From the hard hand of peasants their vile trash
By any indirection. I did fend

To you for gold to pay my legions,

Which you denied me: was that done like Caffius?
Should I have answer'd Caius Caffius fo?
When Marcus Brutus grows fo covetous,

To lock fuch rafcal counters from his friends,

Be ready, gods, with all your thunderbolts!

Dash him to pieces!

CAS. I denied you not.

BRU. You did.

CAS. I did not-he was but a fool

That brought my answer back.-Brutus hath riv'd my

heart.

A friend fhould bear a friend's infirmities,

But Brutus makes mine greater than they are.

BRU I do not.-Still you practise them on me.

CAS. You love me not.

BRU. I do not like your faults.

CAS. A friendly eye could never fee fuch faults. BRU. A flatt'rer's would not, though they do appear As huge as high Olympus.

CAS. Come, Antony, and young Octavius, come! Revenge yourselves alone on Caffius,

For Caffius is a-weary of the world;

Hated by one he loves; brav'd by his brother;
Check'd by a bondman; all his faults obferv'd,
Set in a note-book, learn'd and conn'd by rote,
To caft into my teeth. O! I could weep
My fpirit from mine eyes!-There is my dagger,.
And here my naked breast-within, a heart
Dearer than Plutus' mine, richer than gold!
If that thou need'ft a Roman's, take it forth.
I, that denied thee gold, will give my heart:
Strike as thou didst at Cæfar; for I know,
R 6

When

When thou didst hate him worst, thou lov'dft him better

That ever thou lov'dft Caffius.

BRU. Sheathe your dagger;

Be angry when you will, it fhall have fcope;
Do what you will, dishonour shall be humour.
O Caffius! you are yoked with a lamb,
That carries anger as the flint bears fire,
Which, much enforced, fhows a hafty spark,
And ftraight is cold again.

CAS. Hath Caffius liv'd

To be but mirth and laughter to his Brutus,
When grief, and blood ill temper'd, vexeth him?
BRU. When I fpoke, that, I was ill-temper'd too.
Do you confefs fo much? Give me your hand.
And my heart too.

CAS.

BRU.

CAS. O Brutus!

BRU. What's the matter?

CAS. Have you not love enough to bear with me, When that rafh humour which my. mother gave ine Makes me forgetful?

BRU. Yes, Caffius, and from henceforth, When you are overearnest with your Brutus, He'll think your mother chides, and leave

you

fo.

SHAKSPEARE.

CHAP. XXVII.

OTHELLO AND IAGO.

IAGO. MY noble Lord

OTH. What doit thou fay, Iago

IAGO. Did Michael Caffio, when you wou'd my Lady,

Know of your love?

Отн.

He did, from firft to laft: why doft thou ask? 1AGO. But for a fatisfaction of my thought,

No farther harm.

Отн. Why of thy thought, Iago?

IAGO. I did not think he'd been acquainted with it.

Отн.

Отн. О yes, and went between us very oft.
IAGO. Indeed!

OTн. Indeed! ay, indeed. Discern't thou aught in that ? Is he not honest ?

Отн. Think, my Lord! Why, by Heav'n! thou echo'ft me,

As if there were fome monster in thy thought

1

Too hideous to be shown. Thou doft mean fomething:
I heard thee fay but now," thou lik’At not that,"-
When Caffio left my wife. What did'ft not like?
And when I told thee, he was of my counsel,

In my whole courfe of wooing, thou criedft, " Indeed!”
And didst contract and purse thy brow together,

As if thou then hadft fhut up in thy brain
Some horrible conceit. If thou doft love me,

Show me thy thought.

IAGO. My Lord, you know I love you.

ОTH. I think thou doft:

And, for I know thou art full of love and honesty,

And weigh'ft thy words before thou giv'ft them breath, Therefore thefe ftops of thine fright me the more :

For fuch things in a false disloyal knave

Are tricks of cuftom; but in a man that's juft,
They're cold dilations working from the heart,
That paffion cannot rule.

IAGO. For Michael Caffio,

I dare be fworn, I think, that he is honeft.

Отн. I think so too.

IAGO. Men thould be what they feem;

Or, thofe that be not, would they might feem knaves. OTH. Certain! men fhould be what they feem.

5

IAGO,

IAGO. Why, then I think Caffio's an honeft man.

OTн. Nay, yet there's more in this;

I pray thee speak to me as to thy thinkings;

As thou doft ruminate; and give thy worft of thoughts The worst of words.

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, fay they're vile and falfe
As where's that palace, whereinto foul things
Sometimes intrude not? Who has a breast so pure,
But fome uncleanly apprehenfions

Keep leets and law-days, and in feffions fit

With meditation lawful?

OTH. Thou dott confpire against thy friend, Iago. If thou but think'st him wrong'd, and mak’st his ear. A ftranger to thy thoughts.

IAGO.

I do beseech you,

Think I, perchance, am vicious in my guefs,
(As, I confefs, it is my nature's plague
To 'fpy into abuse; and oft my jealousy
Shapes faults that are not,) I'entreat you then,
From one that fo imperfectly conjects,

Your wisdom would not build yourself a trouble
Out of my fcatter'd and unfure obfervance :
It were not for your quie, nor your good,
Nor for my manhood, honesty, and wisdom,
To let you know my thoughts.

QTн. What doft thou mean?:

IAGO. Good name in man or woman, my dear Lord;

I's the immediate jewel of their fouls.

Who fteals my purfe, fteals trash; 'tis fomething, 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,

And

And makes me poor indeed.

Oтн. I'll know thy thoughts.

IAGO. You cannot, if my heart were in Nor fhall not, whilft 'tis in my custody.

Отн. На!

IAGO. O beware, my Lord, of jealousy!
It is a green-ey'd monfter, which doth mock
The nreat it feeds on. That cuckold lives in blifs,
Who, certain of his fate, loves not his wronger;
But O, what damned minutes tells he o'er

Who doats, yet doubts; fufpects, yet ftrongly loves!
OTH. O mifery!

IAGO. Poor and content, is rich, and rich enough:
But riches endless is as poor as winter

To him that ever fears he fhall be poor.

Good Heav'n! the fouls of all my tribe defend
From jealoufy!

OтH. Why, why is this?

Think'st thou I'd make a life of jealoufy?

'To follow ftill the changes of the moon

With fresh fufpicions?-'Tis not to make me jealous ́
To fay, my wife is fair, feeds well, loves company,
Is free of fpeech, fings, plays, and dances well:
Where virtue is, thefe make more virtuous.
Nor from mine own weak merits will I draw

The fmalleft fear, or doubt of her revolt,

For fhe had eyes, and chofe me.

No, Iago,

I'll fee, before I doubt; when I doubt, prove;

And, on the proof, there is no more but this,
Away at once with love or jealousy.

IAGO. I'm glad of this:, for now I shall have reason

To show the love and duty that I bear you

With franker fpirit.

Therefore, as I'm bound,

I fpeak not yet of proof.

Receive it from me.

Look to your wife; obferve her well with Caffio;

Wear