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Duke. Nay, in all confidence he's not for Rhodes.
Of. Here is more news.

Enter a Messenger.
Mej. The Ottomites, (reverend and gracious),
Steering with due course toward the isle of Rhodes,
Have there injoin'd them with an after-fleet

1 Sen. 4y, so I thought; how many, as you guess ?

Mes Of thirty fail, and now thy do re-stein
Their backward course, bearing with frank appearance
Their purposes toward Cyprus. Signior Montano,
Your truity and most valiant servitor,
With his free duty, recommends you thus,
And prays you to believe hin.

Duke.?lis certain then for Cyprus : Marcus Luc-
Is he not here in town?

[cicos, i Sen He's now in Florence. Duke Write from us to him, post, post-halte, dispatch. į Sen. Here comes Brabantio, and the valiant Moor.

SC E N E VIII.
To them, Enter Brabantio, Othello, Callio, Iago, Ro-

dorigo, and Officers.
Duke. Valiant Othello, we must straight employ you,
Against the general enemy Ottoman.
I did not lee you; welcome, gentle Signior: [To Brab.
We lack'd your counel and your help to-night.

Bra So did I your's; gond your Grace, pardon me;
Neither my place, nor ought I heard of butiness,
Hath rais'd me froin iny bed; nor doth the general
Take hold on me: for iny particular grief
Is of To food-gate and o'er-bearing nature,
That it ingluts and swallows other sorrows,
And
yet

is still itself.
Duke. Why? what's the matter?
Bra My daughter! oh, my daughter !
Sen. Dead?

Bra. To me;
She is abus'd, itolen from me, and corrupted
By spells and medicines, bought of inountebanks ;
For nature so preposterously to err,

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(Being not deficient, blind, or lame of fenfe), Sans witchcraft could not

Duke. Whoe'er he be that in this foul proceeding
Hath thus beguild your daughter of herself,
And you of her, the bloody book of law
You shall yourself read in the bitter letter,
After your own sense; yea, though our proper son
Stood in your action.

Bra. Humbly I thank your Grace.
Here is the man, this Moor, whom now, it seems,
Your special mandate, for the state-affairs,
Hath hither brought.

All. We're very sorry for't.
Duke. What in your own part can you say to this!

[T. Othel,
Bra. Nothing, but this is fo.
Oth. Molt potent, grave, and reverend Signiors,
My very noble and approv'd good masters;
That I have ta’en away this old man's daughter,
It is most true ; true, I have married her ;
The very head and front of my offending
Hath this extent; no more. Rude am I in my speech,
And little bless'd with the set phrase of peace ;
For since these arms of mine had seven years' pith,
Till now, some nine moons wasted, they have us’d
Their dearest action in the tented field;
And little of this great world can I speak,
More than pertains to feats of broils and battle ;
And therefore little shall I grace my cause,
In speaking for myfelf. Yet, by your patience,
I will a round unvarnish'd tale deliver,
Of my whole course of love; what drugs, what charms,
What conjuration, and what mighty magic,
(For fuch proceeding I am charge'd withal),
I won his daughter with.

Bra. A maiden, never bold;
Of fpirit fo ftill and quiet, that her motion
Blush'd at herself; and the, in spight of nature,
Of years, of country, credit, every thing,
To fall in love with what she fear'd to look on
It is a judgment maim'd, and most imperfect,
That will confess, perfection so could err

Against

Against all rules of nature; and inult be driven
To find out practices of cunning hell,
Why this thould be. I therefore vouch again,
That with some mixtures powerful o'er the blood,
Or with some dram, conjur'd to this effect,
He wrought upon her.

Duke. To vouch this, is no proof,
Without more certain and more overt teft,
Than these thin habits and poor likelihoods
Of modern seeming do prefer against him.

1 Sen. But, Othello, speak;
Did you by indirect and forced courses
Subdue and poison this young maid's affections?
Or came it by request, and such fair question
As soul to foul affordeth ?

Oth. I beseech you,
Send for the lady to the Sagittary,
And let her fpeak of me before her fixther.
If you do find me foul in her report,
The trust, the office, I do hold of you,
Not only take away, but let your

fentence Even fall upon my life.

Duke. Fetch Desdemona hither. [Exeunt two or three. Oth. Ancient, conduct them, you best know the place.

[Exit lagos And till she come, as truly as to heav'n I do confess the vices of So justly to your grave ears I'll present. How I did thrive in this fair lady's love, And she in mine.

Duke. Say it, Othello.

Oth. Her father lov'd me, oft invited me; Still question'd me the story of my life, From year to year; the battles, fieges, fortunes, That I have past. I ran it through, e'en from my boyish days, To th' very moment that he bade me tell it. Wherein I spoke of moit disastrous chances, Of moving accidents by flood and field; Of hair-breadth 'scapes in th' imminent deadly breach; Of being taken by the infolent foe, And told to slavery; of my redemption thence,

my blood,

And with it all my travel's history:
Wherein of antres vast, and desarts idle *,
Rough quarries, rocks, and hills, whose heads touch

heav'n,
It was my hent to speak. † All these to hear
Would Desdemona seriously incline.
But still the house-affairs would draw her thence,
Which ever as the could with haste dispatch,
She'd come again, and with a greedy ear
Devour up my discourse: which I observing,
Took once a pliant hour, and found good means
To draw from her a prayer of earnest heart,
That I would all my pilgrimage dilate;
Whereof by parcels llie had something heard,
But not diftinétively. I did consent,
And often did beguile her of her tears,
When I did speak of fome distressful stroke
That my youth suffer J. My flory being done,
She gave me for my pains a world of fighs.
She swore, in faith, 'twas strange, 'twas pasling strange,
'Twas pititul, 'twas wondrous pitiful
She wilh'd she had not heard it ;- yet she wish'd
That heav'n had made her such a man:-- - she thank'd
And bade me, if I had a friend that lov’d her, [me,
I should but teach him how to tell my story,
And that would wooe her. On this hint I spake;
She lov'd me for the dangers I had past;
And I lov'd her, that she did pity them.
This only is the witchcraft I have us d.
Here comes the lady, let her witnets it.

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Enter Desdemona, Iago, and attendants. Duke. I think this tale would win my daughter too Good Brabantio,

* icle, for barrer..
+ It was my hent to sp ak. Such was the proces ;
And of the Cinibals that each otheredt,
The Anthropophagi; and men whose heac's
Dy grow benea:h their shoulders. All here to hear
Would Desdemona, *c.
Vol. VIII.

S

Take Take

up this mangled matter at the best. Men do their broken weapons rather use, Than their bare hands.

Bia. I pray you hear her speak.
If she confess that she was half the wooer,
Destruction on my head, if my bad blame
Light on the man! Come hither, gentle mistress,
Do you perceive in all this noble company,
Where you muit owe obedience ?

Def. My noble father,
I do perceive here a divided duty.
To
you

I'm bound for life and education; My life and education both do learn me llow to respect you.

You're the lord of duty;
I'm hitherto your daughter. But here's my husband:
And so much duty as my mother shew'd
To you, preferring you before her father;
So much I challenge, that I may profess
Due to the Moor, my Lord.

Bra. God be with you. I have done
Please it your Grace, on to the state-affairs ;
I had rather to adopt a child, than get it.
Come hither, Moor.
I here do give thee that with all my heart,
Which, but thou hast already, with all my heart
I would keep from thee. For your fake, jewel,
I'in glad at soul I have no other child ;
For thy escape world teach me tyranny,
To hang clogs on them. I have done, my Lord.

Duke. Let me fpeak like ourself; and lay a fentence, Which, as a grise, or step, may help these lovers

favour When remedies are past, the griefs are ended By seeing the worst, which late on hopes depended. To mourn a mischief that is past and gone, Is the next way to draw new mischief on. What cannot be presery'd when Fortune takes, Patience her injury a mockery makes, The robb’d that siniles, steals fomething from the thief; He robs himself, that spends a bootless grief.

Bra. So, let the Turk of Cyprus us beguile, We lose it not, so long as we can smile.

He

Into your

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