OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE.

ACT I.

SCENE I. Venice. A Street.

Enter RODERIGO and IAGO.

Roderigo.

EVER tell me; I take it much unkindly,
That thou, Iago, who hast had my purse,
As if the strings were thine, should'st
know of this.

Iago. But you'll 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 bate.

Iago. Despise me, if I do not. Three great ones of the city,

In personal suit to make me his Lieutenant,
Oft 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 bombast 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 life; 1
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 be-lee'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. 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,

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 affin'd

To love the Moor.

Rod.

I would not follow him then.
Iago. Oh! 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 shews of service on their lords,
Do well thrive by them, and, when they have lin'd
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.

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

lago. 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 colour.

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! Signior Brabantio, ho!
Iago. Awake! what ho! Brabantio! thieves!

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. Signior, is all your family within?

Iago. Are your doors lock'd?

Bra.

Why? wherefore ask you this?

Iago. 'Zounds, sir, y'are 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.

Bra.

What! have you lost your wits? Rod. Most reverend signior, do you know my

voice?

Bra. Not I; what are you?

Rod. My name is Roderigo.

The worser welcome.

Bra. I have charg'd 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 distemp'ring draughts, Upon malicious bravery, dost thou come

To start my quiet.

Rod.

Bra.

Sir, sir, sir..

My spirit and my place have in them power

But thou must needs be sure,

Patience, good sir.

To make this bitter to thee.

Rod.

Bra. What tell'st thou me of robbing? this is

Venice;

My house is not a grange.

Rod. 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 will have coursers for cousins, and gennets for ger

mans.

Bra. What profane wretch art thou?

lago. 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.

Iago.

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,

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

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.

Bra. 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! Iago. Farewell; for I must leave you. It seems not meet, nor wholesome to my place, To be produc'd-as, if I stay, I shall

[Exit, from above.

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