Rod. By Heaven, I would have rather been his

hangman. (7)

Iago. But there's no remedy, 'tis curse of serPreferment goes by letter and affection,

[vice;

And not by old gradation, where each second

Stood heir to the first. Now, Sir, be judge yourIf I in any just term am assigned

To love the Moor.

Rod. I would not follow him then.

Iago. O Sir, content you;

I follow him to serve my turn upon him.

[self

pally of dark shadows, resembles that of a negro. He is drawn in

Fig. 98.

E

(7) The streaks of light mentioned above in notes 3 and 4, may be easily fancied to resemble a rope round Cassio's neck.

We cannot all be masters, nor all masters
Cannot be truly followed. You shall mark
Many a duteous and knee-crooking knave,
That, doating on his own obsequious bondage,
Wears out his time, much like his master's ass,
For nought but provender; and when he's old,
cashiered:

(8) Whipme such honest knaves-Others there are, Who trimm'd in form and visages of duty,

Keep yet their hearts attending on themselves; And, throwing but shows of service on their lords, Well thrive by them; and when they've lin'd their [soul, Do themselves homage. These folks have some And such a one do I profess myself.

coats,

It is as sure as you are Rodorigo,

Were I the Moor, I would not be Iago:
In following him, I follow but myself,

Heaven is my judge, not I, for love and duty,
But seeming so, for my peculiar end:

For when

my

outward action doth demonstrate

(8) Ass and whip. Whenever objects are mentioned, of which drawings have been already given or notes made in the former volumes, and when the objects themselves are plainly and obviously perceptible in the moon, it is hoped that the printing the lines or words that mention them in italics will serve as a sufficient reference for the reader's guidance.

The native act and figure of my heart
In compliment extern, 'tis not long after
But I will wear my heart upon my sleeve,
For daws to peck at; I'm not what I seem.
Rod. What a full fortune doth the thick-lips owe,
If he can carry her thus?

Iago. Call up her father,

Rouse him, make after him, poison his delight;
Proclaim him in the streets, incense her kinsmen:
And though he in a fertile climate dwell,
Plague him with flies; tho' that his joy be joy,
Yet throw such changes of vexation on't,
As it may lose some colour.

Rod. Here is her father's house, I'll call aloud.
Iago. Do, with like timorous accent, and dire
As when, by night and negligence, the fire [yell,
Is spied in populous cities.
[ho.
Rod. What, ho! Brabantio! Signior Brabantio,
Iago. Awake! what ho! Brabantio! ho! thieves!
[bags:
Look to your house, your daughter, and your
Thieves! thieves!

thieves!

BRABANTIO appears above at a Window. (9) Bra. What is the reason of this terrible summons? What is the matter there?

(9) Brabantio is the same as Gloster in King Lear, drawn ante, in fig. 78.

Rod. Signior is all your family within?
Iago. Are all doors lock'd?

Bra. Why, wherefore ask

you this?

Jago. Zounds! Sir, you're robb'd: for shame,

put on your gown,

Your heart is burst, you have lost half your soul:
Ev'n now, ev'n very now, an old black ram
Is tupping your white ewe. Arise, arise,
Awake the snorting citizens with the bell, (10)
Or else the devil will make a grandsire of you.
Arise, I say.

Bra. What, have you lost your wits? (11)
Rod. Most reverend Signior, do you know my
Bra. Not I; what are you?

Rod. My name is Rodorigo.

Bra. The worse welcome:

[voice?

I've charged thee not to haunt about my doors:
In honest plainness thou hast heard me say, [ness,
My daughter's not for thee. And now in mad-
Being full of supper and distemp'ring draughts,
Upon malicious bravery dost thou come
To start my quiet.

Rod. Sir, Sir, Sir,

(10) The bell is to be referred to the bell-shaped streaks of light on Cassio's body in the moon, to which the fancy of the poet has been seen to attribute a thousand other similitudes.

(11) In other words; are you lunatic, or connected with the moon?

Bra. But thou must needs be sure,

My spirit and my place have in their power

To make this bitter to thee..

Rod. Patience, good Sir.

[Venice:

- Bra. What tellest thou me of robbing; this is My house is not a grange.

Rod. Most grave Brabantio,

In simple and pure soul, I come to you.

Iago. Zounds! Sir, you are one of those that will not serve God, if the devil bid you. Because we come to do you service, you think we are ruffians. You'll have your daughter covered with a Barbary horse, you'll have your nephews neigh to you; you'll have coursers for cousins, and gennets for germans.

Bra. What profane wretch art thou?

Tago. I am one, Sir, that comes to tell you, your daughter and the Moor are now making the beast with two backs.

Bra. Thou art a villain.

lago. You are a senator.

[dorigo.

Bra. This thou shalt answer. I know thee, RoRod. Sir, I will answer any thing. But I beseech If't be your pleasure and most wise consent [you, (As partly, I find, it is) that your fair daughter, At this odd-even and dull watch of the night, (12)

(12) Rodorigo's (the same as Hudibras's) hand is in the