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Do what you will, dishonour shall be humour.
O Caffius, you are yoked with a lamb,
That carries anger as the flint bears fire:
Which much inforced, fhews a hafty spark,
And ftraight is cold again.

CAS. Hath Caffius liv'd.

To be but mirth and laughter to his Brutus,
When grief, and blood ill temper'd vexeth him?
BRU. When I spoke that, I was ill-temper'd too.
CAS. Do you confefs fo much? give me your hand,
BRU. And my heart too.

CAS. O Brutus !

BRU. What's the matter?

CAS. Have you not love enough to bear with me, When that rash humour which my mother gave me, Makes me forgetful?

BRU. Yes, Caffius, and from henceforth

When you are over earnest with your Brutus,
He'll think your mother chides, and leave you fo.

SHAKSPEARE.

CHAP.

XXVII.

OTHELLO AND IAGO.

IAGO. MY noble Lord,

OTн. What doft thou fay lago?

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woo'd my lady,

Know of your love?

OIн. He did, from first to laft: why dost thou ask?

IAGO. But for a fatisfaction of my thought,

No farther harm.

Oтн. Why of thy thought Iago?

IAGO. I did not think he'd been acquainted with it.
Отн. Oh, yes, and went between us very oft.
IAGO. Indeed!

OTH. Indeed! ay, indeed. Discern'ft thou aught in that? Is he not honest.

IAGO. Honeft, my Lord?

Oтн. Honeft? aye, honeft.

IAGO. My Lord, for aught I know.

OTH. What doft thou think!

IAGO. Think, my Lord !.

OтH. Think, my Lord! Why, by Heav'n, thou écho't

me,

As if there were fome monfter in thy thought,

Too hideous to be fhewn. Thou doft mean something
I heard thee fay but now," thou lik'ft not that,"-
When Caffio left my wife. What didft not like ?
And when I told thee, he was of my counsel,

In my whole course of wooing: thou cry'd'ft, « Indeed !”
And didst contract and purse thy brow together,

As if thou then hadft shut up in thy brain

Some horrible conceit. If thou doft love me,

Shew me thy thought.

IAGO. My Lord, you know I love you...

OTH. I think thou doft:

And, for I know, thou art full of love and honesty,

And weigh'st thy words before thou giv'st them breath,
Therefore thefe ftops of thine fright me the more;
For fuch things, in a falfe difloyal knave,
Are tricks of custom; but in a man that's just,
They're cold dilations working from the heart,
That paffion cannot rule.

IAGO,

IAGO. For Michael Caffio,

I dare be fworn, I think, that he is honest,
OтH. I think fo too.

IAGO. Men fhould be what they seem :

Or, those that be not, would thy might seem knaves.
Oгн. Certain men fhould be what they feem.
IAGO. Why, then I think Caffio's an honeft man.
OтH. Nay, yet there's more in this;

I pray thee speak to me as to thy thinkings,

As thou doft ruminate: and give thy worst of thoughts
The worst of words.

IAGO. Good my Lord, pardon me,

Though I am bound to every act of duty,

I am not bound to all that flaves are free to;
Utter my thoughts !-Why, fay, they're vile and false;
As where's that palace, whereinto foul things
Sometimes intrude not: Who has a breast so pure,
But fome uncleanly apprehenfions

Keeps leets and law-days, and in feffions fit
With meditations lawful?

OTH. Thou doft confpire against thy friend, Iago.
If thou but think'st him wrong'd, and mak’st his ear
A ftranger to thy thoughts.

IAGO. I do beseech you,

Think I, perchance, am vicious in my guess,
(As, I confefs, it is my nature's plague
To 'fpy into abufe; and oft my jealousy
Shapes faults that are not) I intreat you then,
From one that fo imperfectly conjects,
Your wisdom would not build yourself a trouble
Out of my scattered and unfure observance :
It were not for your quiet nor your good,

Nor

Nor for my manhood, honefty, and wisdom,

To let you know my thoughts.

OH. What doft thou mean?

IAGO. Good name in man or woman, dear my lord, Is the immediate jewel of their fouls,

Who steals my purse, steals trash; 'tis something, nothing;
'Twas mine, 'tis his, and has been flave to thousands;
But he that filches from me my good name,

Robs me of that which not enriches him,
And makes me poor indeed.

Oтн. I'll know thy thoughts

IAGO. You cannot, if my heart were in your hand; Nor fhall not, whilft 'tis in my cuftody.

Отн. На!

IAGO. O beware, my lord, of jealoufy:

It is a green-ey'd monster, which doth mock
The meat it feeds on. That cuckold lives in blifs,
Who certain of his fate, loves not his wronger;
But oh, what damned minutes tells he o'er,

Who doats, yet doubts; fufpects, yet ftrongly loves!
OTH. O mifery !

IAGO. Poor and content, is rich and rich enough;
But riches endless, is as poor as winter,

To him that ever fears he hall be poor.

Good Heaven! the fouls of all my tribe defend
From jealoufy!

OтH. Why, why is this?

Think't thou I'd make a life of jealousy ?

To follow ftill the changes of the moon
With fresh fufpicions?-'Tis not to make me jealous,
To fay, my wife is fair, feeds well, loves company,

Is free of speech, fings, plays, and dances well;

Where

Where virtue is, these make more virtuous.
Nor from mine own weak merits will I draw
The fmalleft fear, or doubt of her revolt,

For she had eyes, and chose me.

No, Iago,
I'll fee, before I doubt; when I doubt, prove;

And, on the proof, there is no more but this,
Away at once with love or jealousy.

IAGO. I'm glad of this; for now I shall have reason

To fhew the love and duty that I bear you

With franker spirit.

Therefore, as I'm bound,

I fpeak not yet of proof.

Receive it from me.

Look to your wife, obferve her well with Caffio;
Wear your eye-thus; not jealous nor fecure!
-I would not have your free and noble nature
Out of felf-bounty be abus'd; look to't.
I know our country difpofition well;

In Venice they do let Heav'n fee the pranks
They dare not fhew their husbands.

OTH. Duft thou say so?

IAGO. She did deceive her father, marrying you :

And when the feem'd to shake, and fear your looks,

She lov'd them most.

OTH. And fo fhe did.

IAGO. Go to then;

She, that, so young, could give out fuch a feeming
To feal her father's eyes up, close as oak-

He thought 'twas witchcraft

But I'm much to blame;

I humbly do beseech you of your pardon,

For too much loving you.

Отн. I am bound to thee for ever.

IACO. I fee this hath a little dash'd your spirits.
OTH, Not a jot, not a jot.

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