Othello Page #12

Othello is a tragedy by William Shakespeare, believed to have been written in 1603. It is based on the story Un Capitano Moro by Cinthio, a disciple of Boccaccio, first published in 1565.

• Drama

								


   Iago. I see this hath a little dash'd your Spirits:
  Oth. Not a iot, not a iot

   Iago. Trust me, I feare it has: I hope you will consider what is spoke Comes from your Loue. But I do see y'are moou'd: I am to pray you, not to straine my speech To grosser issues, nor to larger reach, Then to Suspition

   Oth. I will not

   Iago. Should you do so (my Lord) My speech should fall into such vilde successe, Which my Thoughts aym'd not. Cassio's my worthy Friend: My Lord, I see y'are mou'd

   Oth. No, not much mou'd: I do not thinke but Desdemona's honest

   Iago. Long liue she so; And long liue you to thinke so

   Oth. And yet how Nature erring from it selfe

   Iago. I, there's the point: As (to be bold with you) Not to affect many proposed Matches Of her owne Clime, Complexion, and Degree, Whereto we see in all things, Nature tends: Foh, one may smel in such, a will most ranke, Foule disproportions, Thoughts vnnaturall. But (pardon me) I do not in position Distinctly speake of her, though I may feare Her will, recoyling to her better iudgement, May fal to match you with her Country formes, And happily repent

   Oth. Farewell, farewell: If more thou dost perceiue, let me know more: Set on thy wife to obserue. Leaue me Iago

   Iago. My Lord, I take my leaue

   Othel. Why did I marry? This honest Creature (doubtlesse) Sees, and knowes more, much more then he vnfolds

   Iago. My Lord, I would I might intreat your Honor To scan this thing no farther: Leaue it to time, Although 'tis fit that Cassio haue his Place; For sure he filles it vp with great Ability; Yet if you please, to him off a-while: You shall by that perceiue him, and his meanes: Note if your Lady straine his Entertainment With any strong, or vehement importunitie, Much will be seene in that: In the meane time, Let me be thought too busie in my feares, (As worthy cause I haue to feare I am) And hold her free, I do beseech your Honor

   Oth. Feare not my gouernment

   Iago. I once more take my leaue. Enter.

  Oth. This Fellow's of exceeding honesty, And knowes all Quantities with a learn'd Spirit Of humane dealings. If I do proue her Haggard, Though that her Iesses were my deere heart-strings, I'ld whistle her off, and let her downe the winde To prey at Fortune. Haply, for I am blacke, And haue not those soft parts of Conuersation That Chamberers haue: Or for I am declin'd Into the vale of yeares (yet that's not much) Shee's gone. I am abus'd, and my releefe Must be to loath her. Oh Curse of Marriage! That we can call these delicate Creatures ours, And not their Appetites? I had rather be a Toad, And liue vpon the vapour of a Dungeon, Then keepe a corner in the thing I loue For others vses. Yet 'tis the plague to Great-ones, Prerogatiu'd are they lesse then the Base, 'Tis destiny vnshunnable, like death: Euen then, this forked plague is Fated to vs, When we do quicken. Looke where she comes: Enter Desdemona and aemilia.

If she be false, Heauen mock'd it selfe: Ile not beleeue't

   Des. How now, my deere Othello? Your dinner, and the generous Islanders By you inuited, do attend your presence

   Oth. I am too blame

   Des. Why do you speake so faintly? Are you not well?
  Oth. I haue a paine vpon my Forehead, heere

   Des. Why that's with watching, 'twill away againe. Let me but binde it hard, within this houre It will be well

   Oth. Your Napkin is too little: Let it alone: Come, Ile go in with you. Enter.

  Des. I am very sorry that you are not well. Aemil. I am glad I haue found this Napkin: This was her first remembrance from the Moore, My wayward Husband hath a hundred times Woo'd me to steale it. But she so loues the Token, (For he coniur'd her, she should euer keepe it) That she reserues it euermore about her, To kisse, and talke too. Ile haue the worke tane out, And giu't Iago: what he will do with it Heauen knowes, not I: I nothing, but to please his Fantasie. Enter Iago.

  Iago. How now? What do you heere alone? Aemil. Do not you chide: I haue a thing for you

   Iago. You haue a thing for me? It is a common thing- Aemil. Hah?
  Iago. To haue a foolish wife. Aemil. Oh, is that all? What will you giue me now For that same Handkerchiefe

   Iago. What Handkerchiefe? Aemil. What Handkerchiefe? Why that the Moore first gaue to Desdemona, That which so often you did bid me steale

   Iago. Hast stolne it from her? Aemil. No: but she let it drop by negligence, And to th' aduantage, I being heere, took't vp: Looke, heere 'tis

   Iago. A good wench, giue it me. Aemil. What will you do with't, that you haue bene so earnest to haue me filch it?
  Iago. Why, what is that to you? Aemil. If it be not for some purpose of import, Giu't me againe. Poore Lady, shee'l run mad When she shall lacke it

   Iago. Be not acknowne on't: I haue vse for it. Go, leaue me.

Exit aemil.

I will in Cassio's Lodging loose this Napkin, And let him finde it. Trifles light as ayre, Are to the iealious, confirmations strong, As proofes of holy Writ. This may do something. The Moore already changes with my poyson: Dangerous conceites, are in their Natures poysons, Which at the first are scarse found to distaste: But with a little acte vpon the blood, Burne like the Mines of Sulphure. I did say so. Enter Othello.

Looke where he comes: Not Poppy, nor Mandragora, Nor all the drowsie Syrrups of the world Shall euer medicine thee to that sweete sleepe Which thou owd'st yesterday

   Oth. Ha, ha, false to mee?
  Iago. Why how now Generall? No more of that

   Oth. Auant, be gone: Thou hast set me on the Racke: I sweare 'tis better to be much abus'd, Then but to know't a little

   Iago. How now, my Lord?
  Oth. What sense had I, in her stolne houres of Lust? I saw't not, thought it not: it harm'd not me: I slept the next night well, fed well, was free, and merrie. I found not Cassio's kisses on her Lippes: He that is robb'd, not wanting what is stolne, Let him not know't, and he's not robb'd at all

   Iago. I am sorry to heare this?
  Oth. I had beene happy, if the generall Campe, Pyoners and all, had tasted her sweet Body, So I had nothing knowne. Oh now, for euer Farewell the Tranquill minde; farewell Content; Farewell the plumed Troopes, and the bigge Warres, That makes Ambition, Vertue! Oh farewell, Farewell the neighing Steed, and the shrill Trumpe, The Spirit-stirring Drum, th' Eare-piercing Fife, The Royall Banner, and all Qualitie, Pride, Pompe, and Circumstance of glorious Warre: And O you mortall Engines, whose rude throates Th' immortall Ioues dread Clamours, counterfet, Farewell: Othello's Occupation's gone

   Iago. Is't possible my Lord?
  Oth. Villaine, be sure thou proue my Loue a Whore; Be sure of it: Giue me the Occular proofe, Or by the worth of mine eternall Soule, Thou had'st bin better haue bin borne a Dog Then answer my wak'd wrath

   Iago. Is't come to this?
  Oth. Make me to see't: or (at the least) so proue it, That the probation beare no Hindge, nor Loope, To hang a doubt on: Or woe vpon thy life
								Rate this book:3.4 / 5 votes