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 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-cap'd to him: and, by the faith of man,(2) ^note


I know my price, I'm worth no worse a Place.
But he, as loving his own pride and purpose,
Evades them with a bombast circumstance,
Horribly stuft with epithets of war;
And, in conclusion,
Non-suits my mediators. “Certes, says he,
“I have already chose my officer.”
And what was he?
Forsooth, a great arithmetician,

One Michael Cassio;—(“the Florentine's(3) ^note

That never set a squadron in the field,
Nor the division of a battle knows
More than a spinster; but the bookish theorick,
Wherein the toged couns'lors can propose(4) ^note

As masterly as he; meer prattle, without practice,
Is all his soldiership—he had th' election;
And I, of whom his eyes had seen the proof
At Rhodes, at Cyprus, and on other grounds
Christian and heath'n, must be belee'd and calm'd(5) ^note
By Debitor, and Creditor, this Counter-caster;
He, in good time, must his lieutenant be,
And I, (God bless the mark!) his Moor-ship's Ancient.

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

Iago.
But 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 th' first. Now, Sir, be judge your self,
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.
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, casheir'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,
Well thrive by them; and when they've lin'd their coats,
Do themselves homage. These folks have some soul,
And such a one do I profess my self.
It is as sure as you are Rodorigo,
Were I the Moor, I would not be Iago:
In following him, I follow but my self.
Heav'n 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.
Proclaim him in the streets, incense her kinsmen.
And tho' he in a fertile climate dwell,
Plague him with flies: tho' that 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, the fire
Is spied in populous cities.

Rod.
What, ho! Brabantio! Signior Brabantio! ho.

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

Look to your house, your daughter, and your bags:
Thieves! thieves! Brabantio appears 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 all doors lock'd?

Bra.
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;
Ev'n now, ev'n 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?

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

Bra.
Not I; what are you?

Rod.
My name is Rodorigo.

Bra.
The worse welcome;
I've charg'd thee not to haunt about my doors:
In honest plainness thou hast heard me say,
My daughter's not for thee. And now in madness,
Being full of supper and distemp'ring draughts,
Upon malicious bravery 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 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, you think we are ruffians; 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.

Bra.

What prophane 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,
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'th' night,
Transported with no worse nor better guard,
But with a knave of hire, a Gundalier,
To the gross clasps of a lascivious Moor:
If this be known to you, and your allowance,
We then have done you bold and sawcy 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 giv'n her leave,
I say again, hath made a gross revolt;
Tying her duty, beauty, wit and fortunes
To an extravagant and wheeling stranger,
Of here and every where; straight satisfie your self.
If she be in her chamber, or your house,
Let loose on me the justice of the State
For thus deluding you.

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!

Iago.
Farewel; for I must leave you.
It seems not meet, nor wholsome to my place,
To be produc'd (as if I stay, I shall)
Against the Moor. For I do know, the State,

However this may gall him with some check,
Cannot with safety cast him. For he's embark'd
With such loud reason to the Cyprus' wars,
Which ev'n now stand in act, that, for their souls,
Another of his fadom they have none,
To lead their business. 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;
And what's to come of my despised time,
Is nought but bitterness. Now, Rodorigo,
Where didst thou see her? oh unhappy girl!
With the Moor, saist thou? who would be a father?
How didst thou know 'twas she; oh, she deceives me
Past thought—What said she to you? get more tapers—
Raise all my kindred—are they married, think you?

Rod.
Truly, I think, they are.

Bra.
Oh heaven! how gat she out?
Oh treason of my blood!
Fathers, from hence trust not your daughters minds
By what you see them act. Are there not charms,
By which the property of youth and maidhood
May be abus'd? have you not read, Rodorigo,
Of some such thing?

Rod.
Yes, Sir, I have, indeed.

Bra.
Call up my brother: oh, would 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. At every 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.

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