Rod.
Tush, never tell me^{2 note}, I take it much unkindly,
That thou, Iago,—who hast had my purse,
As if the strings were thine,—should'st know of this.

Iago.
'Sblood, but you will not hear me^{3 note}:—
If ever I did dream of such a matter, abhor me.

Rod.
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'd to him^{4 note}

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^{5 note}

That never set a squadron in the field,
Nor the division of a battle knows

More than a spinster; unless the bookish theorick^{1 note}

As masterly as he: mere prattle, without practice^{3 note}

,
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^{4 note}

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

Iago.
But there's no remedy, 'tis the curse of service;
Preferment goes by letter^{9 note}, and affection,
Not by the old gradation^{1 note}, where each second
Stood heir to the first. Now, sir, be judge yourself,
Whether I in any just term am affin'd^{2 note}

Rod.
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^{3 note}
;
Whip me such honest knaves^{4 note}: Others there are,
Who, trimm'd in forms and visages of duty,
Keep yet their hearts attending on themselves;
And, throwing but shows of service on their lords,
Do well thrive by them, and, when they have lin'd their coats,
Do themselves homage: these fellows have some soul;
And such a one do I profess myself.
For, sir^{5 note},
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^{6 note}

For daws to peck at^{7 note}

Rod.
What a full fortune does the thick-lips owe^{8 note}

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* ^note of vexation on't,
As it may lose some colour.

Rod.
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^{9 note}

Rod.
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, above, at a Window.

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

Rod.
Signior, is all your family within?

Iago.
Are your doors lock'd^{1 note}
?

Bra.
Why? wherefore ask you this?

Iago.
'Zounds, sir, you are robb'd; for shame, put on your gown;
Your heart is burst^{2 note}

Bra.
What, have you lost your wits?

Rod.
Most reverend signior, do you know my voice?

Bra.
Not I; What are you?

Rod.
My name is—Roderigo.

Bra.
The worse* ^note welcome:
I have charg'd thee, not to haunt about my doors:
In honest plainness thou hast heard me say,
My daughter is not for thee; and now, in madness,
Being full of supper, and distempering draughts^{4 note}

Upon malicious bravery, dost thou come
To start my quiet.

Rod.
Sir, sir, sir, sir,—

Bra.
But thou must needs be sure,
My spirit* ^note, and my place, have in them power
To make this bitter to thee.

Rod.
Patience, good sir.

Bra.
What tell'st thou me of robbing? this is Venice;
My house is not a grange^{5 note}

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

Iago.

'Zounds† ^note, sir, you are one of those, that will not serve God, if the devil bid you. Because we come to do you service, you think we are ruffians: You'll have your daughter covered with a Barbary horse; you'll have your nephews neigh to

you^{6 note}

Bra.

What profane wretch art thou^{8 note}

Iago.

I am one, sir, that comes* ^note to tell you, your daughter and the Moor are now making the beast with two backs^{9 note}

Bra.
Thou art a villain.

Iago.
You are—a senator.

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

Rod.
Sir, I will answer any thing. But I beseech you,
[If't be your pleasure^{1 note}, and most wise consent,
(As partly, I find, it is,) that your fair daughter,
At this odd-even and dull watch o'the night^{2 note}

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^{3 note}

I say again, hath made a gross revolt;
Tying her duty, beauty, wit, and fortunes,
In an extravagant^{5 note}

Bra.
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, from above.

Iago.
Farewell; for I must leave you:
It seems not meet, nor wholesome to my place,
To be produc'd^{8 note} (as, if I stay, I shall,)
Against the Moor: For, I do know, the state,—
However this may gall him with some check^{9 note},—

Cannot with safety cast him^{1 note}; for he's embark'd
With such loud reason to the Cyprus' wars,
(Which even now stand* ^note 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^{2 note} the raised search;
And there will I be with him. So, farewell. [Exit. Enter, below, Brabantio, and Servants with Torches.

Bra.
It is too true an evil: gone she is;
And what's to come of my despised time^{3 note}

With the Moor, say'st thou?—Who would be a father?—
How didst thou know 'twas she?—O, thou deceiv'st me
Past thought^{4 note}

Rod.
Truly, I think, they are.

Bra.
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^{5 note},
By which the property of youth and maidhood
May be abus'd^{6 note}

Rod.
Yes, sir; I have indeed* ^note.

Bra.
Call up my brother.—O, that† ^note you had had her!—
Some one way, some another.—Do you know

Where we may apprehend her and the Moor?

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

Bra.
Pray you, lead on^{7 note}. At every house I'll call;
I may command at most;—Get weapons, ho!
And raise some special officers of night^{8 note}

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