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Mont. I'm glad on't; 'tis a worthy governor. 3 Gent. But this same Cassio, though he speak

of comfort, Touching the Turkish loss yet he looks sadly, And prays the Moor be safe; for they were parted With foul and violent tempest.

Mont. Pray Heavens he be: For I have served him, and the man commands Like a full soldier. Let's to the sea-side, As well to see the vessel that's come in. As to throw out our eyes for brave Othello, Even till we make the main and the ærial blue An indistinct regard.

Gent. Come, let's do so; For

every minute is expectancy Of more arrivance.

Enter Cassio. Cas. Thanks to the valiant of this warlike isle, That so approve the Moor: Oh, let the heavens Give him defence against the elements, For I have lost lim on a dangerous sea.

Mont. Is he well-shipped?

Cas. His bark is stoutly timbered, and his pilot Of very expert and approved allowance; Therefore my hopes, not surfeited to death, Stand in bold cure.

Within.] A sail, a sail, a sail !

Cas. What noise?

[sea Gent. The town is empty; on the brow of the Stand ranks of people, and they cry, a sail !

Cas. My hopes do shape him for the governor.

Gent. They do discharge their shot of courtesy; Our friends at least.

Cas. I pray you, sir, go forth,
And give us truth who 'tis that is arrived.
Gent. I shall.

[Exit. Mont. But, good lieutenant, is your general

wived ? Cas. Most fortunately, he hath achieved a maid That paragons description and wild fame: One that excels the quirks of blaz’ning pens, And in the essential vesture of creation Does bear all excellency

Enter Gentleman.

How now? who has put in?

Gent. 'Tis one Iago, ancient to the general.

Cas. He's had most favourable and happy speed: Tempests themselves, high seas, and howling

winds, The guttered rocks, and congregated sands, (Traitors ensteeped to clog the guiltless keel, As having sense of beauty, do omit Their mortal natures, letting safe go by The divine Desdemona,

Mont. What is she?

Cus. 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.

O behold!
The riches of the ship is come on shore:
You men of Cyprus, let her have your

Hail to thee, Lady! and the grace of Heaven,
Before, behind thee, and on every hand
Enwheel thee round.

Des. I thank you, valiant Cassio :
What tidings can you tell me of my lord ?

Cas. He is not yet arrived, nor know I aught But that he's well, and will be shortly here.

Des. 0, 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. Welcome mistress.

[To Æmilia. Let it not gall your patience, good lago, That I extend my manners.

'Tis my breeding That gives me this bold shew of courtesy.

Iago. Sir, would she give you so much of her lips, As of her tongue she oft bestows on me, You'd have enough.

Des. Alas, she has no speech.

Iago. In faith, too much;
I find it still, when I have list to sleep ;
Marry, before your ladyship, I grant,
She puts her tongue a little in her heart,
And chides with thinking.

Æmil. 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.

Æmil. You shall not write my praise. lago. 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


invention comes from my pate, as birdlime does from frieze, it plucks out brains and all. But my muse labours, aud thus she is delivered.

If she be fair and wise, fairness and wit,
The one's for use, the other useth it.

Des. Well praised ; how if she be black and


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.
Æmil. 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?

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