All
Hector! the gods forbid!
Troilus
He’s dead; and at the murderer’s horse’s tail,
In beastly sort, dragg’d through the shameful field.
Frown on, you heavens, effect your rage with speed!
Sit, gods, upon your thrones, and smile at Troy!
I say, at once let your brief plagues be mercy,
And linger not our sure destructions on!
Aeneas
My lord, you do discomfort all the host!
Troilus
You understand me not that tell me so:
I do not speak of flight, of fear, of death,
But dare all imminence that gods and men
Address their dangers in. Hector is gone:
Who shall tell Priam so, or Hecuba?
Let him that will a screech-owl aye be call’d,
Go in to Troy, and say there, Hector’s dead:
There is a word will Priam turn to stone;
Make wells and Niobes of the maids and wives,
Cold statues of the youth, and, in a word,
Scare Troy out of itself. But, march away:
Hector is dead; there is no more to say.
Stay yet. You vile abominable tents,
Thus proudly pight upon our Phrygian plains,
Let Titan rise as early as he dare,
I’ll through and through you! and, thou great-sized coward,
No space of earth shall sunder our two hates:
I’ll haunt thee like a wicked conscience still,
That mouldeth goblins swift as frenzy’s thoughts.
Strike a free march to Troy! with comfort go:
Hope of revenge shall hide our inward woe.
Exeunt Aeneas and Trojans
As Troilus is going out, enter, from the other side, Pandarus
Pandarus
But hear you, hear you!
Troilus
Hence, broker-lackey! ignomy and shame
Pursue thy life, and live aye with thy name!
Exit
Pandarus
A goodly medicine for my aching bones! O world! world! world! thus is the poor agent despised! O traitors and bawds, how earnestly are you set a-work, and how ill requited! why should our endeavour be so loved and the performance so loathed? what verse for it? what instance for it? Let me see:
Full merrily the humble-bee doth sing,
Till he hath lost his honey and his sting;
And being once subdued in armed tail,
Sweet honey and sweet notes together fail.
Good traders in the flesh, set this in your painted cloths.
As many as be here of pander’s hall,
Your eyes, half out, weep out at Pandar’s fall;
Or if you cannot weep, yet give some groans,
Though not for me, yet for your aching bones.
Brethren and sisters of the hold-door trade,
Some two months hence my will shall here be made:
It should be now, but that my fear is this,
Some galled goose of Winchester would hiss:
Till then I’ll sweat and seek about for eases,
And at that time bequeathe you my diseases.
Exit
Othello, the Moor of Venice
TABLE OF CONTENTS
CHARACTERS OF THE PLAY
ACT I
SCENE I. VENICE. A STREET.
SCENE II. ANOTHER STREET.
SCENE III. A COUNCIL-CHAMBER.
ACT II
SCENE I. A SEA-PORT IN CYPRUS. AN OPEN PLACE NEAR THE QUAY.
SCENE II. A STREET.
SCENE III. A HALL IN THE CASTLE.
ACT III
SCENE I. BEFORE THE CASTLE.
SCENE II. A ROOM IN THE CASTLE.
SCENE III. THE GARDEN OF THE CASTLE.
SCENE IV. BEFORE THE CASTLE.
ACT IV
SCENE I. CYPRUS. BEFORE THE CASTLE.
SCENE II. A ROOM IN THE CASTLE.
SCENE III. ANOTHER ROOM IN THE CASTLE.
ACT V
SCENE I. CYPRUS. A STREET.
SCENE II. A BEDCHAMBER IN THE CASTLE: DESDEMONA IN BED ASLEEP;
CHARACTERS OF THE PLAY
Othello, the Moor, general of the Venetian forces.
Desdemona, his wife.
Iago, ensign to Othello.
Emilia, his wife, lady-in-waiting to Desdemona.
Cassio, lieutenant to Othello.
The Duke Of Venice.
Brabantio, Venetian Senator, father of Desdemona.
Gratiano, nobleman of Venice, brother of Brabantio.
Lodovico, nobleman of Venice, kinsman of Brabantio.
Roderigo, rejected suitor of Desdemona.
Bianca, mistress of Cassio.
Montano, a Cypriot official.
A Clown in service to Othello.
Senators, Sailors, Messengers, Officers, Gentlemen, Musicians, and Attendants.
Scene: Venice and Cyprus.
ACT I
SCENE I. VENICE. A STREET.
Enter Roderigo and Iago
Roderigo
Tush! never tell me; I take it much unkindly
That thou, Iago, who hast had my purse
As if the strings were thine, shouldst know of this.
Iago
’Sblood, but you will not hear me:
If ever I did dream of such a matter, Abhor me.
Roderigo
Thou told’st me thou didst hold him in thy hate.
Iago
Despise me, if I do not. Three great ones of the city,
In personal suit to make me his lieutenant,
Off-capp’d to him: and, by the faith of man,
I know my price, I am worth no worse a place:
But he; as loving his own pride and purposes,
Evades them, with a 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 practise,
Is all his soldiership. But he, sir, had the election:
And I, of whom his eyes had seen the proof
At Rhodes, at Cyprus and on other grounds
Christian and heathen, must be be-lee’d and calm’d
By debitor and creditor: this counter-caster,
He, in good time, must his lieutenant be,
And I— God bless the mark!— his Moorship’s ancient.
Roderigo
By heaven, I rather would have been his hangman.
Iago
Why, there’s no remedy; ’tis the curse of service,
Preferment goes by letter and affection,
And not by old gradation, where each second
Stood heir to the first. Now, sir, be judge yourself,
Whether I in any just term am affined
To love the Moor.
Roderigo
I would not follow him then.
Iago
O, sir, content you;
I follow him to serve my turn upon him:
We cannot all be masters, nor all masters
Cannot be truly follow’d. You shall mark
Many a duteous and knee-crooking knave,
That, doting on his own obsequious bondage,
Wears out his time, much like his master’s ass,
For nought but provender, and when he’s old, cashier’d:
Whip me such honest knaves. Others there are
Who, trimm’
d in forms and visages of duty,
Keep yet their hearts attending on themselves,
And, throwing but shows of service on their lords,
Do well thrive by them and when they have lined their coats
Do themselves homage: these fellows have some soul;
And such a one do I profess myself. For, sir,
It is as sure as you are Roderigo,
Were I the Moor, I would not be Iago:
In following him, I follow but myself;
Heaven is my judge, not I for love and duty,
But seeming so, for my peculiar end:
For when my outward action doth demonstrate
The native act and figure of my heart
In compliment extern, ’tis not long after
But I will wear my heart upon my sleeve
For daws to peck at: I am not what I am.
Roderigo
What a full fortune does the thicklips owe
If he can carry’t thus!
Iago
Call up her father,
Rouse him: make after him, poison his delight,
Proclaim him in the streets; incense her kinsmen,
And, though he in a fertile climate dwell,
Plague him with flies: though that his joy be joy,
Yet throw such changes of vexation on’t,
As it may lose some colour.
Roderigo
Here is her father’s house; I’ll call aloud.
Iago
Do, with like timorous accent and dire yell
As when, by night and negligence, the fire
Is spied in populous cities.
Roderigo
What, ho, Brabantio! Signior Brabantio, ho!
Iago
Awake! what, ho, Brabantio! thieves! thieves! thieves!
Look to your house, your daughter and your bags!
Thieves! thieves!
Brabantio appears above, at a window
Brabantio
What is the reason of this terrible summons?
What is the matter there?
Roderigo
Signior, is all your family within?
Iago
Are your doors lock’d?
Brabantio
Why, wherefore ask you this?
Iago
’Zounds, sir, you’re robb’d; for shame, put on your gown;
Your heart is burst, you have lost half your soul;
Even now, now, very now, an old black ram
Is topping your white ewe. Arise, arise;
Awake the snorting citizens with the bell,
Or else the devil will make a grandsire of you:
Arise, I say.
Brabantio
What, have you lost your wits?
Roderigo
Most reverend signior, do you know my voice?
Brabantio
Not I what are you?
Roderigo
My name is Roderigo.
Brabantio
The worser welcome:
I have charged thee not to haunt about my doors:
In honest plainness thou hast heard me say
My daughter is not for thee; and now, in madness,
Being full of supper and distempering draughts,
Upon malicious bravery, dost thou come
To start my quiet.
Roderigo
Sir, sir, sir,—
Brabantio
But thou must needs be sure
My spirit and my place have in them power
To make this bitter to thee.
Roderigo
Patience, good sir.
Brabantio
What tell’st thou me of robbing? this is Venice;
My house is not a grange.
Roderigo
Most grave Brabantio,
In simple and pure soul I come to you.
Iago
’Zounds, sir, you are one of those that will not serve God, if the devil bid you. Because we come to do you service and you think we are ruffians, you’ll have your daughter covered with a Barbary horse; you’ll have your nephews neigh to you; you’ll have coursers for cousins and gennets for germans.
Brabantio
What profane wretch art thou?
Iago
I am one, sir, that comes to tell you your daughter and the Moor are now making the beast with two backs.
Brabantio
Thou art a villain.
Iago
You are — a senator.
Brabantio
This thou shalt answer; I know thee, Roderigo.
Roderigo
Sir, I will answer any thing. But, I beseech you,
If’t be your pleasure and most wise consent,
As partly I find it is, that your fair daughter,
At this odd-even and dull watch o’ the night,
Transported, with no worse nor better guard
But with a knave of common hire, a gondolier,
To the gross clasps of a lascivious Moor —
If this be known to you and your allowance,
We then have done you bold and saucy wrongs;
But if you know not this, my manners tell me
We have your wrong rebuke. Do not believe
That, from the sense of all civility,
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 every where. Straight satisfy yourself:
If she be in her chamber or your house,
Let loose on me the justice of the state
For thus deluding you.
Brabantio
Strike on the tinder, ho!
Give me a taper! call up all my people!
This accident is not unlike my dream:
Belief of it oppresses me already.
Light, I say! light!
Exit above
Iago
Farewell; for I must leave you:
It seems not meet, nor wholesome to my place,
To be produced — as, if I stay, I shall —
Against the Moor: for, I do know, the state,
However this may gall him with some cheque,
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, below, Brabantio, and Servants with torches
Brabantio
It is too true an evil: gone she is;
And what’s to come of my despised time
Is nought but bitterness. Now, Roderigo,
Where didst thou see her? O unhappy girl!
With the Moor, say’st thou? Who would be a father!
How didst thou know ’twas she? O she deceives me
Past thought! What said she to you? Get more tapers:
Raise all my kindred. Are they married, think you?
Roderigo
Truly, I think they are.
Brabantio
O heaven! How got she out? O treason of the blood!
Fathers, from hence trust not your daughters’ minds
By what you see them act. Is there not charms
By which the property of youth and maidhood
May be abused? Have you not read, Roderigo,
Of some such thing?
Roderigo
Ye
s, sir, I have indeed.
Brabantio
Call up my brother. O, would you had had her!
Some one way, some another. Do you know
Where we may apprehend her and the Moor?
Roderigo
I think I can discover him, if you please,
To get good guard and go along with me.
Brabantio
Pray you, lead on. At every house I’ll call;
I may command at most. Get weapons, ho!
And raise some special officers of night.
On, good Roderigo: I’ll deserve your pains.
Exeunt
SCENE II. ANOTHER STREET.
Enter Othello, Iago, and Attendants with torches
Iago
Though in the trade of war I have slain men,
Yet do I hold it very stuff o’ the conscience
To do no contrived 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.
Iago
Nay, but he prated,
And spoke such scurvy and provoking terms
Against your honour
That, with the little godliness I have,
I did full hard forbear him. But, I pray you, sir,
Are you fast married? Be assured of this,
That the magnifico is much beloved,
And hath in his effect a voice potential
As double as the duke’s: he will divorce you;
Or put upon you what restraint and grievance
The law, with all his might to enforce it on,
Will give him cable.
Othello
Let him do his spite:
My services which I have done the signiory
Shall out-tongue his complaints. ’Tis yet to know,—
Which, when I know that boasting is an 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?
Iago
Those are the raised father and his friends:
You were best go in.
Othello
Not I I must be found:
My parts, my title and my perfect soul
Shall manifest me rightly. Is it they?
Iago
By Janus, I think no.
Enter Cassio, and certain Officers with torches
Othello
The servants of the duke, and my lieutenant.
The goodness of the night upon you, friends!
Complete Plays, The Page 87
