The Tragedie of Othello, the Moore of Venice - ebook

Contents

DRAMATIS PERSONAE

ACT 1

SCENE I. Venice. A street.

SCENE II. Another street.

SCENE III. A council-chamber.

ACT 2

SCENE I. A Sea-port in Cyprus. An open place near the quay.

SCENE II. A street.

SCENE III. A hall in the castle.

ACT 3

SCENE I. Before the castle.

SCENE II. A room in the castle.

SCENE III. The garden of the castle.

SCENE IV. Before the castle.

ACT 4

SCENE I. Cyprus. Before the castle.

SCENE II. A room in the castle.

SCENE III. Another room In the castle.

ACT 5

SCENE I. Cyprus. A street.

SCENE II. A bedchamber in the castle: Desdemona in bed asleep; a light burning.DRAMATIS PERSONAE

DUKE OF VENICE.

BRABANTIO, a Senator.

Other Senators.

GRATIANO, Brother to Brabantio.

LODOVICO, Kinsman to Brabantio.

OTHELLO, a noble Moor, in the service of Venice.

CASSIO, his Lieutenant.

IAGO, his Ancient.

RODERIGO, a Venetian Gentleman.

MONTANO, Othello’s predecessor in the government of Cyprus.

Clown, servant to Othello.

Herald.

DESDEMONA, Daughter to Brabantio, and Wife to Othello.

EMILIA, Wife to Iago.

BIANCA, Mistress to Cassio.

Officers, Gentlemen, Messenger, Musicians, Herald, Sailor, Attendants, &c.

SCENE: The First Act in Venice; during the rest of the Play at a Seaport in Cyprus.ACT 1

SCENE I. Venice. A street.

Enter Roderigo and Iago

Roderigo

(Tush) 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

(S’blood), but you will not hear me!

If ever I did dream of such a matter,

Abhor me.

Roderigo

Thou toldst 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-capped to him; and, by the faith of man,

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,

Horribly stuff’d with epithets of war,

(And, in conclusion),

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 Florentine,

A fellow almost damned in a fair wife;

That never set a squadron in the field,

Nor the division of a battle knows

More than a spinster -unless the bookish theoric,

Wherein the (toged) consuls can propose

As masterly as he. Mere prattle, without practise,

Is all his soldiership. But he, sir, had th’ 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

Calmed

By debitor and creditor. This countercaster,

He, in good time, must his lieutenant be,

And I (God) bless the mark! his Moorship’s ancient.

Roderigo

By heaven, I rather would have been his hangman.

Iago

Why, 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 yourself,

Whether I in any just term am affined

To love the Moor.

Roderigo

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 followed. 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.

Whip me such honest knaves! Others there are

Who, trimmed 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 lined

their coats

Do themselves homage. These fellows have some

soul.

And such a one do I profess myself. For, sir,

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, ’tis not long after

But I will wear my heart upon my sleeve

For daws to peck at. I am not what I am.

Roderigo

What a (full) fortune does the (thick-lips) owe

If he can carry’t thus!

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 of vexation on’t,

As it may lose some color.

Roderigo

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.

Roderigo

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 appears above, at a window

Brabantio

What is the reason of this terrible summons?

What is the matter there?

Roderigo

Signior, is all your family within?

Iago

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