Well, do—but Othello—you don't know whence he is derived. He is a tropical animal—kindred to the lion—the tiger—the dragon—and, on the other hand, he has the rational equipoise of the faculties that stamp the Philosopher—and he is everything between the two.
TALBOYS.
An Eloge, indeed—perhaps a leetle too eulogistic.
NORTH.
No. What a simple sincerity colours the narrative of his love-making! Is your imagination bewitched by the wild story of his adventurous life? Hers, doubtless, was fascinated. But your soul, methinks, is won to approving the Venetian Maiden's choice by a profounder, a more legitimate charm. Who ever heard Othello relate, and hung back from believing him? He is honest, and she is honest. That is the bond whereby the Parcæ united their souls and their threads. Why they disunited both—how that infernal intervention of Lachesis and Atropos crossed their pure souls in their pure conjunction, let Clotho—if she can—tell.
TALBOYS.
Let's be more cheerful.
NORTH.
Ay—let's.