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 though they jump not on a just account,
(As in these cases, where they aim reports,
'Tis oft with diff'rence;) yet do they all confirm
A Turkish Fleet, and bearing up to Cyprus.

Duke.
Nay, it is possible enough to judgment;
I do not so secure me in the error,
But the main article I do approve,
In fearful sense.

Sailors within.]
What hoa! what hoa! what hoa! Enter Sailor.

Offi.
A messenger from the Gallies.

Duke.
Now!—what's the business?

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

Duke.
How say you by this change?

1 Sen.
This cannot be,
By no assay of reason. 'Tis a pageant,

To keep us in false gaze; when we consider
Th' importancy of Cyprus to the Turk,
And let our selves again but understand,
That as it more concerns the Turk than Rhodes,
So may he with more facile question bear it;(12) ^note

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

Offi.
Here is more news. Enter a Messenger.

Mes.
The Ottomites, (reverend and gracious,)
Steering with due course toward the Isle of Rhodes,
Have there injoin'd them with an after fleet—

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

Mes.
Of thirty sail; and now they do re-stem
Their backward course, bearing with frank appearance
Their Purposes toward Cyprus. Signior Montano,
Your trusty and most valiant Servitor,
With his free duty, recommends you thus,
And prays you to believe him.

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

1 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 straight employ you,
Against the general enemy Ottoman.
I did not see you; welcome, gentle signior; [To Braban.
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 it self.

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,
(Being not deficient, blind, or lame of sense,)
Sans Witchcraft could not—

Duke.
Who-e'er he be, that in this foul proceeding
Hath thus beguil'd your daughter of her self,
And you of her, the bloody book of law
You shall your self read in the bitter letter,
After your own sense; yea, though our proper Son
Stood in your action.

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

All.
We're very sorry for't.

Duke.
What in your own part can you say to this? [To Othel.

Bra.
Nothing, but this 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 my speech,
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 battel;
And therefore little shall I grace my cause,
In speaking for my self. 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 it self; 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—
It is a judgment maim'd, and most imperfect,(13) ^note

Against all rules of nature; and must be driven
To find out practices of cunning hell,
Why this should be. I therefore vouch again,
That with some mixtures powerful o'er the blood,
Or with some dram, conjur'd to this effect,
He wrought upon her.

Duke.
To vouch this, is no proof,
Without more certain and more overt test,
Than these thin habits and poor likelyhoods
Of modern Seeming do prefer against him.

1 Sen.
But, 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. [Exeunt two or three.

Oth.
Ancient, conduct them, you best know the place. [Exit Iago.
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'll 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;
Still question'd me the story of my life,
From year to year; the battels, sieges, fortunes,
That I have past.
I ran it through, e'en from my boyish days,
To th' very moment that he bad me tell it:
Wherein I spoke of most disastrous chances,
Of moving accidents by flood and field;
Of hair-breadth scapes in th' imminent deadly breach;

Of being taken by the insolent foe,
And sold to slavery; of my redemption thence,
And portance in my travel's history:
Wherein of antres vast, and desarts idle, (14) ^note

And of the Canibals that each other eat,
The Anthropophagi; and men whose heads
Do grow beneath their shoulders. All these to hear
Would Desdemona seriously incline;
But still the house-affairs would draw her thence,
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 wondrous 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 bad 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 past,
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. Enter Desdemona, Iago, and Attendants.

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! 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 learn me
How to respect you. You're the lord of duty;
I'm hitherto your daughter. But here'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.

Bra.
God be with you: I have done.
Please it your Grace, on to the State-affairs;
I had rather to 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. For your sake, jewel,
I'm glad at soul I have no other child;
For thy escape would teach me tyranny,
To hang clogs on them. I have done, my lord.

Duke.
Let me speak like your self; and lay a Sentence,
Which, as a grise, or step, may help these lovers
Into your favour—
When remedies are past, the griefs are ended
By seeing the worst, which late on hopes depended.
To mourn a mischief that is past and gone,
Is the next way to draw new Mischief on.
What cannot be preserv'd when Fortune takes,
Patience her injury a mockery makes.
The robb'd, that smiles, steals something from the thief;
He robs himself, that spends a bootless grief.

Bra.
So, let the Turk of Cyprus us beguile,
We lose it not, so long as we can smile;
He bears the sentence well, that nothing bears
But the free comfort which from thence he hears;
But he bears both the sentence, and the sorrow,
That, to pay grief, must of poor patience borrow.
These sentences to sugar, or to gall.
Being strong on both sides, are equivocal.
But words are words; I never yet did hear.(16) ^note

Duke.

The Turk with a most mighty preparation makes for Cyprus: Othello, the fortitude of the place is best known to you. And though we have there a substitute of most allowed sufficiency; yet opinion, a sovereign mistress of effects, throws a more safe voice on you; you must therefore be content to slubber the gloss of your new fortunes, with this more stubborn and boisterous expedition.

Oth.
The tyrant custom, most grave senators,
Hath made the flinty and steel couch of war
My thrice-driven bed of down. I do agnize
A natural and prompt alacrity,

I find it hardness; and do undertake
This present war against the Ottomites.
Most humbly therefore bending to your State,
I crave fit disposition for my wife,
Due reference 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 would I there reside,
To put my father in impatient thoughts
By being in his eye. Most gracious 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 down-right 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,(17) ^note

To please the palate of my appetite;
Nor to comply with heat, the young Affects,
In my distinct and proper Satisfaction;
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
Of feather'd Cupid foil with wanton dulness
My speculative and offic'd instruments,
That my disports corrupt and taint my business;
Let housewives make a skillet of my helm,
And 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, my Antient;
(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.

Sen.
Adieu, brave Moor, use Desdemona well.

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.

Rod.
Iago—

Iago.
What sayest thou, noble heart?

Rod.
What will I do, thinkest 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 have we a prescription to dye, when death is our physician.

Iago.

O villainous! 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 my self for the love of a Guinney-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: 'tis in our selves that we are thus or thus. Our bodies are our gardens, to the which our wills are gardiners. So that if we will plant nettles, or sow lettuce; set hyssop, and weed up thyme; supply it with one gender of herbs, or distract it with many; either have it steril with idleness, or manured with industry; why, the power and corrigible authority of this lies in our will. (18) ^note

Rod.

It cannot be.

Iago.

It is meerly a lust of the blood, and a permission of the will. Come, be a man: drown thy self? drown cats and blind puppies. I have profest me thy friend, and I confess me knit to thy deserving with cables of perdurable toughness. I could never better steed thee than now. Put mony in thy purse; follow thou these wars; defeat thy favour with an usurped beard; I say, put mony in thy purse. It cannot be, that Desdemona should long continue her love to the Moor—put mony in thy purse— nor he his to her. It was a violent commencement in her, and thou shalt see an answerable sequestration,—pur but mony in thy purse.—These Moors are changeable in their wills;—fill thy purse with mony. (19) ^noteThe food, that to him now is as luscious as locusts, shall shortly be as bitter as coloquintida. When she is sated with his body, she will find the errors of her choice.—She must have change, she must: therefore put mony in thy purse—If thou wilt needs damn thy self, do it a more delicate way than drowning. Make all the money thou canst. If sanctimony and a frail vow, betwixt an erring Barbarian and a supersubtle Venetian, be not too hard for my wits, and all the tribe of hell, thou shalt enjoy her; therefore make mony. A pox of drowning thy self! it is clean out of the way. Seek thou rather to be hang'd in compassing thy joy, than to be drown'd and go without her.

Rod.

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

Iago.

Thou art sure of me.—Go, make mony.—I have told thee often, and I re-tell thee again and again, I hate the Moor. My cause is hearted; thine hath no less reason. Let us be conjunctive in our revenge against him. If thou canst cuckold him, thou dost thy self a pleasure, and me a sport. There are many events in the womb of time, which will be delivered. Traverse, go, provide thy mony. 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, Rodorigo?

Rod.
What say you?

Iago.
No more of drowning, do you hear.

Rod.
I am chang'd, I'll go sell all my land. [Exit. Manet Iago.

Iago.
Go to, farewel, put mony enough in your purse—
Thus do I ever make my fool my purse;
For I mine own gain'd knowledge should profane,
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 meer suspicion in that kind,
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 ingendred—Hell and Night
Must bring this monstrous birth to the world's light. [Exit.

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