Othello Page #13

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. My Noble Lord

   Oth. If thou dost slander her, and torture me, Neuer pray more: Abandon all remorse On Horrors head, Horrors accumulate: Do deeds to make Heauen weepe, all Earth amaz'd; For nothing canst thou to damnation adde, Greater then that

   Iago. O Grace! O Heauen forgiue me! Are you a Man? Haue you a Soule? or Sense? God buy you: take mine Office. Oh wretched Foole, That lou'st to make thine Honesty, a Vice! Oh monstrous world! Take note, take note (O World) To be direct and honest, is not safe. I thanke you for this profit, and from hence Ile loue no Friend, sith Loue breeds such offence

   Oth. Nay stay: thou should'st be honest

   Iago. I should be wise; for Honestie's a Foole, And looses that it workes for

   Oth. By the World, I thinke my Wife be honest, and thinke she is not: I thinke that thou art iust, and thinke thou art not: Ile haue some proofe. My name that was as fresh As Dians Visage, is now begrim'd and blacke As mine owne face. If there be Cords, or Kniues, Poyson, or Fire, or suffocating streames, Ile not indure it. Would I were satisfied

   Iago. I see you are eaten vp with Passion: I do repent me, that I put it to you. You would be satisfied?
  Oth. Would? Nay, and I will

   Iago. And may: but how? How satisfied, my Lord? Would you the super-vision grossely gape on? Behold her top'd?
  Oth. Death, and damnation. Oh!
  Iago. It were a tedious difficulty, I thinke, To bring them to that Prospect: Damne them then, If euer mortall eyes do see them boulster More then their owne. What then? How then? What shall I say? Where's Satisfaction? It is impossible you should see this, Were they as prime as Goates, as hot as Monkeyes, As salt as Wolues in pride, and Fooles as grosse As Ignorance, made drunke. But yet, I say, If imputation, and strong circumstances, Which leade directly to the doore of Truth, Will giue you satisfaction, you might haue't

   Oth. Giue me a liuing reason she's disloyall

   Iago. I do not like the Office. But sith I am entred in this cause so farre (Prick'd too't by foolish Honesty, and Loue) I will go on. I lay with Cassio lately, And being troubled with a raging tooth, I could not sleepe. There are a kinde of men, So loose of Soule, that in their sleepes will mutter Their Affayres: one of this kinde is Cassio: In sleepe I heard him say, sweet Desdemona, Let vs be wary, let vs hide our Loues, And then (Sir) would he gripe, and wring my hand: Cry, oh sweet Creature: then kisse me hard, As if he pluckt vp kisses by the rootes, That grew vpon my lippes, laid his Leg ore my Thigh, And sigh, and kisse, and then cry cursed Fate, That gaue thee to the Moore

   Oth. O monstrous! monstrous!
  Iago. Nay, this was but his Dreame

   Oth. But this denoted a fore-gone conclusion, 'Tis a shrew'd doubt, though it be but a Dreame

   Iago. And this may helpe to thicken other proofes, That do demonstrate thinly

   Oth. Ile teare her all to peeces

   Iago. Nay yet be wise; yet we see nothing done, She may be honest yet: Tell me but this, Haue you not sometimes seene a Handkerchiefe Spotted with Strawberries, in your wiues hand?
  Oth. I gaue her such a one: 'twas my first gift

   Iago. I know not that: but such a Handkerchiefe (I am sure it was your wiues) did I to day See Cassio wipe his Beard with

   Oth. If it be that

   Iago. If it be that, or any, it was here. It speakes against her with the other proofes

   Othel. O that the Slaue had forty thousand liues: One is too poore, too weake for my reuenge. Now do I see 'tis true. Looke heere Iago, All my fond loue thus do I blow to Heauen. 'Tis gone. Arise blacke vengeance, from the hollow hell, Yeeld vp (O Loue) thy Crowne, and hearted Throne To tyrannous Hate. Swell bosome with thy fraught, For 'tis of Aspickes tongues

   Iago. Yet be content

   Oth. Oh blood, blood, blood

   Iago. Patience I say: your minde may change

   Oth. Neuer Iago. Like to the Ponticke Sea, Whose Icie Current, and compulsiue course, Neu'r keepes retyring ebbe, but keepes due on To the Proponticke, and the Hellespont: Euen so my bloody thoughts, with violent pace Shall neu'r looke backe, neu'r ebbe to humble Loue, Till that a capeable, and wide Reuenge Swallow them vp. Now by yond Marble Heauen, In the due reuerence of a Sacred vow, I heere engage my words

   Iago. Do not rise yet: Witnesse you euer-burning Lights aboue, You Elements, that clip vs round about, Witnesse that heere Iago doth giue vp The execution of his wit, hands, heart, To wrong'd Othello's Seruice. Let him command, And to obey shall be in me remorse, What bloody businesse euer

   Oth. I greet thy loue, Not with vaine thanks, but with acceptance bounteous, And will vpon the instant put thee too't. Within these three dayes let me heare thee say, That Cassio's not aliue

   Iago. My Friend is dead: 'Tis done at your Request. But let her liue

   Oth. Damne her lewde Minx: O damne her, damne her. Come go with me a-part, I will withdraw To furnish me with some swift meanes of death For the faire Diuell. Now art thou my Lieutenant

   Iago. I am your owne for euer.

Exeunt.

Scaena Quarta.

Enter Desdemona, aemilia, and Clown.

  Des. Do you know Sirrah, where Lieutenant Cassio lyes?
  Clow. I dare not say he lies any where

   Des. Why man?
  Clo. He's a Soldier, and for me to say a Souldier lyes, 'tis stabbing

   Des. Go too: where lodges he?
  Clo. To tell you where he lodges, is to tel you where I lye

   Des. Can any thing be made of this?
  Clo. I know not where he lodges, and for mee to deuise a lodging, and say he lies heere, or he lies there, were to lye in mine owne throat

   Des. Can you enquire him out? and be edified by report?
  Clo. I will Catechize the world for him, that is, make Questions, and by them answer

   Des. Seeke him, bidde him come hither: tell him, I haue moou'd my Lord on his behalfe, and hope all will be well

   Clo. To do this, is within the compasse of mans Wit, and therefore I will attempt the doing it.

Exit Clo.

  Des. Where should I loose the Handkerchiefe, aemilia? Aemil. I know not Madam

   Des. Beleeue me, I had rather haue lost my purse Full of Cruzadoes. And but my Noble Moore Is true of minde, and made of no such basenesse, As iealious Creatures are, it were enough To put him to ill-thinking. Aemil. Is he not iealious?
  Des. Who, he? I thinke the Sun where he was borne, Drew all such humors from him. Aemil. Looke where he comes. Enter Othello.

  Des. I will not leaue him now, till Cassio be Call'd to him. How is't with you, my Lord?
  Oth. Well my good Lady. Oh hardnes to dissemble! How do you, Desdemona?
  Des. Well, my good Lord

   Oth. Giue me your hand. This hand is moist, my Lady

   Des. It hath felt no age, nor knowne no sorrow

   Oth. This argues fruitfulnesse, and liberall heart: Hot, hot, and moyst. This hand of yours requires A sequester from Liberty: Fasting, and Prayer, Much Castigation, Exercise deuout, For heere's a yong, and sweating Diuell heere That commonly rebels: 'Tis a good hand, A franke one
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