I have drunk but one cup to-night – and that was craftily qualified too – and behold what innovation it makes here. I am infortunate in the infirmity, and dare not task my weakness with any more.

IAGO. What, man? 'Tis a night of revels, the gallants desire it.

CAS. Where are they?

IAGO. Here, at the door; I pray you call them in.

CAS. I'll do't, but it dislikes me.

 

Exit.

 

IAGO.

If I can fasten but one cup upon him,

With that which he hath drunk to-night already,

He'll be as full of quarrel and offense

As my young mistress' dog. Now, my sick fool Roderigo,

Whom love hath turn'd almost the wrong side out,

To Desdemona hath to-night carous'd

Potations pottle-deep; and he's to watch.

Three else of Cyprus, noble swelling spirits

That hold their honors in a wary distance,

The very elements of this warlike isle,

Have I to-night fluster'd with flowing cups,

And they watch too. Now 'mongst this flock of drunkards

Am I [to put] our Cassio in some action

That may offend the isle. But here they come.

 

Enter Cassio, Montano, and Gentlemen; [Servants follow with wine].

If consequence do but approve my dream,

My boat sails freely, both with wind and stream.

CAS. 'Fore [God], they have given me a rouse already.

MON. Good faith, a little one; not past a pint, as I am a soldier.

IAGO.

Some wine ho!

 

[Sings.]

 

»And let me the canakin clink, clink;

And let me the canakin clink.

A soldier's a man;

O, man's life's but a span;

Why then let a soldier drink.«

Some wine, boys!

CAS. 'Fore [God], an excellent song.

IAGO. I learn'd it in England, where indeed they are most potent in potting; your Dane, your German, and your swag-bellied Hollander – Drink ho! – are nothing to your English.

CAS. Is your [Englishman] so exquisite in his drinking?

IAGO. Why, he drinks you, with facility, your Dane dead drunk; he sweats not to overthrow your Almain; he gives your Hollander a vomit ere the next pottle can be fill'd.

CAS. To the health of our general!

MON. I am for it, lieutenant; and I'll do you justice.

IAGO.

O sweet England!

 

[Sings.]

 

»King Stephen was and-a worthy peer,

His breeches cost him but a crown;

He held them sixpence all too dear,

With that he call'd the tailor lown;

He was a wight of high renown,

And thou art but of low degree.

'Tis pride that pulls the country down,

[Then] take thy auld cloak about thee.«

Some wine ho!

CAS. ['Fore God,] this is a more exquisite song than the other.

IAGO. Will you hear't again?

CAS. No; for I hold him to be unworthy of his place that does those things. Well, [God's] above all; and there be souls must be sav'd, and there be souls must not be sav'd.

IAGO. It's true, good lieutenant.

CAS. For mine own part – no offense to the general, nor any man of quality – I hope to be sav'd.

IAGO. And so do I too, lieutenant.

CAS. Ay; but by your leave, not before me; the lieutenant is to be sav'd before the ancient. Let's have no more of this; let's to our affairs. – [God] forgive us our sins! – Gentlemen, let's look to our business. Do not think, gentlemen, I am drunk: this is my ancient, this is my right hand, and this is my left [hand]. I am not drunk now; I can stand well enough, and I speak well enough.

[ALL.] Excellent well.

CAS. Why, very well then; you must not think then that I am drunk.

 

Exit.

 

MON.