Othello Page #8

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. If I can fasten but one Cup vpon him With that which he hath drunke to night alreadie, He'l be as full of Quarrell, and offence As my yong Mistris dogge. Now my sicke Foole Rodorigo, Whom Loue hath turn'd almost the wrong side out, To Desdemona hath to night Carrows'd. Potations, pottle-deepe; and he's to watch. Three else of Cyprus, Noble swelling Spirites, (That hold their Honours in a wary distance, The very Elements of this Warrelike Isle) Haue I to night fluster'd with flowing Cups, And they Watch too. Now 'mongst this Flocke of drunkards Am I put to our Cassio in some Action That may offend the Isle. But here they come. Enter Cassio, Montano, and Gentlemen.

If Consequence do but approue my dreame, My Boate sailes freely, both with winde and Streame

   Cas. 'Fore heauen, they haue giuen me a rowse already

   Mon. Good-faith a litle one: not past a pint, as I am a Souldier

   Iago. Some Wine hoa. And let me the Cannakin clinke, clinke: And let me the Cannakin clinke. A Souldiers a man: Oh, mans life's but a span, Why then let a Souldier drinke. Some Wine Boyes

   Cas. 'Fore Heauen: an excellent Song

   Iago. I learn'd it in England: where indeed they are most potent in Potting. Your Dane, your Germaine, and your swag-belly'd Hollander, (drinke hoa) are nothing to your English

   Cassio. Is your Englishmen so exquisite in his drinking?
  Iago. Why, he drinkes you with facillitie, your Dane dead drunke. He sweates not to ouerthrow your Almaine. He giues your Hollander a vomit, ere the next Pottle can be fill'd

   Cas. To the health of our Generall

   Mon. I am for it Lieutenant: and Ile do you Iustice

   Iago. Oh sweet England. King Stephen was anda worthy Peere, His Breeches cost him but a Crowne, He held them Six pence all to deere, With that he cal'd the Tailor Lowne: He was a wight of high Renowne, And thou art but of low degree: 'Tis Pride that pulls the Country downe, And take thy awl'd Cloake about thee. Some Wine hoa

   Cassio. Why this is a more exquisite Song then the other

   Iago. Will you heare't againe?
  Cas. No: for I hold him to be vnworthy of his Place, that do's those things. Well: heau'ns aboue all: and there be soules must be saued, and there be soules must not be saued

   Iago. It's true, good Lieutenant

   Cas. For mine owne part, no offence to the Generall, nor any man of qualitie: I hope to be saued

   Iago. And so do I too Lieutenant

   Cassio. I: (but by your leaue) not before me. The Lieutenant is to be saued before the Ancient. Let's haue no more of this: let's to our Affaires. Forgiue vs our sinnes: Gentlemen let's looke to our businesse. Do not thinke Gentlemen, I am drunke: this is my Ancient, this is my right hand, and this is my left. I am not drunke now: I can stand well enough, and I speake well enough

   Gent. Excellent well

   Cas. Why very well then: you must not thinke then, that I am drunke. Enter.

  Monta. To th' Platforme (Masters) come, let's set the Watch

   Iago. You see this Fellow, that is gone before, He's a Souldier, fit to stand by Caesar, And giue direction. And do but see his vice, 'Tis to his vertue, a iust Equinox, The one as long as th' other. 'Tis pittie of him: I feare the trust Othello puts him in, On some odde time of his infirmitie Will shake this Island

   Mont. But is he often thus?
  Iago. 'Tis euermore his prologue to his sleepe, He'le watch the Horologe a double Set, If Drinke rocke not his Cradle

   Mont. It were well The Generall were put in mind of it: Perhaps he sees it not, or his good nature Prizes the vertue that appeares in Cassio, And lookes not on his euills: is not this true? Enter Rodorigo.

  Iago. How now Rodorigo? I pray you after the Lieutenant, go

   Mon. And 'tis great pitty, that the Noble Moore Should hazard such a Place, as his owne Second With one of an ingraft Infirmitie, It were an honest Action, to say so To the Moore

   Iago. Not I, for this faire Island, I do loue Cassio well: and would do much To cure him of this euill, But hearke, what noise? Enter Cassio pursuing Rodorigo.

  Cas. You Rogue: you Rascall

   Mon. What's the matter Lieutenant?
  Cas. A Knaue teach me my dutie? Ile beate the Knaue in to a Twiggen-Bottle

   Rod. Beate me?
  Cas. Dost thou prate, Rogue?
  Mon. Nay, good Lieutenant: I pray you Sir, hold your hand

   Cassio. Let me go (Sir) Or Ile knocke you o're the Mazard

   Mon. Come, come: you're drunke

   Cassio. Drunke?
  Iago. Away I say: go out and cry a Mutinie. Nay good Lieutenant. Alas Gentlemen: Helpe hoa. Lieutenant. Sir Montano: Helpe Masters. Heere's a goodly Watch indeed. Who's that which rings the Bell: Diablo, hoa: The Towne will rise. Fie, fie Lieutenant, You'le be asham'd for euer. Enter Othello, and Attendants.

  Othe. What is the matter heere?
  Mon. I bleed still, I am hurt to th' death. He dies

   Othe. Hold for your liues

   Iag. Hold hoa: Lieutenant, Sir Montano, Gentlemen: Haue you forgot all place of sense and dutie? Hold. The Generall speaks to you: hold for shame

   Oth. Why how now hoa? From whence ariseth this? Are we turn'd Turkes? and to our selues do that Which Heauen hath forbid the Ottamittes. For Christian shame, put by this barbarous Brawle: He that stirs next, to carue for his owne rage, Holds his soule light: He dies vpon his Motion. Silence that dreadfull Bell, it frights the Isle, From her propriety. What is the matter, Masters? Honest Iago, that lookes dead with greeuing, Speake: who began this? On thy loue I charge thee?
  Iago. I do not know: Friends all, but now, euen now. In Quarter, and in termes like Bride, and Groome Deuesting them for Bed: and then, but now: (As if some Planet had vnwitted men) Swords out, and tilting one at others breastes, In opposition bloody. I cannot speake Any begining to this peeuish oddes. And would, in Action glorious, I had lost Those legges, that brought me to a part of it

   Othe. How comes it (Michaell) you are thus forgot?
  Cas. I pray you pardon me, I cannot speake

   Othe. Worthy Montano, you were wont to be ciuill: The grauitie, and stillnesse of your youth The world hath noted. And your name is great In mouthes of wisest Censure. What's the matter That you vnlace your reputation thus, And spend your rich opinion, for the name Of a night-brawler? Giue me answer to it

   Mon. Worthy Othello, I am hurt to danger, Your Officer Iago, can informe 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 amisse this night, Vnlesse selfe-charitie be sometimes a vice, And to defend our selues, it be a sinne When violence assailes vs

   Othe. Now by Heauen, My blood begins my safer Guides to rule, And passion (hauing my best iudgement collied) Assaies to leade the way. If I once stir, Or do but lift this Arme, the best of you Shall sinke in my rebuke. Giue me to know How this foule Rout began: Who set it on, And he that is approu'd in this offence, Though he had twinn'd with me, both at a birth, Shall loose me. What in a Towne of warre, Yet wilde, the peoples hearts brim-full of feare, To Manage priuate, and domesticke Quarrell? In night, and on the Court and Guard of safetie? 'Tis monstrous: Iago, who began't?
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