Mont. What is she? Cas. She that I spake of, our great captain's Left in the conduct of the bold Iago, [captain, Whose footing here anticipates our thoughts, A se'nnight's speed. Great Jove, Othello guard! And swell his sail with thine own powerful breath, That he may bless this bay with his tall ship, Make love's quick pants in Desdemona's arms, Give renewed fire to our extinguished spirits, And bring all Cyprus comfort. Enter DESDEMONA, IAGO, RODORIGO, and ÆMILIA. O behold! The riches of the ship is come on shore: Des. I thank you, valiant Cassio: ? Des. O, but I fear-how lost you company Cas. The great contention of the sea and skies Parted our fellowship. But hark, a sail! Within.] A sail, a sail! Gent. They give this greeting to the citadel: This likewise is a friend. Cas. See for the news: Good ancient, you are welcome. tress. Welcome mis [To Æmilia. Let it not gall your patience, good Iago, That I extend my manners. 'Tis my breeding Iago. Sir, would she give you so much of her lips, Des. Alas, she has no speech. Iago. In faith, too much; I find it still, when I have list to sleep; Emil. You have little cause to say so. Iago. Come on, come on; you're pictures out of doors, Bells in your parlours, wild cats in your kitchens, Saints in your injuries, devils being offended, Players in your housewifery, and housewives in your beds! Des. O, fie upon thee, slanderer! Iago. Nay, it is true, or else I am a Turk: You rise to play, and go to bed to work. Emil. You shall not write my praise. Iago. No, let me not. Des. What wouldst thou write of me, if thou shouldst praise me? Iago. Oh, gentle lady, do not put me to't, For I am nothing, if not critical. Des. Come one assay. There's one gone to the harbour Iago. Ay, Madam. Des. I am not merry; but I do beguile The thing I am, by seeming otherwise ;—— Come, how wouldst thou praise me ? Iago. I am about it; but indeed my invention comes from my pate, as birdlime does from frieze, it plucks out brains and all. But my muse labours, and thus she is delivered. If she be fair and wise, fairness and wit, Des. Well praised; how if she be black and witty? Iago. If she be black, and thereto have a wit, She'll find a white that shall her black ness fit. Des. Worse and worse. Emil. How, if fair and foolish? Iago. She never yet was foolish, that was fair; For even her folly helped her to an heir. Des. These are old fond paradoxes, to make fools laugh i' th' alehouse. What miserable praise hast thou for her that's foul and foolish? Iago. There's none so foul and foolish thereunto, But does foul pranks, which fair and wise ones do. Des. Oh, heavy ignorance! thou praisest the worst best. But what praise couldst thou bestow on a deserving woman indeed? one that, in the authority of her merit, did justly put down the vouch of very malice itself? Iago. She that was ever fair and never proud, Had tongue at will, and yet was never loud; may; sure fly; She that in wisdom never was so frail To change the cod's head for the sal- were Des. To do what? Iago. To suckle fools, and chronicle small beer. Des. Oh most lame and impotent conclusion! Do not learn of him, Emilia, though he be thy husband. How say you, Cassio, is he not a most profane and liberal censurer? Cas. He speaks home, Madam; you may relish him more in the soldier than in the scholar. Iago. [Aside.] He takes her by the palm; ay, well said-whisper-With as little a web as this, will I ensnare as great a fly as Cassio. Ay, smile upon her, do; I will gyve thee in thine own courtship. You say true, 'tis so indeed. If such tricks as these strip you out of your lieutenancy, it had been better you had not kissed your three fingers so oft, which now again you are most apt to play the sir in. Very good-well kissed, and excellent courtesy 'tis so indeed-Yet again-your fingers to your lips? 'would they were clister-pipes your sake. [Trumpets. for The Moor, I know his trumpet. Cas. 'Tis truly so. Des. Let's meet him, and receive him. Cas. Lo, where he comes? Enter OTHELLO and Attendants. Oth. Oh my fair warrior! Des. My dear Othello! Oth. It gives me wonder, great as my content, To see you here before me. 0 my soul's joy! If after every tempest come such calms, May the winds blow till they have weakened death: |