Non-fuits my mediators: for certes, fayes he,

I have already chofen my officer, and what was he?
For footh, a great arithmetition,

One Michael Caffio, a Florentine,

A fellow almoft dambd in a faire wife,
That neuer fet a fquadron in the field,
Nor the deuifion of a battle knowes,

More then a spinster, vnleffe the bookish theorique,
Wherein the toged confuls can propofe

As mafterly as he: meere prattle without practife,
Is all his fouldier fhippe: but he fir had the election,
And I, of whom his eyes had feene the proofe,
At Rhodes, at Cipres, and on other grounds.
Christian † and heathen, must be led t, and calm'd,
By debitor and creditor, this counter-caster :
He in good time, must his leiutenant be,

And I, God blesse the marke, his worships § ancient.
Rod. By heauen I rather would haue bin his hangman.
Ia. But there's no remedy,

Tis the curfe of feruice,

Preferment goes by letter and affection,

Not by the olde gradation, where each fecond

Stood heire to the first :

Now fir be judge yourselfe,

Whether I, in any iuft tearme am assign'd ||

To loue the Moore.

Rod. I would not follow him then.

Ia. O fir, content you,

I follow him to ferue my turne vpon him,
We cannot be all masters, nor all masters

Cannot be truely followed, you fhall marke.
Many a dutious and knee-crooking knaue,

• forgued. + Cbriften'd.

be-leed. § Mvoreswips.

affind.

That

That doting on his owne obfequious bondage,
Weares out his time much like his masters affe,

For noughe but prouender, and when hee's old cafhierd,
Whip mee fuch honest knaues :

Others there are, who trimd in formes,

And viffages of duty, keepe yet their hearts,

Attending on them felues, and throwing

But fhewes of feruice on their lords,

Doe well thriue by 'em,

And when they haue lin'd their coates,

Doe themfelues homage,

Those fellowes haue fome foule,

And fuch a one doe I profeffe myselfe,--for fir,

It is as fure as you are Roderigo,

Were I the Moore, I would not be lago:

In following him, I follow but my felfe,

Heauen is my iudge, not I,

For loue and duty, but feeming fo,

For my peculiar end.

For when my outward action does demonstrate

The natiue act, and figure of my heart,
In complement externe. tis not long after,
But I will weare my heart vpon my sleeue,
For doues to pecke at,

I am not what I am.

Rod. What a full fortune does the thicklips owe,

If he can carry'et thus ?

Ia. Call vp her father,

Rowse him, make after him, poyson his delight,
Proclaime him in the streete, incenfe her kinfmen,
And tho he in a fertile climate dwell,

Plague him with flyes: tho that his ioy be ioy,
Yet throw fuch changes of vexation out,

As it may loose some colour.

Rod

Rod. Here is her fathers houfe, Ile call aloud.
Ia. Doe with like timerous accent, and dire yell,
As when by night and negligence, the fire
Is fpied in populous citties.

Rod. What ho, Brabantio, feignior Brabantio, ho,

la. Awake, what ho, Brabantio,

Theeues, theeues, theeues :

Looke to your houfe, you daughter, and your bags,
Theeues, theeues.

Brabantio at a window.

Brab. What is the reafon of this terrible fummons ?

What is the matter there?

Rod. Seignior, is all your family within ?

Ia. Are all duore lockts * ?

Brab. Why, wherefore afke you this?

lag. Zounds fir you are robd, for fhame put on your

gowne,

Your heart is burft, you haue loft halfe your foule;

Euen now, very now, an old blacke ram

Is tupping your white ewe; arife, arife,

Awake the fnorting citizens with the bell,

Or elfe the diuell will make a grandfire of you, arife I fay.
Brab. What, haue you loft your wits?

Rod. Moft reuerend feignior, doe you know my voyce
Bra. Not I, what are you?
Rod. My name is Roderigo.

Bra. The worfe welcome,

I haue charg'd thee, not to haunt about my dores,
In honeft plaineneffe, thou haft heard me fay
My daughter is not for thee, and now in madnes,
Being full of fupper, and diftempering draughts,

your doors lock'd. † Zounds omitted.

Vpon malicious brauery, doft thou come

To start my quiet?

Rod. Sir, fir, fir.

Bra. But thou must needes be fure

My spirit and my place haue in them power,

To make this bitter to thee.

Rod. Patience good fir.

Bra. What tell'ft thou me of robbing? this is Venice,

My house is not a graunge.

Rod. Moft graue Brabantio,

In fimple and pure foule I come to you.

Iag. Zouns fir, you are one of those, that will not ferue God if the deuill bid you. Because we come to doe you feruice, you thinke we are ruffians, youle haue your daughter couered with a Barbary horfe; youle haue your nephewes ney to you; youle haue courfers for coufens, and iennits for iermans.

Bra. What prophane wretch art thou?

Iag. I am one fir, that come to tell you, your daughter, and the Moore, are now making the beast with two backs. Bra. Thou art a villaine.

lag. You are a fenator.

Bra. This thou fhalt answer, I know thee Roderigo.

Rod. Sir, I will answer any thing: but I befeech you †,

Zouns fir.

+ If't be your pleasure, and most wife confent,
As partly I find it is) that your faire daughter
At this od even, and dull watch oth' night,
Transported with no worse nor better guard
But with a knaue of common bire, a Gundelier
To the groffe clafpes of a lafcivious Moore:
If this be knowne to you and your allowance,
We then baue done you bold and sawcy wrongs?
But if you know not this, my manners tell me,
We bave your wrong rebuke: do not beleeue
That from the fenfe of al ciuilitie

If

If fhe be in her chamber, or your house,
Let loofe on me the iuftice of the state,
For this delufion,

Bra. Strike on the tinder, ho:

Giue me a taper, call vp all my people :
This accident is not vnlike my dreame,
Beleefe of it oppreffes me already:
Light I fay, light.

lag. Farewell, for I muft leaue you,

It feemes not meete, nor wholesome to my pate,
To be produc'd, as if I ftay I fhall

Against the Moore, for I doe know the state,

Now euer this may gaule him with fome checke,
Cannot with fafety caft him, for hee's imbark'd,
With fuch loud reafon, to the Cipres warres,
Which euen now stands in act, that for their foules,
Another of his fathome, they haue not
To leade their bufineffe, in which regard,
Tho I doe hate him, as I doe hells paines,
Yet for neceffity of prefent life,

I muft fnew out a flag, and figne of loue,

Which is indeed but figne, that you shall furely

Finde him: lead to the Sagittar t, the raifed fearch,

And there will I be with him. So farewell.

Ithus would play and trifle with your reuerence.

Your daughter (if you haue not given ber leaue,
I fay againe) bath made a groffe reuolt.
Tying ber duty, beauty wit and fortunes,

In an extrauagant and wheedling franger,

Of bere, and euery where: fraght fa:isfie your felf;
If the be, &c.

Exit.

Thefe lines are wanting in the edition of 1622. and are printed from thag

in 1630.

Sagittary,

Enter