Othello (Quarto 1, 1622)
Peer Reviewed
The Moore of Venice.
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¶Bra. God bu'y, I ha done:
¶Please it your Grace, on to the State affaires;
¶I had rather to adopt a child then get it;
540Come hither Moore:
¶I here doe giue thee that, with all my heart
¶I would keepe from thee: for your sake Iewell,
¶I am glad at soule. I haue no other child,
545For thy escape would teach me tyranny,
¶To hang clogs on em, I haue done my Lord.
549.1Into your fauour.
550When remedies are past, the griefes are ended,
¶Is the next way to draw more mischiefe on;
¶What cannot be preseru'd when fortune takes,
555Patience her iniury a mockery makes.
¶Bra. So let the Turke, of Cypres vs beguile,
560He beares the sentence well that nothing beares,
¶But the free comfort, which from thence he heares:
¶That to pay griefe, must of poore patience borrow.
¶But words are words, I neuer yet did heare,
¶That the bruis'd heart was pierced through the eare:
570Othello, the fortitude of the place, is best knowne to you, and tho we
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