Forfooth, a great arithmetician, 66 One Michael Caffio;-( “ a Florentine's "A fellow almost damn'd in a fair wife;—)"? More than a spinfter; but the bookish theoric, As mafterly as he; mere prattle, without pra&ice, And I (God bless the mark!) his Moor-fhip's Ancient. Rod. By Heav'n, I rather would have been his hangman. Iago. But there's no remedy, 'tis the curfe of fervice; Perferment goes by letter and affection, Not (as of old) gradation, were each fecond Stood heir to th' firft. Now, Sir, be judge your self, If I in any juft term am affign'd To love the Moor. Rod. I would not follow him then. I follow him to ferve my turn upon him. Whip me fuch honest knaves- -Others there are, "Who trimm'd in forms and visages of duty, "Keep yet their heart attending on themfelves; "And, throwing but fhows of fervice on their lords, Well thrive by them; and when they've lin'd their coats, "Do Do themselves homage. Thefe folks have fome soul, And fuch a one do 1 profess myself. It is as fure as you are Roderigo, Were I the Moor, I would not be lago: In following him, I follow but my self, Iago. Call up her father, Roule him, make after him, poifon his delight; Rod. Here is her father's house, I'll call aloud. Rod. What, ho! Brabantio! Signior Brabantio! oh. Iago. Awake! what, oh! Brabantio! oh! thieves! thieves ! Look to your houfe, your daughter and your bags : Thieves thieves! SCENE II. Brabantio appears above, at a window. Bra. What is the matter there? •WHAT is THAT is the reafon of this terrible fummons? Rod. Signior, is all your family within? Iago. Iago. Are all doors lock'd? Bra. Why? wherefore afk you this? Iago. Zounds! Sir, you're robb'd: for shame, put on your Gown; Your heart is burft, you have loft half your foul; Bra. What, have you loft your wits? Rod. Moft reverend fignior, do you know my voice? Bra. Not I; what are you? Bra. The worse welcome; I've charg'd thee not to haunt about my doors: To ftart my quiet. Rod. Sir, Sir, Sir Bra. But thou must needs be fure, My fpirit and my place have in their Rod. Patience, good Sir. power Bra. What tell'ft thou me of robbing? this is Venice: My houfe is not a grange. Rod. Moft grave Brabantio, In fimple and pure foul, I come to you. Iago. Zounds! Sir you are one of those that will not ferve God, if the Devil bid you. Because we come to do you fervice, you think we are ruffians; you'll have your daughter cover'd with a Barbary horse, you'll have your nephews neigh to you; you'll have courfers for coufins, and gennets for germanes. Bra. Bra. What prophane wretch art thou? Iago. I am one, Sir, that comes to tell you, your daughter and the Moor are now making the beaft with two backs. Bra. Thou art a villain. lago. You are a fenator. Bra. This thou fhalt answer. I know thee, Rodorigo. Rod. Sir, I will answer any thing. But I beseech you, I thus would play, and trifle with your reverence. Tying her duty, beauty, wit and fortunes Bra. Strike on the tinder, ho! Give me a taper;-call up all my people ;- Light, I fay, light! Iago. Farewel; for I muft leave you. It feems not meet, nor wholefome to my place, Against the Moor. For I do know, the State, . Q2 However However this may gall him with fome check, For he's embark'd With fuch loud reason to the Cyprus' wars, Which ev'n now ftand in act, that, for their fouls, find him, That you may surely Lead to the Sagittary the raifed fearch; -Bra. [Exit. Enter Brabantio, and fervants with torches. Is nought but bitterness. Now, Rodorigo, Where didft thou fee her? oh unhappy girl! tapers. Raife all my kindred-are they married, think you? Rod. Truly, I think, they are. Bra. O heaven! how gat fhe out? Oh treafon of my blood! Fathers, from hence truft not your daughters' minds fee them act. Are there not charms, By what you fee them act. By which the property of youth and maidhood Rod. Yes, Sir, I have, indeed. [her; Bra. Call up my brother: oh, 'would you had had * And what's to come of my defpiled time,] Why défpifed Time? We fhould read- -defpited time. i. e. vexatious. |