212 CLARENCE AND BRAKENBURY. Brakenbury. Why looks your grace so heavily to-day? So full of ugly sights, of ghastly dreams, I would not spend another such a night, Brak. What was your dream, my lord? pray you tell me. Clar. Methought that I had broken from the tower, And was embark'd to cross to Burgundy, And in my company my brother Gloucester, Who from my cabin tempted me to walk Upon the hatches. Thence we look'd toward England, That had befallen us. As we pass'd along Upon the giddy footing of the hatches, Methought that Gloucester stumbled, and in falling, Lord, Lord, methought, what pain it was to drown All scatter'd in the bottom of the sea, Some lay in dead men's skulls; and in those holes That woo'd the slimy bottom of the deep, And mock'd the dead bones that lay scatter'd by. Brak. Had you such leisure in the time of death, To gaze upon the secrets of the deep? Clar. Methought I had; and often did I strive I pass'd, methought, the melancholy flood, The first that there did greet my stranger soul, Clar. O Brakenbury, I have done those things But thou wilt be aveng'd on my misdeeds, Yet execute thy wrath on me alone: O, spare my guiltless wife, and my poor children!— I pray thee, Brakenbury, stay by me : My soul is heavy, and I fain would sleep. SHAKEPERE. OTHELLO AND IAGO. Iago. My noble lord,— Othello. What dost thou say, Iago? Iago. Did Michael Cassio, when you woo'd my lady, Oth. He did, from first to last why dost thou ask? No further harm.] Oth. Why of that thought, Iago Iago. I did not think, he had been acquainted with her. Iago. Indeed! Oth. Indeed!|ay, indeed;--discern'st thou aught in thaf? Is he not honest? Iago. Honest, my lord? Oth. Honest? Ay, honest. Iago. My lord, for aught I know. Oth. What dost thou think? Iago. Think my lord? Oth. Think, my lord! By heaven, he echoes me, As if there were some monster in his thought Too hideous to be shown. Thou dost mean something I heard thee say but now,-thou likd'st not that, When Cassio left my wife: what didst not like? 小 And, when I told thee-he was of my counsel In my whole course of wooing thou cry'dst Indeed!" As if thou then hadst shut up in thy brain ́ Some horrible conceit. If thou dost love me, Tago. My lord, you know I love you. Oth. I think thou dost; And, for I know thou art full of love and honesty, And weigh'st thy words before thou giv'st them breath,— Are tricks of custom but, in a man that's just, Jago. For Michael Cassio, I dare be sworn, orn, I think that he is honest↓ Oth. I think so too. Iago. Men should be what they seem, Or those that be not, would they might seem none! Iago. Why, then, 1 think Cassio's an honest man. Oth. Nay, yet there's more in this I pray thee, speak to me as to thy thinkings, As thou dost ruminate and give thy worst of thoughts Iago. Good my lord, pardon me} Though I am bound to every act of duty,' I am not bound to that all slaves are free to.. Utter my thoughts? Why say, they're vile and falɛeļ——— As where's that palace, whereinto foul things Sometimes intrude not Who has a breast so pure, But some uncleanly apprehensions Krep leets, and law days, and in session sit With meditations lawful? 215 Oth. Thou dost conspire against thy friend, (Iago, If thou but think'st him wrong'd, and mak'st his ear › Iago. I do beseech you,+ Though I, perchance, am vicious in my guese, (As, I confess, it is my nature's plague To spy into abuses; and oft my jealousy Shapes faults that are not-) I entreat you then, You'd take no notice; nor build yourself a troublel To let Oth. What dost thou mean Iago. Good name in man, and woman, dear my lord, Is the immediate jewel of their souls Who steals my purse, steals trash; 'tis something, nothing; 'Twas mine, 'tis his, and has been slave to thousands; But he, that filches from me my good name, Robs me of that, which not enriches him, Oth. By heaven, I'll know thy thoughts. Iago. You cannot, if my heart were in your hand :| Nor shall not whilst 'tis in my custody.[ Oth. Ha! Iago. O beware my lord, (of jealousy; It is the green-eyed monster, (which doth mock But, O; what damned minutes tells he o'er, Who dotes, yet doubts suspects yet strongly loves!/ Iago. Poor and content, is rich and rich enough; But riches, fineless, is as poor as winter, To him that ever fears he shall be poor.— |