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Mont. And 'tis great pity, that the noble Moor Should hazard fuch a place as his own Second, With one of an 7 ingraft infirmity:
It were an honeft action to say so
Iago. Not I, for this fair island.
I do love Caffio well, and would do much
To cure him of this evil. Hark, what noife?
[Within, help! help!
Re-enter Caffio, pursuing Rodorigo.
Caf. You rogue! you rascal!
Mont. What's the matter, lieutenant ?
Caf. A knave teach me my duty! I'll beat the
knave into a twiggen bottle.
Rod. Beat me
Caf. Doft thou prate, rogue ?
Mont. Nay, good lieutenant;
pray you, Sir, hold your hand.
Caf. Let me go, Sir, or I'll knock mazzard.
Mont. Come, come, you're drunk.
you o'er the
Iago. Away, I fay, go out and cry a mutiny.
Nay, good Lieutenant-Alas, Gentlemen-
[Bell rings. The town will rife. Fy, fy, Lientenant! hold. You will be fham'd for ever.
7-ingraft infirmity:] An infirmity rooted, fettled in his confti
Enter Othello, and Attendants.
Oth. What is the matter here?
Mont. I bleed till: I am hurt to the death.
Iago. Hold, ho! lieutenant-Sir-Montano
Have you forgot all fenfe of place and duty?
Are we turn'd Turks? and to ourselves do that,
For chriftian fhame, put by this barbarous brawl;
• In quarter, and in terms like bride and groom
8 So Hanmer. The ref,
her regular and proper fate.
Oth. How comes it, Michael, you are thus forgot? Caf. I pray you, pardon me, I cannot speak. Oth. Worthy Montano, you were wont be civil, The gravity and ftillness of your youth The world hath noted; and your name is great In mouths of wifeft cenfure. What's the matter, That you unlace your reputation thus,
And fpend your rich opinion, for the name
Mon. Worthy Othello, I am hurt to danger.
While Ifpare fpeech, which fomething now offends me,
Oth. Now, by heaven,
My blood begins my fafer guides to rule;
'Tis monftrous. Say, Iago, who began't?
Iago. Touch me not fo near:
I'd rather have this tongue cut from my mouth,
There comes a fellow crying out for help,
The town might fall in fright. He, fwift of foot,
More of this matter cannot I report.
But men are men; the best fometimes forget;
As men in rage ftrike thofe that wish them best,
From him, that fled, fome strange indignity,
Oth. I know, Iago,
Thy honesty and love doth mince this matter,
Enter Desdemona attended.
Look, if my gentle love be not rais'd up.
I'll make thee an example.
Def. What's the matter?
Oth. All is well. Here, Sweeting, come away to bed. Sir, for your hurts, myself will be your furgeon.
Lead him off.
Iago, look with care about the town,
And filence thofe whom this vile brawl distracted.
To have their balmy flumbers wak'd with ftrife.
Manent Iago and Caffio.
Iago. What, are you hurt, lieutenant ?
Caf. Paft all Surgery.
Iago. Marry, heav'n forbid !
Caf. Reputation, reputation, reputation! oh, I have loft my reputation! I have loft the immortal part of myself, and what remains is bestial. My reputation! Tago, my reputation
Iago. As I am an honeft man, I had thought, you had receiv'd fome bodily wound; there is more sense in that than in reputation. Reputation is an idle, and moft falfe impofition; oft got without merit, and loft without deferving. You have loft no reputation at all, unless you repute yourself fuch a lofer. What, man? There are ways to recover the General again. You are but now caft in his mood, a punishment more in
caft in his mood,] Ejected in his anger.