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OTHELLO,

THE MOOR OF VENICE.

ACT I. SCENE I

Venice. A Street.

Enter RODERIGO and IAGO.

Rod. Tush, never tell me, I take it much

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unkindly,

That thou, Iago, I who hast had my purse,
As if the strings were thine,

of this.

should'st know

Iago. 'Sblood, but you will not hear me; If ever I did dream of such a matter,

Abhor me.

Rod. Thou told'st me, thou did'st 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,
Oft capp'd 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 wari
And, in conclusion, nonsuits

t

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 damn'd 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 theorick,
Wherein the toged consuls can propose

As masterly as he: mere prattle, without practice, Is all his soldiership. But, he, Sir, had the

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
calm'd

By debitor and creditor, this counter-caster;
He, in good time, must his lieutenant be,
And I, (God bless the mark!) his Moor-ship's

ancient,

Rod. By heaven, I rather would, have been his hangman.

Iago. But there's no remedy, 'tis the curse of
service;

Preferment goes by letter, and affection;
Not by the old gradation, where each second
Stood heir to the first. Now, Sir, be judge yourself,
Whether I in any just term am affin'd

To love the Moor.

Rod. 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
Caunot be truly follow'd. You shall mark
Marry 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, trimm'd 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, lin'd their coats,

Do themselves homage: these fellows have some -soul;

And such a one do I profess myself.
För, Sir,

It is as sure as you are Roderigo,

Were I the Moor, I would not be lago:
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.
Rod. 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 colour.

Rod. Here is her father's house; I'll call aloud.
Tago. Do; with like timorons accent, and dire yell,

As when, by night and negligence, the fire
Is spied in populous cities.

Rod. What ho! Brabantio! Signior Brabantio,

ho!'

Tago. Awake! what, ho! Brabantio! thieves!

thieves! thieves!

Look to your house, your daughter, and your

Thieves! thieves!

bags!

BRABANTIO, above, at a window.

Bra. What is the reason of this terrible sum

What is the matter there?

mons ?

Rod. Signior, is all your family within?
Iago. Are your doors lock'd?

Bra. Why? wherefore ask you this?

Iago. 'Zounds, Sir, you are robb'd; for shame,

put on your gown;

Your heart is burst, you have lost half your soul;
Even now, very now, an old black ram
Is tupping your white ewe. Arise, arise;
Awake the snorting citizens with the bell,

Or else the devil will make a graudsire of you;
Arise, I say.

Bra. What, have you lost your wits?

Rod. Most reverend Signior, do you know my voice?

Bra. Not I; What are you?

Rod. My name is

Roderigo.

Bra. The worse welcome:

I have charg'd thee, not to haunt about my doors: In honest plainness thou hast heard me say,

My daughter is not for thee; and now, in madness,

Being full of supper, and distempering draughts, Upon malicious bravery, dost thou come

To start my quiet.

Rod. Sir, Sir, Sir, Sir,

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Bra. But thou must needs be sure;

My spirit, and my place, have in them power To make this bitter to thee.

Rod. Patience, good Sir.

Bra. What tell'st thou me of robbing? this is Venice;

My house is not a grange.

Rod. Most grave Brabantio,

In simple and pure soul I come to you.

Iago. 'Zounds, Sir, you are one of those, that will not serve God, if the devil bid you. Because we come to do you service, you think we are ruffians : You'll have your daughter cover'd with a Barbary horse; you'll have your nephews neigh to you: you'll have coursers for cousins, and gennets for germans.

.

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Bra. What profane wretch art thou?

Iago. I am one, Sir, that comes to tell you, your daughter and the Moor are now making the beast with two backs.

Bra. Thou art a villain.

Jago. You are a senator.

Bra. This thou shalt answer; I know thee,

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seech you,

If't be your pleasure, and most wise consent,
(As partly, I find, it is,) that your fair daughter,
At this odd-even and dull watch o'the night,
Transported- with no worse nor better guard,
But with a knave of common hire, a gondolier,-
To the gross clasps of a lascivious Moor,-

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