Imatges de pÓgina


Duke of Venice.
BRABANTIO, a Senator.
Two other Senators.

GRATIANO, Brother to Brabantio.
LODOVICO, Kinsman to Brabantio.
OTHELLO, the Moor:

CASSIO, his Lieutenant;
IAGO, his Ancient.

RODERIGO, a Venetian Gentleman.

MONTANO, Othello's Predecessor in the Government of Cyprus. Clown, Servant to Othello.


DESDEMONA, Daughter to Brabantio, and Wife to Othello. EMILIA, Wife to Iago.

BIANCA, a Courtesan, Mistress to Cassio.

Officers, Gentlemen, Messengers, Musicians, Sailors,
Attendants, &c.

SCENE, for the first Act, in Venice; during the rest of the Play, at a Seaport in Cyprus.




SCENE I. Venice. A Street.


Roderigo. TUSH, never tell me; I take it much unkindly,

That thou, Iago,-who hast had my purse,

As if the strings were thine,-shouldst know of this.
Iago. 'Sblood, but you will not hear me.-
If ever I did dream of such a matter,

Abhor me.

Rod. Thou told'st me, thou didst hold him in thy hate. Iago. Despise me, if I do not. Three great ones of the


In personal suit to make me his lieutenant,
Oft capped to him;-and, by the faith of man,
I know my price, I am worth no worse a place:
But he, as loving his own pride and purposes,
Evades them, with a bombast circumstance,
Horribly stuffed with epithets of war;
And, in conclusion, nonsuits
My mediators; for, certes, says he,
I have already chose my officer.
And what was he?
Forsooth, a great arithmetician,
One Michael Cassio, a Florentine,
A fellow almost damned in a fair wife;
That never set a squadron in the field,
Nor the division of a battle knows

More than a spinster; unless the bookish theoric,
VOL. IV. 37


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Wherein the toged consuls can propose
As masterly as he. Mere prattle, without practice,
Is all his soldiership. But he, sir, had the election.
And I of whom his eyes had seen the proof

At Rhodes, at Cyprus, and on other grounds,
Christian and heathen-must be be-lee'd and calmed
By debitor and creditor, this counter-caster;
He, in good time, must his lieutenant be,

And I (God bless the mark!) his Moorship's ancient.
Rod. By Heaven, I rather would have been his hangman.
Iago. But there's no remedy; 'tis the curse of service;
Preferment goes by letter, and affection,
Not by the old gradation, where each second
Stood heir to the first. Now, sir, be judge yourself,
Whether I in any just term am affined

To love the Moor.

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Rod. I would not follow him, then. Iago. O sir, content you; I follow him to serve my turn upon him. We cannot all be masters, nor all masters Cannot be truly followed. You shall mark Many a duteous and knee-crooking knave, That, doting 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; Whip me such honest knaves. Others there are, Who, trimmed in forms and visages of duty, Keep yet their hearts attending on themselves; And, throwing but shows of service on their lords, Do well thrive by them, and, when they have lined their


Do themselves homage: these fellows have some soul; And such a one do I profess myself.

For, sir,

It is as sure as you are Roderigo,
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
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 am not what I am.

Rod. What a full fortune does the thick-lips owe,
If he can carry't thus!

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: though that his joy be joy,
Yet throw such changes of vexation on't,
As it may lose some color.

Rod. Here is her father's house; I'll call aloud. Iago. Do; with like timorous accent, and dire yell, As when, by night and negligence, the fire Is spied in populous cities.

Rod. What, ho! Brabantio! seignior Brabantio! ho! Iago. Awake! what, ho! Brabantio! thieves! thieves!


Look to your house, your daughter, and your bags!
Thieves! thieves!

BRABANTIO, above, at a window.

Bra. What is the reason of this terrible summons? What is the matter there?

Rod. Seignior, is all your family within?
Iago. Are your doors locked?


Why, wherefore ask you this? Iago. 'Zounds, sir, you are robbed; for shame, put on your gown;

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


What, have you lost your wits?

Rod. Most reverend seignior, do you know my voice? Bra. Not I; what are you?

Rod. My name is -Roderigo.
The worse welcome;
I have charged thee not to haunt about my doors.
In honest plainness thou hast heard me say,
My daughter is not for thee; and now, in madness,
Being full of supper, and distempering draughts,
Upon malicious bravery, dost thou come
To start my quiet.

Rod. Sir, sir, sir, sir,-
My spirit, and my place, have in them power
To make this bitter to thee.

But thou must needs be sure,


Patience, good sir.

Bra. What tell'st thou me of robbing? This is Venice; My house is not a grange.

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 genets for germans.

Bra. What profane wretch art thou?

Iago. 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.


You are a senator.

Bra. This thou shalt answer. I know thee, Roderigo.
Rod. Sir, I will answer any thing. But I beseech you,
If't be your pleasure, and most wise consent,
(As partly, I find, it is,) that your fair daughter
At this odd-even and dull watch o' the night,
Transported with no worse nor better guard,
But with a knave of common hire, a gondolier-
To the gross clasps of a lascivious Moor,-
If this be known to you and your allowance,
We then have done you bold and saucy wrongs;
But if you know not this, my manners tell me,
We have your wrong rebuke. Do not believe,
That, from the sense of all civility,

I thus would play and trifle with your reverence.
Your daughter,—if you have not given her leave,—
I say again, hath made a gross revolt;

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Tying her duty, beauty, wit, and fortunes,
In an extravagant and wheeling stranger,
Of here and every where. Straight satisfy yourself;
If she be in her chamber, or your house,
Let loose on me the justice of the state
For thus deluding you.

Strike on the tinder, ho!
Give me a taper;-call up all my people.-
This accident is not unlike my dream;
Belief of it oppresses me already.—
Light, I say! light!

[Exit, from above.
Farewell; for I must leave you.
It seems not meet, nor wholesome to my place,
To be produced (as, if I stay, I shall)

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