Cas. I have drunk but one cup to-night, and that was craftily qualified too,4 and, behold, what innovation it makes here: I am unfortunate in the infirmity, and dare not task my weakness with any more. Iago. What, man! 'tis a night of revels; the gallants desire it. Cas. Where are they? Iago. Here at the door; I pray you, call them in. [Exit CASSIO. Iago. If I can fasten but one cup upon him, With that which he hath drunk to-night already, As my young mistress' dog. Now, my sick fool, Roderigo, Potations pottle deep; and he's to watch: And they watch too. Now,'mongst this flock of drunkards, That may offend the isle :-But here they come : My boat sails freely, both with wind and stream. Re-enter CASSIO; with him, MONTANO, and Gentlemen. Cas. 'Fore heaven, they have given me a rouse already.6 Mon. Good faith, a little one; not past a pint, as I am a soldier. Iago. Some wine, ho! And let me the canakin clink, clink ; And let me the canakin clink: A soldier's a man ; A life's but a span ; Why then, let a soldier drink. Some wine, boys! [Sings. [Wine brought in. Cas. 'Fore heaven, an excellent song. Iago. I learned it in England, where (indeed) (they are most potent in potting: your Dane, your German, [4] Craftily qualified-Stily mixed with water. JOHNSON. [5] As quarrelsome as the discordia semina rerum; as quick in opposition as fire and water. JOHNSON. [6] Arouse appears to be a quantity of liquor rather too large. STEEVA and your swag-bellied Hollander,-Drink, ho!—are nothing to your English. Cas. Is your Englishman so expert in his drinking ? Iago. Why, he drinks you, with facility, your Dane dead drunk; he sweats not to overthrow your Almain; he gives your Hollander a vomit, ere the next pottle can be fill'd. Cas. To the health of our general. Mon. I am for it, lieutenant; and I'll do you justice. Iago. O sweet England ! King Stephen was a worthy peer,7 His breeches cost him but a crown; He was a wight of high renown, Some wine, ho! Cas. Why, this is a more exquisite song than the other. Iago. Will you hear it again? Cas. No; for I hold him to be unworthy of his place that does those things.-Well,-Heaven's above all; and there be souls that must be saved, and there be souls must not be saved. Iago. It's true, good lieutenant. Cas. For mine own part,-no offence to the general, nor any man of quality,-I hope to be saved. Iago. And so do I too, lieutenant. Cas. Ay, but, by your leave, not before me; the lieutenant is to be saved before the ancient. Let's have no more of this; let's to our affairs.-Forgive us our sins-Gentlemen, let's look to our business. 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 stand well enough, and speak well enough. All. Excellent well. Cas. Why, very well, then you must not think then that I am drunk. [Exit. Mon. To the platform, masters; come, let's set the watch. [7] These stanzas are taken from an old song, which the reader will find recovered and preserved in a curious work lately printed, intitled-Relicks of Ancient Poetry, consisting of old heroic ballads, songs, &c. JOHNSON. [8] Lown-sorry fellow, paltry wretch. JOHNSON. Iago. You see this fellow, that is gone before ;— He is a soldier, fit to stand by Cæsar And give direction and do but see his vice; The one as long as the other: 'tis pity of him. On some odd time of his infirmity, Will shake this island. Mon. But is he often thus? Iago. 'Tis evermore the prologue to his sleep: He'll watch the horologe a double set, If drink rock not his cradle.9 Mon. It were well, The general were put in mind of it. Perhaps, he sees it not; or his good nature Iago. How now, Roderigo? I pray you, after the lieutenant; go. [Aside [Exit Rob. Mon. And 'tis great pity, that the noble Moor Should hazard such a place, as his own second, With one of an ingraft infirmity:* It were an honest action, to say So to the Moor. Iago. Not I, for this fair island: I do love Cassio well; and would do much To cure him of this evil. But hark! what noise? [Cry within,-Help! help! Re-enter CASS10, driving in RODERIGO. Cas. You rogue! you rascal! Mon. What's the matter, lieutenant? I'll beat the knave into a twiggen bottle.2 Cas. Dost thou prate, rogue? I pray you, sir, hold your hand. [Striking RODERIGO. [Staying him. Or I'll knock you o'er the mazzard. Mon. Come, come, you're drunk. [9] If he have no drink, he'll keep awake while the clock strikes two rounds, or four-and-twenty hours. JOHNSON. [1] An infirmity rooted, settled in his constitution. JOHNSON. [2] A twiggen bottle is a wickered bottle. STEEVENS. [They fight. Cas. Drunk! Nay, good lieutenant,-alas, gentlemen,- [Bell rings. Enter OTHELLO, and Attendants. Oth. What is the matter here? Mon. I bleed still, I am hurt to the death ;- he dies. Oth. Hold, for your lives. Iago. Hold, hold, lieutenant,-sir, Montano,-gentle men, Have you forgot all sense of place and duty ? Hold, hold the general speaks to you; hold, for shame! For christian shame, put by this barbarous brawl: From her propriety.-What is the matter, masters?- Speak, who began this? on thy love, I charge thee. Iago. I do not know ;-friends all but now, even now, In quarter, and in terms like bride and groom Devesting them for bed: and then, but now, (As if some planet had unwitted men) Swords out, and tilting one at other's breast, Oth. How comes it, Michael, you are thus forgot And spend your rich opinion, for the name 30* VOL. VIII. Mon. Worthy Othello, I am hurt to danger ; Your officer, lago, can inform you— While I spare speech, which something now offends me;— Of all that I do know: nor know I aught By me that's said or done amiss this night, Unless self-charity be sometime a vice; Oth. Now, by heaven, My blood begins my safer guides to rue; Or do but lift this arm, the best of you Shall sink in my rebuke. Give me to know Though he had twinn'd with me, both at a birth, Mon. If partially affin'd, or leagu'd in office, Iago. Touch me not so near: I had rather have this tongue cut from my mouth, There comes a fellow, crying out for help; And Cassio following him with determin'd sword, The town might fall in fright: he, swift of foot, [3] To colly-anciently signified to besmut, to blacken with coal. Othello means that passion has dicoloured his judgment. STEEVENS. 43 He that is convicted by proof of having been engaged in this offence. STEEVENS. |