Othello

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The Tragedy of Othello, Moor of Venice

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1605

THE TRAGEDY OF OTHELLO, MOOR OF VENICE

by William Shakespeare

Dramatis Personae

  OTHELLO, the Moor, general of the Venetian forces
  DESDEMONA, his wife
  IAGO, ensign to Othello
  EMILIA, his wife, lady—in—waiting to Desdemona
  CASSIO, lieutenant to Othello
  THE DUKE OF VENICE
  BRABANTIO, Venetian Senator, father of Desdemona
  GRATIANO, nobleman of Venice, brother of Brabantio
  LODOVICO, nobleman of Venice, kinsman of Brabantio
  RODERIGO, rejected suitor of Desdemona
  BIANCA, mistress of Cassio
  MONTANO, a Cypriot official
  A Clown in service to Othello
  Senators, Sailors, Messengers, Officers, Gentlemen, Musicians,
and
    Attendants

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SCENE: Venice and Cyprus

ACT I. SCENE I. Venice. A street.

Enter Roderigo and Iago.

  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.
  RODERIGO. Thou told'st me thou didst hold him in thy hate.
  IAGO. Despise me, if I do not. Three great ones of the city,
    In personal suit to make me his lieutenant,
    Off—capp'd 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 bumbast circumstance
    Horribly stuff'd 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 damn'd 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,
    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 belee'd and calm'd
    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.
  RODERIGO. By heaven, I rather would have been his hangman.
  IAGO. Why, there's no remedy. 'Tis the curse of service,
    Preferment goes by letter and affection,
    And not by 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.
  RODERIGO. 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 follow'd. 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, cashier'd.
    Whip me such honest knaves. Others there are
    Who, trimm'd 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 coats
    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 complement 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.
  RODERIGO. What a full fortune does the thick—lips owe,
    If he can carry't thus!
  IAGO. 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.
  RODERIGO. 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.
  RODERIGO. What, ho, Brabantio! Signior Brabantio, ho!
  IAGO. Awake! What, ho, Brabantio! Thieves! Thieves! Thieves!
    Look to your house, your daughter, and your bags!
    Thieves! Thieves!

Brabantio appears above, at a window.

  BRABANTIO. What is the reason of this terrible summons?
    What is the matter there?
  RODERIGO. Signior, is all your family within?
  IAGO. Are your doors lock'd?
  BRABANTIO. Why? Wherefore ask you this?
  IAGO. 'Zounds, sir, you're robb'd! 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!
  BRABANTIO. What, have you lost your wits?
  RODERIGO. Most reverend signior, do you know my voice?
  BRABANTIO. Not I. What are you?
  RODERIGO. My name is Roderigo.
  BRABANTIO. The worser 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.
  RODERIGO. Sir, sir, sir—
  BRABANTIO. But thou must needs be sure
    My spirit and my place have in them power
    To make this bitter to thee.
  RODERIGO. Patience, good sir.
  BRABANTIO. What tell'st thou me of robbing? This is Venice;
    My house is not a grange.
  RODERIGO. 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 and
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 gennets for germans.
  BRABANTIO. 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.
  BRABANTIO. Thou are a villain.
  IAGO. You are—a senator.
  BRABANTIO. This thou shalt answer; I know thee, Roderigo.
  RODERIGO. Sir, I will answer anything. 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,
    Tying her duty, beauty, wit, and fortunes
    In an extravagant and wheeling stranger
    Of here and everywhere. 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.
  BRABANTIO. 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
above.
  IAGO. Farewell, for I must leave you.
    It seems not meet, nor wholesome to my place,
    To be produced—as, if I stay, I shall—
    Against the Moor; for I do know, the state,
    However this may gall him with some check,
    Cannot with safety cast him, for he's embark'd
    With such loud reason to the Cyprus wars,
    Which even now stands in act, that, for their souls,
    Another of his fathom they have none
    To lead their business; in which regard,
    Though I do hate him as I do hell pains,
    Yet for necessity of present life,
    I must show out a flag and sign of love,
    Which is indeed but sign. That you shall surely find him,
    Lead to the Sagittary the raised search,
    And there will I be with him. So farewell.
Exit.

            Enter, below, Brabantio, in his nightgown, and
                        Servants with torches.

  BRABANTIO. It is too true an evil: gone she is,
    And what's to come of my despised time
    Is nought but bitterness. Now, Roderigo,
    Where didst thou see her? O unhappy girl!
    With the Moor, say'st thou? Who would be a father!
    How didst thou know 'twas she? O, she deceives me
    Past thought! What said she to you? Get more tapers.
    Raise all my kindred. Are they married, think you?
  RODERIGO. Truly, I think they are.
  BRABANTIO. O heaven! How got she out? O treason of the blood!
    Fathers, from hence trust not your daughters' minds
    By what you see them act. Is there not charms
    By which the property of youth and maidhood
    May be abused? Have you not read, Roderigo,
    Of some such thing?
  RODERIGO. Yes, sir, I have indeed.
  BRABANTIO. Call up my brother. O, would you had had her!
    Some one way, some another. Do you know
    Where we may apprehend her and the Moor?
  RODERIGO. I think I can discover him, if you please
    To get good guard and go along with me.
  BRABANTIO. Pray you, lead on. At every house I'll call;
    I may command at most. Get weapons, ho!
    And raise some special officers of night.
    On, good Roderigo, I'll deserve your pains.
Exeunt.

SCENE II. Another street.

Enter Othello, Iago, and Attendants with torches.

  IAGO. Though in the trade of war I have slain men,
    Yet do I hold it very stuff o' the conscience
    To do no contrived murther. I lack iniquity
    Sometimes to do me service. Nine or ten times
    I had thought to have yerk'd him here under the ribs.
  OTHELLO. 'Tis better as it is.
  IAGO. Nay, but he prated
    And spoke such scurvy and provoking terms
    Against your honor
    That, with the little godliness I have,
    I did full hard forbear him. But I pray you, sir,
    Are you fast married? Be assured of this,
    That the magnifico is much beloved,
    And hath in his effect a voice potential
    As double as the Duke's. He will divorce you,
    Or put upon you what restraint and grievance
    The law, with all his might to enforce it on,
    Will give him cable.
  OTHELLO. Let him do his spite.
    My services, which I have done the signiory,
    Shall out—tongue his complaints. 'Tis yet to know—
    Which, when I know that boasting is an honor,
    I shall promulgate—I fetch my life and being
    From men of royal siege, and my demerits
    May speak unbonneted to as proud a fortune
    As this that I have reach'd. For know, Iago,
    But that I love the gentle Desdemona,
    I would not my unhoused free condition
    Put into circumscription and confine
    For the sea's worth. But, look! What lights come yond?
  IAGO. Those are the raised father and his friends.
    You were best go in.
  OTHELLO. Not I; I must be found.
    My parts, my title, and my perfect soul
    Shall manifest me rightly. Is it they?
  IAGO. By Janus, I think no.

Enter Cassio and certain Officers with torches.

  OTHELLO. The servants of the Duke? And my lieutenant?
    The goodness of the night upon you, friends!
    What is the news?
  CASSIO. The Duke does greet you, general,
    And he requires your haste—post—haste appearance,
    Even on the instant.
  OTHELLO. What is the matter, think you?
  CASSIO. Something from Cyprus, as I may divine;
    It is a business of some heat. The galleys
    Have sent a dozen sequent messengers
    This very night at one another's heels;
    And many of the consuls, raised and met,
    Are at the Duke's already. You have been hotly call'd for,
    When, being not at your lodging to be found,
    The Senate hath sent about three several quests
    To search you out.
  OTHELLO. 'Tis well I am found by you.
    I will but spend a word here in the house
    And go with you.
Exit.
  CASSIO. Ancient, what makes he here?
  IAGO. Faith, he tonight hath boarded a land carack;
    If it prove lawful prize, he's made forever.
  CASSIO. I do not understand.
  IAGO. He's married.
  CASSIO. To who?

Re-enter Othello.

  IAGO. Marry, to—Come, captain, will you go?
  OTHELLO. Have with you.
  CASSIO. Here comes another troop to seek for you.
  IAGO. It is Brabantio. General, be advised,
    He comes to bad intent.

         Enter Brabantio, Roderigo, and Officers with torches
                             and weapons.

  OTHELLO. Holla! Stand there!
  RODERIGO. Signior, it is the Moor.
  BRABANTIO. Down with him, thief!
                                             They draw on both
sides.
  IAGO. You, Roderigo! Come, sir, I am for you.
  OTHELLO. Keep up your bright swords, for the dew will rust
them.
    Good signior, you shall more command with years
    Than with your weapons.
  BRABANTIO. O thou foul thief, where hast thou stow'd my
daughter?
    Damn'd as thou art, thou hast enchanted her,
    For I'll refer me to all things of sense,
    If she in chains of magic were not bound,
    Whether a maid so tender, fair, and happy,
    So opposite to marriage that she shunn'd
    The wealthy, curled darlings of our nation,
    Would ever have, to incur a general mock,
    Run from her guardage to the sooty bosom
    Of such a thing as thou—to fear, not to delight.
    Judge me the world, if 'tis not gross in sense
    That thou hast practiced on her with foul charms,
    Abused her delicate youth with drugs or minerals
    That weaken motion. I'll have't disputed on;
    'Tis probable, and palpable to thinking.
    I therefore apprehend and do attach thee
    For an abuser of the world, a practicer
    Of arts inhibited and out of warrant.
    Lay hold upon him. If he do resist,
    Subdue him at his peril.
  OTHELLO. Hold your hands,
    Both you of my inclining and the rest.
    Were it my cue to fight, I should have known it
    Without a prompter. Where will you that I go
    To answer this your charge?
  BRABANTIO. To prison, till fit time
    Of law and course of direct session
    Call thee to answer.
  OTHELLO. What if I do obey?
    How may the Duke be therewith satisfied,
    Whose messengers are here about my side,
    Upon some present business of the state
    To bring me to him?
  FIRST OFFICER. 'Tis true, most worthy signior;
    The Duke's in council, and your noble self,
    I am sure, is sent for.
  BRABANTIO. How? The Duke in council?
    In this time of the night? Bring him away;
    Mine's not an idle cause. The Duke himself,
    Or any of my brothers of the state,
    Cannot but feel this wrong as 'twere their own;
    For if such actions may have passage free,
    Bond slaves and pagans shall our statesmen be.
Exeunt.

SCENE III. A council chamber. The Duke and Senators sitting at a table; Officers attending.

  DUKE. There is no composition in these news
    That gives them credit.
  FIRST SENATOR. Indeed they are disproportion'd;
    My letters say a hundred and seven galleys.
  DUKE. And mine, a hundred and forty.
  SECOND SENATOR. And mine, two hundred.
    But though they jump not on a just account—
    As in these cases, where the aim reports,
    'Tis oft with difference—yet do they all confirm
    A Turkish fleet, and bearing up to Cyprus.
  DUKE. Nay, it is possible enough to judgement.
    I do not so secure me in the error,
    But the main article I do approve
    In fearful sense.
  SAILOR. [Within.] What, ho! What, ho! What, ho!
  FIRST OFFICER. A messenger from the galleys.

Enter Sailor.

  DUKE. Now, what's the business?
  SAILOR. The Turkish preparation makes for Rhodes,
    So was I bid report here to the state
    By Signior Angelo.
  DUKE. How say you by this change?
  FIRST SENATOR. This cannot be,
    By no assay of reason; 'tis a pageant
    To keep us in false gaze. When we consider
    The importancy of Cyprus to the Turk,
    And let ourselves again but understand
    That as it more concerns the Turk than Rhodes,
    So may he with more facile question bear it,
    For that it stands not in such warlike brace,
    But altogether lacks the abilities
    That Rhodes is dress'd in. If we make thought of this,
    We must not think the Turk is so unskillful
    To leave that latest which concerns him first,
    Neglecting an attempt of ease and gain,
    To wake and wage a danger profitless.
  DUKE. Nay, in all confidence, he's not for Rhodes.
  FIRST OFFICER. Here is more news.

Enter a Messenger.

  MESSENGER. The Ottomites, reverend and gracious,
    Steering with due course toward the isle of Rhodes,
    Have there injointed them with an after fleet.
  FIRST SENATOR. Ay, so I thought. How many, as you guess?
  MESSENGER. Of thirty sail; and now they do re-stem
    Their backward course, bearing with frank appearance
    Their purposes toward Cyprus. Signior Montano,
    Your trusty and most valiant servitor,
    With his free duty recommends you thus,
    And prays you to believe him.
  DUKE. 'Tis certain then for Cyprus.
    Marcus Luccicos, is not he in town?
  FIRST SENATOR. He's now in Florence.
  DUKE. Write from us to him, post-post-haste dispatch.
  FIRST SENATOR. Here comes Brabantio and the valiant Moor.

Enter Brabantio, Othello, Iago, Roderigo, and Officers.

  DUKE. Valiant Othello, we must straight employ you
    Against the general enemy Ottoman.
    [To Brabantio.] I did not see you; welcome, gentle signior;
    We lack'd your counsel and your help tonight.
  BRABANTIO. So did I yours. Good your Grace, pardon me:
    Neither my place nor aught I heard of business
    Hath raised me from my bed, nor doth the general care
    Take hold on me; for my particular grief
    Is of so flood-gate and o'erbearing nature
    That it engluts and swallows other sorrows,
    And it is still itself.
  DUKE. Why, what's the matter?
  BRABANTIO. My daughter! O, my daughter!
  ALL. Dead?
  BRABANTIO. Ay, to me.
    She is abused, stol'n from me and corrupted
    By spells and medicines bought of mountebanks;
    For nature so preposterously to err,
    Being not deficient, blind, or lame of sense,
    Sans witchcraft could not.
  DUKE. Whoe'er he be that in this foul proceeding
    Hath thus beguiled your daughter of herself
    And you of her, the bloody book of law
    You shall yourself read in the bitter letter
    After your own sense, yea, though our proper son
    Stood in your action.
  BRABANTIO. Humbly I thank your Grace.
    Here is the man, this Moor, whom now, it seems,
    Your special mandate for the state affairs
    Hath hither brought.
  ALL. We are very sorry for't.
  DUKE. [To Othello.] What in your own part can you say to this?
  BRABANTIO. Nothing, but this is so.
  OTHELLO. Most potent, grave, and reverend signiors,
    My very noble and approved good masters,
    That I have ta'en away this old man's daughter,
    It is most true; true, I have married her;
    The very head and front of my offending
    Hath this extent, no more. Rude am I in my speech,
    And little blest with the soft phrase of peace;
    For since these arms of mine had seven years' pith,
    Till now some nine moons wasted, they have used
    Their dearest action in the tented field,
    And little of this great world can I speak,
    More than pertains to feats of broil and battle;
    And therefore little shall I grace my cause
    In speaking for myself. Yet, by your gracious patience,
    I will a round unvarnish'd tale deliver
    Of my whole course of love: what drugs, what charms,
    What conjuration, and what mighty magic—
    For such proceeding I am charged withal—
    I won his daughter.
  BRABANTIO. A maiden never bold,
    Of spirit so still and quiet that her motion
    Blush'd at herself; and she—in spite of nature,
    Of years, of country, credit, everything—
    To fall in love with what she fear'd to look on!
    It is judgement maim'd and most imperfect,
    That will confess perfection so could err
    Against all rules of nature, and must be driven
    To find out practices of cunning hell
    Why this should be. I therefore vouch again
    That with some mixtures powerful o'er the blood,
    Or with some dram conjured to this effect,
    He wrought upon her.
  DUKE. To vouch this is no proof,
    Without more certain and more overt test
    Than these thin habits and poor likelihoods
    Of modern seeming do prefer against him.
  FIRST SENATOR. But, Othello, speak.
    Did you by indirect and forced courses
    Subdue and poison this young maid's affections?
    Or came it by request, and such fair question
    As soul to soul affordeth?
  OTHELLO. I do beseech you,
    Send for the lady to the Sagittary,
    And let her speak of me before her father.
    If you do find me foul in her report,
    The trust, the office I do hold of you,
    Not only take away, but let your sentence
    Even fall upon my life.
  DUKE. Fetch Desdemona hither.
  OTHELLO. Ancient, conduct them; you best know the place.
                                          Exeunt Iago and
Attendants.
    And till she come, as truly as to heaven
    I do confess the vices of my blood,
    So justly to your grave ears I'll present
    How I did thrive in this fair lady's love
    And she in mine.
  DUKE. Say it, Othello.
  OTHELLO. Her father loved me, oft invited me,
    Still question'd me the story of my life
    From year to year, the battles, sieges, fortunes,
    That I have pass'd.
    I ran it through, even from my boyish days
    To the very moment that he bade me tell it:
    Wherein I spake of most disastrous chances,
    Of moving accidents by flood and field,
    Of hair-breadth 'scapes i' the imminent deadly breach,
    Of being taken by the insolent foe
    And sold to slavery, of my redemption thence
    And portance in my travels' history;
    Wherein of antres vast and deserts idle,
    Rough quarries, rocks, and hills whose heads touch heaven,
    It was my hint to speak—such was the process—
    And of the Cannibals that each other eat,
    The Anthropophagi, and men whose heads
    Do grow beneath their shoulders. This to hear
    Would Desdemona seriously incline;
    But still the house affairs would draw her thence,
    Which ever as she could with haste dispatch,
    She'ld come again, and with a greedy ear
    Devour up my discourse; which I observing,
    Took once a pliant hour, and found good means
    To draw from her a prayer of earnest heart
    That I would all my pilgrimage dilate,
    Whereof by parcels she had something heard,
    But not intentively. I did consent,
    And often did beguile her of her tears
    When I did speak of some distressful stroke
    That my youth suffer'd. My story being done,
    She gave me for my pains a world of sighs;
    She swore, in faith, 'twas strange, 'twas passing strange;
    'Twas pitiful, 'twas wondrous pitiful.
    She wish'd she had not heard it, yet she wish'd
    That heaven had made her such a man; she thank'd me,
    And bade me, if I had a friend that loved her,
    I should but teach him how to tell my story,
    And that would woo her. Upon this hint I spake:
    She loved me for the dangers I had pass'd,
    And I loved her that she did pity them.
    This only is the witchcraft I have used.
    Here comes the lady; let her witness it.

Enter Desdemona, Iago, and Attendants.

  DUKE. I think this tale would win my daughter too.
    Good Brabantio,
    Take up this mangled matter at the best:
    Men do their broken weapons rather use
    Than their bare hands.
  BRABANTIO. I pray you, hear her speak.
    If she confess that she was half the wooer,
    Destruction on my head, if my bad blame
    Light on the man! Come hither, gentle mistress.
    Do you perceive in all this noble company
    Where most you owe obedience?
  DESDEMONA. My noble father,
    I do perceive here a divided duty.
    To you I am bound for life and education;
    My life and education both do learn me
    How to respect you; you are the lord of duty,
    I am hitherto your daughter. But here's my husband,
    And so much duty as my mother show'd
    To you, preferring you before her father,
    So much I challenge that I may profess
    Due to the Moor, my lord.
  BRABANTIO. God be with you! I have done.
    Please it your Grace, on to the state affairs;
    I had rather to adopt a child than get it.
    Come hither, Moor.
    I here do give thee that with all my heart
    Which, but thou hast already, with all my heart
    I would keep from thee. For your sake, jewel,
    I am glad at soul I have no other child;
    For thy escape would teach me tyranny,
    To hang clogs on them. I have done, my lord.
  DUKE. Let me speak like yourself, and lay a sentence
    Which, as a grise or step, may help these lovers
    Into your favor.
    When remedies are past, the griefs are ended
    By seeing the worst, which late on hopes depended.
    To mourn a mischief that is past and gone
    Is the next way to draw new mischief on.
    What cannot be preserved when Fortune takes,
    Patience her injury a mockery makes.
    The robb'd that smiles steals something from the thief;
    He robs himself that spends a bootless grief.
  BRABANTIO. So let the Turk of Cyprus us beguile;
    We lose it not so long as we can smile.
    He bears the sentence well, that nothing bears
    But the free comfort which from thence he hears;
    But he bears both the sentence and the sorrow
    That, to pay grief, must of poor patience borrow.
    These sentences, to sugar or to gall,
    Being strong on both sides, are equivocal.
    But words are words; I never yet did hear
    That the bruised heart was pierced through the ear.
    I humbly beseech you, proceed to the affairs of state.
  DUKE. The Turk with a most mighty preparation makes for Cyprus.
    Othello, the fortitude of the place is best known to you; and
    though we have there a substitute of most allowed
sufficiency,
    yet opinion, a sovereign mistress of effects, throws a more
safer
    voice on you. You must therefore be content to slubber the
gloss
    of your new fortunes with this more stubborn and boisterous
    expedition.
  OTHELLO. The tyrant custom, most grave senators,
    Hath made the flinty and steel couch of war
    My thrice-driven bed of down. I do agnize
    A natural and prompt alacrity
    I find in hardness and do undertake
    These present wars against the Ottomites.
    Most humbly therefore bending to your state,
    I crave fit disposition for my wife,
    Due reference of place and exhibition,
    With such accommodation and besort
    As levels with her breeding.
  DUKE. If you please,
    Be't at her father's.
  BRABANTIO. I'll not have it so.
  OTHELLO. Nor I.
  DESDEMONA. Nor I. I would not there reside
    To put my father in impatient thoughts
    By being in his eye. Most gracious Duke,
    To my unfolding lend your prosperous ear,
    And let me find a charter in your voice
    To assist my simpleness.
  DUKE. What would you, Desdemona?
  DESDEMONA. That I did love the Moor to live with him,
    My downright violence and storm of fortunes
    May trumpet to the world. My heart's subdued
    Even to the very quality of my lord.
    I saw Othello's visage in his mind,
    And to his honors and his valiant parts
    Did I my soul and fortunes consecrate.
    So that, dear lords, if I be left behind,
    A moth of peace, and he go to the war,
    The rites for which I love him are bereft me,
    And I a heavy interim shall support
    By his dear absence. Let me go with him.
  OTHELLO. Let her have your voices.
    Vouch with me, heaven, I therefore beg it not
    To please the palate of my appetite,
    Nor to comply with heat—the young affects
    In me defunct—and proper satisfaction;
    But to be free and bounteous to her mind.
    And heaven defend your good souls, that you think
    I will your serious and great business scant
    For she is with me. No, when light-wing'd toys
    Of feather'd Cupid seal with wanton dullness
    My speculative and officed instruments,
    That my disports corrupt and taint my business,
    Let housewives make a skillet of my helm,
    And all indign and base adversities
    Make head against my estimation!
  DUKE. Be it as you shall privately determine,
    Either for her stay or going. The affair cries haste,
    And speed must answer't: you must hence tonight.
  DESDEMONA. Tonight, my lord?
  DUKE. This night.
  OTHELLO. With all my heart.
  DUKE. At nine i' the morning here we'll meet again.
    Othello, leave some officer behind,
    And he shall our commission bring to you,
    With such things else of quality and respect
    As doth import you.
  OTHELLO. So please your Grace, my ancient;
    A man he is of honesty and trust.
    To his conveyance I assign my wife,
    With what else needful your good Grace shall think
    To be sent after me.
  DUKE. Let it be so.
    Good night to everyone. [To Brabantio.] And, noble signior,
    If virtue no delighted beauty lack,
    Your son-in-law is far more fair than black.
  FIRST SENATOR. Adieu, brave Moor, use Desdemona well.
  BRABANTIO. Look to her, Moor, if thou hast eyes to see;
    She has deceived her father, and may thee.
                                 Exeunt Duke, Senators, and
Officers.
  OTHELLO. My life upon her faith! Honest Iago,
    My Desdemona must I leave to thee.
    I prithee, let thy wife attend on her,
    And bring them after in the best advantage.
    Come, Desdemona, I have but an hour
    Of love, of worldly matters and direction,
    To spend with thee. We must obey the time.
                                        Exeunt Othello and
Desdemona.
  RODERIGO. Iago!
  IAGO. What say'st thou, noble heart?
  RODERIGO. What will I do, thinkest thou?
  IAGO. Why, go to bed and sleep.
  RODERIGO. I will incontinently drown myself.
  IAGO. If thou dost, I shall never love thee after.
    Why, thou silly gentleman!
  RODERIGO. It is silliness to live when to live is torment, and
then
    have we a prescription to die when death is our physician.
  IAGO. O villainous! I have looked upon the world for four times
    seven years, and since I could distinguish betwixt a benefit
and
    an injury, I never found man that knew how to love himself.
Ere I
    would say I would drown myself for the love of a guinea hen,
I
    would change my humanity with a baboon.
  RODERIGO. What should I do? I confess it is my shame to be so
fond,
    but it is not in my virtue to amend it.
  IAGO. Virtue? a fig! 'Tis in ourselves that we are thus or
thus.
    Our bodies are gardens, to the which our wills are gardeners;
so
    that if we will plant nettles or sow lettuce, set hyssop and
weed
    up thyme, supply it with one gender of herbs or distract it
with
    many, either to have it sterile with idleness or manured with

    industry, why, the power and corrigible authority of this
lies in
    our wills. If the balance of our lives had not one scale of
    reason to poise another of sensuality, the blood and baseness
of
    our natures would conduct us to most preposterous
conclusions.
    But we have reason to cool our raging motions, our carnal
stings,
    our unbitted lusts; whereof I take this, that you call love,
to
    be a sect or scion.
  RODERIGO. It cannot be.
  IAGO. It is merely a lust of the blood and a permission of the
    will. Come, be a man! Drown thyself? Drown cats and blind
    puppies. I have professed me thy friend, and I confess me
knit to
    thy deserving with cables of perdurable toughness; I could
never
    better stead thee than now. Put money in thy purse; follow
thou
    the wars; defeat thy favor with an usurped beard. I say, put
    money in thy purse. It cannot be that Desdemona should long
    continue her love to the Moor—put money in thy purse—nor he
his
    to her. It was a violent commencement, and thou shalt see an
    answerable sequestration—put but money in thy purse. These
Moors
    are changeable in their wills—fill thy purse with money. The
    food that to him now is as luscious as locusts, shall be to
him
    shortly as acerb as the coloquintida. She must change for
youth;
    when she is sated with his body, she will find the error of
her
    choice. She must have change, she must; therefore put money
in
    thy purse. If thou wilt needs damn thyself, do it a more
delicate
    way than drowning. Make all the money thou canst. If
sanctimony
    and a frail vow betwixt an erring barbarian and a supersubtle
    Venetian be not too hard for my wits and all the tribe of
hell,
    thou shalt enjoy her—therefore make money. A pox of drowning
    thyself! It is clean out of the way. Seek thou rather to be
    hanged in compassing thy joy than to be drowned and go
without
    her.
  RODERIGO. Wilt thou be fast to my hopes, if I depend on the
issue?
  IAGO. Thou art sure of me—go, make money. I have told thee
often,
    and I retell thee again and again, I hate the Moor. My cause
is
    hearted; thine hath no less reason. Let us be conjunctive in
our
    revenge against him. If thou canst cuckold him, thou dost
thyself
    a pleasure, me a sport. There are many events in the womb of
time
    which will be delivered. Traverse, go, provide thy money. We
will
    have more of this tomorrow. Adieu.
  RODERIGO. Where shall we meet i' the morning?
  IAGO. At my lodging.
  RODERIGO. I'll be with thee betimes.
  IAGO. Go to, farewell. Do you hear, Roderigo?
  RODERIGO. What say you?
  IAGO. No more of drowning, do you hear?
  RODERIGO. I am changed; I'll go sell all my land.
Exit.
  IAGO. Thus do I ever make my fool my purse;
    For I mine own gain'd knowledge should profane
    If I would time expend with such a snipe
    But for my sport and profit. I hate the Moor,
    And it is thought abroad that 'twixt my sheets
    He has done my office. I know not if't be true,
    But I for mere suspicion in that kind
    Will do as if for surety. He holds me well,
    The better shall my purpose work on him.
    Cassio's a proper man. Let me see now—
    To get his place, and to plume up my will
    In double knavery—How, how?—Let's see—
    After some time, to abuse Othello's ear
    That he is too familiar with his wife.
    He hath a person and a smooth dispose
    To be suspected—framed to make women false.
    The Moor is of a free and open nature,
    That thinks men honest that but seem to be so,
    And will as tenderly be led by the nose
    As asses are.
    I have't. It is engender'd. Hell and night
    Must bring this monstrous birth to the world's light.
     Exit.

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ACT II. SCENE I. A seaport in Cyprus. An open place near the quay.

Enter Montano and two Gentlemen.

  MONTANO. What from the cape can you discern at sea?
  FIRST GENTLEMAN. Nothing at all. It is a high-wrought flood;
    I cannot, 'twixt the heaven and the main,
    Descry a sail.
  MONTANO. Methinks the wind hath spoke aloud at land;
    A fuller blast ne'er shook our battlements.
    If it hath ruffian'd so upon the sea,
    What ribs of oak, when mountains melt on them,
    Can hold the mortise? What shall we hear of this?
  SECOND GENTLEMAN. A segregation of the Turkish fleet.
    For do but stand upon the foaming shore,
    The chidden billow seems to pelt the clouds;
    The wind-shaked surge, with high and monstrous mane,
    Seems to cast water on the burning bear,
    And quench the guards of the ever-fixed pole.
    I never did like molestation view
    On the enchafed flood.
  MONTANO. If that the Turkish fleet
    Be not enshelter'd and embay'd, they are drown'd;
    It is impossible to bear it out.

Enter a third Gentleman.

  THIRD GENTLEMAN. News, lads! Our wars are done.
    The desperate tempest hath so bang'd the Turks,
    That their designment halts. A noble ship of Venice
    Hath seen a grievous wreck and sufferance
    On most part of their fleet.
  MONTANO. How? Is this true?
  THIRD GENTLEMAN. The ship is here put in,
    A Veronesa. Michael Cassio,
    Lieutenant to the warlike Moor, Othello,
    Is come on shore; the Moor himself at sea,
    And is in full commission here for Cyprus.
  MONTANO. I am glad on't; 'tis a worthy governor.
  THIRD GENTLEMAN. But this same Cassio, though he speak of
comfort
    Touching the Turkish loss, yet he looks sadly
    And prays the Moor be safe; for they were parted
    With foul and violent tempest.
  MONTANO. Pray heavens he be,
    For I have served him, and the man commands
    Like a full soldier. Let's to the seaside, ho!
    As well to see the vessel that's come in
    As to throw out our eyes for brave Othello,
    Even till we make the main and the aerial blue
    An indistinct regard.
  THIRD GENTLEMAN. Come, let's do so,
    For every minute is expectancy
    Of more arrivance.

Enter Cassio.

  CASSIO. Thanks, you the valiant of this warlike isle,
    That so approve the Moor! O, let the heavens
    Give him defense against the elements,
    For I have lost him on a dangerous sea.
  MONTANO. Is he well shipp'd?
  CASSIO. His bark is stoutly timber'd, and his pilot
    Of very expert and approved allowance;
    Therefore my hopes, not surfeited to death,
    Stand in bold cure.
                              A cry within, "A sail, a sail, a
sail!"

Enter a fourth Gentleman.

                        What noise?
  FOURTH GENTLEMAN. The town is empty; on the brow o' the sea
    Stand ranks of people, and they cry, "A sail!"
  CASSIO. My hopes do shape him for the governor.
                                                          Guns
heard.
  SECOND GENTLEMAN. They do discharge their shot of courtesy—
    Our friends at least.
  CASSIO. I pray you, sir, go forth,
    And give us truth who 'tis that is arrived.
  SECOND GENTLEMAN. I shall.
Exit.
  MONTANO. But, good lieutenant, is your general wived?
  CASSIO. Most fortunately: he hath achieved a maid
    That paragons description and wild fame,
    One that excels the quirks of blazoning pens,
    And in the essential vesture of creation
    Does tire the ingener.

Re-enter second Gentleman.

                           How now! who has put in?
  SECOND GENTLEMAN. 'Tis one Iago, ancient to the general.
  CASSIO. He has had most favorable and happy speed:
    Tempests themselves, high seas, and howling winds,
    The gutter'd rocks, and congregated sands,
    Traitors ensteep'd to clog the guiltless keel,
    As having sense of beauty, do omit
    Their mortal natures, letting go safely by
    The divine Desdemona.
  MONTANO. What is she?
  CASSIO. She that I spake of, our great captain's captain,
    Left in the conduct of the bold Iago,
    Whose footing here anticipates our thoughts
    A se'nnight's speed. Great Jove, Othello guard,
    And swell his sail with thine own powerful breath,
    That he may bless this bay with his tall ship,
    Make love's quick pants in Desdemona's arms,
    Give renew'd fire to our extincted spirits,
    And bring all Cyprus comfort.

Enter Desdemona, Emilia Iago, Roderigo, and Attendants.

                                  O, behold,
    The riches of the ship is come on shore!
    Ye men of Cyprus, let her have your knees.
    Hall to thee, lady! And the grace of heaven,
    Before, behind thee, and on every hand,
    Enwheel thee round!
  DESDEMONA. I thank you, valiant Cassio.
    What tidings can you tell me of my lord?
  CASSIO. He is not yet arrived, nor know I aught
    But that he's well and will be shortly here.
  DESDEMONA. O, but I fear—How lost you company?
  CASSIO. The great contention of the sea and skies
    Parted our fellowship—But, hark! a sail.
                          A cry within, "A sail, a sail!" Guns
heard.
  SECOND GENTLEMAN. They give their greeting to the citadel;
    This likewise is a friend.
  CASSIO. See for the news.
                                                      Exit
Gentleman.
    Good ancient, you are welcome. [To Emilia.] Welcome,
mistress.
    Let it not gall your patience, good Iago,
    That I extend my manners; 'tis my breeding
    That gives me this bold show of courtesy. Kisses
her.
  IAGO. Sir, would she give you so much of her lips
    As of her tongue she oft bestows on me,
    You'ld have enough.
  DESDEMONA. Alas, she has no speech.
  IAGO. In faith, too much;
    I find it still when I have list to sleep.
    Marry, before your ladyship I grant,
    She puts her tongue a little in her heart
    And chides with thinking.
  EMILIA. You have little cause to say so.
  IAGO. Come on, come on. You are pictures out of doors,
    Bells in your parlors, wildcats in your kitchens,
    Saints in your injuries, devils being offended,
    Players in your housewifery, and housewives in your beds.
  DESDEMONA. O, fie upon thee, slanderer!
  IAGO. Nay, it is true, or else I am a Turk:
    You rise to play, and go to bed to work.
  EMILIA. You shall not write my praise.
  IAGO. No, let me not.
  DESDEMONA. What wouldst thou write of me, if thou shouldst
    praise me?
  IAGO. O gentle lady, do not put me to't,
    For I am nothing if not critical.
  DESDEMONA. Come on, assay—There's one gone to the harbor?
  IAGO. Ay, madam.
  DESDEMONA. I am not merry, but I do beguile
    The thing I am by seeming otherwise.
    Come, how wouldst thou praise me?
  IAGO. I am about it, but indeed my invention
    Comes from my pate as birdlime does from frieze;
    It plucks out brains and all. But my Muse labors,
    And thus she is deliver'd.
    If she be fair and wise, fairness and wit,
    The one's for use, the other useth it.
  DESDEMONA. Well praised! How if she be black and witty?
  IAGO. If she be black, and thereto have a wit,
    She'll find a white that shall her blackness fit.
  DESDEMONA. Worse and worse.
  EMILIA. How if fair and foolish?
  IAGO. She never yet was foolish that was fair,
    For even her folly help'd her to an heir.
  DESDEMONA. These are old fond paradoxes to make fools laugh i'
the
    alehouse. What miserable praise hast thou for her that's foul
and
    foolish?
  IAGO. There's none so foul and foolish thereunto,
    But does foul pranks which fair and wise ones do.
  DESDEMONA. O heavy ignorance! Thou praisest the worst best. But
what
    praise couldst thou bestow on a deserving woman indeed, one
that
    in the authority of her merit did justly put on the vouch of
very
    malice itself?
  IAGO. She that was ever fair and never proud,
    Had tongue at will and yet was never loud,
    Never lack'd gold and yet went never gay,
    Fled from her wish and yet said, "Now I may";
    She that, being anger'd, her revenge being nigh,
    Bade her wrong stay and her displeasure fly;
    She that in wisdom never was so frail
    To change the cod's head for the salmon's tail;
    She that could think and ne'er disclose her mind,
    See suitors following and not look behind;
    She was a wight, if ever such wight were—
  DESDEMONA. To do what?
  IAGO. To suckle fools and chronicle small beer.
  DESDEMONA. O most lame and impotent conclusion! Do not learn of
him,
    Emilia, though he be thy husband. How say you, Cassio? Is he
not
    a most profane and liberal counselor?
  CASSIO. He speaks home, madam. You may relish him more in the
    soldier than in the scholar.
  IAGO. [Aside.] He takes her by the palm; ay, well said,
whisper.
    With as little a web as this will I ensnare as great a fly as
    Cassio. Ay, smile upon her, do; I will gyve thee in thine own
    courtship. You say true; 'tis so, indeed. If such tricks as
these
    strip you out of your lieutenantry, it had been better you
had
    not kissed your three fingers so oft, which now again you are
    most apt to play the sir in. Very good. Well kissed! an
excellent
    courtesy! 'tis so, indeed. Yet again your fingers to your
lips?
    Would they were clyster-pipes for your sake! [Trumpet
within.]
    The Moor! I know his trumpet.
  CASSIO. 'Tis truly so.
  DESDEMONA. Let's meet him and receive him.
  CASSIO. Lo, where he comes!

Enter Othello and Attendants.

  OTHELLO. O my fair warrior!
  DESDEMONA. My dear Othello!
  OTHELLO. It gives me wonder great as my content
    To see you here before me. O my soul's joy!
    If after every tempest come such calms,
    May the winds blow till they have waken'd death!
    And let the laboring bark climb hills of seas
    Olympus-high, and duck again as low
    As hell's from heaven! If it were now to die,
    'Twere now to be most happy; for I fear
    My soul hath her content so absolute
    That not another comfort like to this
    Succeeds in unknown fate.
  DESDEMONA. The heavens forbid
    But that our loves and comforts should increase,
    Even as our days do grow!
  OTHELLO. Amen to that, sweet powers!
    I cannot speak enough of this content;
    It stops me here; it is too much of joy.
    And this, and this, the greatest discords be Kisses
her.
    That e'er our hearts shall make!
  IAGO. [Aside.] O, you are well tuned now!
    But I'll set down the pegs that make this music,
    As honest as I am.
  OTHELLO. Come, let us to the castle.
    News, friends: our wars are done, the Turks are drown'd.
    How does my old acquaintance of this isle?
    Honey, you shall be well desired in Cyprus;
    I have found great love amongst them. O my sweet,
    I prattle out of fashion, and I dote
    In mine own comforts. I prithee, good Iago,
    Go to the bay and disembark my coffers.
    Bring thou the master to the citadel;
    He is a good one, and his worthiness
    Does challenge much respect. Come, Desdemona,
    Once more well met at Cyprus.
                                    Exeunt all but Iago and
Roderigo.
  IAGO. Do thou meet me presently at the harbor. Come hither. If
thou
    be'st valiant—as they say base men being in love have then a
    nobility in their natures more than is native to them—list
me.
    The lieutenant tonight watches on the court of guard. First,
I
    must tell thee this: Desdemona is directly in love with him.
  RODERIGO. With him? Why, 'tis not possible.
  IAGO. Lay thy finger thus, and let thy soul be instructed. Mark
me
    with what violence she first loved the Moor, but for bragging
and
    telling her fantastical lies. And will she love him still for
    prating? Let not thy discreet heart think it. Her eye must be
    fed; and what delight shall she have to look on the devil?
When
    the blood is made dull with the act of sport, there should
be,
    again to inflame it and to give satiety a fresh appetite,
    loveliness in favor, sympathy in years, manners, and
beauties—
    all which the Moor is defective in. Now, for want of these
    required conveniences, her delicate tenderness will find
itself
    abused, begin to heave the gorge, disrelish and abhor the
Moor;
    very nature will instruct her in it and compel her to some
second
    choice. Now sir, this granted—as it is a most pregnant and
    unforced position—who stands so eminently in the degree of
this
    fortune as Cassio does? A knave very voluble; no further
    conscionable than in putting on the mere form of civil and
humane
    seeming, for the better compass of his salt and most hidden
loose
    affection? Why, none, why, none—a slipper and subtle knave,
a
    finder out of occasions, that has an eye can stamp and
    counterfeit advantages, though true advantage never present
    itself—a devilish knave! Besides, the knave is handsome,
young,
    and hath all those requisites in him that folly and green
minds
    look after—a pestilent complete knave, and the woman hath
found
    him already.
  RODERIGO. I cannot believe that in her; she's full of most
blest
    condition.
  IAGO. Blest fig's-end! The wine she drinks is made of grapes.
If
    she had been blest, she would never have loved the Moor.
Blest
    pudding! Didst thou not see her paddle with the palm of his
hand?
    Didst not mark that?
  RODERIGO. Yes, that I did; but that was but courtesy.
  IAGO. Lechery, by this hand; an index and obscure prologue to
the
    history of lust and foul thoughts. They met so near with
their
    lips that their breaths embraced together. Villainous
thoughts,
    Roderigo! When these mutualities so marshal the way, hard at
hand
    comes the master and main exercise, the incorporate
conclusion.
    Pish! But, sir, be you ruled by me. I have brought you from
    Venice. Watch you tonight; for the command, I'll lay't upon
you.
    Cassio knows you not. I'll not be far from you. Do you find
some
    occasion to anger Cassio, either by speaking too loud, or
    tainting his discipline, or from what other course you
please,
    which the time shall more favorably minister.
  RODERIGO. Well.
  IAGO. Sir, he is rash and very sudden in choler, and haply may
    strike at you. Provoke him, that he may; for even out of that
    will I cause these of Cyprus to mutiny, whose qualification
shall
    come into no true taste again but by the displanting of
Cassio.
    So shall you have a shorter journey to your desires by the
means
    I shall then have to prefer them, and the impediment most
    profitably removed, without the which there were no
expectation
    of our prosperity.
  RODERIGO. I will do this, if I can bring it to any opportunity.
  IAGO. I warrant thee. Meet me by and by at the citadel. I must
    fetch his necessaries ashore. Farewell.
  RODERIGO. Adieu.
Exit.
  IAGO. That Cassio loves her, I do well believe it;
    That she loves him, 'tis apt and of great credit.
    The Moor, howbeit that I endure him not,
    Is of a constant, loving, noble nature,
    And I dare think he'll prove to Desdemona
    A most dear husband. Now, I do love her too,
    Not out of absolute lust, though peradventure
    I stand accountant for as great a sin,
    But partly led to diet my revenge,
    For that I do suspect the lusty Moor
    Hath leap'd into my seat; the thought whereof
    Doth like a poisonous mineral gnaw my inwards,
    And nothing can or shall content my soul
    Till I am even'd with him, wife for wife.
    Or failing so, yet that I put the Moor
    At least into a jealousy so strong
    That judgement cannot cure. Which thing to do,
    If this poor trash of Venice, whom I trash
    For his quick hunting, stand the putting on,
    I'll have our Michael Cassio on the hip,
    Abuse him to the Moor in the rank garb
    (For I fear Cassio with my nightcap too),
    Make the Moor thank me, love me, and reward me
    For making him egregiously an ass
    And practicing upon his peace and quiet
    Even to madness. 'Tis here, but yet confused:
    Knavery's plain face is never seen till used.
Exit.