« 이전계속 »
lago. Sir, there is special Commission come from Venice to depute Caso in Othello's place.
Rod. Is that true? why, then Othello and Desdemona return again to Venice.
Iago. Oh, no ; he goes into Mauritania, and taketh away with him the fair Desdemona, unless his abode be lingred here by some accident: Wherein none can be fo determinate, as the removing of Caffio.
Rod. How do you mean removing him ?
Iago. Why; by making him incapable of Othollo's Place; knocking out his brains.
Rod. And that you would have me to do?
Iago. Ay, if you dare do yourself a profit and a right. He sups to-night with a harlot; and thither will I go to him. He knows not yet of his honourable fortune; if you will watch his going thence, (which I will fashion to fall out between twelve and one) you may take him at your pleasure. I will be near to second your attempt, and he shall fall be
Come, fand not amaz'd at it, but go along with me; I will shew you such a necessity in his death, that you shall think yourself bound to put it on him. It is now high fupper-time; and the night grows to waste. About it.
Rod. I'will hear further reason for this.
Enter Othello, Lodovico, Desdemona, Æmilia, and
Dó befeech' you, Sir, trouble yourself no
Oth. Will you walk, Sir ? oh, Desdemona !
Oth. Get you to bed on th' inftant, I will be return'd forthwith ; dismiss your attendant there ; look, it be done.
Æmil. Dismiss me?
Def. It was his bidding; therefore, good Æmilia,
Æmil. I would, you had never seen him !
him, That even his stubbornness, his checks, and frowns, (Pr’ythee, unpin me) have grace and favour in them. Émil. I have laid those sheets, you bad me, on
the bed. Def. All's one: good father ! how foolish are our
minds ? If I do die before thee, pr’ythee, shroud me In one of these same sheets.
Æmil. Come, come; you talk.
Def. My mother had a maid call'd Barbara,
Æmil. Shall I go fetch your night-gown ?
Æmil. A very handsom man.
Æmil. I know a lady in Venice would have walk'd
[Singing. Her hand on her bofom, her head on her knee,
Sing willow, willow, willow :
Sing willow, &c.
Sing willow, &c.
(Pr’ythee, hye thee, he'll come anon.)
Eemil. It's the wind.
Sing willow, &c.
Æmil. There be some such, no queftion.
. Why, would not you?
Æmil. Nor 'I neither, by this heav'nly light. I might do't as well i'th' dark.
Def. Wouldst thou do such a deed for all the world?
Æmil. The world's a huge thing,
Æmil. In troth, I think, I should ; and undo't, when I had done. Marry, I would not do such a thing for a joint-ring, nor for measures of lawn, nor for gowns, petticoats, nor caps; nor any petty exhi. bition. But for all the whole world ; why who would not make her husband a cuckold, to make him a monarch? I should venter purgatory for't.
Def. Beshrew me, if I would do such a wrong For the whole world.
Æmil. Why, the wrong is but a wrong i'th' world; and having the world for your labour, 'tis a wrong in your own world, and you might quickly make it right. Def
. I do not think, there is any such woman. Æmil. Yes, a dozen; and as many to th' vantage, as Would store the world they play'd for. But, I do think, it is their husbands' faults, If wives do fall: say, that they slack their duties, And pour our treasures into foreign laps; Or elle break out in peevish jealousies, Throwing restraint on us ; or say, they strike us, Or fcant our former Having in despight; Why, we have galls, and tho' we have some grace, Yet have we some revenge. Let husbands know, Their wives have sense like them; they fee and smell, And have their palates both for sweet and four, As husbands have. What is it that they do, When they change us for others ? is it-sport? I think, it is ; and doth affection breed it ? I think, it doth : is't frailty, that thus errs? It is fo too. And have not we affections ? Delres for sports ? and frailty, as men have ? Then let them use us well; else let them know, The ills we do, their ills instruct us to. Def. Good-night, good-night; heaven me fuch
uses send, Not to pick bad from bad ? but by bad, mend! (Exe.
A CT V. SCENE I.
A Street before the Palace.
he come :
Rod! Be near at hand, I may miscarry in't.
sword. Rod. I have no great devotion to the deed, Yet he hath given me satisfying reasons : 'Tis but a man gone. Forth, my sword: he dies.
(Stands apart. Iago. I've rubb'd this young Gnát almost to the