Rodorigo.
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.
But you'll not hear me.
If ever I did dream of such a matter, abhor me.

Rod.
Thou told'st me thou did'st 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-cap'd to him: and, by the faith of man,
I know my price, I'm worth no worse a place.
But he, as loving his own pride and purpose,
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 fellow
That never set a squadron in the field,
Nor the division of a battle knows,
More than a spinster.
He, in good time, must his lieutenant be,
And I, sir, (bless the mark!) his moorship's ancient.

Rod.
By Heav'n, I rather would have been his hangman.

Iago.
Now, sir, be judge yourself,
If I in any just term am assign'd
To love the Moor.

Rod.
I would not follow him, then.

Iago.
O, sir, content you;
I follow him, to serve my turn upon him.
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'm not what I seem.

Rod.
What a full fortune does the thick-lips owe,
If he can carry her thus!

Iago.
Call up her father,
Rouse him, make after him, poison his delight.
Tho' his joy be joy,
Yet throw such changes 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, a fire
Is 'spied in populous cities.

Rod.
What, hoa! Brabantio! signior Brabantio! hoa!

Iago.
Awake! What, hoa! Brabantio! hoa, thieves! thieves!
Look to your house, your daughter, and your bags.
Thieves, thieves.* ^note Brabantio appears above, at a Window.

Bra.
What is the matter, there?

Rod.
Signior, is all your family within?

Iago.
Are all your doors lock'd?

Bra.
Why? Wherefore ask you this?

Iago.
Sir, you're robb'd:
You have lost half your soul;
Ev'n now, ev'n very now, an old black ram† ^note
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!

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

Bra.
Not I. What are you?

Rod.
My name is Rodorigo.

Bra.
The worse welcome.
In honest plainness, thou hast heard me say,
My daughter's not for thee. And now in madness
Dost thou come, to start my quiet.

Rod.
Sir, sir, sir!—

Bra.
But thou must needs be sure,
My spirit and my place have in their 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.

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

Iago.

Sir, you'll have your daughter cover'd with a Barbary horse: you'll have your nephews neigh to you: you'll have coursers for cousins; and gennets for germans.* ^note

Bra.
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.

Bra.
Thou art—a villain.

Iago.
You are—a senator.

Bra.
This thou shalt answer. I know thee, Rodorigo.

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

Bra.† ^note
Give me a taper.—Call up my people.—

This accident is not unlike my dream;
Belief of it oppresses me, already.
Light; I say, light!

Iago.
Farewel; for I must leave you.
It seems not meet, nor wholesome to my place,
To be produc'd (as, if I stay, I shall)
Against the Moor.
In which regard,
Tho' I do hate him, as I do hell's pains,
Yet, for necessity of present life,
I must shew out a flag and sign of love,
(Which is, indeed, but sign.) That you may surely find him,
Lead to the Sagittary the raised search;
And there will I be with him. So farewel. [Exit. Enter Brabantio, and Servants, with Torches.

Bra.
It is too true an evil. Gone she is!
Now, Rodorigo,
Where didst thou see her? Oh! unhappy girl.
With the Moor, saidst thou?
How didst thou know 'twas he?
Get more tapers.
Raise all my kindred—Are they married, think you?

Rod.
Truly, they are.

Bra.
Oh Heaven! How gat she out?
Oh treason of my blood!
Fathers, from hence, trust not your daughter's minds,
By what you see them act. Are there not charms,
By which the property of youth and maid-hood
May be abus'd? Have you not read, Rodorigo,
Of some such thing?

Rod.
Yes, sir, I have, indeed.

Bra.
Call up my brother:
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. At ev'ry house I'll call,

I may command at most. Get weapons, hoa!
And raise some special officers of might.
On, good Rodorigo, I'll deserve your pains. [Exeunt. Scene SCENE changes to another Street before the Sagittary. Enter Othello, and Iago.

Iago.
Tho' in the trade of war I have slain men,
Yet do I hold it base and infamous,
To do a contriv'd murder.—Nine or ten times,
I thought to've jerk'd him here under the ribs.

Oth.
It's 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, sir,
Are you fast married? for be sure of this,
That the magnifico* ^note is much belov'd,
And hath in his effect a voice potential,
As double as the duke's. He will divorce you,
Or put upon you what restraint or grievance,
The law (with all its might t'enforce it on)
Will give him cable.

Oth.
Let him do his spight:
My services, which I have done the signory,
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, and bonnetted, 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 yonder?† ^note Enter Cassio, with Torches, and Attendants.

Iago.
These are the raised father, and his friends.
You were best go in.

Oth.
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.

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

Cas.
The duke does greet you, general;
And he requires your haste, post-haste appearance,
Ev'n on the instant.

Oth.
What is the matter, think you?

Cas.
Something from Cyprus, as I may divine.
You have been hotly call'd for,
When, being not at your lodgings to be found,
The senate sent above three several quests,
To search you out.

Oth.
'Tis well I am found by you:
I will but spend a word here in the house,
And go with you. [Exit Othello.

Cas.
Ancient, what makes he here?

Iago.
Faith, he to-night hath boarded a land carrack?* ^note
If she prove lawful prize, he's made for ever.

Cas.
I do not understand.

Iago.
He's married.

Cas.
To whom?

Iago.
Marry, to—Come, captain, will you go? Enter Othello.

Oth.
Have with you.

Cas.
Here comes another troop, to seek for you. Enter Brabantio, Rodorigo, with Officers and Torches.

Iago.
It is Brabantio. General, be advis'd.
He comes to bad intent.

Oth.
Holla! Stand there.

Rod.
Signior, it is the Moor.

Bra.
Down with him, thief. [They draw, on both sides.

Iago.
You, Rodorigo! Come sir, I am for you—

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

Bra.
O, thou foul thief! Where hast thou stow'd my daughter?
Damn'd as thou art, thou hast enchanted her;
For I'll refer me to all things of sense,
If she in chains of magic were not bound,
Whether a maid, so tender, fair, and happy,
So opposite to marriage, that she shunn'd
The wealthy culled darlings of our nation,
Would ever have, t'incur a general mock,
Run from her guardage to the sooty bosom,
Of such a thing as thou, to fear, not to delight?* ^note
I therefore apprehend, and do attach thee,
For an abuser of the world, a practiser
Of arts inhibited, and out of warrant.
Lay hold upon him; If he do resist,
Subdue him at his peril. [They fight.

Oth.
Hold your hands.
Both you of my inclining, and the rest.
Were it my cue to fight, I should have known it,
Without a prompter. Where will you I go,
To answer this your charge?* ^note

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

Oth.
What if I do obey?
How may the duke be therewith satisfied,
Whose messengers are here about my side,
Upon some present business of the state,
To bring me to him?

Cas.
True, most worthy signior,
The duke's in council, and your noble self,
I'm sure, is sent for.

Bra.
How! The duke in council,
In this time of the night? Bring him away;
Mine's not an idle cause. The duke himself,
Or any of my brothers of the state,
Cannot but feel this wrong, as 'twere their own.
For if such actions may have passage free,
Bond-slaves and pageants† ^note shall our statesmen be. [Exeunt. Scene SCENE changes to the Senate-house. Duke and Senators set at a Table, with Lights, and Attendants.

Duke.
There is no composition in these news,
That gives them credit.

1 Sen.
Indeed, they're disproportion'd.
My letters say, a hundred and seven gallies.

Duke.
And mine a hundred and forty.

2 Sen.
And mine, two hundred.
But tho' they jump not on a just account,
Yet do they all confirm
A Turkish fleet, and bearing up to Cyprus.

Duke.
Nay, it is possible enough to judgment. Enter Officer, and Messenger.

Off.
A messenger from the gallies.

Duke.
Now!—What's the business?

Mess.
The Turkish preparation makes for Rhodes,
So I was bid report here to the state.

Duke.
How say you, by this change?

1 Sen.
'Tis a pageant,
To keep us in false gaze.

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

Offi.
Here's more news. Enter another Messenger.

2 Mess.
The Ottomites, (reverend and gracious)
Steering with due course towards the isle of Rhodes,
Have there injoin'd them with an after fleet—

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

Mess.
Of thirty sail; and now they do re-stem
Their backward course, bearing, with frank appearance,
Their purposes towards Cyprus. Signior Montano,
Your trusty and most valiant servitor,
With his free duty, recommends you thus, [Gives a Packet.
And prays you to believe him.

Duke.
'Tis certain then for Cyprus. Marcus Luccius,
Is he not here in town?

Sen.
He's now in Florence.

Duke.
Write from us to him, post, post-haste, dispatch.

1 Sen.
Here comes Brabantio, and the valiant Moor.

To them enter Brabantio, Othello, Cassio, Iago, Rodorigo, and Officers.

Duke.
Valiant Othello, we must strait employ you
Against the general enemy Ottoman.
I did not see you. Welcome, gentle signior: [To Bra.
We lack'd your counsel and your help, to-night.

Bra.
So did I yours. Good your grace, pardon me.
Neither my place, nor ought I heard of business,
Hath rais'd me from my bed; nor doth the general
Take hold on me; for my particular grief
Is of so flood-gate and o'er-bearing nature,
That it ingluts and swallows other sorrows,
And yet is still itself.

Duke.
Why? what's the matter?

Bra.
My daughter! oh, my daughter!—

Sen.
Dead?

Bra.
To me.
She is abus'd, stolen from me, and corrupted
By spells and medicines bought of mountebanks;
For nature so preposterously to err,
Sans witchcraft, could not—

Duke.
Whoe'er he be, that in this foul proceeding,
Hath thus beguil'd your daughter of herself,
And you of her, the bloody book of law
You shall yourself read in the bitter letter,
And your own sense; yea, tho' our proper son
Stood in your action.

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

Duke.
We're very sorry for't.
What in your own part can you say to this? [To Othello.

Bra.
Nothing, but it is so.

Oth.
Most potent, grave, and reverend signiors,

My very noble and approv'd good masters;
That I have ta'en away this old man's daughter,
It is most true; true, I have married her;
The very head and front of my offending,
Hath this extent; no more. Rude am I in speech,* ^note
And little bless'd with the soft phrase of peace;
For since these arms of mine had seven years pith,
'Till now, some nine moons wasted, they have us'd
Their dearest action in the tented field;
And little of this great world can I speak,
More than pertains to feats of broils and battle;
And therefore little shall I grace my cause,
In speaking for myself. Yet, by your patience,
I will a round unvarnish'd tale deliver,
Of my whole course of love; what drugs, what charms,
What conjuration, and what mighty magick,
(For such proceeding I am charg'd withal)
I won his daughter with.

Bra.
A maiden, never bold;
Of spirit so still and quiet, that her motion
Blush'd at itself: and she, in spight of nature,
Of years, of country, credit, every thing,
To fall in love with what she fear'd to look on—
I therefore vouch again,
That with some mixtures pow'rful o'er the blood,
Or with some dram, conjur'd to this effect,
He wrought upon her.

Duke.
To vouch this, is no proof.
Othello, speak;
Did you by indirect and forced courses,
Subdue and poison this young maid's affections;
Or came it by request, and such fair question,
As soul to soul affordeth?

Oth.
I beseech you,
Send for the lady to the Sagittary,

And let her speak of me before her father;
If you do find me foul in her report,
The trust, the office, I do hold of you,
Not only take away, but let your sentence
Even fall upon my life.

Duke.
Fetch Desdemona hither.

Oth.
Ancient, conduct them, you best know the place. [Exit Iago and Rodor.
And, till she come, as truly as to heav'n
I do confess the vices of my blood,
So justly to your grave ears I will present
How I did thrive in this fair lady's love,
And she in mine.

Duke.
Say it, Othello.

Oth.
Her father lov'd me, oft invited me;* ^note
Still question'd me the story of my life,
From year to year; the battles, sieges, fortunes,
That I have past.
I ran it through, e'en from my boyish days,
To th' very moment that he bade me tell it:
Wherein I spoke of most disast'rous chances,
Of moving accidents by flood and field;
Of hair-breadth 'scapes in the imminent deadly breach
Of being taken by the insolent foe,
And sold to slavery; of my redemption thence;
Of battles bravely, hardly fought: of victories,
For which the conqueror mourn'd, so many fell:
Sometimes I told the story of a siege,
Wherein I had to combat plagues and famine;
Soldiers unpaid; fearful to fight,
Yet bold in dangerous mutiny.
All these to hear
Would Desdemona seriously incline:
But still the house-affairs would draw her thence,† ^note
Which ever as she could with haste dispatch,

She'd come again, and with a greedy ear
Devour up my discourse: which I observing,
Took once a pliant hour, and found good means
To draw from her a prayer of earnest heart,
That I would all my pilgrimage dilate,
Whereof by parcels she had something heard,
But not distinctively: I did consent,
And often did beguile her of her tears,
When I did speak of some distressful stroke,
That my youth suffer'd. My story being done,
She gave me for my pains a world of sighs.
She swore, “In faith, 'twas strange, 'twas passing strange,
“'Twas pitiful, 'twas wond'rous pitiful.”—
She wish'd she had not heard it;—yet she wish'd,
That heav'n had made her such a man:—she thank'd me,
And bade me, if I had a friend that lov'd her,
I should but teach him how to tell my story,
And that would woo her. On this hint I spake;
She lov'd me for the dangers I had pass'd;
And I lov'd her, that she did pity them.
This only is the witchcraft I have us'd.
Here comes the lady. Let her witness it.

Duke.
I think, this tale would win my daughter, too—
Good Brabantio,
Take up this mangled matter at the best;
Men do their broken weapons rather use,
Than their bare hands.

Bra.
I pray you hear her speak.
If she confess that she was half the wooer,
Destruction on my head, if my bad blame
Light on the man! Enter Desdemona, &c.
Come hither, gentle mistress,
Do you perceive in all this noble company,
Where you most owe obedience?

Des.
My noble father,
I do perceive here a divided duty:

To you I'm bound for life and education;
My life and education both do teach me
How to respect you. You're the lord of duty;
I'm hitherto your daughter. But there's my husband;
And so much duty as my mother shew'd
To you, preferring you before her father;
So much I challenge that I may profess
Due to the Moor, my lord.* ^note

Bra.
I have done
I had rather adopt a child, than get it.
Come hither, Moor:
I here do give thee that, with all my heart,
Which, but thou hast already, with all my heart
I would keep from thee.
Beseech you now to the affairs o' th' state.

Duke.

The Turk, with a most mighty preparation, makes for Cyprus: Othello, the fortitude of the place is best known to you. You must therefore be content to slubber the gloss of your new fortunes, with this more stubborn and boist'rous expedition.

Oth.
The tyrant custom, most grave senators,
Hath made the flinty and steel couch of war
My thrice driven bed of down.† ^note I do ag'nize‡ ^note
A natural and prompt alacrity
I find in hardiness; and do undertake
This present war against the Ottomites.
Most humbly therefore bending to your state,
I crave fit disposition for my wife,
Due reverence of place and exhibition;
With such accommodation and besort,
As levels with her breeding.

Duke.
Why, at her father's.

Bra.
I will not have it so.

Oth.
Nor I.

Des.
Nor I. I would not there reside,

To put my father in impatient thoughts,
By being in his eye. Most noble duke,
To my unfolding lend your gracious ear,
And let me find a charter in your voice,
T' assist my simpleness.

Duke.
What would you, Desdemona?

Des.
That I did love the Moor to live with him,
My downright violence and storm of fortunes,
May trumpet to the world. My heart's subdu'd,
Ev'n to the very quality of my lord;
I saw Othello's visage in his mind,
And to his honours and his valiant parts,
Did I my soul and fortunes consecrate:
So that, dear lords, if I be left behind,
A moth of peace, and he go to the war,
The rites, for which I love him, are bereft me:
And I a heavy interim shall support,
By his dear absence. Let me go with him.

Oth.
Your voices, lords; beseech you, let her will
Have a free way. I therefore beg it not,
To please the palate of my appetite;
But to be free and bounteous to her mind.
And heav'n defend your good souls, that you think
I will your serious and great business scant,
For she is with me.—No, when light-wing'd toys* ^note
Of feather'd Cupid foil with wanton dulness
My speculative and active instruments;
That my disports corrupt and taint my business;
Let all indign and base adversities
Make head against my estimation.

Duke.
Be it as you shall privately determine,
Or for her stay or going; th' affair cries haste;
And speed must answer. You must hence, to-night.

Des.
To-night, my lord?

Duke.
This night.

Oth.
With all my heart.

Duke.
At nine i'th' morning here we'll meet again.
Othello, leave some officer behind,
And he shall our commission bring to you;
And such things else of quality and respect,
As doth import you.

Oth.
Please your grace, Iago;
(A man he is of honesty and trust)
To his conveyance I assign my wife,
With what else needful your good grace shall think
To be sent after me.

Duke.
Let it be so.
Good night to every one. And noble signior,
If virtue no delighted beauty lack,
Your son-in-law is far more fair than black.

Bra.
Look to her, Moor, if thou hast eyes to see,
She has deceiv'd her father, and may thee. [Exit Duke, with Senators.

Oth.
My life upon her faith—Honest Iago,
My Desdemona must I leave to thee;
I pr'ythee, let thy wife attend on her;
And bring her after in the best advantage.
Come, Desdemona, I have but an hour
Of love, of worldly matter and direction,
To speak with thee. We must obey the time. [Exeunt. Manent Rodorigo and Iago.* ^note

Rod.
Iago.—

Iago.
What say'st thou, noble heart?

Rod.
What will I do, think'st thou?

Iago.
Why, go to bed, and sleep.

Rod.
I will incontinently drown myself.

Iago.
Well, if thou dost, I shall never love thee after.
Why, thou silly gentleman!

Rod.

It is silliness to live, when to live is a torment;

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

Iago.

O villanous! I have look'd upon the world for four times seven years, and since I could distinguish betwixt a benefit and an injury, I never found man that knew how to love himself. Ere I would say I would drown myself, for the love of a Guinea hen, I would change my humanity with a baboon.

Rod.

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

Iago.

Virtue! a fig. Come, be a man: drown thyself! drown cats and blind puppies. I have profest me thy friend, and I could never better stead thee, than now. Put money in thy purse; follow thou these wars; I say, put money in thy purse. It can-be, that Desdemona should long continue her love to the Moor—put money in thy purse.

Rod.

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

Iago.

Thou art sure of me.—Go, make money.— I have told thee often, and I tell thee, again and again, I hate the Moor. My cause is hearted: thine hath no less reason. Let us be conjuctive in our revenge against him. If thou can'st cuckold him, thou dost thyself a pleasure, me a sport. Traverse, go, provide thy money. We will have more of this, to-morrow. Adieu.

Rod.

Where shall we meet, i'th' morning?

Iago.

At my lodging.

Rod.

I'll be with thee, betimes.

Iago.

Go to. Farewel. Do you hear, Roderigo?

Rod.

What say you?

Iago.

No more of drowning, do you hear?

Rod.

I am chang'd; I'll go sell all my land.

Iago.
Thus do I ever make my fool my purse;
For I my own gain'd knowledge should prophane,
If I should time expend with such a snipe,

But for my sport and profit. I hate the Moor,
And it is thought abroad, that 'twixt my sheets
He has done my office. I know not, if't be true—
But I, for mere suspicion in that kind,* ^note
Will do, as if for surety. He holds me well—
The better shall my purpose work on him;
Cassio's a proper man: let me see, now;—
To get his place, and to plume up my will,
A double knavery—How? how?—let's see—
After some time, t'abuse Othello's ear,
That he is too familiar with his wife.—
He hath a person, and a smooth dispose,
To be suspected; fram'd to make women false.
The Moor is of a free and open nature,
That thinks men honest that but seem to be so;
And will as tenderly be led by th' nose,
As asses are.
I hav't—it is ingendered—hell and night
Must bring this monstrous birth to the world's light.‡ ^note [Exit. End of the First Act.

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