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 unkindly, That thou, Iago, I who hast had my purse, 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, t My mediators; for, certes, says he, Forsooth, a great arithmetician, One Michael Cassio, a Florentine, A fellow almost damn'd in a fair wife; More than a spinster; unless the bookish theorick, As masterly as he: mere prattle, without practice, Is all his soldiership. But, he, Sir, had the election: And I, By debitor and creditor, this counter-caster; ancient, Rod. By heaven, I rather would, have been his hangman. Iago. But there's no remedy, 'tis the curse of Preferment goes by letter, and affection; To love the Moor. Rod. I would not follow him then. I follow him to serve my turn upon him? 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. It is as sure as you are Roderigo, Were I the Moor, I would not be lago: For when my outward action doth demonstrate If he can carry't thus! Iago. Call up her father, Rouse him make after him, poison his delight, Rod. Here is her father's house; I'll call aloud. As when, by night and negligence, the fire 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. 料 Bra. What is the reason of this terrible sum What is the matter there? mons ? Rod. Signior, is all your family within? 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; Or else the devil will make a graudsire of you; 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, 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. . f 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, seech you, If't be your pleasure, and most wise consent, |