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Duke. At nine ith' morning here we'll meet Othello, leave some officer behind, (again. And he shall our commission bring to you; And such things else of quality and respect As doth import you.'
Oth. Please your grace, my ancient ;
Duke. Let it be so;
Sen. Adieu, brave Moor, use Desdemona well.
Bra. Adieu, brave Moor, if thou hast eyes to see, She has deceived her father, and may thee.
[Exit Duke, with Senators Oth. My life upon her faith.—---Honest Iago, My Desdemona must I leave to thee ; I pr’ythee, let thy wife attend on her; (35)
(35) Let thy wife attend on her. Iago's wife, Æmilia, is the same as Trulla in Hudibras, whose figure (No. 20, by this time well impressed upon the reader's memory,) is following or attending on that of Desdemona in the moon. Though her character in this play may not be free from leviiy, yet she is not to be considered here so coarse a virago as she was in Hudibras.
And bring her after in the best advantage.
Iago. Well, if thou dost, I shall never love thee Why, thou silly gentleman! . [after.
Rod. It is silliness to live, when to live is a torment; and then we have a prescription to die, when death is our physician.
Iago. O villainous! I have looked upon the world for four times seven years, and since I could distinguish betwixt a benefit and an injury, I never found a man that knew how to love himself. Ere I would say I would drown myself for the love of a Guinea-hen, I would change my humanity with a baboon.
Rod. What should I do? I confess it is my shame to be so fond, but it is not in my virtue to amend it.
Iago. Virtue? a fig: 'tis in ourselves that we are thus or thus. Our bodies are our gardens, to
the which our wills are gardeners. So that if we will plant nettles, or sow lettuce; set hyssop, and weed up thyme; supply it with one gender of herbs, or distract it with many; either have it steril with idleness, or manured with industry; why, the power and corrigible authority of this lies in our will. If the beam of our lives had not one scale of reason to poise another of sensuality, the blood and baseness of our natures would conduct us to most preposterous conclusions. But we have reason to cool our raging motions, our carnal stings, our unbitted lusts; whereof I take this, that you call love, to be a sect or syen.
Rod. It cannot be.
Iago. It is merely a lust of the blood, and a permission of the will. Come, be a man: drown thyself? drown cats and blind puppies. I have professed me thy friend, and I confess me knit to thy deserving with cables of perdurable toughness. I could never better steed thee than now. Put money in thy purse, follow thou these wars ; defeat thy favour with an usurped beard; I say put money in thy purse. It cannot be that Desdemona should long continue her love to the Moor-put money in thy pursen or he his to her. It was a violent commencement in her, and thou shalt see an answerable sequestration-put money in thy purse. These Moors are changeable in their wills; fill thy purse with money. The food that to him
now is as luscious as locusts, shall shortly be as bitter as coloquintida. When she is sated with his body, she will find the errors of her choice. She must have change, she must: therefore put money in thy purse. If thou wilt needs damn thyself, do it a more delicate way than drowning. Make all the money thou canst. If sanctimony and a frail vow, betwixt an erring barbarian, and a supersubtle Venetian, be not too hard for my wits, and all the tribe of hell, thou shalt enjoy her; therefore make money. A pox of drowning thyself! it is clean out of the way. Seek thou raiher to be hanged in compassing thy joy, than to be drowned and go without her.
Rod. Wilt thou be fast to my hopes, if I depend on the issue ?
Iago. Thou art sure of me. Go, make money. I have told thee often, and I re-tell thee again and again, I hate the Moor. (36) My cause is hearted; thine hath no less reason. Let us be conjunctive in our revenge against him. If thou canst cuckold him, thou dost thyself a pleasure, and me a sport. There are many events in the womb of Time, which will be delivered. Traverse, go, provide thy
(36) I hate the Moor. By the position of lago, his libration in the moon is in opposition to the space occupied by Othello, with whom, therefore, he may be conceived to be at war, or in hatred.
money. We will have more of this to-morrow. Adieu.
Rod. Where shall we meet i'th' morning ?
(37) The woodcock, (or snipe,) on Rodorigo's person, has been before drawn in fig, 69.