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Internet Shakespeare Editions

Author: William Shakespeare
Editor: Donald Bailey
Peer Reviewed

Othello (Quarto 1, 1622)

The Moore of Venice.

by, let vs call thee Diuell.
Iag. What was he, that you followed with your sword?
What had he done to you?
1410Cas. I know not.
Iag. Ist possible?
Cas. I remember a masse of things, but nothing distinctly; a
quarrell, but nothing wherefore. O God, that men should put an
enemy in there mouthes, to steale away there braines; that wee
1415should with ioy, Reuell, pleasure, and applause, transforme our
selues into beasts.
Iag. Why, but you are now well enough: how came you thus
Cas. It hath pleasde the Diuell drunkennesse, to giue place to
1420the Diuell wrath; one vnperfectnesse, shewes me another, to make
me frankely despise my selfe.
Iag. Come, you are too seuere a morraler; as the time, the place,
the condition of this Countrey stands, I could heartily wish, this
had not so befalne; but since it is as it is, mend it, for your own good.
Cas. I will aske him for my place againe, hee shall tell me I am a
drunkard: had I as many mouthes as Hydra, such an answer would
stop em all: to be now a sensible man, by and by a foole, and pre-
sently a beast. Euery vnordinate cup is vnblest, and the ingredience
is a diuell.
Iag. Come, come, good wine is a good familiar creature, if it be
well vs'd; exclaime no more against it; and good Leiutenant, I
thinke you thinke I loue you.
Cas. I haue well approou'd it sir, ---I drunke?
Iag. You, or any man liuing may bee drunke at some time: I'le
tell you what you shall do, --our Generals wife is now the Gene-
rall; I may say so in this respect, for that he has deuoted and giuen vp
1440himselfe to the contemplation, marke and deuotement of her parts
and graces. Confesse your selfe freely to her, importune her, shee'll
helpe to put you in your place againe: she is so free, so kind, so apt,
so blessed a disposition, that shee holds it a vice in her goodnesse,
1445not to doe more then shee is requested. This braule betweene
you and her husband, intreate her to splinter, and my fortunes
against any lay, worth naming, this cracke of your loue
F 3