Enter Othello and Attendants.

Oth. What is the matter here?

Mont. I bleed ftill, I am hurt to the death-he dies. Oth. Hold, for your lives.

Iago. Hold, ho! lieutenant-Sir-MontanoGentlemen

Have you forgot all fenfe of place and duty? Hold, hold! the general fpeaks to you; hold, for fhame

Oth. Why, how now, ho! From whence arifeth this?

Are we turn'd Turks; and to ourselves do that,
Which heaven hath forbid the Ottomites?

For chriftian fhame, put by this barbarous brawi:
He, that stirs next to carve for his own rage,
Holds his foul light; he dies upon his motion.-
Silence that dreadful bell; 3 it frights the ifle
From her propriety. What is the matter, masters ?—
Honeft Iago, that look'ft dead with grieving,
Speak, who began this? on thy love, I charge thee.
Iago. I do not know.-Friends all, but now, even

now,

4 In quarter, and in terms like bride and
groom
Divefting them for bed; and then, but now
As if fome planet had unwitted men—
Swords out, and tilting one at other's breast,
In oppofition bloody. I cannot speak
Any beginning to this peevifh odds;

-I am hurt to death-he dies.] The words be dies, are found only in the folio. I do not fee the neceffity of inferting them, but know not that I have a right to omit them. Perhaps Montano fays this in exultation over Roderigo, whom he supposes he has killed. STEEVENS.

2 So Hanmer. The reft,

3

-all place of fenfe and duty? JOHNSON. -it frights the ifle

From her propriety.] From her regular and proper ftate.

↑ In quarter,-] In their quarters; at their lodging.

Dd 2

JOHNSON.

JOHNSON.

And,