Shakespeare's First Folio Part 637

Rodo. I: and said nothing but what I protest intendment of doing

Iago. Why, now I see there's mettle in thee: and euen from this instant do build on thee a better opinion then euer before: giue me thy hand Rodorigo.

Thou hast taken against me a most iust exception: but yet I protest I haue dealt most directly in thy Affaire

Rod. It hath not appeer'd

Iago. I grant indeed it hath not appeer'd: and your suspition is not without wit and iudgement.

But Rodorigo, if thou hast that in thee indeed, which I haue greater reason to beleeue now then euer (I meane purpose, Courage, and Valour) this night shew it. If thou the next night following enioy not Desdemona, take me from this world with Treacherie, and deuise Engines for my life

Rod. Well: what is it? Is it within, reason and compa.s.se?

Iago. Sir, there is especiall Commission come from Venice to depute Ca.s.sio in Oth.e.l.lo's place

Rod. Is that true? Why then Oth.e.l.lo and Desdemona returne againe to Venice

Iago. Oh no: he goes into Mauritania and taketh away with him the faire Desdemona, vnlesse his abode be lingred heere by some accident. Wherein none can be so determinate, as the remouing of Ca.s.sio

Rod. How do you meane remouing him?

Iago. Why, by making him vncapable of Oth.e.l.lo's place: knocking out his braines

Rod. And that you would haue me to do

Iago. I: if you dare do your selfe a profit, and a right. He sups to night with a Harlotry: and thither will I go to him. He knowes not yet of his Honourable Fortune, if you will watch his going thence (which I will fas.h.i.+on to fall out betweene twelue and one) you may take him at your pleasure. I will be neere to second your Attempt, and he shall fall betweene vs. Come, stand not amaz'd at it, but go along with me: I will shew you such a necessitie in his death, that you shall thinke your selfe bound to put it on him. It is now high supper time: and the night growes to wast.

About it

Rod. I will heare further reason for this

Iago. And you shalbe satisfi'd.

Exeunt.

Scena Tertia.

Enter Oth.e.l.lo, Lodouico, Desdemona, aemilia, and Atendants.

Lod. I do beseech you Sir, trouble your selfe no further

Oth. Oh pardon me: 'twill do me good to walke

Lodoui. Madam, good night: I humbly thanke your Ladys.h.i.+p

Des. Your Honour is most welcome

Oth. Will you walke Sir? Oh Desdemona

Des. My Lord

Oth.e.l.lo. Get you to bed on th' instant, I will be return'd forthwith: dismisse your Attendant there: look't be done.

Enter.

Des. I will my Lord

Aem. How goes it now? He lookes gentler then he did

Des. He saies he will returne incontinent, And hath commanded me to go to bed, And bid me to dismisse you

Aemi. Dismisse me?

Des. It was his bidding: therefore good aemilia, Giue me my nightly wearing, and adieu.

We must not now displease him.

Aemil. I, would you had neuer seene him

Des. So would not I: my loue doth so approue him, That euen his stubbornesse, his checks, his frownes, (Prythee vn-pin me) haue grace and fauour

Aemi. I haue laid those Sheetes you bad me on the bed

Des. All's one: good Father, how foolish are our minds?

If I do die before, prythee shrow'd me In one of these same Sheetes.

Aemil. Come, come: you talke

Des. My Mother had a Maid call'd Barbarie, She was in loue: and he she lou'd prou'd mad, And did forsake her. She had a Song of Willough, An old thing 'twas: but it express'd her Fortune, And she dy'd singing it. That Song to night, Will not go from my mind: I haue much to do, But to go hang my head all at one side And sing it like poore Barbarie: prythee dispatch

Aemi. Shall I go fetch your Night-gowne?

Des. No, vn-pin me here, This Lodouico is a proper man.

Aemil. A very handsome man

Des. He speakes well.

Aemil. I know a Lady in Venice would haue walk'd barefoot to Palestine for a touch of his nether lip

Des. The poore Soule sat singing, by a Sicamour tree.

Sing all a greene Willough: Her hand on her bosome her head on her knee, Sing Willough, Willough, Willough.

The fresh Streames ran by her, and murmur'd her moanes Sing Willough, &c.

Her salt teares fell from her, and softned the stones, Sing Willough, &c. (Lay by these) Willough, Willough. (Prythee high thee: he'le come anon) Sing all a greene Willough must be my Garland.

Let no body blame him, his scorne I approue.

(Nay that's not next. Harke, who is't that knocks?

Aemil. It's the wind

Des. I call'd my Loue false Loue: but what said he then?

Sing Willough, &c.

If I court mo women, you'le couch with mo men.

So get thee gone, good night: mine eyes do itch: Doth that boade weeping?

Aemil. 'Tis neyther heere, nor there

Des. I haue heard it said so. O these Men, these men!

Do'st thou in conscience thinke (tell me aemilia) That there be women do abuse their husbands In such grosse kinde?

Aemil. There be some such, no question

Des. Would'st thou do such a deed for all the world?

Aemil. Why, would not you?

Des. No, by this Heauenly light.