Othello, the Moor of Venice

by William Shakespeare

CASSIO.
Masters, play here, I will content your pains,
Something that’s brief; and bid “Good morrow, general.”

[Music.]

Enter Clown.

CLOWN.
Why, masters, have your instruments been in Naples, that they speak i’ the nose thus?

FIRST MUSICIAN.
How, sir, how?

CLOWN.
Are these, I pray you, wind instruments?

FIRST MUSICIAN.
Ay, marry, are they, sir.

CLOWN.
O, thereby hangs a tail.

FIRST MUSICIAN.
Whereby hangs a tale, sir?

CLOWN.
Marry, sir, by many a wind instrument that I know. But, masters, here’s money for you: and the general so likes your music, that he desires you, for love’s sake, to make no more noise with it.