Desdemona.
Enter Iago.
Cas.
Welcome, Iago; we must to the Watch.
Iago.
Not this hour, lieutenant: 'tis not yet ten o'th'
clock. Our General cast us thus early for the love of
his Desdemona: whom let us not therefore blame; he hath
not yet made wanton the night with her: and she is sport
for Jove.
Cas.
She's a most exquisite lady.
Iago.
And, I'll warrant her, full of game.
Cas.
Indeed, she's a most fresh and delicate creature.
-- 415 --
Iago.
What an eye she has? methinks, it sounds a
parley to provocation.
Cas.
An inviting eye; and yet, methinks, right modest.
Iago.
And when she speaks, is it not an alarum to
love?
Cas.
She is, indeed, perfection.
Iago.
Well, happiness to their sheets: come, lieutenant,
I have a stoop of wine, and here without are a
brace of Cyprus gallants, that would fain have a measure
to the health of the black Othello.
Cas.
Not to night, good Iago: I have very poor and
unhappy brains for drinking. I could well wish, courtesie
would invent some other custom of entertainment.
Iago.
Oh, they are our friends: but one cup, I'll drink
for you.
Cas.
I have drunk but one cup to night, and that was
craftily qualified too: and, behold, what innovation it
makes here. I am unfortunate in the infirmity, and dare
not task my weakness with any more.
Iago.
What, man? 'tis a night of revels, the gallants
desire it.
Cas.
Where are they?
Iago.
Here at the door; I pray you, call them in.
Cas.
I'll do't, but it dislikes me.
[Exit Cassio.
Iago.
If I can fasten but one cup upon him,
With that which he hath drunk to night already,
He'll be as full of quarrel and offence,
As my young mistress' dog.—
Now, my sick fool, Rodorigo,
Whom love hath turn'd almost the wrong side out,
To Desdemona hath to night carouz'd
Potations pottle deep; and he's to watch.
Three lads of Cyprus, noble swelling spirits,
(That hold their honours in a wary distance,
The very elements of this warlike isle,)
Have I to night fluster'd with flowing cups,
And they watch too. Now, 'mongst this flock of drunkards,
Am I to put our Cassio in some action
That may offend the isle. But here they come.
-- 416 --
If consequence do but approve my Deem,(27) note
My boat sails freely, both with wind and stream.
Enter Cassio, Montano, and Gentlemen.
Cas.
'Fore heav'n, they have given me a rouse already.
Mont.
Good faith, a little one: not past a pint, as I
am a soldier.
Iago.
Some wine, ho!
[Iago sings.
And let me the canakin clink, clink,
And let me the canakin clink.
A soldier's a man; oh, man's life's but a span;
Why, then let a soldier drink.
Some wine, boys.
Cas.
'Fore heav'n, an excellent song.
Iago.
I learn'd it in England: where, indeed, they are
most potent in potting. Your Dane, your German, and
your swag-belly'd Hollander,—Drink, ho!—are nothing
to your English.
Cas.
Is your Englishman so exquisite in his drinking?
Iago.
Why, he drinks you with facility your Dane
dead drunk. He sweats not to overthrow your Almain.
He gives your Hollander a vomit, ere the next pottle can
be fill'd.
Cas.
To the health of our General.
Mont.
I am for it, lieutenant, and I'll do you justice.
Iago.
Oh sweet England.
King Stephen was an a worthy peer,
His breeches cost him but a crown;
He held them six pence all too dear,
With that he call'd the tailor lown.
-- 417 --
He was a wight of high renown,
And thou art but of low degree
'Tis pride that pulls the country down,
Then take thine auld cloak about thee.
Some wine, ho!
Cas.
Why, this is a more exquisite song than the other.
Iago.
Will you hear't again?
Cas.
No, for I hold him to be unworthy of his place,
that does those things. Well—Heaven's above all;
and there be souls that must be saved, and there be souls
must not be saved.
Iago.
It's true, good lieutenant.
Cas.
For mine own part, (no offence to the General,
nor any man of quality;) I hope to be saved.
Iago.
And so do I too, lieutenant.
Cas.
Ay, but, by your leave, not before me. The
Lieutenant is to be saved before the Ancient. Let's have
no more of this; let's to our affairs. Forgive our sins—
gentlemen, let's look to our business. Do not think, gentlemen,
I am drunk: this is my Ancient; this is my right
hand, and this is my left. I am not drunk now; I can
stand well enough, and I speak well enough.
Gent.
Excellent well.
Cas.
Why, very well then: you must not think then
that I am drunk.
[Exit.
Manent Iago and Montano.
Mont.
To the platform, masters, come, let's set the Watch.
Iago.
You see this fellow, that is gone before;
He is a soldier, fit to stand by Cæsar,
And give direction. And do but see his vice;
'Tis to his virtues a just equinox,
The one as long as th' other. 'Tis pity of him;
I fear, the Trust Othello puts him in,
On some odd time of his infirmity,
Will shake this island.
Mon.
But is he often thus?
Iago.
'Tis evermore the prologue to his sleep.
-- 418 --
He'll watch the horologue a double set,
If drink rock not his cradle.
Mont.
It were well,
The General were put in mind of it:
Perhaps, he sees it not; or his good nature
Prizes the virtue that appears in Cassio,
And looks not on his evils: is not this true?
Enter Rodorigo.
Iago.
How now, Rodorigo!
I pray you, after the lieutenant, go.
[Exit Rod.
Mont.
And 'tis great pity, that the noble Moor
Should hazard such a Place as his own Second,
With one of an ingraft infirmity;
It were an honest action to say so
Unto the Moor.
Iago.
Not I, for this fair island;
I do love Cassio well, and would do much
To cure him of this evil. Hark, what noise?
[Within,
help! help
Re-enter Cassio, pursuing Rodorigo.
Cas.
You rogue! you rascal!—
Mont.
What's the matter, lieutenant?
Cas.
A knave teach me my duty! I'll beat the knave
into a twiggen bottle.
Rod.
Beat me—
Cas.
Dost thou prate, rogue?
Mont.
Nay, good lieutenant;
[Staying him.
I pray you, Sir, hold your hand.
Cas.
Let me go, Sir, or I'll knock you o'er the mazzard.
Mont.
Come, come, you're drunk.
Cas.
Drunk?—
[They fight.
Iago.
Away, I say, go out and cry a mutiny.
[Exit Rodorigo.
Nay, good lieutenant—Alas, gentlemen—
Help, ho!—Lieutenant—Sir—Montano—
Help, masters! here's a goodly watch, indeed—
-- 419 --
Who's that, who rings the bell—diablo, ho!
[Bell rings.
The town will rise. Fie, fie, lieutenant! hold:
You will be sham'd for ever.
Enter Othello, and Attendants.
Oth.
What is the matter here?
Mont.
I bleed still, I am hurt, but not to th' death.
Oth.
Hold, for your lives.
Iago.
Hold, ho! lieutenant—Sir—Montano—Gentlemen—
Have you forgot all place of sense and duty?
The General speaks to you—hold, hold, for shame—
Oth.
Why, how now, ho? from whence ariseth this?
Are we turn'd Turks? and to our selves do That,
Which heaven hath forbid the Ottomites?
For christian shame, put by this barbarous brawl;
He, that stirs next to carve for his own rage,
Holds his soul light: he dies upon his motion.
Silence that dreadful bell; it frights the isle
From her propriety. What is the matter?
Honest Iago, that looks dead with grieving,
Speak, who began this? on thy love, I charge thee.
Iago.
I do not know; friends all, but now, even now
In quarter, and in terms like bride and groom
Divesting them for bed; and then, but now—
(As if some planet had unwitted men,)
Swords out, and tilting one at other's breasts,
In opposition bloody. I can't speak
Any beginning to this peevish odds,
And, would, in action glorious I had lost
Those legs that brought me to a part of it!
Oth.
How comes it, Michael, you are thus forgot?
Cas.
I pray you, pardon me, I cannot speak.
Oth.
Worthy Montano, you were wont be civil:
The gravity and stillness of your youth
The world hath noted: And your name is great
In mouths of wisest censure. What's the matter,
That you unlace your reputation thus,
-- 420 --
And spend your rich opinion, for the name
Of a night-brawler? give me answer to it.
Mont.
Worthy Othello, I am hurt to danger;
Your officer, Iago, can inform you,
While I spare speech, which something now offends me,
Of all that I do know; nor know I ought
By me that's said or done amiss this night,
Unless self-charity be sometimes a vice,
And to defend our selves it be a sin,
When violence assails us.
Oth.
Now, by heav'n,
My blood begins my safer guides to rule,
And passion, having my best judgment choler'd,
Assays to lead the way. If I once stir,
Or do but lift this arm, the best of you
Shall sink in my rebuke. Give me to know
How this foul rout began; who set it on;
And he, that is approv'd in this offence,
Tho' he had twinn'd with me both at a birth,
Shall lose me.—What, in a town of war,
Yet wild, the people's hearts brim-full of fear,
To manage private and domestick quarrel?
In night, and on the Court of Guard and Safety?(28) note
'Tis monstrous. Say, Iago, who began't?
Mont.
If partially affin'd, or leagu'd in office,
Thou dost deliver more or less than truth,
Thou art no soldier.
-- 421 --
Iago.
Touch me not so near:
I'd rather have this tongue cut from my mouth,
Than it should do offence to Michael Cassio:
Yet I perswade my self, to speak the truth
Shall nothing wrong him. Thus 'tis, General:
Montano and my self being in speech,
There comes a fellow crying out for help,
And Cassio following with determin'd sword,
To execute upon him. Sir, this gentleman
Steps in to Cassio, and intreats his pause;
My self the crying fellow did pursue,
Lest by his clamour (as it so fell out)
The town might fall in fright. He, swift of foot,
Out-ran my purpose: I return'd, the rather
For that I heard the clink and fall of swords,
And Cassio high in oath; which 'till to night
I ne'er might say before. When I came back,
(For this was brief) I found them close together
At blow and thrust; even as again they were,
When you your self did part them.
More of this matter cannot I report.
But men are men; the best sometimes forget;
Tho' Cassio did some little wrong to him,
As men in rage strike those that wish them best,
Yet, surely, Cassio, I believe, receiv'd
From him, that fled, some strange indignity,
Which patience could not pass.
Oth.
I know, Iago,
Thy honesty and love doth mince this matter,
Making it light to Cassio, Cassio, I love thee,
But never more be officer of mine.—
Enter Desdemona attended.
Look, if my gentle love be not rais'd up:
I'll make thee an example.
Des.
What's the matter?
Oth.
All is well, Sweeting, come, away to bed.
Sir, for your hurts, my self will be your surgeon.
Lead him off:
Iago, look with care about the town,
-- 422 --
And silence those whom this vile brawl distracted.
Come, Desdemona, 'tis the soldier's life,
To have their balmy slumbers wak'd with strife.
[Exeunt.
Manent Iago and Cassio.
Iago.
What, are you hurt, lieutenant?
Cas.
Past all Surgery.
Iago.
Marry, heav'n forbid!
Cas.
Reputation, reputation, reputation! oh I have
lost my reputation! I have lost the immortal part of my
self, and what remains is bestial. My reputation! Iago,
my reputation—
Iago.
As I am an honest man, I had thought, you had
received some bodily wound; there is more sense in That
than in Reputation. Reputation is an idle, and most false
imposition; oft got without merit, and lost without deserving.
You have lost no reputation at all, unless you
repute your self such a loser. What, man,—there are
ways to recover the General again. You are but now
cast in his mood, a punishment more in policy than in
malice; even so as one would beat his offenceless dog, to
affright an imperious lion. Sue to him again, and he's
yours.
Cas.
I will rather sue to be despis'd, than to deceive so
good a commander, with so slight, so drunken, and so
indiscreet an officer. Drunk, and speak? Parrot, and
squabble? swagger? swear? and discourse fustian with
ones own shadow? oh thou invisible spirit of wine! if
thou hast no name to be known by, let us call thee devil.
Iago.
What was he that you follow'd with your sword?
what had he done to you?
Cas.
I know not.
Iago.
Is't possible?
Cas.
I remember a mass of things, but nothing distinctly:
a quarrel, but nothing wherefore. Oh, that
men should put an enemy in their mouths, to steal away
their brains! that we should with joy, pleasance, revel,
and applause, transform our selves into beasts.
Iago.
Why, but you are now well enough: how came
you thus recover'd?
-- 423 --
Cas.
It has pleas'd the devil, drunkenness, to give place
to the devil, wrath; one unperfectness shews me another,
to make me frankly despise my self.
Iago.
Come, you are too severe a moraler. As the
time, the place, and the condition of this country stands,
I could heartily wish this had not befallen: but since it is
as it is, mend it for your own good.
Cas.
I will ask him for my Place again; he shall tell
me, I am a drunkard!—had I as many mouths as Hydra,
such an answer would stop them all. To be now a
sensible man, by and by a fool, and presently a beast!—
Every inordinate cup is unbless'd, and the ingredient is a
devil.
Iago.
Come, come, good wine is a good familiar creature,
if it be well us'd: exclaim no more against it. And,
good lieutenant, I think, you think, I love you.
Cas.
I have well approv'd it, Sir. I drunk!
Iago.
You, or any man living, may be drunk at some
time, man. I tell you what you shall do: our General's
wife is now the General. I may say so, in this respect,
for that he hath devoted and given up himself to the contemplation,
mark, and denotement of her parts and
graces(29) note
. Confess your self freely to her: importune
her help, to put you in your Place again. She is of so
free, so kind, so apt, so blessed a disposition, she holds it
a vice in her goodness not to do more than she is requested.
-- 424 --
This broken joint, between you and her husband, intreat
her to splinter. And, my fortunes against any lay worth
naming, this crack of your love shall grow stronger than
it was before.
Cas.
You advise me well.
Iago.
I protest, in the sincerity of love, and honest
kindness.
Cas.
I think it freely; and betimes in the morning I
will beseech the virtuous Desdemona to undertake for me:
I am desperate of my fortunes, if they check me here.
Iago.
You are in the right: good night, lieutenant, I
must to the Watch.
Cas.
Good night, honest Iago.
[Exit Cassio.
Manet Iago.
Iago.
And what's he then, that says, I play the villain?
When this advice is free I give, and honest,
Likely to thinking, and, indeed, the course
To win the Moor again. For 'tis most easie
Th' inclining Desdemona to subdue
In any honest suit: she's fram'd as fruitful
As the free elements. And then for her
To win the Moor, were't to renounce his baptism,
All seals and symbols of redeemed sin,
His soul is so enfetter'd to her love
That she may make, unmake, do what she list,
Even as her appetite shall play the God
With his weak function. Am I then a villain,
To counsel Cassio to this parallel course,
Directly to his Good? Divinity of Hell!
When Devils will their blackest sins put on,
They do suggest at first with heav'nly Shews,
As I do now.—For while this honest fool
Plies Desdemona to repair his fortune,
And she for him pleads strongly to the Moor;
I'll pour this pestilence into his ear,
That she repeals him for her body's lust:
And by how much she strives to do him good,
She shall undo her credit with the Moor.
So will I turn her virtue into Pitch;
-- 425 --
And out of her own goodness make the net,
That shall enmesh them all. How now, Rodorigo!
Enter Rodorigo.
Rod.
I do follow here in the chace, not like a hound
that hunts, but one that fills up the cry. My mony is
almost spent; I have been to night exceedingly well
cudgelled; and, I think, the issue will be, I shall have
so much experience for my pains; and so with no mony
at all, and a little more wit, return again to Venice.
Iago.
How poor are they, that have not patience?
What wound did ever heal but by degrees?
Thou know'st, we work by wit, and not by withcraft;
And wit depends on dilatory time:
Does't not go well? Cassio hath beaten thee,
And thou by that small hurt hast cashier'd Cassio.
Tho' other things grow fair against the Sun,
Yet fruits, that blossom first, will first be ripe:
Content thy self a while. In troth, 'tis morning;
Pleasure and action make the hours seem short.
Retire thee; go where thou art billetted:
Away, I say; thou shalt know more hereafter:
Nay, get thee gone.
[Exit Rodorigo.
Two things are to be done;(30) note
My Wife must move for Cassio to her mistress:
I'll set her on:—
My self, the while, to draw the Moor apart,
-- 426 --
And bring him jump, when he may Cassio find
Solliciting his Wife: ay, that's the way:
Dull not, Device, by coldness and delay.
[Exit.
Lewis Theobald [1733], The works of Shakespeare: in seven volumes. Collated with the Oldest Copies, and Corrected; With notes, Explanatory and Critical; By Mr. Theobald (Printed for A. Bettesworth and C. Hitch [and] J. Tonson [etc.], London) [word count] [S11201].
