Othello, the Moore of Venice

1Tush! never tell me; I take it much unkindly

2That thou, Iago, who hast had my purse

3As if the strings were thine, shouldst know of this.

4'Sblood, but you will not hear me:

5If ever I did dream of such a matter, Abhor me.

6Thou told'st me thou didst hold him in thy hate.

7Despise me, if I do not. Three great ones of the city,

8In personal suit to make me his lieutenant,

9Off-capp'd to him: and, by the faith of man,

10I know my price, I am worth no worse a place:

11But he; as loving his own pride and purposes,

12Evades them, with a bombast circumstance

13Horribly stuff'd with epithets of war;

14And, in conclusion,

15Nonsuits my mediators; for, 'Certes,' says he,

16'I have already chose my officer.'

17And what was he?

18Forsooth, a great arithmetician,

19One Michael Cassio, a Florentine,

20A fellow almost damn'd in a fair wife;

21That never set a squadron in the field,

22Nor the division of a battle knows

23More than a spinster; unless the bookish theoric,

24Wherein the toged consuls can propose

25As masterly as he: mere prattle, without practise,

26Is all his soldiership. But he, sir, had the election:

27And I, of whom his eyes had seen the proof

28At Rhodes, at Cyprus and on other grounds

29Christian and heathen, must be be-lee'd and calm'd

30By debitor and creditor: this counter-caster,

31He, in good time, must his lieutenant be,

32And I--God bless the mark!--his Moorship's ancient.

33By heaven, I rather would have been his hangman.

34Why, there's no remedy; 'tis the curse of service,

35Preferment goes by letter and affection,

36And not by old gradation, where each second

37Stood heir to the first. Now, sir, be judge yourself,

38Whether I in any just term am affined

39To love the Moor.

40I would not follow him then.

41O, sir, content you;

42I follow him to serve my turn upon him:

43We cannot all be masters, nor all masters

44Cannot be truly follow'd. You shall mark

45Many a duteous and knee-crooking knave,

46That, doting on his own obsequious bondage,

47Wears out his time, much like his master's ass,

48For nought but provender, and when he's old, cashier'd:

49Whip me such honest knaves. Others there are

50Who, trimm'd in forms and visages of duty,

51Keep yet their hearts attending on themselves,

52And, throwing but shows of service on their lords,

53Do well thrive by them and when they have lined

54their coats

55Do themselves homage: these fellows have some soul;

56And such a one do I profess myself. For, sir,

57It is as sure as you are Roderigo,

58Were I the Moor, I would not be Iago:

59In following him, I follow but myself;

60Heaven is my judge, not I for love and duty,

61But seeming so, for my peculiar end:

62For when my outward action doth demonstrate

63The native act and figure of my heart

64In compliment extern, 'tis not long after

65But I will wear my heart upon my sleeve

66For daws to peck at: I am not what I am.

67What a full fortune does the thicklips owe

68If he can carry't thus!

69Call up her father,

70Rouse him: make after him, poison his delight,

71Proclaim him in the streets; incense her kinsmen,

72And, though he in a fertile climate dwell,

73Plague him with flies: though that his joy be joy,

74Yet throw such changes of vexation on't,

75As it may lose some colour.

76Here is her father's house; I'll call aloud.

77Do, with like timorous accent and dire yell

78As when, by night and negligence, the fire

79Is spied in populous cities.

80What, ho, Brabantio! Signior Brabantio, ho!

81Awake! what, ho, Brabantio! thieves! thieves! thieves!

82Look to your house, your daughter and your bags!

83Thieves! thieves!

84What is the reason of this terrible summons?

85What is the matter there?

86Signior, is all your family within?

87Are your doors lock'd?

88Why, wherefore ask you this?

89'Zounds, sir, you're robb'd; for shame, put on

90your gown;

91Your heart is burst, you have lost half your soul;

92Even now, now, very now, an old black ram

93Is topping your white ewe. Arise, arise;

94Awake the snorting citizens with the bell,

95Or else the devil will make a grandsire of you:

96Arise, I say.

97What, have you lost your wits?

98Most reverend signior, do you know my voice?

99Not I what are you?

100My name is Roderigo.

101The worser welcome:

102I have charged thee not to haunt about my doors:

103In honest plainness thou hast heard me say

104My daughter is not for thee; and now, in madness,

105Being full of supper and distempering draughts,

106Upon malicious bravery, dost thou come

107To start my quiet.

108Sir, sir, sir,--

109But thou must needs be sure

110My spirit and my place have in them power

111To make this bitter to thee.

112Patience, good sir.

113What tell'st thou me of robbing? this is Venice;

114My house is not a grange.

115Most grave Brabantio,

116In simple and pure soul I come to you.

117'Zounds, sir, you are one of those that will not

118serve God, if the devil bid you. Because we come to

119do you service and you think we are ruffians, you'll

120have your daughter covered with a Barbary horse;

121you'll have your nephews neigh to you; you'll have

122coursers for cousins and gennets for germans.

123What profane wretch art thou?

124I am one, sir, that comes to tell you your daughter

125and the Moor are now making the beast with two backs.

126Thou art a villain.

127You are--a senator.

128This thou shalt answer; I know thee, Roderigo.

129Sir, I will answer any thing. But, I beseech you,

130If't be your pleasure and most wise consent,

131As partly I find it is, that your fair daughter,

132At this odd-even and dull watch o' the night,

133Transported, with no worse nor better guard

134But with a knave of common hire, a gondolier,

135To the gross clasps of a lascivious Moor--

136If this be known to you and your allowance,

137We then have done you bold and saucy wrongs;

138But if you know not this, my manners tell me

139We have your wrong rebuke. Do not believe

140That, from the sense of all civility,

141I thus would play and trifle with your reverence:

142Your daughter, if you have not given her leave,

143I say again, hath made a gross revolt;

144Tying her duty, beauty, wit and fortunes

145In an extravagant and wheeling stranger

146Of here and every where. Straight satisfy yourself:

147If she be in her chamber or your house,

148Let loose on me the justice of the state

149For thus deluding you.

150Strike on the tinder, ho!

151Give me a taper! call up all my people!

152This accident is not unlike my dream:

153Belief of it oppresses me already.

154Light, I say! light!

155Farewell; for I must leave you:

156It seems not meet, nor wholesome to my place,

157To be produced--as, if I stay, I shall--

158Against the Moor: for, I do know, the state,

159However this may gall him with some cheque,

160Cannot with safety cast him, for he's embark'd

161With such loud reason to the Cyprus wars,

162Which even now stand in act, that, for their souls,

163Another of his fathom they have none,

164To lead their business: in which regard,

165Though I do hate him as I do hell-pains.

166Yet, for necessity of present life,

167I must show out a flag and sign of love,

168Which is indeed but sign. That you shall surely find him,

169Lead to the Sagittary the raised search;

170And there will I be with him. So, farewell.

171It is too true an evil: gone she is;

172And what's to come of my despised time

173Is nought but bitterness. Now, Roderigo,

174Where didst thou see her? O unhappy girl!

175With the Moor, say'st thou? Who would be a father!

176How didst thou know 'twas she? O she deceives me

177Past thought! What said she to you? Get more tapers:

178Raise all my kindred. Are they married, think you?

179Truly, I think they are.

180O heaven! How got she out? O treason of the blood!

181Fathers, from hence trust not your daughters' minds

182By what you see them act. Is there not charms

183By which the property of youth and maidhood

184May be abused? Have you not read, Roderigo,

185Of some such thing?

186Yes, sir, I have indeed.

187Call up my brother. O, would you had had her!

188Some one way, some another. Do you know

189Where we may apprehend her and the Moor?

190I think I can discover him, if you please,

191To get good guard and go along with me.

192Pray you, lead on. At every house I'll call;

193I may command at most. Get weapons, ho!

194And raise some special officers of night.

195On, good Roderigo: I'll deserve your pains.

1Though in the trade of war I have slain men,

2Yet do I hold it very stuff o' the conscience

3To do no contrived murder: I lack iniquity

4Sometimes to do me service: nine or ten times

5I had thought to have yerk'd him here under the ribs.

6'Tis better as it is.

7Nay, but he prated,

8And spoke such scurvy and provoking terms

9Against your honour

10That, with the little godliness I have,

11I did full hard forbear him. But, I pray you, sir,

12Are you fast married? Be assured of this,

13That the magnifico is much beloved,

14And hath in his effect a voice potential

15As double as the duke's: he will divorce you;

16Or put upon you what restraint and grievance

17The law, with all his might to enforce it on,

18Will give him cable.

19Let him do his spite:

20My services which I have done the signiory

21Shall out-tongue his complaints. 'Tis yet to know,--

22Which, when I know that boasting is an honour,

23I shall promulgate--I fetch my life and being

24From men of royal siege, and my demerits

25May speak unbonneted to as proud a fortune

26As this that I have reach'd: for know, Iago,

27But that I love the gentle Desdemona,

28I would not my unhoused free condition

29Put into circumscription and confine

30For the sea's worth. But, look! what lights come yond?

31Those are the raised father and his friends:

32You were best go in.

33Not I I must be found:

34My parts, my title and my perfect soul

35Shall manifest me rightly. Is it they?

36By Janus, I think no.

37The servants of the duke, and my lieutenant.

38The goodness of the night upon you, friends!

39What is the news?

40The duke does greet you, general,

41And he requires your haste-post-haste appearance,

42Even on the instant.

43What is the matter, think you?

44Something from Cyprus as I may divine:

45It is a business of some heat: the galleys

46Have sent a dozen sequent messengers

47This very night at one another's heels,

48And many of the consuls, raised and met,

49Are at the duke's already: you have been

50hotly call'd for;

51When, being not at your lodging to be found,

52The senate hath sent about three several guests

53To search you out.

54'Tis well I am found by you.

55I will but spend a word here in the house,

56And go with you.

57Ancient, what makes he here?

58'Faith, he to-night hath boarded a land carack:

59If it prove lawful prize, he's made for ever.

60I do not understand.

61He's married.

62To who?

63Marry, to--Come, captain, will you go?

64Have with you.

65Here comes another troop to seek for you.

66It is Brabantio. General, be advised;

67He comes to bad intent.

68Holla! stand there!

69Signior, it is the Moor.

70Down with him, thief!

71You, Roderigo! come, sir, I am for you.

72Keep up your bright swords, for the dew will rust them.

73Good signior, you shall more command with years

74Than with your weapons.

75O thou foul thief, where hast thou stow'd my daughter?

76Damn'd as thou art, thou hast enchanted her;

77For I'll refer me to all things of sense,

78If she in chains of magic were not bound,

79Whether a maid so tender, fair and happy,

80So opposite to marriage that she shunned

81The wealthy curled darlings of our nation,

82Would ever have, to incur a general mock,

83Run from her guardage to the sooty bosom

84Of such a thing as thou, to fear, not to delight.

85Judge me the world, if 'tis not gross in sense

86That thou hast practised on her with foul charms,

87Abused her delicate youth with drugs or minerals

88That weaken motion: I'll have't disputed on;

89'Tis probable and palpable to thinking.

90I therefore apprehend and do attach thee

91For an abuser of the world, a practiser

92Of arts inhibited and out of warrant.

93Lay hold upon him: if he do resist,

94Subdue him at his peril.

95Hold your hands,

96Both you of my inclining, and the rest:

97Were it my cue to fight, I should have known it

98Without a prompter. Where will you that I go

99To answer this your charge?

100To prison, till fit time

101Of law and course of direct session

102Call thee to answer.

103What if I do obey?

104How may the duke be therewith satisfied,

105Whose messengers are here about my side,

106Upon some present business of the state

107To bring me to him?

108'Tis true, most worthy signior;

109The duke's in council and your noble self,

110I am sure, is sent for.

111How! the duke in council!

112In this time of the night! Bring him away:

113Mine's not an idle cause: the duke himself,

114Or any of my brothers of the state,

115Cannot but feel this wrong as 'twere their own;

116For if such actions may have passage free,

117Bond-slaves and pagans shall our statesmen be.

1There is no composition in these news

2That gives them credit.

3Indeed, they are disproportion'd;

4My letters say a hundred and seven galleys.

5And mine, a hundred and forty.

6And mine, two hundred:

7But though they jump not on a just account,--

8As in these cases, where the aim reports,

9'Tis oft with difference--yet do they all confirm

10A Turkish fleet, and bearing up to Cyprus.

11Nay, it is possible enough to judgment:

12I do not so secure me in the error,

13But the main article I do approve

14In fearful sense.

15[Within] What, ho! what, ho! what, ho!

16A messenger from the galleys.

17Now, what's the business?

18The Turkish preparation makes for Rhodes;

19So was I bid report here to the state

20By Signior Angelo.

21How say you by this change?

22This cannot be,

23By no assay of reason: 'tis a pageant,

24To keep us in false gaze. When we consider

25The importancy of Cyprus to the Turk,

26And let ourselves again but understand,

27That as it more concerns the Turk than Rhodes,

28So may he with more facile question bear it,

29For that it stands not in such warlike brace,

30But altogether lacks the abilities

31That Rhodes is dress'd in: if we make thought of this,

32We must not think the Turk is so unskilful

33To leave that latest which concerns him first,

34Neglecting an attempt of ease and gain,

35To wake and wage a danger profitless.

36Nay, in all confidence, he's not for Rhodes.

37Here is more news.

38The Ottomites, reverend and gracious,

39Steering with due course towards the isle of Rhodes,

40Have there injointed them with an after fleet.

41Ay, so I thought. How many, as you guess?

42Of thirty sail: and now they do restem

43Their backward course, bearing with frank appearance

44Their purposes toward Cyprus. Signior Montano,

45Your trusty and most valiant servitor,

46With his free duty recommends you thus,

47And prays you to believe him.

48'Tis certain, then, for Cyprus.

49Marcus Luccicos, is not he in town?

50He's now in Florence.

51Write from us to him; post-post-haste dispatch.

52Here comes Brabantio and the valiant Moor.

53Valiant Othello, we must straight employ you

54Against the general enemy Ottoman.

55I did not see you; welcome, gentle signior;

56We lack'd your counsel and your help tonight.

57So did I yours. Good your grace, pardon me;

58Neither my place nor aught I heard of business

59Hath raised me from my bed, nor doth the general care

60Take hold on me, for my particular grief

61Is of so flood-gate and o'erbearing nature

62That it engluts and swallows other sorrows

63And it is still itself.

64Why, what's the matter?

65My daughter! O, my daughter!

66Dead?

67Ay, to me;

68She is abused, stol'n from me, and corrupted

69By spells and medicines bought of mountebanks;

70For nature so preposterously to err,

71Being not deficient, blind, or lame of sense,

72Sans witchcraft could not.

73Whoe'er he be that in this foul proceeding

74Hath thus beguiled your daughter of herself

75And you of her, the bloody book of law

76You shall yourself read in the bitter letter

77After your own sense, yea, though our proper son

78Stood in your action.

79Humbly I thank your grace.

80Here is the man, this Moor, whom now, it seems,

81Your special mandate for the state-affairs

82Hath hither brought.

83We are very sorry for't.

84[To OTHELLO] What, in your own part, can you say to this?

85Nothing, but this is so.

86Most potent, grave, and reverend signiors,

87My very noble and approved good masters,

88That I have ta'en away this old man's daughter,

89It is most true; true, I have married her:

90The very head and front of my offending

91Hath this extent, no more. Rude am I in my speech,

92And little bless'd with the soft phrase of peace:

93For since these arms of mine had seven years' pith,

94Till now some nine moons wasted, they have used

95Their dearest action in the tented field,

96And little of this great world can I speak,

97More than pertains to feats of broil and battle,

98And therefore little shall I grace my cause

99In speaking for myself. Yet, by your gracious patience,

100I will a round unvarnish'd tale deliver

101Of my whole course of love; what drugs, what charms,

102What conjuration and what mighty magic,

103For such proceeding I am charged withal,

104I won his daughter.

105A maiden never bold;

106Of spirit so still and quiet, that her motion

107Blush'd at herself; and she, in spite of nature,

108Of years, of country, credit, every thing,

109To fall in love with what she fear'd to look on!

110It is a judgment maim'd and most imperfect

111That will confess perfection so could err

112Against all rules of nature, and must be driven

113To find out practises of cunning hell,

114Why this should be. I therefore vouch again

115That with some mixtures powerful o'er the blood,

116Or with some dram conjured to this effect,

117He wrought upon her.

118To vouch this, is no proof,

119Without more wider and more overt test

120Than these thin habits and poor likelihoods

121Of modern seeming do prefer against him.

122But, Othello, speak:

123Did you by indirect and forced courses

124Subdue and poison this young maid's affections?

125Or came it by request and such fair question

126As soul to soul affordeth?

127I do beseech you,

128Send for the lady to the Sagittary,

129And let her speak of me before her father:

130If you do find me foul in her report,

131The trust, the office I do hold of you,

132Not only take away, but let your sentence

133Even fall upon my life.

134Fetch Desdemona hither.

135Ancient, conduct them: you best know the place.

136And, till she come, as truly as to heaven

137I do confess the vices of my blood,

138So justly to your grave ears I'll present

139How I did thrive in this fair lady's love,

140And she in mine.

141Say it, Othello.

142Her father loved me; oft invited me;

143Still question'd me the story of my life,

144From year to year, the battles, sieges, fortunes,

145That I have passed.

146I ran it through, even from my boyish days,

147To the very moment that he bade me tell it;

148Wherein I spake of most disastrous chances,

149Of moving accidents by flood and field

150Of hair-breadth scapes i' the imminent deadly breach,

151Of being taken by the insolent foe

152And sold to slavery, of my redemption thence

153And portance in my travels' history:

154Wherein of antres vast and deserts idle,

155Rough quarries, rocks and hills whose heads touch heaven

156It was my hint to speak,--such was the process;

157And of the Cannibals that each other eat,

158The Anthropophagi and men whose heads

159Do grow beneath their shoulders. This to hear

160Would Desdemona seriously incline:

161But still the house-affairs would draw her thence:

162Which ever as she could with haste dispatch,

163She'ld come again, and with a greedy ear

164Devour up my discourse: which I observing,

165Took once a pliant hour, and found good means

166To draw from her a prayer of earnest heart

167That I would all my pilgrimage dilate,

168Whereof by parcels she had something heard,

169But not intentively: I did consent,

170And often did beguile her of her tears,

171When I did speak of some distressful stroke

172That my youth suffer'd. My story being done,

173She gave me for my pains a world of sighs:

174She swore, in faith, twas strange, 'twas passing strange,

175'Twas pitiful, 'twas wondrous pitiful:

176She wish'd she had not heard it, yet she wish'd

177That heaven had made her such a man: she thank'd me,

178And bade me, if I had a friend that loved her,

179I should but teach him how to tell my story.

180And that would woo her. Upon this hint I spake:

181She loved me for the dangers I had pass'd,

182And I loved her that she did pity them.

183This only is the witchcraft I have used:

184Here comes the lady; let her witness it.

185I think this tale would win my daughter too.

186Good Brabantio,

187Take up this mangled matter at the best:

188Men do their broken weapons rather use

189Than their bare hands.

190I pray you, hear her speak:

191If she confess that she was half the wooer,

192Destruction on my head, if my bad blame

193Light on the man! Come hither, gentle mistress:

194Do you perceive in all this noble company

195Where most you owe obedience?

196My noble father,

197I do perceive here a divided duty:

198To you I am bound for life and education;

199My life and education both do learn me

200How to respect you; you are the lord of duty;

201I am hitherto your daughter: but here's my husband,

202And so much duty as my mother show'd

203To you, preferring you before her father,

204So much I challenge that I may profess

205Due to the Moor my lord.

206God be wi' you! I have done.

207Please it your grace, on to the state-affairs:

208I had rather to adopt a child than get it.

209Come hither, Moor:

210I here do give thee that with all my heart

211Which, but thou hast already, with all my heart

212I would keep from thee. For your sake, jewel,

213I am glad at soul I have no other child:

214For thy escape would teach me tyranny,

215To hang clogs on them. I have done, my lord.

216Let me speak like yourself, and lay a sentence,

217Which, as a grise or step, may help these lovers

218Into your favour.

219When remedies are past, the griefs are ended

220By seeing the worst, which late on hopes depended.

221To mourn a mischief that is past and gone

222Is the next way to draw new mischief on.

223What cannot be preserved when fortune takes

224Patience her injury a mockery makes.

225The robb'd that smiles steals something from the thief;

226He robs himself that spends a bootless grief.

227So let the Turk of Cyprus us beguile;

228We lose it not, so long as we can smile.

229He bears the sentence well that nothing bears

230But the free comfort which from thence he hears,

231But he bears both the sentence and the sorrow

232That, to pay grief, must of poor patience borrow.

233These sentences, to sugar, or to gall,

234Being strong on both sides, are equivocal:

235But words are words; I never yet did hear

236That the bruised heart was pierced through the ear.

237I humbly beseech you, proceed to the affairs of state.

238The Turk with a most mighty preparation makes for

239Cyprus. Othello, the fortitude of the place is best

240known to you; and though we have there a substitute

241of most allowed sufficiency, yet opinion, a

242sovereign mistress of effects, throws a more safer

243voice on you: you must therefore be content to

244slubber the gloss of your new fortunes with this

245more stubborn and boisterous expedition.

246The tyrant custom, most grave senators,

247Hath made the flinty and steel couch of war

248My thrice-driven bed of down: I do agnise

249A natural and prompt alacrity

250I find in hardness, and do undertake

251These present wars against the Ottomites.

252Most humbly therefore bending to your state,

253I crave fit disposition for my wife.

254Due reference of place and exhibition,

255With such accommodation and besort

256As levels with her breeding.

257If you please,

258Be't at her father's.

259I'll not have it so.

260Nor I.

261Nor I; I would not there reside,

262To put my father in impatient thoughts

263By being in his eye. Most gracious duke,

264To my unfolding lend your prosperous ear;

265And let me find a charter in your voice,

266To assist my simpleness.

267What would You, Desdemona?

268That I did love the Moor to live with him,

269My downright violence and storm of fortunes

270May trumpet to the world: my heart's subdued

271Even to the very quality of my lord:

272I saw Othello's visage in his mind,

273And to his honour and his valiant parts

274Did I my soul and fortunes consecrate.

275So that, dear lords, if I be left behind,

276A moth of peace, and he go to the war,

277The rites for which I love him are bereft me,

278And I a heavy interim shall support

279By his dear absence. Let me go with him.

280Let her have your voices.

281Vouch with me, heaven, I therefore beg it not,

282To please the palate of my appetite,

283Nor to comply with heat--the young affects

284In me defunct--and proper satisfaction.

285But to be free and bounteous to her mind:

286And heaven defend your good souls, that you think

287I will your serious and great business scant

288For she is with me: no, when light-wing'd toys

289Of feather'd Cupid seal with wanton dullness

290My speculative and officed instruments,

291That my disports corrupt and taint my business,

292Let housewives make a skillet of my helm,

293And all indign and base adversities

294Make head against my estimation!

295Be it as you shall privately determine,

296Either for her stay or going: the affair cries haste,

297And speed must answer it.

298You must away to-night.

299With all my heart.

300At nine i' the morning here we'll meet again.

301Othello, leave some officer behind,

302And he shall our commission bring to you;

303With such things else of quality and respect

304As doth import you.

305So please your grace, my ancient;

306A man he is of honest and trust:

307To his conveyance I assign my wife,

308With what else needful your good grace shall think

309To be sent after me.

310Let it be so.

311Good night to every one.

312And, noble signior,

313If virtue no delighted beauty lack,

314Your son-in-law is far more fair than black.

315Adieu, brave Moor, use Desdemona well.

316Look to her, Moor, if thou hast eyes to see:

317She has deceived her father, and may thee.

318My life upon her faith! Honest Iago,

319My Desdemona must I leave to thee:

320I prithee, let thy wife attend on her:

321And bring them after in the best advantage.

322Come, Desdemona: I have but an hour

323Of love, of worldly matters and direction,

324To spend with thee: we must obey the time.

325Iago,--

326What say'st thou, noble heart?

327What will I do, thinkest thou?

328Why, go to bed, and sleep.

329I will incontinently drown myself.

330If thou dost, I shall never love thee after. Why,

331thou silly gentleman!

332It is silliness to live when to live is torment; and

333then have we a prescription to die when death is our physician.

334O villainous! I have looked upon the world for four

335times seven years; and since I could distinguish

336betwixt a benefit and an injury, I never found man

337that knew how to love himself. Ere I would say, I

338would drown myself for the love of a guinea-hen, I

339would change my humanity with a baboon.

340What should I do? I confess it is my shame to be so

341fond; but it is not in my virtue to amend it.

342Virtue! a fig! 'tis in ourselves that we are thus

343or thus. Our bodies are our gardens, to the which

344our wills are gardeners: so that if we will plant

345nettles, or sow lettuce, set hyssop and weed up

346thyme, supply it with one gender of herbs, or

347distract it with many, either to have it sterile

348with idleness, or manured with industry, why, the

349power and corrigible authority of this lies in our

350wills. If the balance of our lives had not one

351scale of reason to poise another of sensuality, the

352blood and baseness of our natures would conduct us

353to most preposterous conclusions: but we have

354reason to cool our raging motions, our carnal

355stings, our unbitted lusts, whereof I take this that

356you call love to be a sect or scion.

357It cannot be.

358It is merely a lust of the blood and a permission of

359the will. Come, be a man. Drown thyself! drown

360cats and blind puppies. I have professed me thy

361friend and I confess me knit to thy deserving with

362cables of perdurable toughness; I could never

363better stead thee than now. Put money in thy

364purse; follow thou the wars; defeat thy favour with

365an usurped beard; I say, put money in thy purse. It

366cannot be that Desdemona should long continue her

367love to the Moor,-- put money in thy purse,--nor he

368his to her: it was a violent commencement, and thou

369shalt see an answerable sequestration:--put but

370money in thy purse. These Moors are changeable in

371their wills: fill thy purse with money:--the food

372that to him now is as luscious as locusts, shall be

373to him shortly as bitter as coloquintida. She must

374change for youth: when she is sated with his body,

375she will find the error of her choice: she must

376have change, she must: therefore put money in thy

377purse. If thou wilt needs damn thyself, do it a

378more delicate way than drowning. Make all the money

379thou canst: if sanctimony and a frail vow betwixt

380an erring barbarian and a supersubtle Venetian not

381too hard for my wits and all the tribe of hell, thou

382shalt enjoy her; therefore make money. A pox of

383drowning thyself! it is clean out of the way: seek

384thou rather to be hanged in compassing thy joy than

385to be drowned and go without her.

386Wilt thou be fast to my hopes, if I depend on

387the issue?

388Thou art sure of me:--go, make money:--I have told

389thee often, and I re-tell thee again and again, I

390hate the Moor: my cause is hearted; thine hath no

391less reason. Let us be conjunctive in our revenge

392against him: if thou canst cuckold him, thou dost

393thyself a pleasure, me a sport. There are many

394events in the womb of time which will be delivered.

395Traverse! go, provide thy money. We will have more

396of this to-morrow. Adieu.

397Where shall we meet i' the morning?

398At my lodging.

399I'll be with thee betimes.

400Go to; farewell. Do you hear, Roderigo?

401What say you?

402No more of drowning, do you hear?

403I am changed: I'll go sell all my land.

404Thus do I ever make my fool my purse:

405For I mine own gain'd knowledge should profane,

406If I would time expend with such a snipe.

407But for my sport and profit. I hate the Moor:

408And it is thought abroad, that 'twixt my sheets

409He has done my office: I know not if't be true;

410But I, for mere suspicion in that kind,

411Will do as if for surety. He holds me well;

412The better shall my purpose work on him.

413Cassio's a proper man: let me see now:

414To get his place and to plume up my will

415In double knavery--How, how? Let's see:--

416After some time, to abuse Othello's ear

417That he is too familiar with his wife.

418He hath a person and a smooth dispose

419To be suspected, framed to make women false.

420The Moor is of a free and open nature,

421That thinks men honest that but seem to be so,

422And will as tenderly be led by the nose

423As asses are.

424I have't. It is engender'd. Hell and night

425Must bring this monstrous birth to the world's light.

1What from the cape can you discern at sea?

2Nothing at all: it is a highwrought flood;

3I cannot, 'twixt the heaven and the main,

4Descry a sail.

5Methinks the wind hath spoke aloud at land;

6A fuller blast ne'er shook our battlements:

7If it hath ruffian'd so upon the sea,

8What ribs of oak, when mountains melt on them,

9Can hold the mortise? What shall we hear of this?

10A segregation of the Turkish fleet:

11For do but stand upon the foaming shore,

12The chidden billow seems to pelt the clouds;

13The wind-shaked surge, with high and monstrous mane,

14seems to cast water on the burning bear,

15And quench the guards of the ever-fixed pole:

16I never did like molestation view

17On the enchafed flood.

18If that the Turkish fleet

19Be not enshelter'd and embay'd, they are drown'd:

20It is impossible they bear it out.

21News, lads! our wars are done.

22The desperate tempest hath so bang'd the Turks,

23That their designment halts: a noble ship of Venice

24Hath seen a grievous wreck and sufferance

25On most part of their fleet.

26How! is this true?

27The ship is here put in,

28A Veronesa; Michael Cassio,

29Lieutenant to the warlike Moor Othello,

30Is come on shore: the Moor himself at sea,

31And is in full commission here for Cyprus.

32I am glad on't; 'tis a worthy governor.

33But this same Cassio, though he speak of comfort

34Touching the Turkish loss, yet he looks sadly,

35And prays the Moor be safe; for they were parted

36With foul and violent tempest.

37Pray heavens he be;

38For I have served him, and the man commands

39Like a full soldier. Let's to the seaside, ho!

40As well to see the vessel that's come in

41As to throw out our eyes for brave Othello,

42Even till we make the main and the aerial blue

43An indistinct regard.

44Come, let's do so:

45For every minute is expectancy

46Of more arrivance.

47Thanks, you the valiant of this warlike isle,

48That so approve the Moor! O, let the heavens

49Give him defence against the elements,

50For I have lost us him on a dangerous sea.

51Is he well shipp'd?

52His bark is stoutly timber'd, his pilot

53Of very expert and approved allowance;

54Therefore my hopes, not surfeited to death,

55Stand in bold cure.

56What noise?

57The town is empty; on the brow o' the sea

58Stand ranks of people, and they cry 'A sail!'

59My hopes do shape him for the governor.

60They do discharge their shot of courtesy:

61Our friends at least.

62I pray you, sir, go forth,

63And give us truth who 'tis that is arrived.

64I shall.

65But, good lieutenant, is your general wived?

66Most fortunately: he hath achieved a maid

67That paragons description and wild fame;

68One that excels the quirks of blazoning pens,

69And in the essential vesture of creation

70Does tire the ingener.

71How now! who has put in?

72'Tis one Iago, ancient to the general.

73Has had most favourable and happy speed:

74Tempests themselves, high seas, and howling winds,

75The gutter'd rocks and congregated sands--

76Traitors ensteep'd to clog the guiltless keel,--

77As having sense of beauty, do omit

78Their mortal natures, letting go safely by

79The divine Desdemona.

80What is she?

81She that I spake of, our great captain's captain,

82Left in the conduct of the bold Iago,

83Whose footing here anticipates our thoughts

84A se'nnight's speed. Great Jove, Othello guard,

85And swell his sail with thine own powerful breath,

86That he may bless this bay with his tall ship,

87Make love's quick pants in Desdemona's arms,

88Give renew'd fire to our extincted spirits

89And bring all Cyprus comfort!

90O, behold,

91The riches of the ship is come on shore!

92Ye men of Cyprus, let her have your knees.

93Hail to thee, lady! and the grace of heaven,

94Before, behind thee, and on every hand,

95Enwheel thee round!

96I thank you, valiant Cassio.

97What tidings can you tell me of my lord?

98He is not yet arrived: nor know I aught

99But that he's well and will be shortly here.

100O, but I fear--How lost you company?

101The great contention of the sea and skies

102Parted our fellowship--But, hark! a sail.

103They give their greeting to the citadel;

104This likewise is a friend.

105See for the news.

106Good ancient, you are welcome.

107Welcome, mistress.

108Let it not gall your patience, good Iago,

109That I extend my manners; 'tis my breeding

110That gives me this bold show of courtesy.

111Sir, would she give you so much of her lips

112As of her tongue she oft bestows on me,

113You'll have enough.

114Alas, she has no speech.

115In faith, too much;

116I find it still, when I have list to sleep:

117Marry, before your ladyship, I grant,

118She puts her tongue a little in her heart,

119And chides with thinking.

120You have little cause to say so.

121Come on, come on; you are pictures out of doors,

122Bells in your parlors, wild-cats in your kitchens,

123Saints m your injuries, devils being offended,

124Players in your housewifery, and housewives' in your beds.

125O, fie upon thee, slanderer!

126Nay, it is true, or else I am a Turk:

127You rise to play and go to bed to work.

128You shall not write my praise.

129No, let me not.

130What wouldst thou write of me, if thou shouldst

131praise me?

132O gentle lady, do not put me to't;

133For I am nothing, if not critical.

134Come on assay. There's one gone to the harbour?

135Ay, madam.

136I am not merry; but I do beguile

137The thing I am, by seeming otherwise.

138Come, how wouldst thou praise me?

139I am about it; but indeed my invention

140Comes from my pate as birdlime does from frize;

141It plucks out brains and all: but my Muse labours,

142And thus she is deliver'd.

143If she be fair and wise, fairness and wit,

144The one's for use, the other useth it.

145Well praised! How if she be black and witty?

146If she be black, and thereto have a wit,

147She'll find a white that shall her blackness fit.

148Worse and worse.

149How if fair and foolish?

150She never yet was foolish that was fair;

151For even her folly help'd her to an heir.

152These are old fond paradoxes to make fools laugh i'

153the alehouse. What miserable praise hast thou for

154her that's foul and foolish?

155There's none so foul and foolish thereunto,

156But does foul pranks which fair and wise ones do.

157O heavy ignorance! thou praisest the worst best.

158But what praise couldst thou bestow on a deserving

159woman indeed, one that, in the authority of her

160merit, did justly put on the vouch of very malice itself?

161She that was ever fair and never proud,

162Had tongue at will and yet was never loud,

163Never lack'd gold and yet went never gay,

164Fled from her wish and yet said 'Now I may,'

165She that being anger'd, her revenge being nigh,

166Bade her wrong stay and her displeasure fly,

167She that in wisdom never was so frail

168To change the cod's head for the salmon's tail;

169She that could think and ne'er disclose her mind,

170See suitors following and not look behind,

171She was a wight, if ever such wight were,--

172To do what?

173To suckle fools and chronicle small beer.

174O most lame and impotent conclusion! Do not learn

175of him, Emilia, though he be thy husband. How say

176you, Cassio? is he not a most profane and liberal

177counsellor?

178He speaks home, madam: You may relish him more in

179the soldier than in the scholar.

180[Aside] He takes her by the palm: ay, well said,

181whisper: with as little a web as this will I

182ensnare as great a fly as Cassio. Ay, smile upon

183her, do; I will gyve thee in thine own courtship.

184You say true; 'tis so, indeed: if such tricks as

185these strip you out of your lieutenantry, it had

186been better you had not kissed your three fingers so

187oft, which now again you are most apt to play the

188sir in. Very good; well kissed! an excellent

189courtesy! 'tis so, indeed. Yet again your fingers

190to your lips? would they were clyster-pipes for your sake!

191The Moor! I know his trumpet.

192'Tis truly so.

193Let's meet him and receive him.

194Lo, where he comes!

195O my fair warrior!

196My dear Othello!

197It gives me wonder great as my content

198To see you here before me. O my soul's joy!

199If after every tempest come such calms,

200May the winds blow till they have waken'd death!

201And let the labouring bark climb hills of seas

202Olympus-high and duck again as low

203As hell's from heaven! If it were now to die,

204'Twere now to be most happy; for, I fear,

205My soul hath her content so absolute

206That not another comfort like to this

207Succeeds in unknown fate.

208The heavens forbid

209But that our loves and comforts should increase,

210Even as our days do grow!

211Amen to that, sweet powers!

212I cannot speak enough of this content;

213It stops me here; it is too much of joy:

214And this, and this, the greatest discords be

215That e'er our hearts shall make!

216[Aside] O, you are well tuned now!

217But I'll set down the pegs that make this music,

218As honest as I am.

219Come, let us to the castle.

220News, friends; our wars are done, the Turks

221are drown'd.

222How does my old acquaintance of this isle?

223Honey, you shall be well desired in Cyprus;

224I have found great love amongst them. O my sweet,

225I prattle out of fashion, and I dote

226In mine own comforts. I prithee, good Iago,

227Go to the bay and disembark my coffers:

228Bring thou the master to the citadel;

229He is a good one, and his worthiness

230Does challenge much respect. Come, Desdemona,

231Once more, well met at Cyprus.

232Do thou meet me presently at the harbour. Come

233hither. If thou be'st valiant,-- as, they say, base

234men being in love have then a nobility in their

235natures more than is native to them--list me. The

236lieutenant tonight watches on the court of

237guard:--first, I must tell thee this--Desdemona is

238directly in love with him.

239With him! why, 'tis not possible.

240Lay thy finger thus, and let thy soul be instructed.

241Mark me with what violence she first loved the Moor,

242but for bragging and telling her fantastical lies:

243and will she love him still for prating? let not

244thy discreet heart think it. Her eye must be fed;

245and what delight shall she have to look on the

246devil? When the blood is made dull with the act of

247sport, there should be, again to inflame it and to

248give satiety a fresh appetite, loveliness in favour,

249sympathy in years, manners and beauties; all which

250the Moor is defective in: now, for want of these

251required conveniences, her delicate tenderness will

252find itself abused, begin to heave the gorge,

253disrelish and abhor the Moor; very nature will

254instruct her in it and compel her to some second

255choice. Now, sir, this granted,--as it is a most

256pregnant and unforced position--who stands so

257eminent in the degree of this fortune as Cassio

258does? a knave very voluble; no further

259conscionable than in putting on the mere form of

260civil and humane seeming, for the better compassing

261of his salt and most hidden loose affection? why,

262none; why, none: a slipper and subtle knave, a

263finder of occasions, that has an eye can stamp and

264counterfeit advantages, though true advantage never

265present itself; a devilish knave. Besides, the

266knave is handsome, young, and hath all those

267requisites in him that folly and green minds look

268after: a pestilent complete knave; and the woman

269hath found him already.

270I cannot believe that in her; she's full of

271most blessed condition.

272Blessed fig's-end! the wine she drinks is made of

273grapes: if she had been blessed, she would never

274have loved the Moor. Blessed pudding! Didst thou

275not see her paddle with the palm of his hand? didst

276not mark that?

277Yes, that I did; but that was but courtesy.

278Lechery, by this hand; an index and obscure prologue

279to the history of lust and foul thoughts. They met

280so near with their lips that their breaths embraced

281together. Villanous thoughts, Roderigo! when these

282mutualities so marshal the way, hard at hand comes

283the master and main exercise, the incorporate

284conclusion, Pish! But, sir, be you ruled by me: I

285have brought you from Venice. Watch you to-night;

286for the command, I'll lay't upon you. Cassio knows

287you not. I'll not be far from you: do you find

288some occasion to anger Cassio, either by speaking

289too loud, or tainting his discipline; or from what

290other course you please, which the time shall more

291favourably minister.

292Well.

293Sir, he is rash and very sudden in choler, and haply

294may strike at you: provoke him, that he may; for

295even out of that will I cause these of Cyprus to

296mutiny; whose qualification shall come into no true

297taste again but by the displanting of Cassio. So

298shall you have a shorter journey to your desires by

299the means I shall then have to prefer them; and the

300impediment most profitably removed, without the

301which there were no expectation of our prosperity.

302I will do this, if I can bring it to any

303opportunity.

304I warrant thee. Meet me by and by at the citadel:

305I must fetch his necessaries ashore. Farewell.

306Adieu.

307That Cassio loves her, I do well believe it;

308That she loves him, 'tis apt and of great credit:

309The Moor, howbeit that I endure him not,

310Is of a constant, loving, noble nature,

311And I dare think he'll prove to Desdemona

312A most dear husband. Now, I do love her too;

313Not out of absolute lust, though peradventure

314I stand accountant for as great a sin,

315But partly led to diet my revenge,

316For that I do suspect the lusty Moor

317Hath leap'd into my seat; the thought whereof

318Doth, like a poisonous mineral, gnaw my inwards;

319And nothing can or shall content my soul

320Till I am even'd with him, wife for wife,

321Or failing so, yet that I put the Moor

322At least into a jealousy so strong

323That judgment cannot cure. Which thing to do,

324If this poor trash of Venice, whom I trash

325For his quick hunting, stand the putting on,

326I'll have our Michael Cassio on the hip,

327Abuse him to the Moor in the rank garb--

328For I fear Cassio with my night-cap too--

329Make the Moor thank me, love me and reward me.

330For making him egregiously an ass

331And practising upon his peace and quiet

332Even to madness. 'Tis here, but yet confused:

333Knavery's plain face is never seen tin used.

1It is Othello's pleasure, our noble and valiant

2general, that, upon certain tidings now arrived,

3importing the mere perdition of the Turkish fleet,

4every man put himself into triumph; some to dance,

5some to make bonfires, each man to what sport and

6revels his addiction leads him: for, besides these

7beneficial news, it is the celebration of his

8nuptial. So much was his pleasure should be

9proclaimed. All offices are open, and there is full

10liberty of feasting from this present hour of five

11till the bell have told eleven. Heaven bless the

12isle of Cyprus and our noble general Othello!

1Good Michael, look you to the guard to-night:

2Let's teach ourselves that honourable stop,

3Not to outsport discretion.

4Iago hath direction what to do;

5But, notwithstanding, with my personal eye

6Will I look to't.

7Iago is most honest.

8Michael, good night: to-morrow with your earliest

9Let me have speech with you.

10Come, my dear love,

11The purchase made, the fruits are to ensue;

12That profit's yet to come 'tween me and you.

13Good night.

14Welcome, Iago; we must to the watch.

15Not this hour, lieutenant; 'tis not yet ten o' the

16clock. Our general cast us thus early for the love

17of his Desdemona; who let us not therefore blame:

18he hath not yet made wanton the night with her; and

19she is sport for Jove.

20She's a most exquisite lady.

21And, I'll warrant her, fun of game.

22Indeed, she's a most fresh and delicate creature.

23What an eye she has! methinks it sounds a parley of

24provocation.

25An inviting eye; and yet methinks right modest.

26And when she speaks, is it not an alarum to love?

27She is indeed perfection.

28Well, happiness to their sheets! Come, lieutenant, I

29have a stoup of wine; and here without are a brace

30of Cyprus gallants that would fain have a measure to

31the health of black Othello.

32Not to-night, good Iago: I have very poor and

33unhappy brains for drinking: I could well wish

34courtesy would invent some other custom of

35entertainment.

36O, they are our friends; but one cup: I'll drink for

37you.

38I have drunk but one cup to-night, and that was

39craftily qualified too, and, behold, what innovation

40it makes here: I am unfortunate in the infirmity,

41and dare not task my weakness with any more.

42What, man! 'tis a night of revels: the gallants

43desire it.

44Where are they?

45Here at the door; I pray you, call them in.

46I'll do't; but it dislikes me.

47If I can fasten but one cup upon him,

48With that which he hath drunk to-night already,

49He'll be as full of quarrel and offence

50As my young mistress' dog. Now, my sick fool Roderigo,

51Whom love hath turn'd almost the wrong side out,

52To Desdemona hath to-night caroused

53Potations pottle-deep; and he's to watch:

54Three lads of Cyprus, noble swelling spirits,

55That hold their honours in a wary distance,

56The very elements of this warlike isle,

57Have I to-night fluster'd with flowing cups,

58And they watch too. Now, 'mongst this flock of drunkards,

59Am I to put our Cassio in some action

60That may offend the isle.--But here they come:

61If consequence do but approve my dream,

62My boat sails freely, both with wind and stream.

63'Fore God, they have given me a rouse already.

64Good faith, a little one; not past a pint, as I am

65a soldier.

66Some wine, ho!

67And let me the canakin clink, clink;

68And let me the canakin clink

69A soldier's a man;

70A life's but a span;

71Why, then, let a soldier drink.

72Some wine, boys!

73'Fore God, an excellent song.

74I learned it in England, where, indeed, they are

75most potent in potting: your Dane, your German, and

76your swag-bellied Hollander--Drink, ho!--are nothing

77to your English.

78Is your Englishman so expert in his drinking?

79Why, he drinks you, with facility, your Dane dead

80drunk; he sweats not to overthrow your Almain; he

81gives your Hollander a vomit, ere the next pottle

82can be filled.

83To the health of our general!

84I am for it, lieutenant; and I'll do you justice.

85O sweet England!

86King Stephen was a worthy peer,

87His breeches cost him but a crown;

88He held them sixpence all too dear,

89With that he call'd the tailor lown.

90He was a wight of high renown,

91And thou art but of low degree:

92'Tis pride that pulls the country down;

93Then take thine auld cloak about thee.

94Some wine, ho!

95Why, this is a more exquisite song than the other.

96Will you hear't again?

97No; for I hold him to be unworthy of his place that

98does those things. Well, God's above all; and there

99be souls must be saved, and there be souls must not be saved.

100It's true, good lieutenant.

101For mine own part,--no offence to the general, nor

102any man of quality,--I hope to be saved.

103And so do I too, lieutenant.

104Ay, but, by your leave, not before me; the

105lieutenant is to be saved before the ancient. Let's

106have no more of this; let's to our affairs.--Forgive

107us our sins!--Gentlemen, let's look to our business.

108Do not think, gentlemen. I am drunk: this is my

109ancient; this is my right hand, and this is my left:

110I am not drunk now; I can stand well enough, and

111speak well enough.

112Excellent well.

113Why, very well then; you must not think then that I am drunk.

114To the platform, masters; come, let's set the watch.

115You see this fellow that is gone before;

116He is a soldier fit to stand by Caesar

117And give direction: and do but see his vice;

118'Tis to his virtue a just equinox,

119The one as long as the other: 'tis pity of him.

120I fear the trust Othello puts him in.

121On some odd time of his infirmity,

122Will shake this island.

123But is he often thus?

124'Tis evermore the prologue to his sleep:

125He'll watch the horologe a double set,

126If drink rock not his cradle.

127It were well

128The general were put in mind of it.

129Perhaps he sees it not; or his good nature

130Prizes the virtue that appears in Cassio,

131And looks not on his evils: is not this true?

132[Aside to him] How now, Roderigo!

133I pray you, after the lieutenant; go.

134And 'tis great pity that the noble Moor

135Should hazard such a place as his own second

136With one of an ingraft infirmity:

137It were an honest action to say

138So to the Moor.

139Not I, for this fair island:

140I do love Cassio well; and would do much

141To cure him of this evil--But, hark! what noise?

142You rogue! you rascal!

143What's the matter, lieutenant?

144A knave teach me my duty!

145I'll beat the knave into a twiggen bottle.

146Beat me!

147Dost thou prate, rogue?

148Nay, good lieutenant;

149I pray you, sir, hold your hand.

150Let me go, sir,

151Or I'll knock you o'er the mazzard.

152Come, come,

153you're drunk.

154Drunk!

155[Aside to RODERIGO] Away, I say; go out, and cry a mutiny.

156Nay, good lieutenant,--alas, gentlemen;--

157Help, ho!--Lieutenant,--sir,--Montano,--sir;

158Help, masters!--Here's a goodly watch indeed!

159Who's that which rings the bell?--Diablo, ho!

160The town will rise: God's will, lieutenant, hold!

161You will be shamed for ever.

162What is the matter here?

163'Zounds, I bleed still; I am hurt to the death.

164Hold, for your lives!

165Hold, ho! Lieutenant,--sir--Montano,--gentlemen,--

166Have you forgot all sense of place and duty?

167Hold! the general speaks to you; hold, hold, for shame!

168Why, how now, ho! from whence ariseth this?

169Are we turn'd Turks, and to ourselves do that

170Which heaven hath forbid the Ottomites?

171For Christian shame, put by this barbarous brawl:

172He that stirs next to carve for his own rage

173Holds his soul light; he dies upon his motion.

174Silence that dreadful bell: it frights the isle

175From her propriety. What is the matter, masters?

176Honest Iago, that look'st dead with grieving,

177Speak, who began this? on thy love, I charge thee.

178I do not know: friends all but now, even now,

179In quarter, and in terms like bride and groom

180Devesting them for bed; and then, but now--

181As if some planet had unwitted men--

182Swords out, and tilting one at other's breast,

183In opposition bloody. I cannot speak

184Any beginning to this peevish odds;

185And would in action glorious I had lost

186Those legs that brought me to a part of it!

187How comes it, Michael, you are thus forgot?

188I pray you, pardon me; I cannot speak.

189Worthy Montano, you were wont be civil;

190The gravity and stillness of your youth

191The world hath noted, and your name is great

192In mouths of wisest censure: what's the matter,

193That you unlace your reputation thus

194And spend your rich opinion for the name

195Of a night-brawler? give me answer to it.

196Worthy Othello, I am hurt to danger:

197Your officer, Iago, can inform you,--

198While I spare speech, which something now

199offends me,--

200Of all that I do know: nor know I aught

201By me that's said or done amiss this night;

202Unless self-charity be sometimes a vice,

203And to defend ourselves it be a sin

204When violence assails us.

205Now, by heaven,

206My blood begins my safer guides to rule;

207And passion, having my best judgment collied,

208Assays to lead the way: if I once stir,

209Or do but lift this arm, the best of you

210Shall sink in my rebuke. Give me to know

211How this foul rout began, who set it on;

212And he that is approved in this offence,

213Though he had twinn'd with me, both at a birth,

214Shall lose me. What! in a town of war,

215Yet wild, the people's hearts brimful of fear,

216To manage private and domestic quarrel,

217In night, and on the court and guard of safety!

218'Tis monstrous. Iago, who began't?

219If partially affined, or leagued in office,

220Thou dost deliver more or less than truth,

221Thou art no soldier.

222Touch me not so near:

223I had rather have this tongue cut from my mouth

224Than it should do offence to Michael Cassio;

225Yet, I persuade myself, to speak the truth

226Shall nothing wrong him. Thus it is, general.

227Montano and myself being in speech,

228There comes a fellow crying out for help:

229And Cassio following him with determined sword,

230To execute upon him. Sir, this gentleman

231Steps in to Cassio, and entreats his pause:

232Myself the crying fellow did pursue,

233Lest by his clamour--as it so fell out--

234The town might fall in fright: he, swift of foot,

235Outran my purpose; and I return'd the rather

236For that I heard the clink and fall of swords,

237And Cassio high in oath; which till to-night

238I ne'er might say before. When I came back--

239For this was brief--I found them close together,

240At blow and thrust; even as again they were

241When you yourself did part them.

242More of this matter cannot I report:

243But men are men; the best sometimes forget:

244Though Cassio did some little wrong to him,

245As men in rage strike those that wish them best,

246Yet surely Cassio, I believe, received

247From him that fled some strange indignity,

248Which patience could not pass.

249I know, Iago,

250Thy honesty and love doth mince this matter,

251Making it light to Cassio. Cassio, I love thee

252But never more be officer of mine.

253Look, if my gentle love be not raised up!

254I'll make thee an example.

255What's the matter?

256All's well now, sweeting; come away to bed.

257Sir, for your hurts, myself will be your surgeon:

258Lead him off.

259Iago, look with care about the town,

260And silence those whom this vile brawl distracted.

261Come, Desdemona: 'tis the soldiers' life

262To have their balmy slumbers waked with strife.

263What, are you hurt, lieutenant?

264Ay, past all surgery.

265Marry, heaven forbid!

266Reputation, reputation, reputation! O, I have lost

267my reputation! I have lost the immortal part of

268myself, and what remains is bestial. My reputation,

269Iago, my reputation!

270As I am an honest man, I thought you had received

271some bodily wound; there is more sense in that than

272in reputation. Reputation is an idle and most false

273imposition: oft got without merit, and lost without

274deserving: you have lost no reputation at all,

275unless you repute yourself such a loser. What, man!

276there are ways to recover the general again: you

277are but now cast in his mood, a punishment more in

278policy than in malice, even so as one would beat his

279offenceless dog to affright an imperious lion: sue

280to him again, and he's yours.

281I will rather sue to be despised than to deceive so

282good a commander with so slight, so drunken, and so

283indiscreet an officer. Drunk? and speak parrot?

284and squabble? swagger? swear? and discourse

285fustian with one's own shadow? O thou invisible

286spirit of wine, if thou hast no name to be known by,

287let us call thee devil!

288What was he that you followed with your sword? What

289had he done to you?

290I know not.

291Is't possible?

292I remember a mass of things, but nothing distinctly;

293a quarrel, but nothing wherefore. O God, that men

294should put an enemy in their mouths to steal away

295their brains! that we should, with joy, pleasance

296revel and applause, transform ourselves into beasts!

297Why, but you are now well enough: how came you thus

298recovered?

299It hath pleased the devil drunkenness to give place

300to the devil wrath; one unperfectness shows me

301another, to make me frankly despise myself.

302Come, you are too severe a moraler: as the time,

303the place, and the condition of this country

304stands, I could heartily wish this had not befallen;

305but, since it is as it is, mend it for your own good.

306I will ask him for my place again; he shall tell me

307I am a drunkard! Had I as many mouths as Hydra,

308such an answer would stop them all. To be now a

309sensible man, by and by a fool, and presently a

310beast! O strange! Every inordinate cup is

311unblessed and the ingredient is a devil.

312Come, come, good wine is a good familiar creature,

313if it be well used: exclaim no more against it.

314And, good lieutenant, I think you think I love you.

315I have well approved it, sir. I drunk!

316You or any man living may be drunk! at a time, man.

317I'll tell you what you shall do. Our general's wife

318is now the general: may say so in this respect, for

319that he hath devoted and given up himself to the

320contemplation, mark, and denotement of her parts and

321graces: confess yourself freely to her; importune

322her help to put you in your place again: she is of

323so free, so kind, so apt, so blessed a disposition,

324she holds it a vice in her goodness not to do more

325than she is requested: this broken joint between

326you and her husband entreat her to splinter; and, my

327fortunes against any lay worth naming, this

328crack of your love shall grow stronger than it was before.

329You advise me well.

330I protest, in the sincerity of love and honest kindness.

331I think it freely; and betimes in the morning I will

332beseech the virtuous Desdemona to undertake for me:

333I am desperate of my fortunes if they cheque me here.

334You are in the right. Good night, lieutenant; I

335must to the watch.

336CASSIO: Good night, honest Iago.

337And what's he then that says I play the villain?

338When this advice is free I give and honest,

339Probal to thinking and indeed the course

340To win the Moor again? For 'tis most easy

341The inclining Desdemona to subdue

342In any honest suit: she's framed as fruitful

343As the free elements. And then for her

344To win the Moor--were't to renounce his baptism,

345All seals and symbols of redeemed sin,

346His soul is so enfetter'd to her love,

347That she may make, unmake, do what she list,

348Even as her appetite shall play the god

349With his weak function. How am I then a villain

350To counsel Cassio to this parallel course,

351Directly to his good? Divinity of hell!

352When devils will the blackest sins put on,

353They do suggest at first with heavenly shows,

354As I do now: for whiles this honest fool

355Plies Desdemona to repair his fortunes

356And she for him pleads strongly to the Moor,

357I'll pour this pestilence into his ear,

358That she repeals him for her body's lust;

359And by how much she strives to do him good,

360She shall undo her credit with the Moor.

361So will I turn her virtue into pitch,

362And out of her own goodness make the net

363That shall enmesh them all.

364How now, Roderigo!

365I do follow here in the chase, not like a hound that

366hunts, but one that fills up the cry. My money is

367almost spent; I have been to-night exceedingly well

368cudgelled; and I think the issue will be, I shall

369have so much experience for my pains, and so, with

370no money at all and a little more wit, return again to Venice.

371How poor are they that have not patience!

372What wound did ever heal but by degrees?

373Thou know'st we work by wit, and not by witchcraft;

374And wit depends on dilatory time.

375Does't not go well? Cassio hath beaten thee.

376And thou, by that small hurt, hast cashier'd Cassio:

377Though other things grow fair against the sun,

378Yet fruits that blossom first will first be ripe:

379Content thyself awhile. By the mass, 'tis morning;

380Pleasure and action make the hours seem short.

381Retire thee; go where thou art billeted:

382Away, I say; thou shalt know more hereafter:

383Nay, get thee gone.

384Two things are to be done:

385My wife must move for Cassio to her mistress;

386I'll set her on;

387Myself the while to draw the Moor apart,

388And bring him jump when he may Cassio find

389Soliciting his wife: ay, that's the way

390Dull not device by coldness and delay.

1Masters, play here; I will content your pains;

2Something that's brief; and bid 'Good morrow, general.'

3Why masters, have your instruments been in Naples,

4that they speak i' the nose thus?

5How, sir, how!

6Are these, I pray you, wind-instruments?

7Ay, marry, are they, sir.

8O, thereby hangs a tail.

9Whereby hangs a tale, sir?

10Marry. sir, by many a wind-instrument that I know.

11But, masters, here's money for you: and the general

12so likes your music, that he desires you, for love's

13sake, to make no more noise with it.

14Well, sir, we will not.

15If you have any music that may not be heard, to't

16again: but, as they say to hear music the general

17does not greatly care.

18We have none such, sir.

19Then put up your pipes in your bag, for I'll away:

20go; vanish into air; away!

21Dost thou hear, my honest friend?

22No, I hear not your honest friend; I hear you.

23Prithee, keep up thy quillets. There's a poor piece

24of gold for thee: if the gentlewoman that attends

25the general's wife be stirring, tell her there's

26one Cassio entreats her a little favour of speech:

27wilt thou do this?

28She is stirring, sir: if she will stir hither, I

29shall seem to notify unto her.

30Do, good my friend.

31In happy time, Iago.

32You have not been a-bed, then?

33Why, no; the day had broke

34Before we parted. I have made bold, Iago,

35To send in to your wife: my suit to her

36Is, that she will to virtuous Desdemona

37Procure me some access.

38I'll send her to you presently;

39And I'll devise a mean to draw the Moor

40Out of the way, that your converse and business

41May be more free.

42I humbly thank you for't.

43I never knew

44A Florentine more kind and honest.

45Good morrow, good Lieutenant: I am sorry

46For your displeasure; but all will sure be well.

47The general and his wife are talking of it;

48And she speaks for you stoutly: the Moor replies,

49That he you hurt is of great fame in Cyprus,

50And great affinity, and that in wholesome wisdom

51He might not but refuse you; but he protests he loves you

52And needs no other suitor but his likings

53To take the safest occasion by the front

54To bring you in again.

55Yet, I beseech you,

56If you think fit, or that it may be done,

57Give me advantage of some brief discourse

58With Desdemona alone.

59Pray you, come in;

60I will bestow you where you shall have time

61To speak your bosom freely.

62I am much bound to you.

1These letters give, Iago, to the pilot;

2And by him do my duties to the senate:

3That done, I will be walking on the works;

4Repair there to me.

5Well, my good lord, I'll do't.

6This fortification, gentlemen, shall we see't?

7We'll wait upon your lordship.

1Be thou assured, good Cassio, I will do

2All my abilities in thy behalf.

3Good madam, do: I warrant it grieves my husband,

4As if the case were his.

5O, that's an honest fellow. Do not doubt, Cassio,

6But I will have my lord and you again

7As friendly as you were.

8Bounteous madam,

9Whatever shall become of Michael Cassio,

10He's never any thing but your true servant.

11I know't; I thank you. You do love my lord:

12You have known him long; and be you well assured

13He shall in strangeness stand no further off

14Than in a polite distance.

15Ay, but, lady,

16That policy may either last so long,

17Or feed upon such nice and waterish diet,

18Or breed itself so out of circumstance,

19That, I being absent and my place supplied,

20My general will forget my love and service.

21Do not doubt that; before Emilia here

22I give thee warrant of thy place: assure thee,

23If I do vow a friendship, I'll perform it

24To the last article: my lord shall never rest;

25I'll watch him tame and talk him out of patience;

26His bed shall seem a school, his board a shrift;

27I'll intermingle every thing he does

28With Cassio's suit: therefore be merry, Cassio;

29For thy solicitor shall rather die

30Than give thy cause away.

31Madam, here comes my lord.

32Madam, I'll take my leave.

33Why, stay, and hear me speak.

34Madam, not now: I am very ill at ease,

35Unfit for mine own purposes.

36Well, do your discretion.

37Ha! I like not that.

38What dost thou say?

39Nothing, my lord: or if--I know not what.

40Was not that Cassio parted from my wife?

41Cassio, my lord! No, sure, I cannot think it,

42That he would steal away so guilty-like,

43Seeing you coming.

44I do believe 'twas he.

45How now, my lord!

46I have been talking with a suitor here,

47A man that languishes in your displeasure.

48Who is't you mean?

49Why, your lieutenant, Cassio. Good my lord,

50If I have any grace or power to move you,

51His present reconciliation take;

52For if he be not one that truly loves you,

53That errs in ignorance and not in cunning,

54I have no judgment in an honest face:

55I prithee, call him back.

56Went he hence now?

57Ay, sooth; so humbled

58That he hath left part of his grief with me,

59To suffer with him. Good love, call him back.

60Not now, sweet Desdemona; some other time.

61But shall't be shortly?

62The sooner, sweet, for you.

63Shall't be to-night at supper?

64No, not to-night.

65To-morrow dinner, then?

66I shall not dine at home;

67I meet the captains at the citadel.

68Why, then, to-morrow night; or Tuesday morn;

69On Tuesday noon, or night; on Wednesday morn:

70I prithee, name the time, but let it not

71Exceed three days: in faith, he's penitent;

72And yet his trespass, in our common reason--

73Save that, they say, the wars must make examples

74Out of their best--is not almost a fault

75To incur a private cheque. When shall he come?

76Tell me, Othello: I wonder in my soul,

77What you would ask me, that I should deny,

78Or stand so mammering on. What! Michael Cassio,

79That came a-wooing with you, and so many a time,

80When I have spoke of you dispraisingly,

81Hath ta'en your part; to have so much to do

82To bring him in! Trust me, I could do much,--

83Prithee, no more: let him come when he will;

84I will deny thee nothing.

85Why, this is not a boon;

86'Tis as I should entreat you wear your gloves,

87Or feed on nourishing dishes, or keep you warm,

88Or sue to you to do a peculiar profit

89To your own person: nay, when I have a suit

90Wherein I mean to touch your love indeed,

91It shall be full of poise and difficult weight

92And fearful to be granted.

93I will deny thee nothing:

94Whereon, I do beseech thee, grant me this,

95To leave me but a little to myself.

96Shall I deny you? no: farewell, my lord.

97Farewell, my Desdemona: I'll come to thee straight.

98Emilia, come. Be as your fancies teach you;

99Whate'er you be, I am obedient.

100Excellent wretch! Perdition catch my soul,

101But I do love thee! and when I love thee not,

102Chaos is come again.

103My noble lord--

104What dost thou say, Iago?

105Did Michael Cassio, when you woo'd my lady,

106Know of your love?

107He did, from first to last: why dost thou ask?

108But for a satisfaction of my thought;

109No further harm.

110Why of thy thought, Iago?

111I did not think he had been acquainted with her.

112O, yes; and went between us very oft.

113Indeed!

114Indeed! ay, indeed: discern'st thou aught in that?

115Is he not honest?

116Honest, my lord!

117Honest! ay, honest.

118My lord, for aught I know.

119What dost thou think?

120Think, my lord!

121Think, my lord!

122By heaven, he echoes me,

123As if there were some monster in his thought

124Too hideous to be shown. Thou dost mean something:

125I heard thee say even now, thou likedst not that,

126When Cassio left my wife: what didst not like?

127And when I told thee he was of my counsel

128In my whole course of wooing, thou criedst 'Indeed!'

129And didst contract and purse thy brow together,

130As if thou then hadst shut up in thy brain

131Some horrible conceit: if thou dost love me,

132Show me thy thought.

133My lord, you know I love you.

134I think thou dost;

135And, for I know thou'rt full of love and honesty,

136And weigh'st thy words before thou givest them breath,

137Therefore these stops of thine fright me the more:

138For such things in a false disloyal knave

139Are tricks of custom, but in a man that's just

140They are close delations, working from the heart

141That passion cannot rule.

142For Michael Cassio,

143I dare be sworn I think that he is honest.

144I think so too.

145Men should be what they seem;

146Or those that be not, would they might seem none!

147Certain, men should be what they seem.

148Why, then, I think Cassio's an honest man.

149Nay, yet there's more in this:

150I prithee, speak to me as to thy thinkings,

151As thou dost ruminate, and give thy worst of thoughts

152The worst of words.

153Good my lord, pardon me:

154Though I am bound to every act of duty,

155I am not bound to that all slaves are free to.

156Utter my thoughts? Why, say they are vile and false;

157As where's that palace whereinto foul things

158Sometimes intrude not? who has a breast so pure,

159But some uncleanly apprehensions

160Keep leets and law-days and in session sit

161With meditations lawful?

162Thou dost conspire against thy friend, Iago,

163If thou but think'st him wrong'd and makest his ear

164A stranger to thy thoughts.

165I do beseech you--

166Though I perchance am vicious in my guess,

167As, I confess, it is my nature's plague

168To spy into abuses, and oft my jealousy

169Shapes faults that are not--that your wisdom yet,

170From one that so imperfectly conceits,

171Would take no notice, nor build yourself a trouble

172Out of his scattering and unsure observance.

173It were not for your quiet nor your good,

174Nor for my manhood, honesty, or wisdom,

175To let you know my thoughts.

176What dost thou mean?

177Good name in man and woman, dear my lord,

178Is the immediate jewel of their souls:

179Who steals my purse steals trash; 'tis something, nothing;

180'Twas mine, 'tis his, and has been slave to thousands:

181But he that filches from me my good name

182Robs me of that which not enriches him

183And makes me poor indeed.

184By heaven, I'll know thy thoughts.

185You cannot, if my heart were in your hand;

186Nor shall not, whilst 'tis in my custody.

187Ha!

188O, beware, my lord, of jealousy;

189It is the green-eyed monster which doth mock

190The meat it feeds on; that cuckold lives in bliss

191Who, certain of his fate, loves not his wronger;

192But, O, what damned minutes tells he o'er

193Who dotes, yet doubts, suspects, yet strongly loves!

194O misery!

195Poor and content is rich and rich enough,

196But riches fineless is as poor as winter

197To him that ever fears he shall be poor.

198Good heaven, the souls of all my tribe defend

199From jealousy!

200Why, why is this?

201Think'st thou I'ld make a lie of jealousy,

202To follow still the changes of the moon

203With fresh suspicions? No; to be once in doubt

204Is once to be resolved: exchange me for a goat,

205When I shall turn the business of my soul

206To such exsufflicate and blown surmises,

207Matching thy inference. 'Tis not to make me jealous

208To say my wife is fair, feeds well, loves company,

209Is free of speech, sings, plays and dances well;

210Where virtue is, these are more virtuous:

211Nor from mine own weak merits will I draw

212The smallest fear or doubt of her revolt;

213For she had eyes, and chose me. No, Iago;

214I'll see before I doubt; when I doubt, prove;

215And on the proof, there is no more but this,--

216Away at once with love or jealousy!

217I am glad of it; for now I shall have reason

218To show the love and duty that I bear you

219With franker spirit: therefore, as I am bound,

220Receive it from me. I speak not yet of proof.

221Look to your wife; observe her well with Cassio;

222Wear your eye thus, not jealous nor secure:

223I would not have your free and noble nature,

224Out of self-bounty, be abused; look to't:

225I know our country disposition well;

226In Venice they do let heaven see the pranks

227They dare not show their husbands; their best conscience

228Is not to leave't undone, but keep't unknown.

229Dost thou say so?

230She did deceive her father, marrying you;

231And when she seem'd to shake and fear your looks,

232She loved them most.

233And so she did.

234Why, go to then;

235She that, so young, could give out such a seeming,

236To seal her father's eyes up close as oak-

237He thought 'twas witchcraft--but I am much to blame;

238I humbly do beseech you of your pardon

239For too much loving you.

240I am bound to thee for ever.

241I see this hath a little dash'd your spirits.

242Not a jot, not a jot.

243I' faith, I fear it has.

244I hope you will consider what is spoke

245Comes from my love. But I do see you're moved:

246I am to pray you not to strain my speech

247To grosser issues nor to larger reach

248Than to suspicion.

249I will not.

250Should you do so, my lord,

251My speech should fall into such vile success

252As my thoughts aim not at. Cassio's my worthy friend--

253My lord, I see you're moved.

254No, not much moved:

255I do not think but Desdemona's honest.

256Long live she so! and long live you to think so!

257And yet, how nature erring from itself,--

258Ay, there's the point: as--to be bold with you--

259Not to affect many proposed matches

260Of her own clime, complexion, and degree,

261Whereto we see in all things nature tends--

262Foh! one may smell in such a will most rank,

263Foul disproportion thoughts unnatural.

264But pardon me; I do not in position

265Distinctly speak of her; though I may fear

266Her will, recoiling to her better judgment,

267May fall to match you with her country forms

268And happily repent.

269Farewell, farewell:

270If more thou dost perceive, let me know more;

271Set on thy wife to observe: leave me, Iago:

272[Going] My lord, I take my leave.

273Why did I marry? This honest creature doubtless

274Sees and knows more, much more, than he unfolds.

275[Returning] My lord, I would I might entreat

276your honour

277To scan this thing no further; leave it to time:

278Though it be fit that Cassio have his place,

279For sure, he fills it up with great ability,

280Yet, if you please to hold him off awhile,

281You shall by that perceive him and his means:

282Note, if your lady strain his entertainment

283With any strong or vehement importunity;

284Much will be seen in that. In the mean time,

285Let me be thought too busy in my fears--

286As worthy cause I have to fear I am--

287And hold her free, I do beseech your honour.

288Fear not my government.

289I once more take my leave.

290This fellow's of exceeding honesty,

291And knows all qualities, with a learned spirit,

292Of human dealings. If I do prove her haggard,

293Though that her jesses were my dear heartstrings,

294I'ld whistle her off and let her down the wind,

295To pray at fortune. Haply, for I am black

296And have not those soft parts of conversation

297That chamberers have, or for I am declined

298Into the vale of years,--yet that's not much--

299She's gone. I am abused; and my relief

300Must be to loathe her. O curse of marriage,

301That we can call these delicate creatures ours,

302And not their appetites! I had rather be a toad,

303And live upon the vapour of a dungeon,

304Than keep a corner in the thing I love

305For others' uses. Yet, 'tis the plague of great ones;

306Prerogatived are they less than the base;

307'Tis destiny unshunnable, like death:

308Even then this forked plague is fated to us

309When we do quicken. Desdemona comes:

310If she be false, O, then heaven mocks itself!

311I'll not believe't.

312How now, my dear Othello!

313Your dinner, and the generous islanders

314By you invited, do attend your presence.

315I am to blame.

316Why do you speak so faintly?

317Are you not well?

318I have a pain upon my forehead here.

319'Faith, that's with watching; 'twill away again:

320Let me but bind it hard, within this hour

321It will be well.

322Your napkin is too little:

323Let it alone. Come, I'll go in with you.

324I am very sorry that you are not well.

325I am glad I have found this napkin:

326This was her first remembrance from the Moor:

327My wayward husband hath a hundred times

328Woo'd me to steal it; but she so loves the token,

329For he conjured her she should ever keep it,

330That she reserves it evermore about her

331To kiss and talk to. I'll have the work ta'en out,

332And give't Iago: what he will do with it

333Heaven knows, not I;

334I nothing but to please his fantasy.

335How now! what do you here alone?

336Do not you chide; I have a thing for you.

337A thing for me? it is a common thing--

338Ha!

339To have a foolish wife.

340O, is that all? What will you give me now

341For the same handkerchief?

342What handkerchief?

343What handkerchief?

344Why, that the Moor first gave to Desdemona;

345That which so often you did bid me steal.

346Hast stol'n it from her?

347No, 'faith; she let it drop by negligence.

348And, to the advantage, I, being here, took't up.

349Look, here it is.

350A good wench; give it me.

351What will you do with 't, that you have been

352so earnest

353To have me filch it?

354[Snatching it] Why, what's that to you?

355If it be not for some purpose of import,

356Give't me again: poor lady, she'll run mad

357When she shall lack it.

358Be not acknown on 't; I have use for it.

359Go, leave me.

360I will in Cassio's lodging lose this napkin,

361And let him find it. Trifles light as air

362Are to the jealous confirmations strong

363As proofs of holy writ: this may do something.

364The Moor already changes with my poison:

365Dangerous conceits are, in their natures, poisons.

366Which at the first are scarce found to distaste,

367But with a little act upon the blood.

368Burn like the mines of Sulphur. I did say so:

369Look, where he comes!

370Not poppy, nor mandragora,

371Nor all the drowsy syrups of the world,

372Shall ever medicine thee to that sweet sleep

373Which thou owedst yesterday.

374Ha! ha! false to me?

375Why, how now, general! no more of that.

376Avaunt! be gone! thou hast set me on the rack:

377I swear 'tis better to be much abused

378Than but to know't a little.

379How now, my lord!

380What sense had I of her stol'n hours of lust?

381I saw't not, thought it not, it harm'd not me:

382I slept the next night well, was free and merry;

383I found not Cassio's kisses on her lips:

384He that is robb'd, not wanting what is stol'n,

385Let him not know't, and he's not robb'd at all.

386I am sorry to hear this.

387I had been happy, if the general camp,

388Pioners and all, had tasted her sweet body,

389So I had nothing known. O, now, for ever

390Farewell the tranquil mind! farewell content!

391Farewell the plumed troop, and the big wars,

392That make ambition virtue! O, farewell!

393Farewell the neighing steed, and the shrill trump,

394The spirit-stirring drum, the ear-piercing fife,

395The royal banner, and all quality,

396Pride, pomp and circumstance of glorious war!

397And, O you mortal engines, whose rude throats

398The immortal Jove's dead clamours counterfeit,

399Farewell! Othello's occupation's gone!

400Is't possible, my lord?

401Villain, be sure thou prove my love a whore,

402Be sure of it; give me the ocular proof:

403Or by the worth of man's eternal soul,

404Thou hadst been better have been born a dog

405Than answer my waked wrath!

406Is't come to this?

407Make me to see't; or, at the least, so prove it,

408That the probation bear no hinge nor loop

409To hang a doubt on; or woe upon thy life!

410My noble lord,--

411If thou dost slander her and torture me,

412Never pray more; abandon all remorse;

413On horror's head horrors accumulate;

414Do deeds to make heaven weep, all earth amazed;

415For nothing canst thou to damnation add

416Greater than that.

417O grace! O heaven forgive me!

418Are you a man? have you a soul or sense?

419God be wi' you; take mine office. O wretched fool.

420That livest to make thine honesty a vice!

421O monstrous world! Take note, take note, O world,

422To be direct and honest is not safe.

423I thank you for this profit; and from hence

424I'll love no friend, sith love breeds such offence.

425Nay, stay: thou shouldst be honest.

426I should be wise, for honesty's a fool

427And loses that it works for.

428By the world,

429I think my wife be honest and think she is not;

430I think that thou art just and think thou art not.

431I'll have some proof. Her name, that was as fresh

432As Dian's visage, is now begrimed and black

433As mine own face. If there be cords, or knives,

434Poison, or fire, or suffocating streams,

435I'll not endure it. Would I were satisfied!

436I see, sir, you are eaten up with passion:

437I do repent me that I put it to you.

438You would be satisfied?

439Would! nay, I will.

440And may: but, how? how satisfied, my lord?

441Would you, the supervisor, grossly gape on--

442Behold her topp'd?

443Death and damnation! O!

444It were a tedious difficulty, I think,

445To bring them to that prospect: damn them then,

446If ever mortal eyes do see them bolster

447More than their own! What then? how then?

448What shall I say? Where's satisfaction?

449It is impossible you should see this,

450Were they as prime as goats, as hot as monkeys,

451As salt as wolves in pride, and fools as gross

452As ignorance made drunk. But yet, I say,

453If imputation and strong circumstances,

454Which lead directly to the door of truth,

455Will give you satisfaction, you may have't.

456Give me a living reason she's disloyal.

457I do not like the office:

458But, sith I am enter'd in this cause so far,

459Prick'd to't by foolish honesty and love,

460I will go on. I lay with Cassio lately;

461And, being troubled with a raging tooth,

462I could not sleep.

463There are a kind of men so loose of soul,

464That in their sleeps will mutter their affairs:

465One of this kind is Cassio:

466In sleep I heard him say 'Sweet Desdemona,

467Let us be wary, let us hide our loves;'

468And then, sir, would he gripe and wring my hand,

469Cry 'O sweet creature!' and then kiss me hard,

470As if he pluck'd up kisses by the roots

471That grew upon my lips: then laid his leg

472Over my thigh, and sigh'd, and kiss'd; and then

473Cried 'Cursed fate that gave thee to the Moor!'

474O monstrous! monstrous!

475Nay, this was but his dream.

476But this denoted a foregone conclusion:

477'Tis a shrewd doubt, though it be but a dream.

478And this may help to thicken other proofs

479That do demonstrate thinly.

480I'll tear her all to pieces.

481Nay, but be wise: yet we see nothing done;

482She may be honest yet. Tell me but this,

483Have you not sometimes seen a handkerchief

484Spotted with strawberries in your wife's hand?

485I gave her such a one; 'twas my first gift.

486I know not that; but such a handkerchief--

487I am sure it was your wife's--did I to-day

488See Cassio wipe his beard with.

489If it be that--

490If it be that, or any that was hers,

491It speaks against her with the other proofs.

492O, that the slave had forty thousand lives!

493One is too poor, too weak for my revenge.

494Now do I see 'tis true. Look here, Iago;

495All my fond love thus do I blow to heaven.

496'Tis gone.

497Arise, black vengeance, from thy hollow cell!

498Yield up, O love, thy crown and hearted throne

499To tyrannous hate! Swell, bosom, with thy fraught,

500For 'tis of aspics' tongues!

501Yet be content.

502O, blood, blood, blood!

503Patience, I say; your mind perhaps may change.

504Never, Iago: Like to the Pontic sea,

505Whose icy current and compulsive course

506Ne'er feels retiring ebb, but keeps due on