That's but a trifle here.— You lords, and noble friends, know our intent. What comfort to this great decay may come, Shall be applied: for us, we will resign, During the life of this old majesty,
To him our absolute power. You, to your rights, [To Edgar and ext With boot, and such addition, as your honours Have more than merited.--All friends shall taste The wages of their virtue, and all foes The cup of their deservings.-O! see, see!
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
Forsooth, a great arithmetician,
[was he?
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 th'
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
By debitor and creditor, this counter-caster:
He, in good time, must his lieutenant be,
And 1, (God bless the mark!) his Moor-ship's
ancient.
By heaven, I rather would have been his hangman.
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 t' the first. Now, sir, be judge
Whether I in any just term am affin'd
yourself,
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.
Roderigo.
What a full fortune does the thick-lips owe, If he can carry't thus !
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.
Brabantio Not I: what are you?
The worse welcome: 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 mad
Being full of supper and distempering draughts,
Upon malicious bravery dost thou come
To start my quiet.
Most grave Brabantie, In simple and pure soul I come to you. lago.
'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.
What profane wretch art thou?
I am one, sir, that comes to tell you, your daughter and the Moor are now making the beast with two backs.
You are a senator. Brabantio.
This thou shalt answer: I know thee, Rederigu.
Sir, I will answer any thing. But I beseech
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 tritle 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 every where. Straight satisfy
If she be in her chamber, or your house,
Let loose on me the justice of the state
Most reverend signior, do you know my voice? 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!
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)
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 stand in act) that, for their
Another of his fathom they have none, [souls,
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.
Enter Brabantio, and Servants with Torches.
It is too true an evil: gone she is ;
And what's to come of my despised time,
Is nought but bitterness. Now, Roderigo,
Nay, but he prated,
And spoke such scurvy and provoking terms
Against your honour,
That, with the little godliness I have,
I did full hard forbear him. But, I pray, sir,
Are you fast married? for, be sure 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, or grievance,
The law (with all his might to enforce it on)
Will give him cable.
Which, when I know that boasting is an honour,
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,
Where didst thou see her?-O, unhappy girl!-But that I love the gentle Desdemona,
With the Moor, say'st thou ?-Who would be a
father?--
[ceiv'st me
How didst thou know 'twas she?-O! thou de-
Past thought. What said she to you?- Get
more tapers!
Raise all my kindred!—Are they married, think
you?
I would not my unhoused free condition
Put into circumscription and confine
For the sea's worth. But, look! what lights
come yonder?
These are the raised father, and his friends: You were best go in.
Not I; I must be found:
My parts, my title, and my perfect soul,
Shail manifest me rightly. Is it they?
Iago.
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?
The duke does greet you, general;
And he requires your haste, post-haste ap-
Even on the instant.
[pearance,
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, rais'd 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.
Marry, to-Come, captain, will you go?
How may the duke be therewith satisfied,
Whose messengers are here about my side,
Upon some present business of the state,
To bear me to him?
"Tis true, most worthy signior: The duke's in council, and your noble self, I am sure, is sent for.
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,
Have with you. Bond-slaves and pagans shall our statesmen be.
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 practis'd on her with foul charms;
Abus'd her delicate youth with drugs, or
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 practiser
Of arts inhibited, and out of warrant.-
Lay hold upon him! if he do resist,
Subdue him at his peril.
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?
We must not think the Turk is so unskilful,
To prison; till fit time To leave that latest which concerns him first,
Neglecting an attempt of ease and gain,
To wake, and wage, a danger protitless.
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