OTHELLO,

THE MOOR OF VENICE.

ACT I.

SCENE I.

Venice. A street.

Enter RODERIGO and IAGO.

Ro. Tush, never tell me; I take it much un

kindly,

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. Ro. 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,
Oft capp'd1 to him; and, by the faith of man,

1 To cap means to salute by taking off the cap.

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,1
Horribly stuff'd with epithets of war;
And, in conclusion, nonsuits

2

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; 3
That never set a squadron in the fieid,
Nor the division of a battle knows

More than a spinster; unless the bookish theorick,
Wherein the toged consuls can propose

4

As masterly as he mere prattle, without practice,
Is all his soldiership. But, he, sir, had the election :
And I,-of whom his eyes had seen the proof
At Rhodes, at Cyprus; and on other grounds.
Christian and heathen,-must be be-lee'd and
calm'd

By debitor and creditor, this counter-caster: 5
He, in good time, must his lieutenant be,

And I, (God bless the mark!) his Moorship's ancient.

1 Circumlocution.

2 Certainly.

i.e. not yet completely damned, because not yet absolutely married to Bianca.'-Steevens.

4 The senators habited in their gowns.

It was anciently the practice to reckon up sums with

counters.

Ro. By heaven, I rather would have been his

hangman.

Iago. But there's no remedy; 'tis the curse of service :

Preferment goes by letter1 and affection,

Not by the 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.

Ro.

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 naught 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;

Recommendation from powerful friends.

2 Bound by ties of affinity.

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 doves to peck at: I am not what I am.
Ro. What a full fortune does the thick-lips owe,1
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 color.

Ro. 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.

Ro. What ho! Brabantio! signior Brabantio, ho!

1 Possess.

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

Look to your house, your daughter, and your bags! Thieves! thieves !

BRABANTIO, above, at a window.

Bra. What is the reason of this terrible summons? What is the matter there?

Ro. Signior, is all your family within?

Iago. Are your doors lock'd?

Bra.

Why? wherefore ask you

this?

Iago. Zounds, sir, you are robb'd: for shame;

put on your gown;

Your heart is burst; you have lost half

your

soul;

Even now, now, very now, an old black ram
Is tupping your white ewe. Arise, arise;
Awake the snorting citizens with the bell,
Or else the devil will make a grandsire of you:
Arise, I say.

Bra. What, have you lost your wits?
Ro. Most reverend signior, do you know my

voice?

Bra. Not I: what are you?

{ Ro. My name is Roderigo.

Bra.

The worse 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