Othello

Act I

Scene I

Enter Roderigo and Iago.

RODERIGOTush, 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.

RODERIGOThou told’st me, thou didst hold him in thy hate.

IAGODespise 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 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 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.

RODERIGOBy heaven, I rather would have been his hangman.

IAGOWhy, 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.

RODERIGOI would not follow him, then.

IAGOO, 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 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.

RODERIGOWhat a full fortune does the thick-lips owe,
If he can carry’t thus!

IAGOCall 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.

RODERIGOHere is her father’s house, I’ll call aloud.

IAGODo, with like timorous accent and dire yell
As when, by night and negligence, the fire
Is spied in populous cities.

RODERIGOWhat ho, Brabantio! Signior Brabantio, ho!

IAGOAwake! what ho, Brabantio! Thieves, thieves!
Look to your house, your daughter, and your bags!
Thieves, thieves!

Brabantio appears above at a window.

BRABANTIOWhat is the reason of this terrible summons?
What is the matter there?

RODERIGOSignior, is all your family within?

IAGOAre your doors locked?

BRABANTIOWhy, wherefore ask you this?

IAGOZounds, 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.

BRABANTIOWhat, have you lost your wits?

RODERIGOMost reverend signior, do you know my voice?

BRABANTIONot I. What are you?

RODERIGOMy name is Roderigo.

BRABANTIOThe worser 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 madness,
Being full of supper and distempering draughts,
Upon malicious bravery, dost thou come
To start my quiet.

RODERIGOSir, sir, sir,—

BRABANTIOBut thou must needs be sure
My spirit and my place have in them power
To make this bitter to thee.

RODERIGOPatience, good sir.

BRABANTIOWhat tell’st thou me of robbing?
This is Venice. My house is not a grange.

RODERIGOMost grave Brabantio,
In simple and pure soul I come to you.

IAGOZounds, 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 cover’d with a Barbary horse;
you’ll have your nephews neigh to you; you’ll have coursers for cousins
and gennets for germans.

BRABANTIOWhat profane wretch art thou?

IAGOI am one, sir, that comes to tell you your daughter and the Moor are
now making the beast with two backs.

BRABANTIOThou art a villain.

IAGOYou are a senator.

BRABANTIOThis thou shalt answer. I know thee, Roderigo.

RODERIGOSir, 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.

BRABANTIOStrike 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.

IAGOFarewell; 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 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 Brabantio with Servants and torches.

BRABANTIOIt is too true an evil. Gone she is,
And what’s to come of my despised time,
Is naught 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?

RODERIGOTruly I think they are.

BRABANTIOO 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?

RODERIGOYes, sir, I have indeed.

BRABANTIOCall 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?

RODERIGOI think I can discover him, if you please
To get good guard, and go along with me.

BRABANTIOPray 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 will deserve your pains.

Exeunt.

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Scene II

Enter Othello, Iago and Attendants with torches.

IAGOThough in the trade of war I have slain men,
Yet do I hold it very stuff o’ the conscience
To do no contriv’d murder; 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.

IAGONay, 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 you, sir,
Are you fast married? Be assur’d of this,
That the magnifico is much belov’d
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.

OTHELLOLet 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 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,
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?

IAGOThose are the raised father and his friends:
You were best go in.

OTHELLONot I; I must be found.
My parts, my title, and my perfect soul
Shall manifest me rightly. Is it they?

IAGOBy Janus, I think no.

Enter Cassio and Officers with torches.

OTHELLOThe servants of the duke and my lieutenant.
The goodness of the night upon you, friends!
What is the news?

CASSIOThe duke does greet you, general,
And he requires your haste-post-haste appearance
Even on the instant.

OTHELLOWhat is the matter, think you?

CASSIOSomething 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.

OTHELLO’Tis well I am found by you.
I will but spend a word here in the house,
And go with you.

Exit.

CASSIOAncient, what makes he here?

IAGOFaith, he tonight hath boarded a land carrack:
If it prove lawful prize, he’s made forever.

CASSIOI do not understand.

IAGOHe’s married.

CASSIOTo who?

Enter Othello.

IAGOMarry to—Come, captain, will you go?

OTHELLOHave with you.

CASSIOHere comes another troop to seek for you.

Enter Brabantio, Roderigo and Officers with torches and weapons.

IAGOIt is Brabantio. General, be advis’d,
He comes to bad intent.

OTHELLOHolla, stand there!

RODERIGOSignior, it is the Moor.

BRABANTIODown with him, thief!

IAGOYou, Roderigo! Come, sir, I am for you.

OTHELLOKeep up your bright swords, for the dew will rust them.
Good signior, you shall more command with years
Than with your weapons.

BRABANTIOO 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 minerals
That weakens 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.

OTHELLOHold 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?

BRABANTIOTo prison, till fit time
Of law and course of direct session
Call thee to answer.

OTHELLOWhat 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?

OFFICER’Tis true, most worthy signior,
The duke’s in council, and your noble self,
I am sure is sent for.

BRABANTIOHow? 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.

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Scene III

DUKEThere is no composition in these news
That gives them credit.

FIRST SENATORIndeed, they are disproportion’d;
My letters say a hundred and seven galleys.

DUKEAnd 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.

DUKENay, 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!

OFFICERA messenger from the galleys.

Enter Sailor.

DUKENow,—what’s the business?

SAILORThe Turkish preparation makes for Rhodes,
So was I bid report here to the state
By Signior Angelo.

DUKEHow say you by this change?

FIRST SENATORThis 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 unskilful
To leave that latest which concerns him first,
Neglecting an attempt of ease and gain,
To wake and wage a danger profitless.

DUKENay, in all confidence, he’s not for Rhodes.

OFFICERHere is more news.

Enter a Messenger.

MESSENGERThe Ottomites, reverend and gracious,
Steering with due course toward the isle of Rhodes,
Have there injointed them with an after fleet.

FIRST SENATORAy, so I thought. How many, as you guess?

MESSENGEROf 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 SENATORHe’s now in Florence.

DUKEWrite from us to him; post-post-haste dispatch.

FIRST SENATORHere comes Brabantio and the valiant Moor.

Enter Brabantio, Othello, Iago, Roderigo and Officers.

DUKEValiant 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.

BRABANTIOSo did I yours. Good your grace, pardon me.
Neither my place, nor aught I heard of business
Hath rais’d 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.

DUKEWhy, what’s the matter?

BRABANTIOMy daughter! O, my daughter!

DUKE and SENATORS.
Dead?

BRABANTIOAy, 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.

DUKEWhoe’er he be, that in this foul proceeding,
Hath thus beguil’d 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.

BRABANTIOHumbly I thank your grace.
Here is the man, this Moor, whom now it seems
Your special mandate for the state affairs
Hath hither brought.

ALLWe are very sorry for ’t.

DUKE[_To Othello._] What, in your own part, can you say to this?

BRABANTIONothing, but this is so.

OTHELLOMost potent, grave, and reverend signiors,
My very noble and approv’d 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 bless’d with the soft phrase of peace;
For since these arms of mine had seven years’ pith,
Till now some nine moons wasted, they have us’d
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.

BRABANTIOA 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 conjur’d to this effect,
He wrought upon her.

DUKETo vouch this is no proof;
Without more wider and more overt test
Than these thin habits and poor likelihoods
Of modern seeming do prefer against him.

FIRST SENATORBut, 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?

OTHELLOI 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.

DUKEFetch Desdemona hither.

OTHELLOAncient, conduct them, you best know the place.

Exeunt Iago and Attendants.

DUKESay it, Othello.

OTHELLOHer father lov’d 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’ th’ imminent deadly breach;
Of being taken by the insolent foe,
And sold to slavery, of my redemption thence,
And portance in my traveler’s 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’d 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 lov’d her,
I should but teach him how to tell my story,
And that would woo her. Upon this hint I spake:
She lov’d me for the dangers I had pass’d,
And I lov’d her that she did pity them.
This only is the witchcraft I have us’d.
Here comes the lady. Let her witness it.

Enter Desdemona, Iago and Attendants.

DUKEI 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.

BRABANTIOI 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?

DESDEMONAMy 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.

BRABANTIOGod 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.

DUKELet me speak like yourself, and lay a sentence,
Which as a grise or step may help these lovers
Into your favour.
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.

BRABANTIOSo 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 bruis’d heart was pierced through the ear.
I humbly beseech you, proceed to the affairs of state.

DUKEThe 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.

OTHELLOThe 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
This 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.

DUKEIf you please,
Be’t at her father’s.

BRABANTIOI’ll not have it so.

OTHELLONor I.

DESDEMONANor 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
T’ assist my simpleness.

DUKEWhat would you, Desdemona?

DESDEMONAThat 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 honours 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.

OTHELLOLet her have your voice.
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 seel with wanton dullness
My speculative and offic’d 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.

DUKEBe it as you shall privately determine,
Either for her stay or going. The affair cries haste,
And speed must answer it.

FIRST SENATORYou must away tonight.

OTHELLOWith all my heart.

DUKEAt 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.

OTHELLOSo 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.

DUKELet 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 SENATORAdieu, brave Moor, use Desdemona well.

BRABANTIOLook to her, Moor, if thou hast eyes to see:
She has deceiv’d her father, and may thee.

Exeunt Duke, Senators, Officers, &c.

OTHELLOMy 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.

RODERIGOIago—

IAGOWhat sayst thou, noble heart?

RODERIGOWhat will I do, thinkest thou?

IAGOWhy, go to bed and sleep.

RODERIGOI will incontinently drown myself.

IAGOIf thou dost, I shall never love thee after. Why, thou silly gentleman!

RODERIGOIt is silliness to live, when to live is torment; and then have we a
prescription to die when death is our physician.

IAGOO 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.

RODERIGOWhat should I do? I confess it is my shame to be so fond, but it is not
in my virtue to amend it.

IAGOVirtue! 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.

RODERIGOIt cannot be.

IAGOIt 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 favour 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.

RODERIGOWilt thou be fast to my hopes if I depend on the issue?

IAGOThou 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.

RODERIGOWhere shall we meet i’ the morning?

IAGOAt my lodging.

RODERIGOI’ll be with thee betimes.

IAGOGo to, farewell. Do you hear, Roderigo?

RODERIGOWhat say you?

IAGONo more of drowning, do you hear?

RODERIGOI am changed. I’ll sell all my land.

Exit.

IAGOThus 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, fram’d 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

Enter Montano and two Gentlemen.

MONTANOWhat from the cape can you discern at sea?

FIRST GENTLEMANNothing at all, it is a high-wrought flood.
I cannot ’twixt the heaven and the main
Descry a sail.

MONTANOMethinks 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 GENTLEMANA segregation of the Turkish fleet.
For do but stand upon the foaming shore,
The chidden billow seems to pelt the clouds,
The wind-shak’d surge, with high and monstrous main,
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.

MONTANOIf 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 GENTLEMANNews, 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.

MONTANOHow? Is this true?

THIRD GENTLEMANThe ship is here put in,
A Veronessa; 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.

MONTANOI am glad on’t. ’Tis a worthy governor.

THIRD GENTLEMANBut 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.

MONTANOPray heavens he be;
For I have serv’d him, and the man commands
Like a full soldier. Let’s to the sea-side, 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 GENTLEMANCome, let’s do so;
For every minute is expectancy
Of more arrivance.

Enter Cassio.

CASSIOThanks you, the valiant of this warlike isle,
That so approve the Moor! O, let the heavens
Give him defence against the elements,
For I have lost him on a dangerous sea.

MONTANOIs he well shipp’d?

CASSIOHis bark is stoutly timber’d, and his pilot
Of very expert and approv’d allowance;
Therefore my hopes, not surfeited to death,
Stand in bold cure.

[_Within._] A sail, a sail, a sail!

Enter a Messenger.

CASSIOWhat noise?

MESSENGERThe town is empty; on the brow o’ the sea
Stand ranks of people, and they cry “A sail!”

CASSIOMy hopes do shape him for the governor.

SECOND GENTLEMANThey do discharge their shot of courtesy.
Our friends at least.

CASSIOI pray you, sir, go forth,
And give us truth who ’tis that is arriv’d.

SECOND GENTLEMANI shall.

Exit.

MONTANOBut, good lieutenant, is your general wiv’d?

CASSIOMost fortunately: he hath achiev’d 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.

Enter second Gentleman.

SECOND GENTLEMAN’Tis one Iago, ancient to the general.

CASSIOHe has had most favourable 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.

MONTANOWhat is she?

CASSIOShe 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, Iago, Roderigo, and Emilia.

DESDEMONAI thank you, valiant Cassio.
What tidings can you tell me of my lord?

CASSIOHe is not yet arrived, nor know I aught
But that he’s well, and will be shortly here.

DESDEMONAO, but I fear—How lost you company?

[_Within._] A sail, a sail!

CASSIOThe great contention of the sea and skies
Parted our fellowship. But, hark! a sail.

SECOND GENTLEMANThey give their greeting to the citadel.
This likewise is a friend.

CASSIOSee for the news.

Exit Gentleman.

IAGOSir, would she give you so much of her lips
As of her tongue she oft bestows on me,
You would have enough.

DESDEMONAAlas, she has no speech.

IAGOIn 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.

EMILIAYou have little cause to say so.

IAGOCome on, come on; you are pictures out of doors,
Bells in your parlours, wild-cats in your kitchens,
Saints in your injuries, devils being offended,
Players in your housewifery, and housewives in your beds.

DESDEMONAO, fie upon thee, slanderer!

IAGONay, it is true, or else I am a Turk.
You rise to play, and go to bed to work.

EMILIAYou shall not write my praise.

IAGONo, let me not.

DESDEMONAWhat wouldst thou write of me, if thou shouldst praise me?

IAGOO gentle lady, do not put me to’t,
For I am nothing if not critical.

DESDEMONACome on, assay.—There’s one gone to the harbour?

IAGOAy, madam.

DESDEMONAI am not merry, but I do beguile
The thing I am, by seeming otherwise.—
Come, how wouldst thou praise me?

IAGOI 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 labours,
And thus she is deliver’d.
If she be fair and wise, fairness and wit,
The one’s for use, the other useth it.

DESDEMONAWell prais’d! How if she be black and witty?

IAGOIf she be black, and thereto have a wit,
She’ll find a white that shall her blackness fit.

DESDEMONAWorse and worse.

EMILIAHow if fair and foolish?

IAGOShe never yet was foolish that was fair,
For even her folly help’d her to an heir.

DESDEMONAThese are old fond paradoxes to make fools laugh i’ the alehouse. What
miserable praise hast thou for her that’s foul and foolish?

IAGOThere’s none so foul and foolish thereunto,
But does foul pranks which fair and wise ones do.

DESDEMONAO 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?

IAGOShe 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—

DESDEMONATo do what?

IAGOTo suckle fools and chronicle small beer.

DESDEMONAO 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 counsellor?

CASSIOHe 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!


The Moor! I know his trumpet.

CASSIO’Tis truly so.

DESDEMONALet’s meet him, and receive him.

CASSIOLo, where he comes!

Enter Othello and Attendants.

OTHELLOO my fair warrior!

DESDEMONAMy dear Othello!

OTHELLOIt 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 labouring 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.

DESDEMONAThe heavens forbid
But that our loves and comforts should increase
Even as our days do grow!

OTHELLOAmen 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 [_They kiss._]
That e’er our hearts shall make!

IAGO[_Aside._] O, you are well tun’d now,
But I’ll set down the pegs that make this music,
As honest as I am.

OTHELLOCome, 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 desir’d 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 Othello, Desdemona and Attendants.

IAGODo thou meet me presently at the harbour. 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.

RODERIGOWith him? Why, ’tis not possible.

IAGOLay 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 favour, 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 compassing 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.

RODERIGOI cannot believe that in her, she is full of most blessed condition.

IAGOBlest fig’s end! the wine she drinks is made of grapes: if she had been
blessed, she would never have loved the Moor. Blessed pudding! Didst
thou not see her paddle with the palm of his hand? Didst not mark that?

RODERIGOYes, that I did. But that was but courtesy.

IAGOLechery, 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 embrac’d 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 favourably minister.

RODERIGOWell.

IAGOSir, he is rash, and very sudden in choler, and haply with his
truncheon 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.

RODERIGOI will do this, if I can bring it to any opportunity.

IAGOI warrant thee. Meet me by and by at the citadel: I must fetch his
necessaries ashore. Farewell.

RODERIGOAdieu.

Exit.

IAGOThat 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 night-cap 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 confus’d.
Knavery’s plain face is never seen till us’d.

Exit.

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Scene II

Enter Othello’s Herald with a proclamation.

HERALDIt is Othello’s pleasure, our noble and valiant general, that upon
certain tidings now arrived, importing the mere perdition of the
Turkish fleet, every man put himself into triumph: some to dance, some
to make bonfires, each man to what sport and revels his addition leads
him. For besides these beneficial news, it is the celebration of his
nuptial. So much was his pleasure should be proclaimed. All offices are
open, and there is full liberty of feasting from this present hour of
five till the bell have told eleven. Heaven bless the isle of Cyprus
and our noble general Othello!

Exit.

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Scene III

Enter Othello, Desdemona, Cassio and Attendants.

OTHELLOGood Michael, look you to the guard tonight.
Let’s teach ourselves that honourable stop,
Not to outsport discretion.

CASSIOIago hath direction what to do.
But notwithstanding with my personal eye
Will I look to’t.

OTHELLOIago is most honest.
Michael, good night. Tomorrow with your earliest
Let me have speech with you. [_To Desdemona._] Come, my dear love,
The purchase made, the fruits are to ensue;
That profit’s yet to come ’tween me and you.—
Good night.

Exeunt Othello, Desdemona and Attendants.

Enter Iago.

CASSIOWelcome, Iago. We must to the watch.

IAGONot this hour, lieutenant. ’Tis not yet ten o’ th’ clock. Our general
cast us thus early for the love of his Desdemona; who let us not
therefore blame: he hath not yet made wanton the night with her; and
she is sport for Jove.

CASSIOShe’s a most exquisite lady.

IAGOAnd, I’ll warrant her, full of game.

CASSIOIndeed, she is a most fresh and delicate creature.

IAGOWhat an eye she has! methinks it sounds a parley to provocation.

CASSIOAn inviting eye, and yet methinks right modest.

IAGOAnd when she speaks, is it not an alarm to love?

CASSIOShe is indeed perfection.

IAGOWell, happiness to their sheets! Come, lieutenant, I have a stoup of
wine; and here without are a brace of Cyprus gallants that would fain
have a measure to the health of black Othello.

CASSIONot tonight, good Iago. I have very poor and unhappy brains for
drinking. I could well wish courtesy would invent some other custom of
entertainment.

IAGOO, they are our friends; but one cup: I’ll drink for you.

CASSIOI have drunk but one cup tonight, and that was craftily qualified too,
and behold, what innovation it makes here: I am unfortunate in the
infirmity, and dare not task my weakness with any more.

IAGOWhat, man! ’Tis a night of revels. The gallants desire it.

CASSIOWhere are they?

IAGOHere at the door. I pray you, call them in.

CASSIOI’ll do’t; but it dislikes me.

Exit.

IAGOIf I can fasten but one cup upon him,
With that which he hath drunk tonight already,
He’ll be as full of quarrel and offence
As my young mistress’ dog. Now my sick fool Roderigo,
Whom love hath turn’d almost the wrong side out,
To Desdemona hath tonight carous’d
Potations pottle-deep; and he’s to watch:
Three lads of Cyprus, noble swelling spirits,
That hold their honours in a wary distance,
The very elements of this warlike isle,
Have I tonight fluster’d with flowing cups,
And they watch too. Now, ’mongst this flock of drunkards,
Am I to put our Cassio in some action
That may offend the isle. But here they come:
If consequence do but approve my dream,
My boat sails freely, both with wind and stream.

Enter Cassio, Montano and Gentlemen; followed by Servant with wine.

CASSIO’Fore God, they have given me a rouse already.

MONTANOGood faith, a little one; not past a pint, as I am a soldier.

IAGOSome wine, ho!

_And let me the cannikin clink, clink,
And let me the cannikin clink, clink:
A soldier’s a man,
O, man’s life’s but a span,
Why then let a soldier drink._

Some wine, boys!

CASSIO’Fore God, an excellent song.

IAGOI learned it in England, where indeed they are most potent in potting:
your Dane, your German, and your swag-bellied Hollander,—drink, ho!—are
nothing to your English.

CASSIOIs your Englishman so expert in his drinking?

IAGOWhy, he drinks you, with facility, your Dane dead drunk; he sweats not
to overthrow your Almain; he gives your Hollander a vomit ere the next
pottle can be filled.

CASSIOTo the health of our general!

MONTANOI am for it, lieutenant; and I’ll do you justice.

IAGOO sweet England!


_King Stephen was a worthy peer,
His breeches cost him but a crown;
He held them sixpence all too dear,
With that he call’d the tailor lown.
He was a wight of high renown,
And thou art but of low degree:
’Tis pride that pulls the country down,
Then take thine auld cloak about thee._

Some wine, ho!

CASSIO’Fore God, this is a more exquisite song than the other.

IAGOWill you hear ’t again?

CASSIONo, for I hold him to be unworthy of his place that does those things.
Well, God’s above all, and there be souls must be saved, and there be
souls must not be saved.

IAGOIt’s true, good lieutenant.

CASSIOFor mine own part, no offence to the general, nor any man of quality, I
hope to be saved.

IAGOAnd so do I too, lieutenant.

CASSIOAy, but, by your leave, not before me; the lieutenant is to be saved
before the ancient. Let’s have no more of this; let’s to our affairs.
Forgive us our sins! Gentlemen, let’s look to our business. Do not
think, gentlemen, I am drunk. This is my ancient, this is my right
hand, and this is my left. I am not drunk now. I can stand well enough,
and I speak well enough.

ALLExcellent well.

CASSIOWhy, very well then. You must not think, then, that I am drunk.

Exit.

MONTANOTo the platform, masters. Come, let’s set the watch.

IAGOYou see this fellow that is gone before,
He is a soldier fit to stand by Cæsar
And give direction: and do but see his vice,
’Tis to his virtue a just equinox,
The one as long as th’ other. ’Tis pity of him.
I fear the trust Othello puts him in,
On some odd time of his infirmity,
Will shake this island.

MONTANOBut is he often thus?

IAGO’Tis evermore the prologue to his sleep:
He’ll watch the horologe a double set
If drink rock not his cradle.

MONTANOIt were well
The general were put in mind of it.
Perhaps he sees it not, or his good nature
Prizes the virtue that appears in Cassio,
And looks not on his evils: is not this true?

Enter Roderigo.

IAGO[_Aside to him._] How now, Roderigo?
I pray you, after the lieutenant; go.

Exit Roderigo.

MONTANOAnd ’tis great pity that the noble Moor
Should hazard such a place as his own second
With one of an ingraft infirmity:
It were an honest action to say so
To the Moor.

IAGONot I, for this fair island.
I do love Cassio well and would do much
To cure him of this evil. But, hark! What noise?

Enter Cassio, driving in Roderigo.

CASSIOZounds, you rogue, you rascal!

MONTANOWhat’s the matter, lieutenant?

CASSIOA knave teach me my duty! I’ll beat the knave into a twiggen bottle.

RODERIGOBeat me?

CASSIODost thou prate, rogue?

MONTANONay, good lieutenant;
I pray you, sir, hold your hand.

CASSIOLet me go, sir,
Or I’ll knock you o’er the mazard.

MONTANOCome, come, you’re drunk.

CASSIODrunk?

IAGO[_Aside to Roderigo._] Away, I say! Go out and cry a mutiny.

Exit Roderigo.

Enter Othello and Attendants.

OTHELLOWhat is the matter here?

MONTANOZounds, I bleed still, I am hurt to the death.

OTHELLOHold, for your lives!

IAGOHold, ho! lieutenant,—sir,—Montano,—gentlemen,—
Have you forgot all place of sense and duty?
Hold! The general speaks to you; hold, hold, for shame!

OTHELLOWhy, how now, ho! From whence ariseth this?
Are we turn’d Turks, and to ourselves do that
Which heaven hath forbid the Ottomites?
For Christian shame, put by this barbarous brawl:
He that stirs next to carve for his own rage
Holds his soul light; he dies upon his motion.
Silence that dreadful bell, it frights the isle
From her propriety. What is the matter, masters?
Honest Iago, that looks dead with grieving,
Speak, who began this? On thy love, I charge thee.

IAGOI do not know. Friends all but now, even now,
In quarter, and in terms like bride and groom
Devesting them for bed; and then, but now,
As if some planet had unwitted men,
Swords out, and tilting one at other’s breast,
In opposition bloody. I cannot speak
Any beginning to this peevish odds;
And would in action glorious I had lost
Those legs that brought me to a part of it!

OTHELLOHow comes it, Michael, you are thus forgot?

CASSIOI pray you, pardon me; I cannot speak.

OTHELLOWorthy Montano, you were wont be civil.
The gravity and stillness of your youth
The world hath noted, and your name is great
In mouths of wisest censure: what’s the matter,
That you unlace your reputation thus,
And spend your rich opinion for the name
Of a night-brawler? Give me answer to it.

MONTANOWorthy Othello, I am hurt to danger.
Your officer, Iago, can inform you,
While I spare speech, which something now offends me,
Of all that I do know; nor know I aught
By me that’s said or done amiss this night,
Unless self-charity be sometimes a vice,
And to defend ourselves it be a sin
When violence assails us.

OTHELLONow, by heaven,
My blood begins my safer guides to rule,
And passion, having my best judgement collied,
Assays to lead the way. Zounds, if I stir,
Or do but lift this arm, the best of you
Shall sink in my rebuke. Give me to know
How this foul rout began, who set it on,
And he that is approv’d in this offence,
Though he had twinn’d with me, both at a birth,
Shall lose me. What! in a town of war,
Yet wild, the people’s hearts brimful of fear,
To manage private and domestic quarrel,
In night, and on the court and guard of safety?
’Tis monstrous. Iago, who began’t?

MONTANOIf partially affin’d, or leagu’d in office,
Thou dost deliver more or less than truth,
Thou art no soldier.

IAGOTouch me not so near.
I had rather have this tongue cut from my mouth
Than it should do offence to Michael Cassio.
Yet I persuade myself, to speak the truth
Shall nothing wrong him. Thus it is, general:
Montano and myself being in speech,
There comes a fellow crying out for help,
And Cassio following him with determin’d sword,
To execute upon him. Sir, this gentleman
Steps in to Cassio and entreats his pause.
Myself the crying fellow did pursue,
Lest by his clamour (as it so fell out)
The town might fall in fright: he, swift of foot,
Outran my purpose: and I return’d the rather
For that I heard the clink and fall of swords,
And Cassio high in oath, which till tonight
I ne’er might say before. When I came back,
(For this was brief) I found them close together,
At blow and thrust, even as again they were
When you yourself did part them.
More of this matter cannot I report.
But men are men; the best sometimes forget;
Though Cassio did some little wrong to him,
As men in rage strike those that wish them best,
Yet surely Cassio, I believe, receiv’d
From him that fled some strange indignity,
Which patience could not pass.

OTHELLOI know, Iago,
Thy honesty and love doth mince this matter,
Making it light to Cassio. Cassio, I love thee,
But never more be officer of mine.

Enter Desdemona, attended.

DESDEMONAWhat’s the matter?

OTHELLOAll’s well now, sweeting; come away to bed.
Sir, for your hurts, myself will be your surgeon.
Lead him off.



Iago, look with care about the town,
And silence those whom this vile brawl distracted.
Come, Desdemona: ’tis the soldiers’ life
To have their balmy slumbers wak’d with strife.

Exeunt all but Iago and Cassio.

IAGOWhat, are you hurt, lieutenant?

CASSIOAy, past all surgery.

IAGOMarry, Heaven forbid!

CASSIOReputation, reputation, reputation! O, I have lost my reputation! I
have lost the immortal part of myself, and what remains is bestial. My
reputation, Iago, my reputation!

IAGOAs I am an honest man, I thought you had received some bodily wound;
there is more sense in that than in reputation. Reputation is an idle
and most false imposition, oft got without merit and lost without
deserving. You have lost no reputation at all, unless you repute
yourself such a loser. What, man, there are ways to recover the general
again: you are but now cast in his mood, a punishment more in policy
than in malice, even so as one would beat his offenceless dog to
affright an imperious lion: sue to him again, and he’s yours.

CASSIOI will rather sue to be despised than to deceive so good a commander
with so slight, so drunken, and so indiscreet an officer. Drunk? and
speak parrot? and squabble? swagger? swear? and discourse fustian with
one’s own shadow? O thou invisible spirit of wine, if thou hast no name
to be known by, let us call thee devil!

IAGOWhat was he that you followed with your sword? What had he done to you?

CASSIOI know not.

IAGOIs’t possible?

CASSIOI remember a mass of things, but nothing distinctly; a quarrel, but
nothing wherefore. O God, that men should put an enemy in their mouths
to steal away their brains! That we should with joy, pleasance, revel,
and applause, transform ourselves into beasts!

IAGOWhy, but you are now well enough: how came you thus recovered?

CASSIOIt hath pleased the devil drunkenness to give place to the devil wrath.
One unperfectness shows me another, to make me frankly despise myself.

IAGOCome, you are too severe a moraler. As the time, the place, and the
condition of this country stands, I could heartily wish this had not
befallen; but since it is as it is, mend it for your own good.

CASSIOI will ask him for my place again; he shall tell me I am a drunkard!
Had I as many mouths as Hydra, such an answer would stop them all. To
be now a sensible man, by and by a fool, and presently a beast! O
strange! Every inordinate cup is unbless’d, and the ingredient is a
devil.

IAGOCome, come, good wine is a good familiar creature, if it be well used.
Exclaim no more against it. And, good lieutenant, I think you think I
love you.

CASSIOI have well approved it, sir.—I drunk!

IAGOYou, or any man living, may be drunk at a time, man. I’ll tell you what
you shall do. Our general’s wife is now the general; I may say so in
this respect, for that he hath devoted and given up himself to the
contemplation, mark, and denotement of her parts and graces. Confess
yourself freely to her. Importune her help to put you in your place
again. She is of so free, so kind, so apt, so blessed a disposition,
she holds it a vice in her goodness not to do more than she is
requested. This broken joint between you and her husband entreat her to
splinter, and, my fortunes against any lay worth naming, this crack of
your love shall grow stronger than it was before.

CASSIOYou advise me well.

IAGOI protest, in the sincerity of love and honest kindness.

CASSIOI think it freely; and betimes in the morning I will beseech the
virtuous Desdemona to undertake for me; I am desperate of my fortunes
if they check me here.

IAGOYou are in the right. Good night, lieutenant, I must to the watch.

CASSIOGood night, honest Iago.

Exit.

IAGOAnd what’s he then, that says I play the villain?
When this advice is free I give and honest,
Probal to thinking, and indeed the course
To win the Moor again? For ’tis most easy
The inclining Desdemona to subdue
In any honest suit. She’s fram’d as fruitful
As the free elements. And then for her
To win the Moor, were’t to renounce his baptism,
All seals and symbols of redeemed sin,
His soul is so enfetter’d to her love
That she may make, unmake, do what she list,
Even as her appetite shall play the god
With his weak function. How am I then, a villain
To counsel Cassio to this parallel course,
Directly to his good? Divinity of hell!
When devils will the blackest sins put on,
They do suggest at first with heavenly shows,
As I do now: for whiles this honest fool
Plies Desdemona to repair his fortune,
And she for him pleads strongly to the Moor,
I’ll pour this pestilence into his ear,
That she repeals him for her body’s lust;
And by how much she strives to do him good,
She shall undo her credit with the Moor.
So will I turn her virtue into pitch,
And out of her own goodness make the net
That shall enmesh them all.

Enter Roderigo.

RODERIGOI do follow here in the chase, not like a hound that hunts, but one
that fills up the cry. My money is almost spent, I have been tonight
exceedingly well cudgelled; and I think the issue will be, I shall have
so much experience for my pains, and so, with no money at all and a
little more wit, return again to Venice.

IAGOHow poor are they that have not patience!
What wound did ever heal but by degrees?
Thou know’st we work by wit, and not by witchcraft,
And wit depends on dilatory time.
Does’t not go well? Cassio hath beaten thee,
And thou, by that small hurt, hast cashier’d Cassio;
Though other things grow fair against the sun,
Yet fruits that blossom first will first be ripe.
Content thyself awhile. By the mass, ’tis morning;
Pleasure and action make the hours seem short.
Retire thee; go where thou art billeted.
Away, I say, thou shalt know more hereafter.
Nay, get thee gone.

Exit Roderigo.

Exit.

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Act III

Scene I

Enter Cassio and some Musicians.

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

Enter Clown.

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

FIRST MUSICIANHow, sir, how?

CLOWNAre these, I pray you, wind instruments?

FIRST MUSICIANAy, marry, are they, sir.

CLOWNO, thereby hangs a tail.

FIRST MUSICIANWhereby hangs a tale, sir?

CLOWNMarry, 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.

FIRST MUSICIANWell, sir, we will not.

CLOWNIf you have any music that may not be heard, to’t again. But, as they
say, to hear music the general does not greatly care.

FIRST MUSICIANWe have none such, sir.

CLOWNThen put up your pipes in your bag, for I’ll away. Go, vanish into air,
away!

Exeunt Musicians.

CASSIODost thou hear, mine honest friend?

CLOWNNo, I hear not your honest friend. I hear you.

CASSIOPrithee, keep up thy quillets. There’s a poor piece of gold for thee:
if the gentlewoman that attends the general’s wife be stirring, tell
her there’s one Cassio entreats her a little favour of speech. Wilt
thou do this?

CLOWNShe is stirring, sir; if she will stir hither, I shall seem to notify
unto her.

CASSIODo, good my friend.

Exit Clown.

Enter Iago.

IAGOYou have not been a-bed, then?

CASSIOWhy, no. The day had broke
Before we parted. I have made bold, Iago,
To send in to your wife. My suit to her
Is, that she will to virtuous Desdemona
Procure me some access.

IAGOI’ll send her to you presently,
And I’ll devise a mean to draw the Moor
Out of the way, that your converse and business
May be more free.

CASSIOI humbly thank you for’t.

Exit Iago.

Enter Emilia.

EMILIAGood morrow, good lieutenant; I am sorry
For your displeasure, but all will sure be well.
The general and his wife are talking of it,
And she speaks for you stoutly: the Moor replies
That he you hurt is of great fame in Cyprus
And great affinity, and that in wholesome wisdom
He might not but refuse you; but he protests he loves you
And needs no other suitor but his likings
To take the safest occasion by the front
To bring you in again.

CASSIOYet, I beseech you,
If you think fit, or that it may be done,
Give me advantage of some brief discourse
With Desdemona alone.

EMILIAPray you, come in.
I will bestow you where you shall have time
To speak your bosom freely.

CASSIOI am much bound to you.

Exeunt.

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Scene II

Enter Othello, Iago and Gentlemen.

OTHELLOThese letters give, Iago, to the pilot,
And by him do my duties to the senate.
That done, I will be walking on the works,
Repair there to me.

IAGOWell, my good lord, I’ll do’t.

OTHELLOThis fortification, gentlemen, shall we see’t?

GENTLEMENWe’ll wait upon your lordship.

Exeunt.

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Scene III

Enter Desdemona, Cassio and Emilia.

DESDEMONABe thou assured, good Cassio, I will do
All my abilities in thy behalf.

EMILIAGood madam, do. I warrant it grieves my husband
As if the cause were his.

DESDEMONAO, that’s an honest fellow. Do not doubt, Cassio,
But I will have my lord and you again
As friendly as you were.

CASSIOBounteous madam,
Whatever shall become of Michael Cassio,
He’s never anything but your true servant.

DESDEMONAI know’t. I thank you. You do love my lord.
You have known him long; and be you well assur’d
He shall in strangeness stand no farther off
Than in a politic distance.

CASSIOAy, but, lady,
That policy may either last so long,
Or feed upon such nice and waterish diet,
Or breed itself so out of circumstance,
That, I being absent, and my place supplied,
My general will forget my love and service.

DESDEMONADo not doubt that. Before Emilia here
I give thee warrant of thy place. Assure thee,
If I do vow a friendship, I’ll perform it
To the last article. My lord shall never rest,
I’ll watch him tame, and talk him out of patience;
His bed shall seem a school, his board a shrift;
I’ll intermingle everything he does
With Cassio’s suit. Therefore be merry, Cassio,
For thy solicitor shall rather die
Than give thy cause away.

Enter Othello and Iago.

EMILIAMadam, here comes my lord.

CASSIOMadam, I’ll take my leave.

DESDEMONAWhy, stay, and hear me speak.

CASSIOMadam, not now. I am very ill at ease,
Unfit for mine own purposes.

DESDEMONAWell, do your discretion.

Exit Cassio.

IAGOHa, I like not that.

OTHELLOWhat dost thou say?

IAGONothing, my lord; or if—I know not what.

OTHELLOWas not that Cassio parted from my wife?

IAGOCassio, my lord? No, sure, I cannot think it,
That he would steal away so guilty-like,
Seeing you coming.

OTHELLOI do believe ’twas he.

DESDEMONAHow now, my lord?
I have been talking with a suitor here,
A man that languishes in your displeasure.

OTHELLOWho is’t you mean?

DESDEMONAWhy, your lieutenant, Cassio. Good my lord,
If I have any grace or power to move you,
His present reconciliation take;
For if he be not one that truly loves you,
That errs in ignorance and not in cunning,
I have no judgement in an honest face.
I prithee call him back.

OTHELLOWent he hence now?

DESDEMONAAy, sooth; so humbled
That he hath left part of his grief with me
To suffer with him. Good love, call him back.

OTHELLONot now, sweet Desdemon, some other time.

DESDEMONABut shall’t be shortly?

OTHELLOThe sooner, sweet, for you.

DESDEMONAShall’t be tonight at supper?

OTHELLONo, not tonight.

DESDEMONATomorrow dinner then?

OTHELLOI shall not dine at home;
I meet the captains at the citadel.

DESDEMONAWhy then tomorrow night, or Tuesday morn,
On Tuesday noon, or night; on Wednesday morn.
I prithee name the time, but let it not
Exceed three days. In faith, he’s penitent;
And yet his trespass, in our common reason,
(Save that, they say, the wars must make examples
Out of their best) is not almost a fault
To incur a private check. When shall he come?
Tell me, Othello: I wonder in my soul,
What you would ask me, that I should deny,
Or stand so mammering on. What? Michael Cassio,
That came a-wooing with you, and so many a time,
When I have spoke of you dispraisingly,
Hath ta’en your part, to have so much to do
To bring him in! Trust me, I could do much.

OTHELLOPrithee no more. Let him come when he will;
I will deny thee nothing.

DESDEMONAWhy, this is not a boon;
’Tis as I should entreat you wear your gloves,
Or feed on nourishing dishes, or keep you warm,
Or sue to you to do a peculiar profit
To your own person: nay, when I have a suit
Wherein I mean to touch your love indeed,
It shall be full of poise and difficult weight,
And fearful to be granted.

OTHELLOI will deny thee nothing.
Whereon, I do beseech thee, grant me this,
To leave me but a little to myself.

DESDEMONAShall I deny you? No, farewell, my lord.

OTHELLOFarewell, my Desdemona. I’ll come to thee straight.

DESDEMONAEmilia, come. Be as your fancies teach you.
Whate’er you be, I am obedient.

Exit with Emilia.

OTHELLOExcellent wretch! Perdition catch my soul,
But I do love thee! And when I love thee not,
Chaos is come again.

IAGOMy noble lord,—

OTHELLOWhat dost thou say, Iago?

IAGODid Michael Cassio, when you woo’d my lady,
Know of your love?

OTHELLOHe did, from first to last. Why dost thou ask?

IAGOBut for a satisfaction of my thought.
No further harm.

OTHELLOWhy of thy thought, Iago?

IAGOI did not think he had been acquainted with her.

OTHELLOO yes, and went between us very oft.

IAGOIndeed?

OTHELLOIndeed? Ay, indeed. Discern’st thou aught in that?
Is he not honest?

IAGOHonest, my lord?

OTHELLOHonest? ay, honest.

IAGOMy lord, for aught I know.

OTHELLOWhat dost thou think?

IAGOThink, my lord?

OTHELLOThink, my lord? By heaven, he echoes me,
As if there were some monster in his thought
Too hideous to be shown. Thou dost mean something.
I heard thee say even now, thou lik’st not that,
When Cassio left my wife. What didst not like?
And when I told thee he was of my counsel
In my whole course of wooing, thou criedst, “Indeed?”
And didst contract and purse thy brow together,
As if thou then hadst shut up in thy brain
Some horrible conceit: if thou dost love me,
Show me thy thought.

IAGOMy lord, you know I love you.

OTHELLOI think thou dost;
And for I know thou’rt full of love and honesty
And weigh’st thy words before thou giv’st them breath,
Therefore these stops of thine fright me the more:
For such things in a false disloyal knave
Are tricks of custom; but in a man that’s just,
They’re close dilations, working from the heart,
That passion cannot rule.

IAGOFor Michael Cassio,
I dare be sworn I think that he is honest.

OTHELLOI think so too.

IAGOMen should be what they seem;
Or those that be not, would they might seem none!

OTHELLOCertain, men should be what they seem.

IAGOWhy then, I think Cassio’s an honest man.

OTHELLONay, yet there’s more in this:
I prithee, speak to me as to thy thinkings,
As thou dost ruminate, and give thy worst of thoughts
The worst of words.

IAGOGood my lord, pardon me.
Though I am bound to every act of duty,
I am not bound to that all slaves are free to.
Utter my thoughts? Why, say they are vile and false:
As where’s that palace whereinto foul things
Sometimes intrude not? Who has a breast so pure
But some uncleanly apprehensions
Keep leets and law-days, and in session sit
With meditations lawful?

OTHELLOThou dost conspire against thy friend, Iago,
If thou but think’st him wrong’d and mak’st his ear
A stranger to thy thoughts.

IAGOI do beseech you,
Though I perchance am vicious in my guess,
As, I confess, it is my nature’s plague
To spy into abuses, and of my jealousy
Shapes faults that are not,—that your wisdom
From one that so imperfectly conceits,
Would take no notice; nor build yourself a trouble
Out of his scattering and unsure observance.
It were not for your quiet nor your good,
Nor for my manhood, honesty, or wisdom,
To let you know my thoughts.

OTHELLOWhat dost thou mean?

IAGOGood name in man and woman, dear my lord,
Is the immediate jewel of their souls.
Who steals my purse steals trash. ’Tis something, nothing;
’Twas mine, ’tis his, and has been slave to thousands.
But he that filches from me my good name
Robs me of that which not enriches him
And makes me poor indeed.

OTHELLOBy heaven, I’ll know thy thoughts.

IAGOYou cannot, if my heart were in your hand,
Nor shall not, whilst ’tis in my custody.

OTHELLOHa?

IAGOO, beware, my lord, of jealousy;
It is the green-ey’d monster which doth mock
The meat it feeds on. That cuckold lives in bliss
Who, certain of his fate, loves not his wronger;
But O, what damned minutes tells he o’er
Who dotes, yet doubts, suspects, yet strongly loves!

OTHELLOO misery!

IAGOPoor and content is rich, and rich enough;
But riches fineless is as poor as winter
To him that ever fears he shall be poor.
Good heaven, the souls of all my tribe defend
From jealousy!

OTHELLOWhy, why is this?
Think’st thou I’d make a life of jealousy,
To follow still the changes of the moon
With fresh suspicions? No. To be once in doubt
Is once to be resolv’d: exchange me for a goat
When I shall turn the business of my soul
To such exsufflicate and blown surmises,
Matching thy inference. ’Tis not to make me jealous,
To say my wife is fair, feeds well, loves company,
Is free of speech, sings, plays, and dances well;
Where virtue is, these are more virtuous:
Nor from mine own weak merits will I draw
The smallest fear or doubt of her revolt,
For she had eyes, and chose me. No, Iago,
I’ll see before I doubt; when I doubt, prove;
And on the proof, there is no more but this:
Away at once with love or jealousy!

IAGOI am glad of it, for now I shall have reason
To show the love and duty that I bear you
With franker spirit: therefore, as I am bound,
Receive it from me. I speak not yet of proof.
Look to your wife; observe her well with Cassio;
Wear your eye thus, not jealous nor secure.
I would not have your free and noble nature,
Out of self-bounty, be abus’d. Look to’t.
I know our country disposition well;
In Venice they do let heaven see the pranks
They dare not show their husbands. Their best conscience
Is not to leave undone, but keep unknown.

OTHELLODost thou say so?

IAGOShe did deceive her father, marrying you;
And when she seem’d to shake and fear your looks,
She loved them most.

OTHELLOAnd so she did.

IAGOWhy, go to then.
She that so young could give out such a seeming,
To seal her father’s eyes up close as oak,
He thought ’twas witchcraft. But I am much to blame.
I humbly do beseech you of your pardon
For too much loving you.

OTHELLOI am bound to thee for ever.

IAGOI see this hath a little dash’d your spirits.

OTHELLONot a jot, not a jot.

IAGOTrust me, I fear it has.
I hope you will consider what is spoke
Comes from my love. But I do see you’re mov’d.
I am to pray you not to strain my speech
To grosser issues nor to larger reach
Than to suspicion.

OTHELLOI will not.

IAGOShould you do so, my lord,
My speech should fall into such vile success
Which my thoughts aim’d not. Cassio’s my worthy friend.
My lord, I see you’re mov’d.

OTHELLONo, not much mov’d.
I do not think but Desdemona’s honest.

IAGOLong live she so! And long live you to think so!

OTHELLOAnd yet, how nature erring from itself—

IAGOAy, there’s the point. As, to be bold with you,
Not to affect many proposed matches,
Of her own clime, complexion, and degree,
Whereto we see in all things nature tends;
Foh! One may smell in such a will most rank,
Foul disproportion, thoughts unnatural.
But pardon me: I do not in position
Distinctly speak of her, though I may fear
Her will, recoiling to her better judgement,
May fall to match you with her country forms,
And happily repent.

OTHELLOFarewell, farewell:
If more thou dost perceive, let me know more;
Set on thy wife to observe. Leave me, Iago.

IAGO[_Going._] My lord, I take my leave.

OTHELLOWhy did I marry? This honest creature doubtless
Sees and knows more, much more, than he unfolds.

IAGO[_Returning._] My lord, I would I might entreat your honour
To scan this thing no further. Leave it to time:
Though it be fit that Cassio have his place,
For sure he fills it up with great ability,
Yet if you please to hold him off awhile,
You shall by that perceive him and his means.
Note if your lady strain his entertainment
With any strong or vehement importunity,
Much will be seen in that. In the meantime,
Let me be thought too busy in my fears
(As worthy cause I have to fear I am)
And hold her free, I do beseech your honour.

OTHELLOFear not my government.

IAGOI once more take my leave.

Exit.

OTHELLOThis fellow’s of exceeding honesty,
And knows all qualities, with a learned spirit,
Of human dealings. If I do prove her haggard,
Though that her jesses were my dear heartstrings,
I’d whistle her off, and let her down the wind
To prey at fortune. Haply, for I am black,
And have not those soft parts of conversation
That chamberers have, or for I am declin’d
Into the vale of years,—yet that’s not much—
She’s gone, I am abus’d, and my relief
Must be to loathe her. O curse of marriage,
That we can call these delicate creatures ours,
And not their appetites! I had rather be a toad,
And live upon the vapour of a dungeon,
Than keep a corner in the thing I love
For others’ uses. Yet, ’tis the plague of great ones,
Prerogativ’d are they less than the base,
’Tis destiny unshunnable, like death:
Even then this forked plague is fated to us
When we do quicken. Desdemona comes.
If she be false, O, then heaven mocks itself!
I’ll not believe’t.

Enter Desdemona and Emilia.

DESDEMONAHow now, my dear Othello?
Your dinner, and the generous islanders
By you invited, do attend your presence.

OTHELLOI am to blame.

DESDEMONAWhy do you speak so faintly?
Are you not well?

OTHELLOI have a pain upon my forehead here.

DESDEMONAFaith, that’s with watching, ’twill away again;
Let me but bind it hard, within this hour
It will be well.

OTHELLOYour napkin is too little;


Let it alone. Come, I’ll go in with you.

DESDEMONAI am very sorry that you are not well.

Exeunt Othello and Desdemona.

EMILIAI am glad I have found this napkin;
This was her first remembrance from the Moor.
My wayward husband hath a hundred times
Woo’d me to steal it. But she so loves the token,
For he conjur’d her she should ever keep it,
That she reserves it evermore about her
To kiss and talk to. I’ll have the work ta’en out,
And give’t Iago. What he will do with it
Heaven knows, not I,
I nothing but to please his fantasy.

Enter Iago.

IAGOHow now? What do you here alone?

EMILIADo not you chide. I have a thing for you.

IAGOA thing for me? It is a common thing—

EMILIAHa?

IAGOTo have a foolish wife.

EMILIAO, is that all? What will you give me now
For that same handkerchief?

IAGOWhat handkerchief?

EMILIAWhat handkerchief?
Why, that the Moor first gave to Desdemona,
That which so often you did bid me steal.

IAGOHast stol’n it from her?

EMILIANo, faith, she let it drop by negligence,
And, to the advantage, I being here, took ’t up.
Look, here it is.

IAGOA good wench, give it me.

EMILIAWhat will you do with’t, that you have been so earnest
To have me filch it?

IAGO[_Snatching it._] Why, what’s that to you?

EMILIAIf it be not for some purpose of import,
Give ’t me again. Poor lady, she’ll run mad
When she shall lack it.

IAGOBe not acknown on’t, I have use for it.
Go, leave me.

Exit Emilia.

Enter Othello.

OTHELLOHa! ha! false to me?

IAGOWhy, how now, general? No more of that.

OTHELLOAvaunt! be gone! Thou hast set me on the rack.
I swear ’tis better to be much abus’d
Than but to know’t a little.

IAGOHow now, my lord?

OTHELLOWhat sense had I of her stol’n hours of lust?
I saw’t not, thought it not, it harm’d not me.
I slept the next night well, was free and merry;
I found not Cassio’s kisses on her lips.
He that is robb’d, not wanting what is stol’n,
Let him not know’t, and he’s not robb’d at all.

IAGOI am sorry to hear this.

OTHELLOI had been happy if the general camp,
Pioners and all, had tasted her sweet body,
So I had nothing known. O, now, for ever
Farewell the tranquil mind! Farewell content!
Farewell the plumed troops and the big wars
That make ambition virtue! O, farewell,
Farewell the neighing steed and the shrill trump,
The spirit-stirring drum, the ear-piercing fife,
The royal banner, and all quality,
Pride, pomp, and circumstance of glorious war!
And, O you mortal engines, whose rude throats
The immortal Jove’s dread clamours counterfeit,
Farewell! Othello’s occupation’s gone!

IAGOIs’t possible, my lord?

OTHELLOVillain, be sure thou prove my love a whore;
Be sure of it. Give me the ocular proof,
Or, by the worth of man’s eternal soul,
Thou hadst been better have been born a dog
Than answer my wak’d wrath.

IAGOIs’t come to this?

OTHELLOMake me to see’t, or at the least so prove it,
That the probation bear no hinge nor loop
To hang a doubt on, or woe upon thy life!

IAGOMy noble lord,—

OTHELLOIf thou dost slander her and torture me,
Never pray more. Abandon all remorse;
On horror’s head horrors accumulate;
Do deeds to make heaven weep, all earth amaz’d;
For nothing canst thou to damnation add
Greater than that.

IAGOO grace! O heaven defend me!
Are you a man? Have you a soul or sense?
God be wi’ you. Take mine office.—O wretched fool,
That liv’st to make thine honesty a vice!
O monstrous world! Take note, take note, O world,
To be direct and honest is not safe.
I thank you for this profit, and from hence
I’ll love no friend, sith love breeds such offence.

OTHELLONay, stay. Thou shouldst be honest.

IAGOI should be wise; for honesty’s a fool,
And loses that it works for.

OTHELLOBy the world,
I think my wife be honest, and think she is not.
I think that thou art just, and think thou art not.
I’ll have some proof: her name, that was as fresh
As Dian’s visage, is now begrim’d and black
As mine own face. If there be cords or knives,
Poison or fire, or suffocating streams,
I’ll not endure ’t. Would I were satisfied!

IAGOI see, sir, you are eaten up with passion.
I do repent me that I put it to you.
You would be satisfied?

OTHELLOWould? Nay, I will.

IAGOAnd may; but how? How satisfied, my lord?
Would you, the supervisor, grossly gape on,
Behold her topp’d?

OTHELLODeath and damnation! O!

IAGOIt were a tedious difficulty, I think,
To bring them to that prospect. Damn them then,
If ever mortal eyes do see them bolster
More than their own! What then? How then?
What shall I say? Where’s satisfaction?
It is impossible you should see this,
Were they as prime as goats, as hot as monkeys,
As salt as wolves in pride, and fools as gross
As ignorance made drunk. But yet I say,
If imputation and strong circumstances,
Which lead directly to the door of truth,
Will give you satisfaction, you may have’t.

OTHELLOGive me a living reason she’s disloyal.

IAGOI do not like the office,
But sith I am enter’d in this cause so far,
Prick’d to ’t by foolish honesty and love,
I will go on. I lay with Cassio lately,
And being troubled with a raging tooth,
I could not sleep.
There are a kind of men so loose of soul,
That in their sleeps will mutter their affairs.
One of this kind is Cassio:
In sleep I heard him say, “Sweet Desdemona,
Let us be wary, let us hide our loves;”
And then, sir, would he gripe and wring my hand,
Cry “O sweet creature!” and then kiss me hard,
As if he pluck’d up kisses by the roots,
That grew upon my lips, then laid his leg
Over my thigh, and sigh’d and kiss’d, and then
Cried “Cursed fate that gave thee to the Moor!”

OTHELLOO monstrous! monstrous!

IAGONay, this was but his dream.

OTHELLOBut this denoted a foregone conclusion.
’Tis a shrewd doubt, though it be but a dream.

IAGOAnd this may help to thicken other proofs
That do demonstrate thinly.

OTHELLOI’ll tear her all to pieces.

IAGONay, but be wise. Yet we see nothing done,
She may be honest yet. Tell me but this,
Have you not sometimes seen a handkerchief
Spotted with strawberries in your wife’s hand?

OTHELLOI gave her such a one, ’twas my first gift.

IAGOI know not that: but such a handkerchief
(I am sure it was your wife’s) did I today
See Cassio wipe his beard with.

OTHELLOIf it be that,—

IAGOIf it be that, or any that was hers,
It speaks against her with the other proofs.

OTHELLOO, that the slave had forty thousand lives!
One is too poor, too weak for my revenge!
Now do I see ’tis true. Look here, Iago;
All my fond love thus do I blow to heaven.
’Tis gone.
Arise, black vengeance, from thy hollow hell!
Yield up, O love, thy crown and hearted throne
To tyrannous hate! Swell, bosom, with thy fraught,
For ’tis of aspics’ tongues!

IAGOYet be content.

OTHELLOO, blood, Iago, blood!

IAGOPatience, I say. Your mind perhaps may change.

OTHELLONever, Iago. Like to the Pontic Sea,
Whose icy current and compulsive course
Ne’er feels retiring ebb, but keeps due on
To the Propontic and the Hellespont;
Even so my bloody thoughts, with violent pace
Shall ne’er look back, ne’er ebb to humble love,
Till that a capable and wide revenge
Swallow them up. Now by yond marble heaven,
In the due reverence of a sacred vow [_Kneels._]
I here engage my words.

IAGODo not rise yet. [_Kneels._]
Witness, you ever-burning lights above,
You elements that clip us round about,
Witness that here Iago doth give up
The execution of his wit, hands, heart,
To wrong’d Othello’s service! Let him command,
And to obey shall be in me remorse,
What bloody business ever.

OTHELLOI greet thy love,
Not with vain thanks, but with acceptance bounteous,
And will upon the instant put thee to ’t.
Within these three days let me hear thee say
That Cassio’s not alive.

IAGOMy friend is dead. ’Tis done at your request.
But let her live.

OTHELLODamn her, lewd minx! O, damn her, damn her!
Come, go with me apart, I will withdraw
To furnish me with some swift means of death
For the fair devil. Now art thou my lieutenant.

IAGOI am your own for ever.

Exeunt.

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Scene IV

Enter Desdemona, Emilia and Clown.

DESDEMONADo you know, sirrah, where Lieutenant Cassio lies?

CLOWNI dare not say he lies anywhere.

DESDEMONAWhy, man?

CLOWNHe’s a soldier; and for one to say a soldier lies is stabbing.

DESDEMONAGo to. Where lodges he?

CLOWNTo tell you where he lodges is to tell you where I lie.

DESDEMONACan anything be made of this?

CLOWNI know not where he lodges; and for me to devise a lodging, and say he
lies here, or he lies there, were to lie in mine own throat.

DESDEMONACan you inquire him out, and be edified by report?

CLOWNI will catechize the world for him, that is, make questions and by them
answer.

DESDEMONASeek him, bid him come hither. Tell him I have moved my lord on his
behalf, and hope all will be well.

CLOWNTo do this is within the compass of man’s wit, and therefore I will
attempt the doing it.

Exit.

DESDEMONAWhere should I lose that handkerchief, Emilia?

EMILIAI know not, madam.

DESDEMONABelieve me, I had rather have lost my purse
Full of crusadoes. And but my noble Moor
Is true of mind and made of no such baseness
As jealous creatures are, it were enough
To put him to ill thinking.

EMILIAIs he not jealous?

DESDEMONAWho, he? I think the sun where he was born
Drew all such humours from him.

EMILIALook, where he comes.

Enter Othello.

DESDEMONAI will not leave him now till Cassio
Be call’d to him. How is’t with you, my lord?

OTHELLOWell, my good lady. [_Aside._] O, hardness to dissemble!
How do you, Desdemona?

DESDEMONAWell, my good lord.

OTHELLOGive me your hand. This hand is moist, my lady.

DESDEMONAIt yet hath felt no age nor known no sorrow.

OTHELLOThis argues fruitfulness and liberal heart.
Hot, hot, and moist. This hand of yours requires
A sequester from liberty, fasting and prayer,
Much castigation, exercise devout;
For here’s a young and sweating devil here
That commonly rebels. ’Tis a good hand,
A frank one.

DESDEMONAYou may indeed say so,
For ’twas that hand that gave away my heart.

OTHELLOA liberal hand. The hearts of old gave hands,
But our new heraldry is hands, not hearts.

DESDEMONAI cannot speak of this. Come now, your promise.

OTHELLOWhat promise, chuck?

DESDEMONAI have sent to bid Cassio come speak with you.

OTHELLOI have a salt and sorry rheum offends me.
Lend me thy handkerchief.

DESDEMONAHere, my lord.

OTHELLOThat which I gave you.

DESDEMONAI have it not about me.

OTHELLONot?

DESDEMONANo, faith, my lord.

OTHELLOThat is a fault. That handkerchief
Did an Egyptian to my mother give.
She was a charmer, and could almost read
The thoughts of people. She told her, while she kept it,
’Twould make her amiable and subdue my father
Entirely to her love. But if she lost it,
Or made a gift of it, my father’s eye
Should hold her loathed, and his spirits should hunt
After new fancies: she, dying, gave it me,
And bid me, when my fate would have me wive,
To give it her. I did so; and take heed on’t,
Make it a darling like your precious eye.
To lose’t or give’t away were such perdition
As nothing else could match.

DESDEMONAIs’t possible?

OTHELLO’Tis true. There’s magic in the web of it.
A sibyl, that had number’d in the world
The sun to course two hundred compasses,
In her prophetic fury sew’d the work;
The worms were hallow’d that did breed the silk,
And it was dyed in mummy, which the skillful
Conserv’d of maiden’s hearts.

DESDEMONAIndeed? Is’t true?

OTHELLOMost veritable, therefore look to ’t well.

DESDEMONAThen would to God that I had never seen ’t!

OTHELLOHa? wherefore?

DESDEMONAWhy do you speak so startingly and rash?

OTHELLOIs’t lost? is’t gone? speak, is it out of the way?

DESDEMONAHeaven bless us!

OTHELLOSay you?

DESDEMONAIt is not lost, but what and if it were?

OTHELLOHow?

DESDEMONAI say it is not lost.

OTHELLOFetch’t, let me see ’t.

DESDEMONAWhy, so I can, sir, but I will not now.
This is a trick to put me from my suit.
Pray you, let Cassio be receiv’d again.

OTHELLOFetch me the handkerchief! My mind misgives.

DESDEMONACome, come.
You’ll never meet a more sufficient man.

OTHELLOThe handkerchief!

DESDEMONAI pray, talk me of Cassio.

OTHELLOThe handkerchief!

DESDEMONAA man that all his time
Hath founded his good fortunes on your love,
Shar’d dangers with you,—

OTHELLOThe handkerchief!

DESDEMONAIn sooth, you are to blame.

OTHELLOAway!

Exit.

EMILIAIs not this man jealous?

DESDEMONAI ne’er saw this before.
Sure there’s some wonder in this handkerchief,
I am most unhappy in the loss of it.

EMILIA’Tis not a year or two shows us a man:
They are all but stomachs and we all but food;
They eat us hungerly, and when they are full,
They belch us.

Enter Cassio and Iago.

IAGOThere is no other way; ’tis she must do ’t,
And, lo, the happiness! Go and importune her.

DESDEMONAHow now, good Cassio, what’s the news with you?

CASSIOMadam, my former suit: I do beseech you
That by your virtuous means I may again
Exist, and be a member of his love,
Whom I, with all the office of my heart,
Entirely honour. I would not be delay’d.
If my offence be of such mortal kind
That nor my service past, nor present sorrows,
Nor purpos’d merit in futurity,
Can ransom me into his love again,
But to know so must be my benefit;
So shall I clothe me in a forc’d content,
And shut myself up in some other course
To fortune’s alms.

DESDEMONAAlas, thrice-gentle Cassio,
My advocation is not now in tune;
My lord is not my lord; nor should I know him
Were he in favour as in humour alter’d.
So help me every spirit sanctified,
As I have spoken for you all my best,
And stood within the blank of his displeasure
For my free speech! You must awhile be patient.
What I can do I will; and more I will
Than for myself I dare. Let that suffice you.

IAGOIs my lord angry?

EMILIAHe went hence but now,
And certainly in strange unquietness.

IAGOCan he be angry? I have seen the cannon,
When it hath blown his ranks into the air
And, like the devil, from his very arm
Puff’d his own brother, and can he be angry?
Something of moment then. I will go meet him.
There’s matter in’t indeed if he be angry.

DESDEMONAI prithee do so.

Exit Iago.

EMILIAPray heaven it be state matters, as you think,
And no conception nor no jealous toy
Concerning you.

DESDEMONAAlas the day, I never gave him cause!

EMILIABut jealous souls will not be answer’d so;
They are not ever jealous for the cause,
But jealous for they are jealous: ’tis a monster
Begot upon itself, born on itself.

DESDEMONAHeaven keep that monster from Othello’s mind!

EMILIALady, amen.

DESDEMONAI will go seek him. Cassio, walk hereabout:
If I do find him fit, I’ll move your suit,
And seek to effect it to my uttermost.

CASSIOI humbly thank your ladyship.

Exeunt Desdemona and Emilia.

Enter Bianca.

BIANCASave you, friend Cassio!

CASSIOWhat make you from home?
How is it with you, my most fair Bianca?
I’ faith, sweet love, I was coming to your house.

BIANCAAnd I was going to your lodging, Cassio.
What, keep a week away? Seven days and nights?
Eight score eight hours, and lovers’ absent hours,
More tedious than the dial eight score times?
O weary reckoning!

CASSIOPardon me, Bianca.
I have this while with leaden thoughts been press’d,
But I shall in a more continuate time
Strike off this score of absence. Sweet Bianca,


Take me this work out.

BIANCAO Cassio, whence came this?
This is some token from a newer friend.
To the felt absence now I feel a cause.
Is’t come to this? Well, well.

CASSIOGo to, woman!
Throw your vile guesses in the devil’s teeth,
From whence you have them. You are jealous now
That this is from some mistress, some remembrance.
No, in good troth, Bianca.

BIANCAWhy, whose is it?

CASSIOI know not neither. I found it in my chamber.
I like the work well. Ere it be demanded,
As like enough it will, I’d have it copied.
Take it, and do ’t, and leave me for this time.

BIANCALeave you, wherefore?

CASSIOI do attend here on the general,
And think it no addition, nor my wish,
To have him see me woman’d.

BIANCAWhy, I pray you?

CASSIONot that I love you not.

BIANCABut that you do not love me.
I pray you bring me on the way a little,
And say if I shall see you soon at night.

CASSIO’Tis but a little way that I can bring you,
For I attend here. But I’ll see you soon.

BIANCA’Tis very good; I must be circumstanc’d.

Exeunt.

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Act IV

Scene I

Enter Othello and Iago.

IAGOWill you think so?

OTHELLOThink so, Iago?

IAGOWhat,
To kiss in private?

OTHELLOAn unauthoriz’d kiss.

IAGOOr to be naked with her friend in bed
An hour or more, not meaning any harm?

OTHELLONaked in bed, Iago, and not mean harm?
It is hypocrisy against the devil:
They that mean virtuously and yet do so,
The devil their virtue tempts, and they tempt heaven.

IAGOSo they do nothing, ’tis a venial slip.
But if I give my wife a handkerchief—

OTHELLOWhat then?

IAGOWhy then, ’tis hers, my lord, and being hers,
She may, I think, bestow’t on any man.

OTHELLOShe is protectress of her honour too.
May she give that?

IAGOHer honour is an essence that’s not seen;
They have it very oft that have it not:
But for the handkerchief—

OTHELLOBy heaven, I would most gladly have forgot it.
Thou said’st (O, it comes o’er my memory,
As doth the raven o’er the infected house,
Boding to all) he had my handkerchief.

IAGOAy, what of that?

OTHELLOThat’s not so good now.

IAGOWhat
If I had said I had seen him do you wrong?
Or heard him say (as knaves be such abroad,
Who having, by their own importunate suit,
Or voluntary dotage of some mistress,
Convinced or supplied them, cannot choose
But they must blab.)

OTHELLOHath he said anything?

IAGOHe hath, my lord, but be you well assur’d,
No more than he’ll unswear.

OTHELLOWhat hath he said?

IAGOFaith, that he did—I know not what he did.

OTHELLOWhat? What?

IAGOLie.

OTHELLOWith her?

IAGOWith her, on her, what you will.

OTHELLOLie with her! lie on her!—We say lie on her when they belie her.—Lie
with her! that’s fulsome. Handkerchief—confessions—handkerchief! To
confess, and be hanged for his labour. First, to be hanged, and then to
confess. I tremble at it. Nature would not invest herself in such
shadowing passion without some instruction. It is not words that shake
me thus. Pish! Noses, ears, and lips. Is’t
possible?—Confess?—handkerchief?—O devil!—

IAGOWork on,
My medicine, work! Thus credulous fools are caught,
And many worthy and chaste dames even thus,
All guiltless, meet reproach. What, ho! my lord!
My lord, I say! Othello!

Enter Cassio.

CASSIOWhat’s the matter?

IAGOMy lord is fallen into an epilepsy.
This is his second fit. He had one yesterday.

CASSIORub him about the temples.

IAGONo, forbear;
The lethargy must have his quiet course.
If not, he foams at mouth, and by and by
Breaks out to savage madness. Look, he stirs:
Do you withdraw yourself a little while,
He will recover straight. When he is gone,
I would on great occasion speak with you.

Exit Cassio.

OTHELLODost thou mock me?

IAGOI mock you? No, by heaven.
Would you would bear your fortune like a man!

OTHELLOA horned man’s a monster and a beast.

IAGOThere’s many a beast, then, in a populous city,
And many a civil monster.

OTHELLODid he confess it?

IAGOGood sir, be a man.
Think every bearded fellow that’s but yok’d
May draw with you. There’s millions now alive
That nightly lie in those unproper beds
Which they dare swear peculiar: your case is better.
O, ’tis the spite of hell, the fiend’s arch-mock,
To lip a wanton in a secure couch,
And to suppose her chaste! No, let me know,
And knowing what I am, I know what she shall be.

OTHELLOO, thou art wise, ’tis certain.

IAGOStand you awhile apart,
Confine yourself but in a patient list.
Whilst you were here o’erwhelmed with your grief,
(A passion most unsuiting such a man)
Cassio came hither. I shifted him away,
And laid good ’scuse upon your ecstasy,
Bade him anon return, and here speak with me,
The which he promis’d. Do but encave yourself,
And mark the fleers, the gibes, and notable scorns,
That dwell in every region of his face;
For I will make him tell the tale anew,
Where, how, how oft, how long ago, and when
He hath, and is again to cope your wife:
I say, but mark his gesture. Marry, patience,
Or I shall say you are all in all in spleen,
And nothing of a man.

OTHELLODost thou hear, Iago?
I will be found most cunning in my patience;
But,—dost thou hear?—most bloody.

IAGOThat’s not amiss.
But yet keep time in all. Will you withdraw?


Now will I question Cassio of Bianca,
A housewife that by selling her desires
Buys herself bread and clothes: it is a creature
That dotes on Cassio, (as ’tis the strumpet’s plague
To beguile many and be beguil’d by one.)
He, when he hears of her, cannot refrain
From the excess of laughter. Here he comes.

Enter Cassio.

CASSIOThe worser that you give me the addition
Whose want even kills me.

IAGOPly Desdemona well, and you are sure on’t.
[_Speaking lower._] Now, if this suit lay in Bianca’s power,
How quickly should you speed!

CASSIOAlas, poor caitiff!

OTHELLO[_Aside._] Look how he laughs already!

IAGOI never knew a woman love man so.

CASSIOAlas, poor rogue! I think, i’ faith, she loves me.

OTHELLO[_Aside._] Now he denies it faintly and laughs it out.

IAGODo you hear, Cassio?

OTHELLONow he importunes him
To tell it o’er. Go to, well said, well said.

IAGOShe gives it out that you shall marry her.
Do you intend it?

CASSIOHa, ha, ha!

OTHELLODo you triumph, Roman? Do you triumph?

CASSIOI marry her? What? A customer? I prithee, bear some charity to my wit,
do not think it so unwholesome. Ha, ha, ha!

OTHELLOSo, so, so, so. They laugh that wins.

IAGOFaith, the cry goes that you shall marry her.

CASSIOPrithee say true.

IAGOI am a very villain else.

OTHELLOHave you scored me? Well.

CASSIOThis is the monkey’s own giving out. She is persuaded I will marry her,
out of her own love and flattery, not out of my promise.

OTHELLOIago beckons me. Now he begins the story.

CASSIOShe was here even now. She haunts me in every place. I was the other
day talking on the sea-bank with certain Venetians, and thither comes
the bauble, and falls thus about my neck.

OTHELLOCrying, “O dear Cassio!” as it were: his gesture imports it.

CASSIOSo hangs, and lolls, and weeps upon me; so hales and pulls me. Ha, ha,
ha!

OTHELLONow he tells how she plucked him to my chamber. O, I see that nose of
yours, but not that dog I shall throw it to.

CASSIOWell, I must leave her company.

IAGOBefore me! look where she comes.

Enter Bianca.

CASSIO’Tis such another fitchew! Marry, a perfum’d one.
What do you mean by this haunting of me?

BIANCALet the devil and his dam haunt you! What did you mean by that same
handkerchief you gave me even now? I was a fine fool to take it. I must
take out the work? A likely piece of work, that you should find it in
your chamber and not know who left it there! This is some minx’s token,
and I must take out the work? There, give it your hobby-horse.
Wheresoever you had it, I’ll take out no work on’t.

CASSIOHow now, my sweet Bianca? How now, how now?

OTHELLOBy heaven, that should be my handkerchief!

BIANCAIf you’ll come to supper tonight, you may. If you will not, come when
you are next prepared for.

Exit.

IAGOAfter her, after her.

CASSIOFaith, I must; she’ll rail in the street else.

IAGOWill you sup there?

CASSIOFaith, I intend so.

IAGOWell, I may chance to see you, for I would very fain speak with you.

CASSIOPrithee come, will you?

IAGOGo to; say no more.

Exit Cassio.

OTHELLO[_Coming forward._] How shall I murder him, Iago?

IAGODid you perceive how he laughed at his vice?

OTHELLOO Iago!

IAGOAnd did you see the handkerchief?

OTHELLOWas that mine?

IAGOYours, by this hand: and to see how he prizes the foolish woman your
wife! she gave it him, and he hath given it his whore.

OTHELLOI would have him nine years a-killing. A fine woman, a fair woman, a
sweet woman!

IAGONay, you must forget that.

OTHELLOAy, let her rot, and perish, and be damned tonight, for she shall not
live. No, my heart is turned to stone; I strike it, and it hurts my
hand. O, the world hath not a sweeter creature. She might lie by an
emperor’s side, and command him tasks.

IAGONay, that’s not your way.

OTHELLOHang her, I do but say what she is. So delicate with her needle, an
admirable musician! O, she will sing the savageness out of a bear! Of
so high and plenteous wit and invention!

IAGOShe’s the worse for all this.

OTHELLOO, a thousand, a thousand times: and then of so gentle a condition!

IAGOAy, too gentle.

OTHELLONay, that’s certain. But yet the pity of it, Iago! O Iago, the pity of
it, Iago!

IAGOIf you are so fond over her iniquity, give her patent to offend, for if
it touch not you, it comes near nobody.

OTHELLOI will chop her into messes. Cuckold me!

IAGOO, ’tis foul in her.

OTHELLOWith mine officer!

IAGOThat’s fouler.

OTHELLOGet me some poison, Iago; this night. I’ll not expostulate with her,
lest her body and beauty unprovide my mind again. This night, Iago.

IAGODo it not with poison, strangle her in her bed, even the bed she hath
contaminated.

OTHELLOGood, good. The justice of it pleases. Very good.

IAGOAnd for Cassio, let me be his undertaker. You shall hear more by
midnight.

OTHELLOExcellent good. [_A trumpet within._] What trumpet is that same?

Enter Lodovico, Desdemona and Attendant.

IAGOSomething from Venice, sure. ’Tis Lodovico
Come from the duke. See, your wife is with him.

LODOVICOSave you, worthy general!

OTHELLOWith all my heart, sir.

LODOVICOThe duke and senators of Venice greet you.

OTHELLOI kiss the instrument of their pleasures.

DESDEMONAAnd what’s the news, good cousin Lodovico?

IAGOI am very glad to see you, signior.
Welcome to Cyprus.

LODOVICOI thank you. How does Lieutenant Cassio?

IAGOLives, sir.

DESDEMONACousin, there’s fall’n between him and my lord
An unkind breach, but you shall make all well.

OTHELLOAre you sure of that?

DESDEMONAMy lord?

OTHELLO[_Reads._] “This fail you not to do, as you will—”

LODOVICOHe did not call; he’s busy in the paper.
Is there division ’twixt my lord and Cassio?

DESDEMONAA most unhappy one. I would do much
To atone them, for the love I bear to Cassio.

OTHELLOFire and brimstone!

DESDEMONAMy lord?

OTHELLOAre you wise?

DESDEMONAWhat, is he angry?

LODOVICOMay be the letter mov’d him;
For, as I think, they do command him home,
Deputing Cassio in his government.

DESDEMONATrust me, I am glad on’t.

OTHELLOIndeed!

DESDEMONAMy lord?

OTHELLOI am glad to see you mad.

DESDEMONAWhy, sweet Othello?

OTHELLODevil!

DESDEMONAI have not deserv’d this.

LODOVICOMy lord, this would not be believ’d in Venice,
Though I should swear I saw’t: ’tis very much.
Make her amends. She weeps.

OTHELLOO devil, devil!
If that the earth could teem with woman’s tears,
Each drop she falls would prove a crocodile.
Out of my sight!

DESDEMONAI will not stay to offend you.

LODOVICOTruly, an obedient lady.
I do beseech your lordship, call her back.

OTHELLOMistress!

DESDEMONAMy lord?

OTHELLOWhat would you with her, sir?

LODOVICOWho, I, my lord?

OTHELLOAy, you did wish that I would make her turn.
Sir, she can turn, and turn, and yet go on,
And turn again. And she can weep, sir, weep;
And she’s obedient, as you say, obedient,
Very obedient. Proceed you in your tears.
Concerning this, sir,—O well-painted passion!
I am commanded home.—Get you away;
I’ll send for you anon.—Sir, I obey the mandate,
And will return to Venice.—Hence, avaunt!

Exit Desdemona.

Exit.

LODOVICOIs this the noble Moor, whom our full senate
Call all in all sufficient? Is this the nature
Whom passion could not shake? whose solid virtue
The shot of accident nor dart of chance
Could neither graze nor pierce?

IAGOHe is much chang’d.

LODOVICOAre his wits safe? Is he not light of brain?

IAGOHe’s that he is. I may not breathe my censure
What he might be. If what he might he is not,
I would to heaven he were!

LODOVICOWhat, strike his wife?

IAGOFaith, that was not so well; yet would I knew
That stroke would prove the worst!

LODOVICOIs it his use?
Or did the letters work upon his blood,
And new-create this fault?

IAGOAlas, alas!
It is not honesty in me to speak
What I have seen and known. You shall observe him,
And his own courses will denote him so
That I may save my speech: do but go after,
And mark how he continues.

LODOVICOI am sorry that I am deceiv’d in him.

Exeunt.

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Scene II

Enter Othello and Emilia.

OTHELLOYou have seen nothing, then?

EMILIANor ever heard, nor ever did suspect.

OTHELLOYes, you have seen Cassio and she together.

EMILIABut then I saw no harm, and then I heard
Each syllable that breath made up between them.

OTHELLOWhat, did they never whisper?

EMILIANever, my lord.

OTHELLONor send you out o’ the way?

EMILIANever.

OTHELLOTo fetch her fan, her gloves, her mask, nor nothing?

EMILIANever, my lord.

OTHELLOThat’s strange.

EMILIAI durst, my lord, to wager she is honest,
Lay down my soul at stake: if you think other,
Remove your thought, it doth abuse your bosom.
If any wretch have put this in your head,
Let heaven requite it with the serpent’s curse,
For if she be not honest, chaste, and true,
There’s no man happy. The purest of their wives
Is foul as slander.

OTHELLOBid her come hither. Go.

Exit Emilia.

Enter Desdemona and Emilia.

DESDEMONAMy lord, what is your will?

OTHELLOPray, chuck, come hither.

DESDEMONAWhat is your pleasure?

OTHELLOLet me see your eyes.
Look in my face.

DESDEMONAWhat horrible fancy’s this?

OTHELLO[_To Emilia._] Some of your function, mistress,
Leave procreants alone, and shut the door.
Cough, or cry hem, if anybody come.
Your mystery, your mystery. Nay, dispatch.

Exit Emilia.

DESDEMONAUpon my knees, what doth your speech import?
I understand a fury in your words,
But not the words.

OTHELLOWhy, what art thou?

DESDEMONAYour wife, my lord, your true and loyal wife.

OTHELLOCome, swear it, damn thyself,
Lest, being like one of heaven, the devils themselves
Should fear to seize thee. Therefore be double-damn’d.
Swear thou art honest.

DESDEMONAHeaven doth truly know it.

OTHELLOHeaven truly knows that thou art false as hell.

DESDEMONATo whom, my lord? With whom? How am I false?

OTHELLOO Desdemona, away! away! away!

DESDEMONAAlas the heavy day, why do you weep?
Am I the motive of these tears, my lord?
If haply you my father do suspect
An instrument of this your calling back,
Lay not your blame on me. If you have lost him,
Why, I have lost him too.

OTHELLOHad it pleas’d heaven
To try me with affliction, had they rain’d
All kinds of sores and shames on my bare head,
Steep’d me in poverty to the very lips,
Given to captivity me and my utmost hopes,
I should have found in some place of my soul
A drop of patience. But, alas, to make me
A fixed figure for the time of scorn
To point his slow unmoving finger at.
Yet could I bear that too, well, very well:
But there, where I have garner’d up my heart,
Where either I must live or bear no life,
The fountain from the which my current runs,
Or else dries up, to be discarded thence,
Or keep it as a cistern for foul toads
To knot and gender in!—turn thy complexion there,
Patience, thou young and rose-lipp’d cherubin,
Ay, there, look grim as hell!

DESDEMONAI hope my noble lord esteems me honest.

OTHELLOO, ay, as summer flies are in the shambles,
That quicken even with blowing. O thou weed,
Who art so lovely fair, and smell’st so sweet,
That the sense aches at thee,
Would thou hadst ne’er been born!

DESDEMONAAlas, what ignorant sin have I committed?

OTHELLOWas this fair paper, this most goodly book,
Made to write “whore” upon? What committed?
Committed! O thou public commoner!
I should make very forges of my cheeks,
That would to cinders burn up modesty,
Did I but speak thy deeds. What committed!
Heaven stops the nose at it, and the moon winks;
The bawdy wind, that kisses all it meets,
Is hush’d within the hollow mine of earth,
And will not hear it. What committed!
Impudent strumpet!

DESDEMONABy heaven, you do me wrong.

OTHELLOAre not you a strumpet?

DESDEMONANo, as I am a Christian:
If to preserve this vessel for my lord
From any other foul unlawful touch
Be not to be a strumpet, I am none.

OTHELLOWhat, not a whore?

DESDEMONANo, as I shall be sav’d.

OTHELLOIs’t possible?

DESDEMONAO, heaven forgive us!

OTHELLOI cry you mercy then.
I took you for that cunning whore of Venice
That married with Othello.—You, mistress,

Enter Emilia.

Exit.

EMILIAAlas, what does this gentleman conceive?
How do you, madam? How do you, my good lady?

DESDEMONAFaith, half asleep.

EMILIAGood madam, what’s the matter with my lord?

DESDEMONAWith who?

EMILIAWhy, with my lord, madam.

DESDEMONAWho is thy lord?

EMILIAHe that is yours, sweet lady.

DESDEMONAI have none. Do not talk to me, Emilia,
I cannot weep, nor answer have I none
But what should go by water. Prithee, tonight
Lay on my bed my wedding sheets, remember,
And call thy husband hither.

EMILIAHere’s a change indeed!

Exit.

DESDEMONA’Tis meet I should be us’d so, very meet.
How have I been behav’d, that he might stick
The small’st opinion on my least misuse?

Enter Iago and Emilia.

IAGOWhat is your pleasure, madam? How is’t with you?

DESDEMONAI cannot tell. Those that do teach young babes
Do it with gentle means and easy tasks.
He might have chid me so, for, in good faith,
I am a child to chiding.

IAGOWhat’s the matter, lady?

EMILIAAlas, Iago, my lord hath so bewhor’d her,
Thrown such despite and heavy terms upon her,
As true hearts cannot bear.

DESDEMONAAm I that name, Iago?

IAGOWhat name, fair lady?

DESDEMONASuch as she says my lord did say I was.

EMILIAHe call’d her whore: a beggar in his drink
Could not have laid such terms upon his callet.

IAGOWhy did he so?

DESDEMONAI do not know. I am sure I am none such.

IAGODo not weep, do not weep: alas the day!

EMILIAHath she forsook so many noble matches,
Her father, and her country, and her friends,
To be call’d whore? would it not make one weep?

DESDEMONAIt is my wretched fortune.

IAGOBeshrew him for’t!
How comes this trick upon him?

DESDEMONANay, heaven doth know.

EMILIAI will be hang’d, if some eternal villain,
Some busy and insinuating rogue,
Some cogging, cozening slave, to get some office,
Have not devis’d this slander. I’ll be hang’d else.

IAGOFie, there is no such man. It is impossible.

DESDEMONAIf any such there be, heaven pardon him!

EMILIAA halter pardon him, and hell gnaw his bones!
Why should he call her whore? who keeps her company?
What place? what time? what form? what likelihood?
The Moor’s abused by some most villainous knave,
Some base notorious knave, some scurvy fellow.
O heaven, that such companions thou’dst unfold,
And put in every honest hand a whip
To lash the rascals naked through the world
Even from the east to the west!

IAGOSpeak within door.

EMILIAO, fie upon them! Some such squire he was
That turn’d your wit the seamy side without,
And made you to suspect me with the Moor.

IAGOYou are a fool. Go to.

DESDEMONAAlas, Iago,
What shall I do to win my lord again?
Good friend, go to him. For by this light of heaven,
I know not how I lost him. Here I kneel.
If e’er my will did trespass ’gainst his love,
Either in discourse of thought or actual deed,
Or that mine eyes, mine ears, or any sense,
Delighted them in any other form,
Or that I do not yet, and ever did,
And ever will, (though he do shake me off
To beggarly divorcement) love him dearly,
Comfort forswear me! Unkindness may do much;
And his unkindness may defeat my life,
But never taint my love. I cannot say “whore,”
It does abhor me now I speak the word;
To do the act that might the addition earn
Not the world’s mass of vanity could make me.

IAGOI pray you, be content. ’Tis but his humour.
The business of the state does him offence,
And he does chide with you.

DESDEMONAIf ’twere no other,—

IAGO’Tis but so, I warrant.


Hark, how these instruments summon to supper.
The messengers of Venice stay the meat.
Go in, and weep not. All things shall be well.

Exeunt Desdemona and Emilia.

Enter Roderigo.

RODERIGOI do not find that thou dealest justly with me.

IAGOWhat in the contrary?

RODERIGOEvery day thou daffest me with some device, Iago, and rather, as it
seems to me now, keepest from me all conveniency than suppliest me with
the least advantage of hope. I will indeed no longer endure it. Nor am
I yet persuaded to put up in peace what already I have foolishly
suffered.

IAGOWill you hear me, Roderigo?

RODERIGOFaith, I have heard too much, for your words and performances are no
kin together.

IAGOYou charge me most unjustly.

RODERIGOWith naught but truth. I have wasted myself out of my means. The jewels
you have had from me to deliver to Desdemona would half have corrupted
a votarist: you have told me she hath received them, and returned me
expectations and comforts of sudden respect and acquaintance, but I
find none.

IAGOWell, go to, very well.

RODERIGOVery well, go to, I cannot go to, man, nor ’tis not very well. Nay, I
say ’tis very scurvy, and begin to find myself fopped in it.

IAGOVery well.

RODERIGOI tell you ’tis not very well. I will make myself known to Desdemona.
If she will return me my jewels, I will give over my suit and repent my
unlawful solicitation. If not, assure yourself I will seek satisfaction
of you.

IAGOYou have said now.

RODERIGOAy, and said nothing but what I protest intendment of doing.

IAGOWhy, now I see there’s mettle in thee, and even from this instant do
build on thee a better opinion than ever before. Give me thy hand,
Roderigo. Thou hast taken against me a most just exception, but yet I
protest, I have dealt most directly in thy affair.

RODERIGOIt hath not appeared.

IAGOI grant indeed it hath not appeared, and your suspicion is not without
wit and judgement. But, Roderigo, if thou hast that in thee indeed,
which I have greater reason to believe now than ever,—I mean purpose,
courage, and valour,—this night show it. If thou the next night
following enjoy not Desdemona, take me from this world with treachery
and devise engines for my life.

RODERIGOWell, what is it? Is it within reason and compass?

IAGOSir, there is especial commission come from Venice to depute Cassio in
Othello’s place.

RODERIGOIs that true? Why then Othello and Desdemona return again to Venice.

IAGOO, no; he goes into Mauritania, and takes away with him the fair
Desdemona, unless his abode be lingered here by some accident: wherein
none can be so determinate as the removing of Cassio.

RODERIGOHow do you mean “removing” of him?

IAGOWhy, by making him uncapable of Othello’s place: knocking out his
brains.

RODERIGOAnd that you would have me to do?

IAGOAy, if you dare do yourself a profit and a right. He sups tonight with
a harlotry, and thither will I go to him. He knows not yet of his
honourable fortune. If you will watch his going thence, which I will
fashion to fall out between twelve and one, you may take him at your
pleasure: I will be near to second your attempt, and he shall fall
between us. Come, stand not amazed at it, but go along with me. I will
show you such a necessity in his death that you shall think yourself
bound to put it on him. It is now high supper-time, and the night grows
to waste. About it.

RODERIGOI will hear further reason for this.

IAGOAnd you shall be satisfied.

Exeunt.

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Scene III

Enter Othello, Lodovico, Desdemona, Emilia and Attendants.

LODOVICOI do beseech you, sir, trouble yourself no further.

OTHELLOO, pardon me; ’twill do me good to walk.

LODOVICOMadam, good night. I humbly thank your ladyship.

DESDEMONAYour honour is most welcome.

OTHELLOWill you walk, sir?—
O, Desdemona,—

DESDEMONAMy lord?

OTHELLOGet you to bed on th’ instant, I will be return’d forthwith. Dismiss
your attendant there. Look ’t be done.

DESDEMONAI will, my lord.

Exeunt Othello, Lodovico and Attendants.

EMILIAHow goes it now? He looks gentler than he did.

DESDEMONAHe says he will return incontinent,
He hath commanded me to go to bed,
And bade me to dismiss you.

EMILIADismiss me?

DESDEMONAIt was his bidding. Therefore, good Emilia,
Give me my nightly wearing, and adieu.
We must not now displease him.

EMILIAI would you had never seen him!

DESDEMONASo would not I. My love doth so approve him,
That even his stubbornness, his checks, his frowns,—
Prithee, unpin me,—have grace and favour in them.

EMILIAI have laid those sheets you bade me on the bed.

DESDEMONAAll’s one. Good faith, how foolish are our minds!
If I do die before thee, prithee, shroud me
In one of those same sheets.

EMILIACome, come, you talk.

DESDEMONAMy mother had a maid call’d Barbary,
She was in love, and he she lov’d prov’d mad
And did forsake her. She had a song of “willow”,
An old thing ’twas, but it express’d her fortune,
And she died singing it. That song tonight
Will not go from my mind. I have much to do
But to go hang my head all at one side
And sing it like poor Barbary. Prithee dispatch.

EMILIAShall I go fetch your night-gown?

DESDEMONANo, unpin me here.
This Lodovico is a proper man.

EMILIAA very handsome man.

DESDEMONAHe speaks well.

EMILIAI know a lady in Venice would have walked barefoot to Palestine for a
touch of his nether lip.

DESDEMONA_The poor soul sat sighing by a sycamore tree,
Sing all a green willow.
Her hand on her bosom, her head on her knee,
Sing willow, willow, willow.
The fresh streams ran by her, and murmur’d her moans,
Sing willow, willow, willow;
Her salt tears fell from her, and soften’d the stones;—_

Lay by these:—

_Sing willow, willow, willow._

Prithee hie thee. He’ll come anon.

_Sing all a green willow must be my garland.
Let nobody blame him, his scorn I approve,—_

Nay, that’s not next. Hark! who is’t that knocks?

EMILIAIt’s the wind.

DESDEMONA_I call’d my love false love; but what said he then?
Sing willow, willow, willow:
If I court mo women, you’ll couch with mo men._

So get thee gone; good night. Mine eyes do itch;
Doth that bode weeping?

EMILIA’Tis neither here nor there.

DESDEMONAI have heard it said so. O, these men, these men!
Dost thou in conscience think,—tell me, Emilia,—
That there be women do abuse their husbands
In such gross kind?

EMILIAThere be some such, no question.

DESDEMONAWouldst thou do such a deed for all the world?

EMILIAWhy, would not you?

DESDEMONANo, by this heavenly light!

EMILIANor I neither by this heavenly light,
I might do’t as well i’ the dark.

DESDEMONAWouldst thou do such a deed for all the world?

EMILIAThe world’s a huge thing. It is a great price
For a small vice.

DESDEMONAIn troth, I think thou wouldst not.

EMILIAIn troth, I think I should, and undo’t when I had done. Marry, I would
not do such a thing for a joint-ring, nor for measures of lawn, nor for
gowns, petticoats, nor caps, nor any petty exhibition; but, for the
whole world—why, who would not make her husband a cuckold to make him a
monarch? I should venture purgatory for ’t.

DESDEMONABeshrew me, if I would do such a wrong for the whole world.

EMILIAWhy, the wrong is but a wrong i’ the world; and having the world for
your labour, ’tis a wrong in your own world, and you might quickly make
it right.

DESDEMONAI do not think there is any such woman.

EMILIAYes, a dozen; and as many to the vantage as would store the world they
played for.
But I do think it is their husbands’ faults
If wives do fall: say that they slack their duties,
And pour our treasures into foreign laps;
Or else break out in peevish jealousies,
Throwing restraint upon us. Or say they strike us,
Or scant our former having in despite.
Why, we have galls; and though we have some grace,
Yet have we some revenge. Let husbands know
Their wives have sense like them: they see, and smell
And have their palates both for sweet and sour,
As husbands have. What is it that they do
When they change us for others? Is it sport?
I think it is. And doth affection breed it?
I think it doth. Is’t frailty that thus errs?
It is so too. And have not we affections,
Desires for sport, and frailty, as men have?
Then let them use us well: else let them know,
The ills we do, their ills instruct us so.

DESDEMONAGood night, good night. Heaven me such usage send,
Not to pick bad from bad, but by bad mend!

Exeunt.

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Act V

Scene I

Enter Iago and Roderigo.

IAGOHere, stand behind this bulk. Straight will he come.
Wear thy good rapier bare, and put it home.
Quick, quick, fear nothing; I’ll be at thy elbow.
It makes us, or it mars us, think on that,
And fix most firm thy resolution.

RODERIGOBe near at hand, I may miscarry in ’t.

IAGOHere, at thy hand. Be bold, and take thy stand.

RODERIGOI have no great devotion to the deed;
And yet he hath given me satisfying reasons.
’Tis but a man gone. Forth, my sword; he dies.

IAGOI have rubb’d this young quat almost to the sense,
And he grows angry. Now, whether he kill Cassio,
Or Cassio him, or each do kill the other,
Every way makes my gain. Live Roderigo,
He calls me to a restitution large
Of gold and jewels that I bobb’d from him,
As gifts to Desdemona.
It must not be. If Cassio do remain,
He hath a daily beauty in his life
That makes me ugly. And besides, the Moor
May unfold me to him; there stand I in much peril.
No, he must die. But so, I hear him coming.

Enter Cassio.

RODERIGOI know his gait; ’tis he. Villain, thou diest!

CASSIOThat thrust had been mine enemy indeed,
But that my coat is better than thou know’st.
I will make proof of thine.

RODERIGOO, I am slain!

Iago rushes from his post, cuts Cassio behind in the leg, and exit.

CASSIOI am maim’d forever. Help, ho! murder, murder!

Enter Othello.

OTHELLOThe voice of Cassio. Iago keeps his word.

RODERIGOO, villain that I am!

OTHELLOIt is even so.

CASSIOO, help, ho! light! a surgeon!

OTHELLO’Tis he. O brave Iago, honest and just,
That hast such noble sense of thy friend’s wrong!
Thou teachest me,—minion, your dear lies dead,
And your unbless’d fate hies. Strumpet, I come!
Forth of my heart those charms, thine eyes, are blotted;
Thy bed, lust-stain’d, shall with lust’s blood be spotted.

Exit.

Enter Lodovico and Gratiano.

CASSIOWhat, ho! No watch? No passage? murder, murder!

GRATIANO’Tis some mischance; the cry is very direful.

CASSIOO, help!

LODOVICOHark!

RODERIGOO wretched villain!

LODOVICOTwo or three groan. It is a heavy night.
These may be counterfeits. Let’s think’t unsafe
To come in to the cry without more help.

RODERIGONobody come? Then shall I bleed to death.

Enter Iago with a light.

LODOVICOHark!

GRATIANOHere’s one comes in his shirt, with light and weapons.

IAGOWho’s there? Whose noise is this that cries on murder?

LODOVICOWe do not know.

IAGODid not you hear a cry?

CASSIOHere, here! for heaven’s sake, help me!

IAGOWhat’s the matter?

GRATIANOThis is Othello’s ancient, as I take it.

LODOVICOThe same indeed, a very valiant fellow.

IAGOWhat are you here that cry so grievously?

CASSIOIago? O, I am spoil’d, undone by villains!
Give me some help.

IAGOO me, lieutenant! What villains have done this?

CASSIOI think that one of them is hereabout,
And cannot make away.

IAGOO treacherous villains!
[_To Lodovico and Gratiano._] What are you there?
Come in and give some help.

RODERIGOO, help me here!

CASSIOThat’s one of them.

IAGOO murderous slave! O villain!

RODERIGOO damn’d Iago! O inhuman dog!

IAGOKill men i’ the dark! Where be these bloody thieves?
How silent is this town! Ho! murder! murder!
What may you be? Are you of good or evil?

LODOVICOAs you shall prove us, praise us.

IAGOSignior Lodovico?

LODOVICOHe, sir.

IAGOI cry you mercy. Here’s Cassio hurt by villains.

GRATIANOCassio!

IAGOHow is’t, brother?

CASSIOMy leg is cut in two.

IAGOMarry, heaven forbid!
Light, gentlemen, I’ll bind it with my shirt.

Enter Bianca.

BIANCAWhat is the matter, ho? Who is’t that cried?

IAGOWho is’t that cried?

BIANCAO my dear Cassio, my sweet Cassio! O Cassio, Cassio, Cassio!

IAGOO notable strumpet! Cassio, may you suspect
Who they should be that have thus mangled you?

CASSIONo.

GRATIANOI am sorry to find you thus; I have been to seek you.

IAGOLend me a garter. So.—O, for a chair,
To bear him easily hence!

BIANCAAlas, he faints! O Cassio, Cassio, Cassio!

IAGOGentlemen all, I do suspect this trash
To be a party in this injury.
Patience awhile, good Cassio. Come, come;
Lend me a light. Know we this face or no?
Alas, my friend and my dear countryman
Roderigo? No. Yes, sure; O heaven! Roderigo.

GRATIANOWhat, of Venice?

IAGOEven he, sir. Did you know him?

GRATIANOKnow him? Ay.

IAGOSignior Gratiano? I cry you gentle pardon.
These bloody accidents must excuse my manners,
That so neglected you.

GRATIANOI am glad to see you.

IAGOHow do you, Cassio? O, a chair, a chair!

GRATIANORoderigo!

IAGOHe, he, ’tis he.


O, that’s well said; the chair.
Some good man bear him carefully from hence,
I’ll fetch the general’s surgeon. [_To Bianca_] For you, mistress,
Save you your labour. He that lies slain here, Cassio,
Was my dear friend. What malice was between you?

CASSIONone in the world. Nor do I know the man.

IAGO[_To Bianca._] What, look you pale?—O, bear him out o’ the air.


Stay you, good gentlemen.—Look you pale, mistress?
Do you perceive the gastness of her eye?
Nay, if you stare, we shall hear more anon.
Behold her well. I pray you, look upon her.
Do you see, gentlemen? Nay, guiltiness will speak
Though tongues were out of use.

Enter Emilia.

EMILIA’Las, what’s the matter? What’s the matter, husband?

IAGOCassio hath here been set on in the dark
By Roderigo, and fellows that are ’scap’d.
He’s almost slain, and Roderigo dead.

EMILIAAlas, good gentleman! alas, good Cassio!

IAGOThis is the fruit of whoring. Prithee, Emilia,
Go know of Cassio where he supp’d tonight.
What, do you shake at that?

BIANCAHe supp’d at my house, but I therefore shake not.

IAGOO, did he so? I charge you go with me.

EMILIAFie, fie upon thee, strumpet!

BIANCAI am no strumpet, but of life as honest
As you that thus abuse me.

EMILIAAs I? Foh! fie upon thee!

IAGOKind gentlemen, let’s go see poor Cassio dress’d.
Come, mistress, you must tell’s another tale.
Emilia, run you to the citadel,
And tell my lord and lady what hath happ’d.
Will you go on afore? [_Aside._] This is the night
That either makes me or fordoes me quite.

Exeunt.

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Scene II

Enter Othello.

OTHELLOIt is the cause, it is the cause, my soul,
Let me not name it to you, you chaste stars!
It is the cause. Yet I’ll not shed her blood,
Nor scar that whiter skin of hers than snow,
And smooth as monumental alabaster.
Yet she must die, else she’ll betray more men.
Put out the light, and then put out the light:
If I quench thee, thou flaming minister,
I can again thy former light restore,
Should I repent me. But once put out thy light,
Thou cunning’st pattern of excelling nature,
I know not where is that Promethean heat
That can thy light relume. When I have pluck’d thy rose,
I cannot give it vital growth again,
It must needs wither. I’ll smell it on the tree.


O, balmy breath, that dost almost persuade
Justice to break her sword! One more, one more.
Be thus when thou art dead, and I will kill thee,
And love thee after. One more, and this the last.
So sweet was ne’er so fatal. I must weep,
But they are cruel tears. This sorrow’s heavenly,
It strikes where it doth love. She wakes.

DESDEMONAWho’s there? Othello?

OTHELLOAy, Desdemona.

DESDEMONAWill you come to bed, my lord?

OTHELLOHave you pray’d tonight, Desdemona?

DESDEMONAAy, my lord.

OTHELLOIf you bethink yourself of any crime
Unreconcil’d as yet to heaven and grace,
Solicit for it straight.

DESDEMONAAlack, my lord, what may you mean by that?

OTHELLOWell, do it, and be brief, I will walk by.
I would not kill thy unprepared spirit,
No, heaven forfend! I would not kill thy soul.

DESDEMONATalk you of killing?

OTHELLOAy, I do.

DESDEMONAThen heaven have mercy on me!

OTHELLOAmen, with all my heart!

DESDEMONAIf you say so, I hope you will not kill me.

OTHELLOHum!

DESDEMONAAnd yet I fear you, for you are fatal then
When your eyes roll so: why I should fear I know not,
Since guiltiness I know not, but yet I feel I fear.

OTHELLOThink on thy sins.

DESDEMONAThey are loves I bear to you.

OTHELLOAy, and for that thou diest.

DESDEMONAThat death’s unnatural that kills for loving.
Alas, why gnaw you so your nether lip?
Some bloody passion shakes your very frame.
These are portents; but yet I hope, I hope,
They do not point on me.

OTHELLOPeace, and be still!

DESDEMONAI will so. What’s the matter?

OTHELLOThat handkerchief which I so loved and gave thee,
Thou gav’st to Cassio.

DESDEMONANo, by my life and soul!
Send for the man and ask him.

OTHELLOSweet soul, take heed, take heed of perjury,
Thou’rt on thy death-bed.

DESDEMONAAy, but not yet to die.

OTHELLOYes, presently:
Therefore confess thee freely of thy sin.
For to deny each article with oath
Cannot remove nor choke the strong conception
That I do groan withal. Thou art to die.

DESDEMONAThen, Lord have mercy on me!

OTHELLOI say, amen.

DESDEMONAAnd have you mercy too! I never did
Offend you in my life, never lov’d Cassio
But with such general warranty of heaven
As I might love. I never gave him token.

OTHELLOBy heaven, I saw my handkerchief in ’s hand.
O perjur’d woman, thou dost stone my heart,
And mak’st me call what I intend to do
A murder, which I thought a sacrifice.
I saw the handkerchief.

DESDEMONAHe found it then.
I never gave it him. Send for him hither.
Let him confess a truth.

OTHELLOHe hath confess’d.

DESDEMONAWhat, my lord?

OTHELLOThat he hath us’d thee.

DESDEMONAHow? Unlawfully?

OTHELLOAy.

DESDEMONAHe will not say so.

OTHELLONo, his mouth is stopp’d.
Honest Iago hath ta’en order for ’t.

DESDEMONAO, my fear interprets! What, is he dead?

OTHELLOHad all his hairs been lives, my great revenge
Had stomach for them all.

DESDEMONAAlas, he is betray’d, and I undone!

OTHELLOOut, strumpet! Weep’st thou for him to my face?

DESDEMONAO, banish me, my lord, but kill me not!

OTHELLODown, strumpet!

DESDEMONAKill me tomorrow, let me live tonight!

OTHELLONay, if you strive,—

DESDEMONABut half an hour!

OTHELLOBeing done, there is no pause.

DESDEMONABut while I say one prayer!

OTHELLOIt is too late.

EMILIA[_Within._] My lord, my lord! what, ho! my lord, my lord!

OTHELLOWhat noise is this? Not dead? Not yet quite dead?
I that am cruel am yet merciful,
I would not have thee linger in thy pain.
So, so.

EMILIA[_Within._] What, ho! my lord, my lord!

OTHELLOWho’s there?

EMILIA[_Within._] O, good my lord, I would speak a word with you!

OTHELLOYes. ’Tis Emilia, by and by. She’s dead.
’Tis like she comes to speak of Cassio’s death;
The noise was high.—Ha! no more moving?
Still as the grave. Shall she come in? Were’t good?
I think she stirs again; no. What’s best to do?
If she come in, she’ll sure speak to my wife.
My wife! my wife! what wife? I have no wife.
O, insupportable! O heavy hour!
Methinks it should be now a huge eclipse
Of sun and moon, and that the affrighted globe
Should yawn at alteration.

EMILIA[_Within._] I do beseech you
That I may speak with you, O, good my lord!

OTHELLOI had forgot thee: O, come in, Emilia.
Soft, by and by; let me the curtains draw.
Where art thou?

Enter Emilia.

EMILIAO, my good lord, yonder’s foul murders done!

OTHELLOWhat, now?

EMILIABut now, my lord.

OTHELLOIt is the very error of the moon,
She comes more nearer earth than she was wont
And makes men mad.

EMILIACassio, my lord, hath kill’d a young Venetian
Call’d Roderigo.

OTHELLORoderigo kill’d?
And Cassio kill’d?

EMILIANo, Cassio is not kill’d.

OTHELLONot Cassio kill’d! Then murder’s out of tune,
And sweet revenge grows harsh.

DESDEMONAO, falsely, falsely murder’d!

EMILIAAlas, what cry is that?

OTHELLOThat? What?

EMILIAOut, and alas! That was my lady’s voice.
Help! help, ho! help! O lady, speak again,
Sweet Desdemona! O sweet mistress, speak!

DESDEMONAA guiltless death I die.

EMILIAO, who hath done this deed?

DESDEMONANobody; I myself. Farewell.
Commend me to my kind lord. O, farewell!

OTHELLOWhy, how should she be murder’d?

EMILIAAlas, who knows?

OTHELLOYou heard her say herself, it was not I.

EMILIAShe said so. I must needs report the truth.

OTHELLOShe’s like a liar, gone to burning hell.
’Twas I that kill’d her.

EMILIAO, the more angel she,
And you the blacker devil!

OTHELLOShe turn’d to folly, and she was a whore.

EMILIAThou dost belie her, and thou art a devil.

OTHELLOShe was false as water.

EMILIAThou art rash as fire, to say
That she was false: O, she was heavenly true!

OTHELLOCassio did top her; ask thy husband else.
O, I were damn’d beneath all depth in hell,
But that I did proceed upon just grounds
To this extremity. Thy husband knew it all.

EMILIAMy husband?

OTHELLOThy husband.

EMILIAThat she was false to wedlock?

OTHELLOAy, with Cassio. Nay, had she been true,
If heaven would make me such another world
Of one entire and perfect chrysolite,
I’d not have sold her for it.

EMILIAMy husband?

OTHELLOAy, ’twas he that told me first.
An honest man he is, and hates the slime
That sticks on filthy deeds.

EMILIAMy husband?

OTHELLOWhat needs this iterance, woman? I say thy husband.

EMILIAO mistress, villainy hath made mocks with love!
My husband say that she was false?

OTHELLOHe, woman;
I say thy husband: dost understand the word?
My friend, thy husband, honest, honest Iago.

EMILIAIf he say so, may his pernicious soul
Rot half a grain a day! he lies to the heart.
She was too fond of her most filthy bargain.

OTHELLOHa!

EMILIADo thy worst:
This deed of thine is no more worthy heaven
Than thou wast worthy her.

OTHELLOPeace, you were best.

EMILIAThou hast not half that power to do me harm
As I have to be hurt. O gull! O dolt!
As ignorant as dirt! Thou hast done a deed
(I care not for thy sword) I’ll make thee known,
Though I lost twenty lives. Help! help, ho! help!
The Moor hath kill’d my mistress! Murder, murder!

Enter Montano, Gratiano and Iago.

MONTANOWhat is the matter? How now, general?

EMILIAO, are you come, Iago? You have done well,
That men must lay their murders on your neck.

GRATIANOWhat is the matter?

EMILIADisprove this villain, if thou be’st a man.
He says thou told’st him that his wife was false.
I know thou didst not, thou’rt not such a villain.
Speak, for my heart is full.

IAGOI told him what I thought, and told no more
Than what he found himself was apt and true.

EMILIABut did you ever tell him she was false?

IAGOI did.

EMILIAYou told a lie, an odious, damned lie;
Upon my soul, a lie; a wicked lie.
She false with Cassio? Did you say with Cassio?

IAGOWith Cassio, mistress. Go to, charm your tongue.

EMILIAI will not charm my tongue; I am bound to speak.
My mistress here lies murder’d in her bed.

ALLO heavens forfend!

EMILIAAnd your reports have set the murder on.

OTHELLONay, stare not, masters, it is true indeed.

GRATIANO’Tis a strange truth.

MONTANOO monstrous act!

EMILIAVillany, villany, villany!
I think upon’t, I think I smell’t; O villany!
I thought so then. I’ll kill myself for grief.
O villany, villany!

IAGOWhat, are you mad? I charge you, get you home.

EMILIAGood gentlemen, let me have leave to speak.
’Tis proper I obey him, but not now.
Perchance, Iago, I will ne’er go home.

OTHELLOO! O! O!

EMILIANay, lay thee down and roar;
For thou hast kill’d the sweetest innocent
That e’er did lift up eye.

OTHELLO[_Rising._] O, she was foul!
I scarce did know you, uncle, there lies your niece,
Whose breath indeed these hands have newly stopp’d.
I know this act shows horrible and grim.

GRATIANOPoor Desdemona! I am glad thy father’s dead.
Thy match was mortal to him, and pure grief
Shore his old thread in twain: did he live now,
This sight would make him do a desperate turn,
Yea, curse his better angel from his side,
And fall to reprobance.

OTHELLO’Tis pitiful. But yet Iago knows
That she with Cassio hath the act of shame
A thousand times committed; Cassio confess’d it,
And she did gratify his amorous works
With that recognizance and pledge of love
Which I first gave her; I saw it in his hand.
It was a handkerchief, an antique token
My father gave my mother.

EMILIAO heaven! O heavenly powers!

IAGOCome, hold your peace.

EMILIA’Twill out, ’twill out. I peace?
No, I will speak as liberal as the north.
Let heaven and men and devils, let them all,
All, all, cry shame against me, yet I’ll speak.

IAGOBe wise, and get you home.

EMILIAI will not.

GRATIANOFie!
Your sword upon a woman?

EMILIAO thou dull Moor, that handkerchief thou speak’st of
I found by fortune and did give my husband;
For often with a solemn earnestness,
More than indeed belong’d to such a trifle,
He begg’d of me to steal it.

IAGOVillanous whore!

EMILIAShe give it Cassio! no, alas, I found it,
And I did give’t my husband.

IAGOFilth, thou liest!

EMILIABy heaven, I do not, I do not, gentlemen.
O murderous coxcomb! What should such a fool
Do with so good a wife?

OTHELLO
Are there not stones in heaven
But what serve for thunder? Precious villain!

GRATIANOThe woman falls. Sure, he hath kill’d his wife.

EMILIAAy, ay. O, lay me by my mistress’ side.

GRATIANOHe’s gone, but his wife’s kill’d.

MONTANO’Tis a notorious villain. Take you this weapon,
Which I have here recover’d from the Moor.
Come, guard the door without, let him not pass,
But kill him rather. I’ll after that same villain,
For ’tis a damned slave.

Exit Montano and Gratiano.

OTHELLOI am not valiant neither,
But every puny whipster gets my sword.
But why should honour outlive honesty?
Let it go all.

EMILIAWhat did thy song bode, lady?
Hark, canst thou hear me? I will play the swan,
And die in music.
[_Sings._] _Willow, willow, willow._
Moor, she was chaste. She lov’d thee, cruel Moor,
So come my soul to bliss, as I speak true;
So speaking as I think, I die, I die.

OTHELLOI have another weapon in this chamber,
It is a sword of Spain, the ice-brook’s temper.
O, here it is. Uncle, I must come forth.

GRATIANO[_Within._] If thou attempt it, it will cost thee dear;
Thou hast no weapon, and perforce must suffer.

OTHELLOLook in upon me then, and speak with me,
Or, naked as I am, I will assault thee.

Enter Gratiano.

GRATIANOWhat is the matter?

OTHELLOBehold, I have a weapon.
A better never did itself sustain
Upon a soldier’s thigh: I have seen the day
That with this little arm and this good sword
I have made my way through more impediments
Than twenty times your stop. But, O vain boast!
Who can control his fate? ’Tis not so now.
Be not afraid, though you do see me weapon’d.
Here is my journey’s end, here is my butt,
And very sea-mark of my utmost sail.
Do you go back dismay’d? ’Tis a lost fear.
Man but a rush against Othello’s breast,
And he retires. Where should Othello go?
Now, how dost thou look now? O ill-starr’d wench,
Pale as thy smock, when we shall meet at compt,
This look of thine will hurl my soul from heaven,
And fiends will snatch at it. Cold, cold, my girl!
Even like thy chastity.
O cursed, cursed slave! Whip me, ye devils,
From the possession of this heavenly sight!
Blow me about in winds, roast me in sulphur,
Wash me in steep-down gulfs of liquid fire!
O Desdemon! Dead, Desdemon! dead! Oh, oh!

Enter Lodovico, Montano, Cassio carried in a chair, and Officers with

LODOVICOWhere is this rash and most unfortunate man?

OTHELLOThat’s he that was Othello. Here I am.

LODOVICOWhere is that viper? Bring the villain forth.

OTHELLOI look down towards his feet; but that’s a fable.
If that thou be’st a devil, I cannot kill thee.

LODOVICOWrench his sword from him.

IAGOI bleed, sir, but not kill’d.

OTHELLOI am not sorry neither. I’d have thee live,
For in my sense ’tis happiness to die.

LODOVICOO thou Othello, that wert once so good,
Fall’n in the practice of a damned slave,
What shall be said to thee?

OTHELLOWhy, anything;
An honourable murderer, if you will.
For naught did I in hate, but all in honour.

LODOVICOThis wretch hath part confess’d his villany.
Did you and he consent in Cassio’s death?

OTHELLOAy.

CASSIODear general, I never gave you cause.

OTHELLOI do believe it, and I ask your pardon.
Will you, I pray, demand that demi-devil
Why he hath thus ensnar’d my soul and body?

IAGODemand me nothing. What you know, you know.
From this time forth I never will speak word.

LODOVICOWhat, not to pray?

GRATIANOTorments will ope your lips.

OTHELLOWell, thou dost best.

LODOVICOSir, you shall understand what hath befall’n,
Which, as I think, you know not. Here is a letter
Found in the pocket of the slain Roderigo,
And here another. The one of them imports
The death of Cassio, to be undertook
By Roderigo.

OTHELLOO villain!

CASSIOMost heathenish and most gross!

LODOVICONow here’s another discontented paper,
Found in his pocket too; and this, it seems,
Roderigo meant to have sent this damned villain,
But that, belike, Iago in the interim
Came in and satisfied him.

OTHELLOO the pernicious caitiff!
How came you, Cassio, by that handkerchief
That was my wife’s?

CASSIOI found it in my chamber.
And he himself confess’d but even now,
That there he dropp’d it for a special purpose
Which wrought to his desire.

OTHELLOO fool! fool! fool!

CASSIOThere is besides in Roderigo’s letter,
How he upbraids Iago, that he made him
Brave me upon the watch, whereon it came
That I was cast. And even but now he spake,
After long seeming dead, Iago hurt him,
Iago set him on.

LODOVICOYou must forsake this room, and go with us.
Your power and your command is taken off,
And Cassio rules in Cyprus. For this slave,
If there be any cunning cruelty
That can torment him much and hold him long,
It shall be his. You shall close prisoner rest,
Till that the nature of your fault be known
To the Venetian state. Come, bring away.

OTHELLOSoft you; a word or two before you go.
I have done the state some service, and they know’t.
No more of that. I pray you, in your letters,
When you shall these unlucky deeds relate,
Speak of me as I am. Nothing extenuate,
Nor set down aught in malice. Then must you speak
Of one that loved not wisely, but too well;
Of one not easily jealous, but being wrought,
Perplex’d in the extreme; of one whose hand,
Like the base Judean, threw a pearl away
Richer than all his tribe; of one whose subdu’d eyes,
Albeit unused to the melting mood,
Drop tears as fast as the Arabian trees
Their medicinal gum. Set you down this.
And say besides, that in Aleppo once,
Where a malignant and a turban’d Turk
Beat a Venetian and traduc’d the state,
I took by the throat the circumcised dog,
And smote him, thus.

LODOVICOO bloody period!

GRATIANOAll that’s spoke is marr’d.

OTHELLOI kiss’d thee ere I kill’d thee. No way but this,
Killing myself, to die upon a kiss.

CASSIOThis did I fear, but thought he had no weapon,
For he was great of heart.

LODOVICO[_To Iago._] O Spartan dog,
More fell than anguish, hunger, or the sea,
Look on the tragic loading of this bed.
This is thy work. The object poisons sight,
Let it be hid. Gratiano, keep the house,
And seize upon the fortunes of the Moor,
For they succeed on you. To you, lord governor,
Remains the censure of this hellish villain.
The time, the place, the torture, O, enforce it!
Myself will straight aboard, and to the state
This heavy act with heavy heart relate.

Exeunt.

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