TALBOYS.
True, too. But how comes it to be the dinner hour?
NORTH.
People dined in those days, all England over, about eleven a.m.—probably they dined still earlier in the unfashionable region of Cyprus. You are still hankering after the heresy of long time—but no more of that now—let us keep to our demonstration of short time—by-and-by you shall see the Gentleman with the Scythe—the Scythian at full swing—as long as yourself.
TALBOYS.
I sit corrected. Go on.
NORTH.
Othello and Desdemona have just gone out—to do the honours at the Dinner Table to the generous Islanders. He must have been a strange Chairman—for though not yet absolutely mad, his soul was sorely changed. Perhaps he made some apology, and was not at that Dinner at all—perhaps it was never eaten—but we lose sight of him for a little while; and Emilia, who remains behind, picks up the fatal handkerchief, and, with a strange wilfulness, or worse, says—
"I'll have the work ta'en out.
And give't Iago."
Iago snatches it from her—and in soliloquy says—