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Tush! Never tell me.
I take it much unkindly that
thou, Iago, who hast had my purse,
as if the strings were thine, shouldst know of this.
'Sblood, but you'll not hear me.
If ever I did dream of such a matter, abhor me.
Thou told'st me, thou didst hold him in thy hate.
Despise me if I do not.
Three great ones of the city,
in personal suit to make me his lieutenant,
off-capp'd to him.
And by the faith of man, I know my price.
I am worth no worse a place, but he, sir,
evades them, with a bombast circumstance,
"I have already chose my officer." And what was he?
Forsooth, a great arithmetician,
one Michael Cassio, a Florentine.
That never set a squadron in the field,
nor the division of a battle knows more than a spinster!
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 belee'd and calm'd.
He, in good times, his lieutenant be,
and I, God bless the mark, his Moorship's ancient.
- What's that? - Flag-waver.
I would not follow him, then.
O, sir, content you.
In following him, I follow but myself.
Heaven is my judge, not I for love or duty,
but seeming so for my peculiar end.
For when my outward action doth demonstrate
the native act and figure of my heart
in complement 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.
What a full fortune doth his Moorship
win, if he can marry her thus!
Call up her father, rouse him,
make after him, poison his delight,
proclaim him in the streets.
This is her father's house. I'll call aloud.
No. Do it with like timorous accent and dire yell
as when, by night and negligence,
the fire is spied in populous cities.
What, ho.
- Brabantio... - Awake!
Brabantio!
Thieves, thieves!
Look to your house, your daughter, your bags!
What is the reason of this terrible summons?
What is the matter there?
Most reverend signor, do you know my voice?
Not I. What are you?
My name is Roderigo.
The worser welcome.
I have charged thee not to haunt about my doors.
In honest plainness thou hast heard me say
my daughter is not for thee.
Most grave signor, in simple...
Zounds, sir!
Because we come to do you service,
and you think we are ruffians,
you'll have your daughter covered with a Barbary horse!
What profane wretch art thou?
I am one, sir, that comes to tell you,
your daughter and the Moor are now
making the beast with two backs,
an old Black Ram is tupping your white ewe.
Thou art a villain!
You are a senator!
This thou shalt answer!
I know thee, Roderigo.
Farewell.
For I must leave you. It seems not meet or wholesome to my part
to be produced, as if I stay, I shall against the Moors...
Desdemona!
In which regard, though I do hate him,
as I do hell pains,
yet, for necessity of present life,
I must show out a flag and sign of love,
- which is indeed but sign. - Desdemona!
But you shall surely find him. Lead to
the Sagittary, the raisèd search,
there will I be with him. Adieu.
It is too true an evil!
Gone she is!
And what's to come of my despised time,
is naught but bitterness.
O, unhappy girl.
With the Moor, say, sire?
O, would that you had had her.
Do you know where we may apprehend her and the Moor?
I think I can discover them,
if you please to get good guard, and go along with me.
At every house, I'll call.
Get weapons. Go.
Go.
I pray you, sir, are you fast married?
Be assured of this.
Signor Brabantio is much beloved
and hath in his effect a voice
potential as double as the Duke's.
He will divorce you, or put upon you
what restraint and grievance the
law with all his might enforce it on
- will give him cable. - Let him do his spite.
My services, which I have done the
signory, shall out-tongue his complaints.
I fetch my life and blood from men of royal siege.
And my demerits may speak unbonneted
to as proud a fortune as this that I have reached.
For know, Iago...
but that I love the gentle Desdemona,
I would not my unhoused free condition
put into circumscription and confine for the sea's worth.
But, look, what lights come yond?
'Tis the raisèd father and
his friends. You were best go in.
Not I. I must be found.
My parts, my title, and my perfect
soul shall manifest me rightly.
- Is it they? - By Janus, I think no.
The servants of the Duke and my lieutenant.
The goodness of the night upon you, friends! What is the news?
The Duke does greet you, General,
and he requires your haste-post-haste appearance,
- even on the instant. - What is the matter, think you?
Something from Cyprus, as I may divine.
It is a business of some heat,
and many of the consuls, raised
and met, are at the Duke's already.
You have been hotly called for.
When, being not at your lodging to be found,
the senate hath sent about three
several quests to search you out.
'Tis well I am found by you.
I will but spend a word here in the house,
- and go with you. - It's here.
Send him home!
Arrest him!
Here comes another troop to seek for you.
Bloody foreigner!
It is Signor Brabantio.
General, be advised, he comes to bad intent.
- Holla, stand there! - Signor, it is the Moor.
Down with him, thief!
You, sir, Roderigo!
- Come, I am for you. - Keep up your bright swords
for the dew will rust them.
Good signor, you shall more command
with years than with your weapons.
O, thou foul thief, where hast thou stowed my daughter?
Damned as thou art, thou hast enchanted her!
For I'll refer me to all things of sense
if she, in chains of magic were not bound,
whether a maid so tender, fair, and happy,
so opposite to marriage,
that she shunned the wealthy
curlèd darlings of our nation,
to incur a general mock, would run from her family,
to the sooty bosom of such a thing as thou?
To fear, not to delight...
Lay hold upon him. If he do resist, subdue him at his peril.
Hold your hands, both you of my inclining and the rest!
Were it my cue to fight, I should've
known it without a prompter.
Where will you that I go to answer this your charge?
To prison!
Till fit time of law, and course of
direct session call thee to answer.
What if I do obey?
How may the Duke be therewith satisfied,
whose messengers are here about my side
upon some present business of the state
to bring me to him?
'Tis true, most worthy signor,
the Duke's in council, and your
noble self, I am sure is sent for.
How? The Duke in council? At this time of the night?
Mine's not an idle cause.
The Duke himself or any of my brothers of the state
cannot but feel this wrong as t'were their own.
There is no composition in these news that gives them credit.
Indeed! They are disproportioned.
My letters say 107 galleys.
- Mine, 140. - And mine, 200.
But though they jump not on a just account,
as in these cases, where the aim
reports 'tis oft with difference,
yet do they all confirm a Turkish
fleet, and bearing up to Cyprus.
Signor Montano, your trusty and most valiant servitor,
with his free duty recommends you
thus, and prays you to believe him.
'Tis certain then. For Cyprus.
Valiant Othello, we must straight employ you
against the general enemy, Ottoman.
I did not see you.
Welcome, gentle signor,
we lacked your counsel and your help tonight.
So did I yours.
Good, your Grace, pardon me.
Neither my place, nor aught I heard of business
hath raised me from my bed,
nor doth the general care take hold on me.
For my particular grief is of so
flood-gate and o'erbearing nature
that it engluts and swallows other
sorrows, and it is still itself!
- Why, what's the matter? - My daughter!
My daughter.
- Dead? - Ay.
To me.
She is abused, stolen from me, and corrupted!
By spells and medicines bought of mountebanks.
Whoe'er he be, that in this foul proceeding,
hath thus beguiled your daughter of herself and you of her,
the bloody book of law
you shall yourself read in the bitter letter,
after your own sense, yea,
though our proper son stood in your action.
Humbly, I thank your Grace.
Here is the man! This Moor!
Whom now, it seems your special mandate
for the state affairs hath hither brought.
What, in your own part, can you say to this?
Nothing! But it is so.
Most potent, grave, and reverend signors,
my very noble and approved good masters,
that I have ta'en away this old man's daughter, it is most true,
true I have married her.
The very head and front of my
offending hath this extent, no more.
But, Othello...
did you by indirect and forced courses
subdue and poison this young maid's affections?
Or came it by request,
and such fair question as soul to soul affordeth?
I do beseech you, send for the lady to the Sagittary.
Let her speak of me before her father.
If you do find me foul in her report,
the trust, the office I do hold of you, not only take away,
but let your sentence even fall upon my life.
Fetch Desdemona hither.
Ancient, conduct them, you best know the place.
And till she come,
as truly as to heaven, I do confess the vices of my blood.
So justly to your grave ears, I'll present
how I did thrive in this fair lady's love,
and she in mine.
Say it, Othello.
Her father loved me, oft invited me,
still questioned me the story of my life, from year to year...
the battles, sieges, fortunes that I had passed.
I ran it through,
even from my boyish days to the
very moment that he bade me tell it,
wherein I spake of most disastrous chances.
Of moving accidents by flood and field,
of hair-breadth scapes in the imminent deadly breach,
of being taken by the insolent foe and sold to slavery,
of my redemption thence
and portance in my travel's history,
wherein of caverns vast and deserts idle,
rough quarries, rocks, and hills whose heads touch heaven,
it was my hint to speak.
Such was the process.
And of the Cannibals that each other eat,
the Anthropophagi,
and men whose heads do grow beneath their shoulders.
This to hear...
would Desdemona seriously incline.
But still, the house affairs would draw her thence,
which ever as she could with haste dispatch,
she'd come again, and with a
greedy ear devour up my discourse.
Which I, observing,
took once a pliant hour, and found good means
to draw from her a prayer of earnest heart,
that I would all my pilgrimage dilate,
whereof by parcels she had something
heard, but not intentively.
I did consent, and often did beguile her of her tears,
when I did...
speak of some distressful stroke that my youth suffered.
My story being done, she gave me for my pains...
a world of kisses.
She swore, in faith, 'twas strange,
'twas passing strange, 'twas...
pitiful.
'Twas wondrous pitiful.
She wished she had not heard it, yet she wished
that heaven had made her such a man.
She thanked me and bade me,
that if I had a friend that loved her,
I should but teach him how to tell
my story, and that would woo her.
Upon this hint, I spake.
She loved me for the dangers I had passed,
and I loved her that she did pity them.
This only is the witchcraft I have used.
Here comes the lady.
Let her witness it.
I think this tale would win my daughter, too.
Good Brabantio...
I pray you hear her speak!
If she confess that she was half the wooer,
destruction on my head, if my bad blame light on the man.
Come hither, gentle mistress.
Do you... Do you perceive in all this noble company
where most you owe obedience?
My noble father,
I do perceive here a divided duty.
To you, I am bound for life and education.
My life and education both do learn me how to respect you.
You are the lord of duty, I am hitherto your daughter.
But here's my husband.
And so much duty as my mother showed to
you, preferring you before her father,
so much, I challenge that I may profess
due to the Moor, my lord.
God be with you!
I've done.
Please it, your Grace, on to the state affairs.
I had rather to adopt a child than get it.
Come hither, Moor.
I here do give thee that with all my heart
which... but thou hast already,
with all my heart I would keep from thee.
For your sake, jewel,
I am glad at soul I have no other child,
for thy escape would teach me tyranny, to hang clogs on them.
I've done, my lord.
Let me lay a sentence which may
help these lovers into your favour.
The robbed that smiles steals something from the thief.
He robs himself that spends a bootless grief.
So let the Turk of Cyprus us beguile.
We lose it not so long as we can smile.
I humbly beseech you, proceed to the affairs of state.
The Turk with a most mighty preparation
makes for Cyprus.
Othello, the fortitude of the place is best known to you.
You must be content therefore to
slubber the gloss of your new fortunes
with this more stubborn and boisterous expedition.
The tyrant custom, most grave senators,
hath made the flinty and steel couch of war
my thrice-driven bed of down.
I do undertake this present war against the Ottomites.
Most humbly, therefore, bending to your state,
I crave fit disposition for my wife,
due reference of place and exhibition,
with such accommodation and besort
as levels with her breeding.
If you please, be it her father's.
I'll not have it so.
- Nor I. - Nor I!
I would not there reside, to put my father in impatient thoughts
by being in his eye.
Most gracious Duke, to my
unfolding, lend your prosperous ear,
and let me find a charter in your
voice to assist my simpleness.
What would you, Desdemona?
That I did love the Moor to live with him.
My downright violence and storm of
fortunes may trumpet to the world,
my heart's subdued, even to the very quality of my lord.
I saw Othello's visage in his mind,
and to his honours and his valiant parts
did I my soul and fortunes consecrate.
So that, dear lords, if I be left behind,
a moth of peace, and he go to the war,
the rites for which I love him are bereft me,
and I a heavy interim shall support by his dear absence.
- Let me go with him. - Let her have your voice.
Vouch with me, heaven, I therefore beg it
not to please the palate of my appetite,
but to be free and bounteous to her mind.
Be it as you shall privately determine.
Either for her stay or going,
the affair cries haste and speed must answer it.
You must away tonight.
- Tonight, my lord? - This night.
With all my heart, sir.
At nine of the morning, here we'll meet again.
Othello, leave some officer behind.
He shall our commission bring to you,
with such things else of quality and respect as doth import you.
So please your Grace, my ancient,
a man he is of honesty and trust.
To his conveyance, I assign my wife.
With what else needful, your good
Grace shall think to be sent after me.
Let it be so.
Good night to everyone.
And, noble signor...
if virtue no delighted beauty lack,
your son-in-law is far more fair than Black.
Adieu, brave Moor.
Use Desdemona well.
Look to her, Moor, if thou hast eyes to see.
She has deceived her father,
- and may thee. - My life upon her faith.
Honest Iago, my Desdemona must I leave to thee.
I prithee, let thy wife attend on her, and
bring them after in the best advantage.
Come, Desdemona,
I have but an hour of love, of worldly matters, and direction
to spend with thee.
We must obey the time. Come.
Iago.
What sayst thou, noble heart?
- What will I do, thinkest thou? - Why, go to bed and sleep.
I will incontinently drown myself.
If thou dost, I shall never love thee after.
Why, thou silly gentleman!
It is silliness to live
when to live is torment.
What should I do?
I confess it is my shame to be so fond of Desdemona.
It's not in my virtue to amend it.
Virtue? A fig!
It is in ourselves that we are thus or thus.
If the balance of our lives had not one scale of reason
to poise another of sensuality,
the blood and baseness of our natures
would conduct us to most preposterous conclusions.
But we have reason.
Come, sir, be a man.
Drown thyself?
Drown cats and blind puppies.
I have professed me thy friend, and I say,
follow thou the wars.
Defeat thy favours with a usurped beard.
I say, put money in thy purse.
What do you mean?
Turn everything you own to cash.
It cannot be that Desdemona shall
long continue her love to the Moor.
Put money in thy purse.
Nor, he his to her.
She must change for youth.
If thou wilt needs damn thyself, do it
in a more delicate way than drowning.
Thou shalt enjoy her.
Therefore, fetch your money.
If thou canst cuckold him, thou dost thyself a pleasure,
me a sport.
There are many events in the womb
of time which will be delivered.
Traverse, go, provide your money.
We'll have more of this tomorrow. Adieu.
Where shall I meet thee in the morning?
At my lodging.
- I'll be with thee betimes. - Go to, farewell.
- Do you hear, Roderigo? - What say you?
No more of drowning, do you hear?
I'm changed. I'll sell all my land.
Thus, do I ever make my fool my purse.
For I mine own gained knowledge should profane
if I would time expend with such a snipe,
but for my sport and profit.
I hate the Moor.
I hate him.
And yet, he holds me well.
The better shall my purpose work on him.
Cassio's a proper man.
Let me see now.
To get his place
and to plume up my will and double knavery,
how?
How?
Let's see.
After some time, to abuse Othello's ear
that Cassio's too familiar with his wife.
He hath a person and a smooth dispose,
to be suspected, framed, to make women false.
And the Moor is of a free and open nature
that thinks men honest that but seem to be so,
and will as tenderly be led by the nose as asses are.
I have it.
It is engendered.
Hell
and night
must bring this monstrous birth
to the world's light!
Desdemona!
Othello!
What from the cape can you discern at sea?
Nothing at all! It is a high-wrought flood!
I cannot 'twixt the heaven and the main descry a sail.
Methinks the wind hath spoke aloud at land.
A fuller blast never shook our battlements.
If that the Turkish fleet be not ensheltered and embayed,
they are drowned.
It is impossible to bear it out.
News, lads!
Our wars are done.
The desperate tempest hath so banged the Turks
that their designment halts.
A noble ship of Venice hath seen a grievous wreck and sufferance
- on most part of their fleet. - How? Is this true?
The ship is here, put in!
One Michael Cassio,
Lieutenant to the warlike Moor Othello,
is come on shore!
Thanks you, the valiant of this warlike isle,
that so approve the Moor!
O, let the heavens give him defence against the elements,
for I have lost him on a dangerous sea.
- Is he well shipped? - Signor Montano.
His bark is stoutly timbered
and his pilot of very expert and approved allowance.
Therefore, my hopes, not surfeited
to death, stand in bold cure.
I am glad on it. 'Tis a worthy governor.
But, good Lieutenant, is your general wived?
Most fortunately. He hath achieved a maid
that paragons description and wild fame!
- A sail! A sail, a sail! - How now? Who has put in?
'Tis one Iago, ancient to the General.
He has had most favourable and happy speed.
Tempests themselves, high seas, and howling winds,
as having sense of beauty, do omit their mortal natures,
letting go safely by the divine Desdemona.
What is she?
She that I spake of, our great captain's captain,
left in the conduct of the bold Iago.
Great Jove, Othello guard,
and swell his sail with thine own powerful breath,
that he may bless this bay with his tall ship,
make love's quick breaths in Desdemona's arms,
give renewed fire to our extincted spirits,
and bring all Cyprus comfort!
O, behold!
The riches of the ship is come on shore!
Ye men of Cyprus, let her have your knees.
Hail to thee, lady, and by the grace of heaven,
before, behind thee, and on every hand,
enwheel thee round!
I thank you, valiant Cassio.
What tidings can you tell me of my lord?
He is not yet arrived, nor know I aught, but
that he's well, and will be shortly here.
But I fear. How lost you company?
The great contention of the sea and skies parted our fellowship.
- A sail! A sail! - But, hark, a sail!
They give their greeting to the citadel.
- This likewise is a friend. - See for the news.
Good flagman, you are welcome.
Welcome, mistress.
Let it not gall your patience, good
Iago, that I extend my manners.
Sir, would she give you so much of her lip as of her tongue
she oft bestows on me, you would have enough.
You have little cause to say so.
Nay, it is true, or else I am a Turk.
You rise to play, and go to bed to work.
Fie upon thee, slanderer!
Do not learn of him, Emilia, though he be thy husband.
What say you, Cassio? Is he not a
most profane and liberal counsellor?
You may relish him more in the soldier than in the scholar.
There's one gone to the harbour?
Ay, madam.
I'm not merry, but I do beguile the
thing I am, by seeming otherwise.
He takes her by the palm.
Well said, whisper.
With as little a web as this, will
I ensnare as great a fly as Cassio.
Ay, smile upon her, do.
Well kissed, very good.
An excellent courtesy!
'Tis so, indeed.
Yet again, your fingers to your lips?
Would they were enema-pipes for your sake!
The Moor! I know his trumpet.
'Tis truly so.
Let's meet him, and receive him.
Lo, where he comes!
O, my fair warrior!
My dear Othello!
It gives me wonder,
great as my content to see you here before me.
O, my soul's joy.
If after every tempest come such calms,
winds blow till they have wakened death,
and let the labouring bark climb hills of seas Olympus-high,
and duck again as low as hell's from heaven.
If it were now to die, 'twere now to be most happy,
for I fear my soul hath her content so absolute
that not another comfort like to this succeeds in unknown fate.
The heavens forbid but that our
loves and comforts should increase!
Even as our days do grow!
Amen to that, sweet powers!
I cannot speak enough of this content. It stops me here.
It is too much joy.
And this...
The greatest discords be, that e'er our hearts shall make.
O, you are well tuned now,
but I'll set down the pegs that make this music,
as honest as I am.
Come. Back to the castle.
News, friends!
Our wars are done, the Turks are drowned!
How does my old acquaintance of this isle?
Honey, you shall be well desired in Cyprus.
I have found great love amongst them.
O, my sweet, I prattle out of fashion,
and I dote in mine own comforts.
I prithee, good Iago, go to the bay and disembark my coffers.
Bring thou the master to the citadel.
He is a good one, and his worthiness
does challenge much respect.
Come, Desdemona. Once more, well met at Cyprus.
Do thou meet me presently at the harbour.
Come hither.
If thou be'st valiant, as they say base men being in love
have then a nobility in their nature
more than is native to them, list me.
The Lieutenant, tonight, watches on the court of guard.
First, I must tell thee this.
Desdemona is directly in love with him.
I cannot believe that in her.
She is full of the most blessed condition.
Blessed? Fig's end!
The wine she drinks is made of grapes.
If she had been blessed, she would never have loved the Moor.
Blessed? Pudding!
Didst thou not see her paddle with the palm of his hand?
- Didst not mark that? - Yes.
Yes, that I did. That was but courtesy.
Lechery, by this hand.
An index and obscure prologue to the
history of lust and foul thoughts.
They met so near with their lips
that their breaths embraced together.
Villainous thoughts, Roderigo!
But, sir, be you ruled by me.
Cassio knows you not.
I'll not be far from you.
Do you find some occasion to anger Cassio,
either by speaking too loudly, or tainting his discipline,
or from what other course you please,
that the time shall more favourably minister.
- Well... - Sir,
he is rash, and very sudden in choler,
and haply with his truncheon may strike at you.
Provoke him that he may,
for even out of that will I cause the displanting of Cassio.
And so shall you have a shorter journey to your desires!
I will do this, if I can bring this to any opportunity.
I warrant thee.
Meet me by and by at the citadel.
I must fetch his necessaries ashore.
- Farewell. - Adieu.
It is Othello's pleasure, our noble and valiant general,
that upon certain tidings now arrived,
importing the mere perdition of the Turkish fleet,
that every man put himself into triumph,
some to dance, some to make bonfires,
each man to what sport and revel his addition leads him.
For besides this beneficial news,
it is a celebration of his nuptial.
Good Michael, look you to the guard tonight.
Let's teach ourselves that honourable stop,
not to outsport discretion.
Iago hath direction what to do.
But notwithstanding, with my personal eye will I look to it.
Iago is most honest.
Michael, good night. Tomorrow, with your earliest,
let me have speech with you.
Come, my dear love.
The purchase made, the fruits are to ensue.
That profit's yet to come 'tween me and you.
Welcome, Iago. We must to the watch.
Not this hour, Lieutenant. 'Tis not yet ten of the clock.
Our general cast us thus early for love of his Desdemona,
who let us not therefore blame.
He hath not yet made wanton the night with her.
And she is sport for Jove.
She is a most exquisite lady.
And, I'll warrant her, full of game.
Indeed, she is a most fresh and delicate creature.
Well, happiness to their sheets.
Come, Lieutenant, I have a stoup of wine,
and here within, are a brace of Cyprus gallants
that would fain have a measure to the health of Black Othello.
Not tonight, good Iago. I have very
poor and unhappy brains for drinking.
I could well wish courtesy would invent
some other custom of entertainment.
But they are our friends.
But one cup!
I'll drink for you.
I have drunk but one cup tonight,
and that was craftily qualified too, and
behold, what innovation it makes here.
I am unfortunate in the infirmity, and
dare not task my weakness with any more.
What, man! It is a night of revels.
The gallants desire it.
- Where are they? - Here within.
I pray you.
I'll do it, but it dislikes me.
And let me the canakin clink
If I can fasten but one cup on him,
with that which he hath drunk tonight already,
he'll be as full of quarrel and
offence as my young mistress' dog.
Let me the canakin clink
Now, my sick fool Roderigo,
whom love hath turned almost the wrong side out,
to Desdemona hath tonight caroused potations pottle-deep,
and he's to watch.
Let me the canakin clink
Three lads of Cyprus, noble swelling spirits,
that hold their honours in a wary distance,
the very elements of this warlike isle,
have I tonight flustered with flowing cups.
And they watch, too.
A soldier's a man, a life's but a span
Now, amongst this flock of drunkards,
am I to put our Cassio in some action
that may offend the isle.
Why then let a soldier drink
If consequence do but approve my dream,
my boat sails swiftly, both with wind and stream.
Let's have no more of this. Let's to our affairs.
Forgive us our sins. Gentlemen, let's look to our business.
You must not think, gentlemen, that I am drunk.
This is my flagman, this is my right hand, this is my left.
This... Don't know whose this is.
I'm not drunk now. I can stand well
enough, I can speak well enough.
Excellent well.
Very well, then. You must not think, then, that I am drunk.
To the platform, masters.
Come, let's set the watch.
Hey!
You...
You see this fellow that is gone before?
He is a soldier fit to stand by Caesar and give direction.
And do but see his vice.
'Tis to his virtue a just equinox,
the one as long as t'other. 'Tis pity of him.
I do fear the trust Othello puts him in,
on some odd time of his infirmity will shake this isle.
But, is he often thus?
'Tis evermore the prologue to his sleep.
He'll watch the horologe a double
set if drink rock not his cradle.
It were well the general were put in mind of it.
It is great pity the noble Moor should
hazard such a place as his own second
with one of an ingraft infirmity.
It were an honest action to say so to the Moor.
Not I, for this fair isle.
I do love Cassio well
and would do much to cure him of this evil.
- But, hark! What noise is this? - Zounds, you rogue, you rascal!
- What's the matter, Lieutenant? - A knave teach me my duty!
I'll beat the knave into a twiggen bottle!
Beat me?
- Dost thou prate, rogue? - Cassio! Cassio!
Sorry, sorry.
Nay, good Lieutenant, I pray you, sir, hold your hand!
Take your hands off me, sir, or I'll knock you over the mazard!
Away! Go out and cry a mutiny. Go!
- Come, come, you're drunk! - Drunk?
You will be shamed forever.
Zounds, I bleed! He dies!
For Christian shame, put by this barbarous brawl!
Silence that dreadful bell!
It frights the isle from her propriety.
What is the matter, masters?
Honest Iago, that looks dead with
grieving, speak! Who began this?
- On thy love, I charge thee. - I...
I do not know.
Friends all but now, even now,
in quarter, and in terms as bride
and groom devesting them for bed.
And then... but now, as if some planet had unwitted men,
swords out, and tilting one at other's breast,
in opposition bloody.
I cannot speak any beginning to this peevish odds.
And would in action glorious, I had lost those legs
that brought me to a part of it!
How comes it, Michael, you are thus forgot?
I pray you, pardon me.
I cannot speak.
Worthy Montano, you were wont be civil.
What's the matter that you unlace your reputation thus
and spend your rich opinion for the name of a night-brawler?
Give me answer to it.
Worthy Othello, I am hurt to danger.
Your ancient, Iago, can inform you, while I spare speech,
which something now offends me of all that I do know.
Nor know I aught by me that's said or done amiss this night,
unless self-charity be sometimes a vice.
And to defend ourselves it be a sin when violence assails us.
O, by heaven, my blood begins my safer guides to rule!
Give me to know how this foul rout began!
Who set it on?
And he that is approved in this offence,
though he had twinned with me, both at a birth, shall lose me.
What? In a town of war, yet wild,
the people's hearts brimful of fear,
to manage private and domestic quarrel in night,
and on the court and guard of safety?
It is monstrous!
Iago, who began't?
If thou dost deliver more or less
than truth, thou art no soldier.
Touch me not so near.
I had rather have this tongue cut from my mouth
than it should do offence to Michael Cassio.
Yet, I persuade myself to speak the truth,
shall nothing wrong him.
Thus it is, General,
Montano and myself being in speech,
there comes a fellow crying out for help,
and Cassio following him
with determined sword to execute upon him.
Sir, this fellow steps in to Cassio and entreats his pause.
Myself the crying fellow did pursue.
When I came back, for this was brief, I...
I found them close together at blow and thrust,
even as again they were when you yourself did part them.
More of this matter cannot I report.
But men are men.
The best sometimes forget.
Though Cassio did some little wrong to him,
as men in rage strike those that wish them best.
Yet surely, Cassio, I believe,
received from him that fled some strange indignity,
- which patience could not pass. - I know, Iago,
thy honesty and love doth mince this
matter, making it light to Cassio.
Cassio, I love thee.
But never more be officer of mine.
Look, if my gentle love be not
raised up. I'll make thee an example!
What's the matter?
All's well now, sweeting. Come away to bed.
Sir, for your hurts, myself will be your surgeon. Lead him off.
Iago, look you with care about the town,
and silence those whom this vile brawl distracted.
Come, my dear love.
'Tis a soldier's life to have their
balmy slumbers waked with strife.
What, are you hurt, Lieutenant?
Ay.
- Past all surgery. - Marry, Heaven forbid!
Reputation...
Reputation... reputation...
I have lost my reputation.
I have lost the immortal part of
myself, and what remains is bestial.
Reputation, Iago, my reputation.
As I am an honest man, I thought
you had received some bodily wound.
There is more sense in that than in reputation.
Reputation is an idle and most false imposition,
oft got without merit and lost without deserving.
You have lost no reputation at all,
unless you repute yourself such a loser.
What, man, there are ways to recover the General again.
You are but now cast in his mood,
a punishment more in policy than in malice.
Sue to him again, and he's yours.
I will rather sue to be despised
than to deceive so good a commander with so slight,
so drunken, so indiscreet an officer. Drunk!
And speak parrot, squabble, swagger, swear,
discourse fustian with one's own shadow.
I will ask him for my place again,
he will tell me I am a drunkard.
Had I as many mouths as Hydra,
such an answer would stop them all.
O thou invisible spirit of wine,
if thou hast no name to be known by, let us call thee devil!
Come, come, good Lieutenant,
good wine is a good familiar creature, if it be well used.
And, good Lieutenant, I...
I think you think I love you.
I have well approved it, sir.
I, drunk?
You, or any man living, may be drunk at some time, man.
I'll tell you what you shall do.
Our general's wife is now the general.
I may say so in this respect,
for that he hath devoted and given up himself
to the contemplation, mark, and
denotement of her parts and graces.
Confess yourself freely to her.
Importune her help to put you in your place again.
She is of so free, so kind, so... apt,
so blessed a disposition,
she holds it a vice in her goodness
to do no more than she is requested.
This broken joint between you and her husband
entreat her to splint,
and my fortune against any lay worth naming,
this crack of your love will
grow stronger than it was before.
- You advise me well. - I protest,
in the spirit of love and honest kindness.
I think it freely, and betimes in the morning,
I will beseech the virtuous Desdemona to undertake for me.
I am desperate of my fortunes if they check me here.
You are in the right.
Good night, Lieutenant, I...
- I must to the watch. - Good night, honest Iago.
And what's he, then, that says I play the villain?
When this advice is free, I give, and honest,
probal to thinking, and is indeed
the course to win the Moor again,
for it is most easy,
the inclining Desdemona to subdue in any honest suit.
She is framed as fruitful as the free elements.
And then for her to win the Moor,
were't to renounce his baptism,
all seals and symbols of redeemèd sin.
His soul is so enfettered to her love
that she may make, unmake, do what she list,
even as her appetite shall play the god
with his weak function.
How am I, then, a villain?
To counsel Cassio to this parallel
course, directly to his good?
For whiles this honest fool
plies Desdemona to repair his fortune,
and she, for him, pleads strongly to the Moor,
I'll pour this pestilence into his ear,
that she repeals him for her body's lust.
And by how much she strives to do him good,
she will undo her credit with the Moor.
And so will I turn her virtue into pitch,
and out of her own goodness, make
the net that shall enmesh them all.
In happy time, Iago.
You have not been a-bed, then?
Why, no, the day had broke before we parted.
I have made bold, Iago, to send in to your wife.
My suit to her is that she will to the virtuous Desdemona
procure me some access.
I'll send her to you presently.
And I'll devise a mean to draw the Moor out of the way,
that your converse and business may be more free.
I humbly thank you for it.
I never met a soldier more kind and honest.
Good morrow, good Lieutenant.
I am sorry for your displeasure, but all will sure be well.
The General and his wife are talking
of it, and she speaks for you stoutly.
The Moor replies
that he you hurt is of great fame in Cyprus
and great affinity,
and that in wholesome wisdom, he might not but refuse you.
But, he protests he loves you,
and needs no other suitor but his likings
to take the safest occasion by the front to bring you in again.
Yet, I beseech you, if you think fit, or that it may be done,
give me advantage of some brief discourse with Desdemona alone.
I pray you, come in.
I will bestow you where you shall have time
- to speak your bosom freely. - I am much bound to you.
These letters, Iago, give to the pilot,
and by him do my duties to the senate.
That being done, I will be walking
on the works, repair there to me.
Well, good, my lord, I'll do it.
This fortification, signor, shall we see it?
We wait upon your lordship.
Be thou assured, good Cassio, I will
do all my abilities in thy behalf.
Good madam, do. I warrant it grieves
my husband as if the cause were his.
That's an honest fellow.
Do not doubt, Cassio,
but I will have my lord and you again as friendly as you were.
Bounteous madam, whatever shall become of Michael Cassio,
he's never anything but your true servant.
I know it.
I thank you.
You do love my lord. You have known him long.
Be you well assured, he shall in strangeness stand no farther off
than in a politic distance.
Ay, but, madam, that policy may either last so long,
or breed itself so out of circumstance
that I being gone and my place supplied,
my general will forget my love and service.
Do not doubt that.
Before Emilia here, I give thee warrant of thy place.
Assure thee, if I do vow a friendship,
I'll perform it to the last article.
My lord shall never rest.
I'll watch him tame, and talk him out of patience.
His bed shall seem a school, his board a shrift.
I'll intermingle everything he does with Cassio's suit.
Therefore, be merry, Cassio,
for thy solicitor shall rather die than give thy cause away.
Madam, here comes my lord.
Madam, I'll take my leave.
Why, stay, hear me speak.
Madam, not now. I'm very ill at ease.
Unfit for mine own purposes.
Well, do your discretion.
Ha, I like not that.
What dost thou say, Iago?
Nothing, my lord. Or if...
I know not what.
Was not that Cassio parted from my wife?
Cassio, my lord?
No, sure, I cannot think it,
that he would steal away so guilty-like, seeing you coming.
I do believe it was he.
How now, my lord?
I have been talking with a suitor here, a
man that languishes in your displeasure.
Who is't you mean?
Why, your lieutenant, Cassio.
Good my lord, if I have any grace or power to move you,
his present reconciliation take.
For if he be not one that truly loves you,
that errs in ignorance, not in cunning,
I have no judgement in an honest face.
- I prithee, call him back. - Went he hence now?
Ay, sooth.
So humbled that he hath left part of
his grief with me to suffer with him.
Good love, call him back.
Not now, sweeting, some other time.
But shall it be shortly?
The sooner, sweet, for you.
Shall't be tonight? Supper?
No, not tonight.
Tomorrow dinner, then?
I shall not dine at home tomorrow.
I meet the captains at the citadel.
Why, then, tomorrow night.
Or Tuesday morn.
Tuesday noon, or night!
Wednesday morn!
I prithee, name the time.
Let it not exceed three days. In faith, he's penitent.
And yet his trespass, in our common reason,
save that, they say, the wars must
make examples out of their best,
is not almost a fault to incur a private check!
When shall he come?
Tell me, Othello.
I wonder, in my soul,
what you would ask me, that I should deny,
or stand so mammering on.
What?
Michael Cassio,
that came a-wooing with you.
And so many a time, when I have spoke of you dispraisingly,
hath ta'en your part,
to have so much to do to bring him in.
- Trust me, I could do much. - Prithee no more.
Let him come when he will.
I will deny thee nothing.
Why, this is not a boon.
'Tis as I should entreat you wear your gloves,
or feed on nourishing dishes, or keep you warm,
or sue to you to do a peculiar profit to your own person.
Nay.
When I have a suit,
wherein I mean to touch your love indeed...
it shall be full of poise...
and difficult weight,
and fearful to be granted.
I will deny thee nothing.
Whereupon, I... I do beseech you,
grant me this, to leave me but a little to myself.
Shall I deny you?
No. Farewell, my lord.
Farewell, Desdemona.
- I'll come to thee straight. - Emilia, come.
Be as your fancies teach you.
Whate'er you be, I am obedient.
Excellent wretch!
Perdition catch my soul, but I do love thee!
And when I love thee not, chaos is come again.
- My noble lord. - What dost thou say, Iago?
Did Michael Cassio, when you
wooed my lady, know of your love?
He did, from first to last. Why dost thou ask?
But for a satisfaction of my thought.
- No further harm. - Why of thy thought, Iago?
I didn't think he'd been acquainted with her.
O, yes, and went between us very oft.
Indeed.
"Indeed"? Ay, indeed. Discern'st
thou aught in that? Is he not honest?
- Honest, my lord? - Ay, honest.
My lord, for aught I know.
Well, what dost thou think?
- Think, my lord? - "Think, my lord?"
By heaven, he echoes me!
As if there were some monster in
his thought too hideous to be shown.
Thou must mean something.
I heard thee say even now, thou lik'st not that,
when Cassio left my wife.
What didst not like?
And when I told thee he was of my
counsel in my whole course of wooing,
thou criedst, "Indeed."
And did contract and purse thy brow together,
as if thou then had shut up in thy brain some horrible conceit.
If thou dost love me, show me thy thought.
- My lord, you know I love you. - I think thou dost.
And for I know thou art full of love and honesty
and weigh'st thy words before thou giv'st them breath,
therefore these stops of thine fright me the more.
For such things in a... in a false
disloyal knave are tricks of custom.
But in a man that's just,
they're close dilations, working from the heart
that passion cannot rule.
For Michael Cassio, I dare be sworn I think that he is honest.
I think so, too.
Men should be what they seem,
or those that be not, would they might seem none.
Certain, men should be what they seem.
Why then, I think Cassio's an honest man.
Nay, yet but there's more in this.
I prithee, speak to me as to thy thinkings,
as thou dost ruminate,
and give thy worst of thoughts the worst of words.
Good my lord, pardon me.
Though I am bound to every act of duty,
I am not bound to that all slaves are free to.
Utter my thoughts?
Say they be false and vile,
as where's that palace whereinto foul things
sometimes intrude not?
Thou dost conspire against thy friend,
Iago, if thou but think'st him wronged
and mak'st his ear a stranger to thy thoughts.
I do beseech you.
Though I perchance am vicious in my guess,
as, I confess, it is my nature's plague to spy into abuses,
and oft my jealousy shapes faults that are not...
It were not for your quiet nor your good,
nor for my manhood, honesty, or wisdom,
- to let you know my thoughts. - What... What dost thou mean?
Good name, dear my lord,
in man or woman
is the immediate jewel of their souls.
Who steals my purse steals trash.
'Tis something, nothing. 'Twas mine, 'tis his,
and has been slave to thousands.
But he that filches from me my good name,
robs me of that which not enriches him
and makes me poor indeed.
By heaven, I'll know thy thoughts.
You cannot. If my heart were in thy hands,
nor shall not, whilst it is in my custody.
O, beware, my lord, of jealousy.
It is the green-eyed monster which
doth mock the meat it feeds on.
That cuckold lives in bliss, who, certain
of his fate, loves not his wronger.
But, O,
what damnèd minutes tells he o'er who dotes, yet doubts,
suspects, yet strongly loves.
O, good heavens.
The souls of all my tribe defend from jealousy.
Why? Why is this?
Think'st thou I'd make a life of jealousy?
To follow still the changes of the moon with a fresh suspicion?
No.
To be once in doubt is once to be resolved.
Exchange me for a goat,
when I shall turn the business of my soul
to such exsufflicate and blown surmises,
matching thy inference.
'Tis not to make me jealous,
to say my wife is fair, feeds well, loves company,
is free of speech, sings, plays, and dances well.
Where virtue is, these are more virtuous.
Nor from mine own weak merits
will I draw the smallest fear or doubt of her revolt,
for she had eyes, and chose me.
No, Iago, I'll see before I doubt.
And when I doubt, prove.
And on the proof, there is no more but this,
away at once with love or jealousy.
I am glad of it,
for now I shall have reason to show the love and duty
that I bear you with franker spirit.
Therefore, as I am bound, receive it from me.
I speak not yet of proof.
Look to your wife.
Observe her well with Cassio.
Wear your eye thus, not jealous nor secure.
I would not have your free and noble nature,
out of self-bounty, be abused.
Look to it.
I know our country disposition well.
In Venice, they do let heaven see the
pranks they dare not show their husbands.
Their best conscience is not to leave undone,
but keep unknown.
Dost thou say so?
She did deceive her father, marrying you.
And when she seemed to shake and fear thy looks,
she loved them most.
- And so she did. - Why...
go to, then.
She, that so young could give out such a seeming,
to seal her father's eyes up close as oak,
he thought 'twas witchcraft.
I am much to blame.
I humbly do beseech you of your pardon for too much loving you.
I am... I am bound to thee forever.
I see this hath a little dashed your spirits.
Not a jot, not a jot.
Trust me, I... I fear it has.
I hope you will consider what is spoke comes from my love.
But I... I see you're moved.
I am to pray you, sir, not to
strain my speech to grosser issues.
Nor to larger reach than to suspicion.
I will not.
Should you do so, my lord,
my speech should fall into such vile success,
which my thoughts aimed not.
Cassio is my worthy friend.
But, my lord, I... I see you're moved.
No, not much moved.
I do not but think that Desdemona's honest.
Long live she so!
And long live you to think so!
And yet, how nature erring from itself.
Ay.
Ay, there's the point.
As...
to be bold with you,
not to affect many proposèd
matches, of her own clime,
complexion, and degree,
whereto we see in all things nature tends.
One may smell in such a will most rank,
foul disproportion, thoughts unnatural.
Pardon me, I do not in position distinctly speak of her,
though I may fear her will,
recoiling to her better judgement,
may fall to match you with her
country forms, and happily repent.
Farewell. Farewell.
If...
If more thou dost perceive, let me know more.
Set on thy wife to observe.
Leave me, Iago.
My lord, I take my leave.
Why did I marry?
This honest creature doubtless sees and knows more,
much more than he unfolds.
My lord,
I would I might entreat your honour
to scan this thing no further.
Leave it to time.
Though it be fit that Cassio have his place,
for sure he... he fills it up with great ability,
yet if you please to hold him off awhile,
you shall by that perceive him and his means.
Note if your wife strain his entertainment
with any strong or vehement importunity.
Much will be seen in that.
In the meantime, let me be thought too busy in my fears.
As worthy cause I have to fear I am.
And hold her free,
- I do beseech you. - Fear not my government.
I once more take my leave.
This fellow's of exceeding honesty.
Knows all qualities...
with a learned spirit of human dealings.
If I do prove her...
haggard...
Though that her jesses were my dear
heartstrings, I'd whistle her off,
and let her down the wind to prey at fortune.
Haply, for I am Black.
And have not those soft parts of
conversation that chamberers have.
For I am declined into the vale of years, yet that's not much.
She's gone.
I am abused, and my relief must be to loathe her.
O curse of marriage!
That we can call these delicate creatures ours,
yet not their appetites!
I had rather be a toad...
and live upon the vapour in a dungeon,
than keep a corner in the thing I love for others' uses!
Desdemona comes.
If she be false, O, heaven mocks itself!
I'll not believe it.
How now, my lord?
Your dinner, and the generous islanders
by you invited, do attend your presence.
I... I am to blame.
Why do you speak so faintly?
Are you not well?
I have a pain on my forehead here.
Faith, that's with watching. 'Twill away again.
Let me but bind it hard, within this hour, it will be well.
Your napkin is too little. Let it alone.
I'm very sorry you are not well.
Come, I'll... I'll go in with you.
I am glad I have found this napkin.
This was her first remembrance from the Moor.
My wayward husband hath a hundred times
wooed me to steal it.
But she so loves the token,
for he conjured her she should ever keep it,
that she reserves it evermore about her to kiss and...
talk to.
I'll have a copy made and give to Iago.
What he will do with it, heaven knows, not I.
I nothing but to please his fantasy.
How now?
What dost thou here alone?
Do not you chide. I have a thing for you.
A thing for me?
Why, it is a common thing...
- to have a foolish wife. - O, is that all?
What would you give me now for that same handkerchief?
- What handkerchief? - "What handkerchief?"
Why, that the Moor first gave to Desdemona,
that which so often you did bid me steal.
Hast stolen it from her?
No, faith, she let it drop by negligence,
and, to the advantage, I being here, took it up.
Look, here it is.
Good wench.
- Give it me. - What will you do with it,
that you have been so earnest to have me filch it?
Why, what's that to you?
If it be not for some purpose of import,
give it me again!
Poor lady, she'll run mad when she shall lack it.
Tell no one of this.
I have use for it.
Go, leave me.
I will, in Cassio's lodging, lose this napkin,
and let him find it.
Trifles light as air
are to the jealous confirmations strong as proofs of holy writ.
This may do something.
The Moor already changes with my poisons.
Dangerous conceits are in their natures poisons,
which at the first, are scarce found to distaste,
but with a little act on the blood
burn like the mines of sulphur.
I did say so.
Look, where he comes.
Not poppy, nor mandragora, nor all
the drowsy syrups of the world,
shall ever medicine thee to that sweet sleep
which thou owndest yesterday.
False to me!
Why, how now, General? No more of that.
Avaunt!
Be gone! Thou hast set me on the rack.
I swear 'tis better to be much
abused than but to know it a little.
How now, my lord?
What sense had I of her stolen hours of lust?
I saw it not, I thought it not, it harmed not me.
I slept the next night well, was free and merry.
I found not Cassio's kisses on her lips.
He that is robbed, not wanting what is stolen,
let him not know it, and he's not robbed at all.
I am sorry to hear this.
I had been happy if the general camp,
pioneers and all, had tasted her sweet body,
so I had nothing known.
O, now, forever farewell the tranquil mind.
Farewell content.
Farewell the plumèd troop and
the big wars that make ambition virtue!
O, farewell.
Farewell the neighing steed and the shrill trump,
the spirit-stirring drum, the ear-piercing fife,
the royal banner, and all the quality, pride,
pomp, and circumstance of glorious war!
O, farewell!
Othello's occupation's gone!
Is't possible, my lord?
Villain, be sure thou prove my love a whore.
Be sure of it.
Give me the ocular proof!
Or, by the worth of man's eternal soul,
thou hadst been better had been born a dog
- than answer my waked wrath! - Is't come to this?
Make me to see it, or at least so prove it,
that the probation bear no hinge nor loop to hang a doubt on,
- or woe upon thy life! - My noble lord...
If thou dost slander her and torture me,
never pray more, abandon all remorse!
On horror's head horrors accumulate,
do deeds to make heaven weep, all earth amazed!
For nothing canst thou to damnation add greater than that!
O, grace! O heaven defend me!
Are you a man? Have you a soul or sense?
God be with you, then. Take mine office!
O, wretched fool, that liv'st to see thine honesty made a vice!
O, monstrous world! Take note, take note, O world,
to be direct and honest is not safe.
Well, I thank thee for this profit,
and from hence, I'll love no friend,
since love breeds such offence.
Nay, stay! Thou shouldst be honest!
I should be wise! Since honesty's a
fool, and loses that it works for.
By the world, I think my wife be honest, and think she is not!
I think that thou art just, and think thou art not!
I'll have some proof!
Her name, that was as fresh as Dian's visage,
is now begrimed and black as mine own face!
Would there were cords or knives,
poison or fire, or suffocating streams,
I'll not endure it!
Would I were satisfied!
I see, sir, you are eaten up with passion.
I do repent me that I put it to you.
You would be satisfied...
"Would"? Nay, I will!
And may, but how? How satisfied?
Would you, the supervisor, grossly
gape on, behold her topped?
- Death and damnation! - Where is satisfaction?
It is impossible you should see this.
Were they as prime as goats, as hot as monkeys,
as salt as wolves in pride,
and fools as gross as ignorance made drunk!
But yet...
I say if imputation and strong circumstance,
which lead directly to the door of truth
will give you satisfaction, you may have it.
Give me a living reason she's disloyal.
I do not like the office.
But sith I'm entered in this cause so far,
pricked to it by foolish honesty and love, I will go on.
I lay with Cassio lately,
and being troubled with a raging tooth, I could not sleep.
There are a kind of men so loose of soul,
that in their sleeps do mutter their affairs.
One of this kind is Cassio.
In sleep I heard him say,
"Sweet Desdemona,
"let us be wary, let us hide our loves."
And then, sir, would he grip and wring my hand,
and cry, "O, fair creature!"
and kissed me hard,
as if he plucked up kisses by the
roots, that grew upon my lips.
And laid his leg over my thigh,
and sighed and kissed, and then cried,
"Cursed fate that gave thee to
- the Moor!" - Monstrous! Monstrous!
Nay. Nay, this was but a dream.
But this denoted a foregone conclusion.
'Tis a shrewd doubt, though it be but a dream.
And it may help to thicken other
proofs that do demonstrate thinly.
- I'll tear her all to pieces! - Nay!
But be wise.
Yet we see nothing done. She may be honest yet.
Tell me but this.
Have you not sometimes seen a handkerchief
spotted with strawberries in your wife's hand?
I gave her such a one. It was my first gift.
I know not that, but such a handkerchief,
I'm sure it was your wife's,
did I today see Cassio wipe his beard with.
- If it be that... - If it be that...
or any that was hers,
it speaks against her with the other proofs.
O that the slave had 40,000 lives!
One is too poor, is too weak for my revenge!
Now do I see it is true.
Look here, Iago.
All my fond love thus do I blow to heaven.
It is gone.
Arise, black vengeance, from thy hollow cell!
Yield up, O love, thy crown and
hearted throne to tyrannous hate!
- Yet be content. - O, blood, Iago!
- Blood! - Patience, I say.
- Your mind perhaps may change. - Never, Iago!
Like to the Pontic Sea,
whose icy current and compulsive course ne'er feels retiring ebb,
but keeps due on to the Propontic and the Hellespont.
Even so, my bloody thoughts with violent pace
shall ne'er look back, ne'er ebb to humble love,
till that capable and wide revenge swallow them up!
Now by yond marble heaven,
in due reverence of a sacred vow,
I here engage my words.
Do not rise yet.
Witness, you ever-burning lights above,
you elements that clip us round about,
witness that here Iago doth give up
all execution of his wit, hand, heart,
to wronged Othello's service.
Let him command.
And to obey shall be in me remorse,
what bloody business ever.
I greet thy love.
Not with vain thanks, but with acceptance bounteous,
and will upon the instant put thee to it.
Within these three days, let me hear
thee say that Cassio's not alive.
My friend is dead.
'Tis done at your request.
- But let her live. - Damn her!
Lewd minx, damn her!
Damn her!
Come. Go with me apart.
I will withdraw to furnish me with some swift means of death
for the fair devil.
Now...
art thou my lieutenant?
I am your own forever.
Where should I lose that handkerchief, Emilia?
I know not, madam.
Believe me, I had rather have lost my purse full of crusadoes.
But my noble Moor is true of mind and made
of no such baseness as jealous creatures are,
it were enough to put him to ill thinking.
Is he not jealous?
Who, he?
I think the sun where he was born
drew all such humours from him.
Look, where he comes.
I will not leave him now till Cassio be called to him.
How is't with you, my lord?
Well, my good lady.
O, hardness to dissemble!
How do you, Desdemona?
Well, my good lord.
Let me see your hand.
This hand is moist, my lady.
It yet hath felt no age nor known no sorrow.
This argues fruitfulness and liberal heart.
Hot.
Hot and moist.
This hand of yours requires a sequester from liberty,
fasting, prayer, much castigation, exercise devout.
For there's a young and sweating devil here that commonly rebels.
'Tis a good hand, a frank one.
You may indeed say so,
for 'twas that hand that gave away my heart.
Come now, your promise.
What promise, chuck?
I have sent to bid Cassio come speak with you.
I... I have a salt and sorry rheum offends me.
Lend me thy handkerchief.
Here, my lord.
That which I gave you.
I have it not about me.
- Not? - No, faith, my lord.
That is a fault.
That handkerchief did an Egyptian to my mother give.
She was a charmer, could almost read the thoughts of people.
She told her, while she kept it,
it would make her amiable and subdue
my father entirely to her love.
But if she lost it, or made a gift of it,
my father's eye should hold her loathed,
and his spirits should hunt after new fancies.
She, dying, gave it me,
and bid me, when my fate would have me wive, to give it you.
I did so.
And take heed on it.
Make it a darling like your precious eye.
To lose it or give it away were such perdition
as nothing else could match.
- Indeed? - Most veritable.
Therefore, look to it well.
Then would to God that I had never seen it!
Wherefore?
Why do you speak so startingly and rash?
Is't lost?
Is't gone? Speak, is't out of the way?
Heaven bless us!
Say you?
It is not lost, but what and if it were?
- How? - I say it is not lost.
Well, fetch it, let me see it.
Why, so I can, sir, but I will not now.
This is a trick to put me from my suit.
Pray you, let Cassio be received again.
Fetch me the handkerchief!
- My mind misgives. - Come, come.
You'll never meet a more sufficient man.
- The handkerchief! - I pray, talk me of Cassio.
The handkerchief!
A man that all his time hath founded
his good fortunes on your love,
- shared dangers with you... - The handkerchief!
In sooth, you are to blame.
Zounds.
Is not this man jealous?
I ne'er saw this before.
Sure there's some wonder in this handkerchief,
I am most unhappy in the loss of it.
'Tis not a year or two shows us a man.
They are all but stomachs and we are all but food.
They eat us hungrily, and when they are done, they belch us.
Look you, Cassio and my husband.
There is no other way. 'Tis she must do it.
And, lo, the happiness. Go and importune her.
How now, good Cassio, what's the news with you?
Madam, my former suit,
I do beseech you that by your
virtuous means, I may again exist,
and be a member of his love,
whom I, with all the office of my heart, entirely honour.
I would not be delayed.
If my offence be of such mortal kind that nor my service past,
nor present sorrows, nor purposed merit in futurity,
can ransom me into his love again,
but to know so must be my benefit.
So will I clothe me in a forced content,
and shut myself up in some other course to fortune's alms.
Alas, thrice-gentle Cassio,
my advocation is not now in tune.
My lord is... not my lord.
Nor should I know him were he in favour as in humour altered.
So help me every spirit sanctified,
as I have spoken for you all my best,
and stood within the blank of his
displeasure for my free speech.
You must awhile be patient.
What I can do, I will, and more I will than for myself I dare.
Let that suffice you.
Is my lord angry?
He went hence but now.
And certainly in strange unquietness.
Can he be angry?
I have seen him when the cannon hath blown
his ranks into the air and was he angry?
Something of moment, then.
I will go meet him.
There's matter in it indeed, if he be angry.
I prithee, do so.
Something sure of state,
either from Venice, or some unhatched practice
made demonstrable here in Cyprus to
him, hath puddled his clear spirit.
And in such cases, men's natures wrangle with inferior things,
though great ones are their object. 'Tis even so.
Nay, we must think men are not gods.
Nor of them look for such observancy as fits the bridal.
Beshrew me much, Emilia, I was, unhandsome warrior as I am,
arraigning his unkindness with my soul.
But now I find I had suborned the witness,
and he's indicted falsely.
Pray heaven it be state matters, as you think,
and no conception nor no jealous toy concerning you.
Alas the day, I never gave him cause!
But jealous souls will not be answered so.
They are not ever jealous for the cause.
But jealous for they are jealous.
'Tis a monster begot upon itself, born on itself.
Heaven keep that monster from Othello's mind.
Lady, amen.
I will go seek him.
Cassio, walk hereabout,
if I do find him fit, I'll move your suit,
and seek to effect it to my uttermost.
I humbly thank your ladyship.
Save you, friend Cassio.
What make you from home?
How is it with you, my most fair Bianca?
In faith, sweet love, I was coming to your house.
And I was going to your lodging, Cassio.
What, keep a week away?
Seven days and nights?
Eight score eight hours, and lovers' absent hours,
are more tedious than the dial eight score times?
O, weary reckoning!
Pardon me, Bianca. I have this while
with leaden thoughts been pressed,
but I shall in a more continuate time
strike off this score of absence.
Sweet Bianca, make me a copy of this handkerchief.
O, Cassio, whence came this?
This is some token from a newer friend.
To the felt absence now I feel a cause.
- Is't come to this? Well, well. - Go to, woman.
Throw your vile guesses in the devil's
teeth from whence you have them.
You are jealous now this is from some mistress, some remembrance?
No, in good troth, Bianca.
- Why, whose is it? - I know not neither.
I found it in my chamber. I like the work well.
Ere it be demanded, as like enough
it will, I'd have it copied.
Take it, and do it, and leave me for this time.
Leave you? Wherefore?
I do attend here on the General,
and think it no addition, nor my
wish, to have him see me womaned.
- Why, I pray you? - Not that I love you not.
But that you do not love me.
I pray you...
bring me on the way a little,
and say if I shall see you soon at night.
'Tis a little way I can bring you, for I attend here.
- Will you think so? - "Think so, " Iago?
- What, to kiss in private? - An unauthorised kiss!
Or to be naked with her friend in bed for
an hour or more, not meaning any harm?
Naked in bed, Iago, and not mean harm?
It is hypocrisy against the devil.
They that mean virtuously and yet do so,
the devil their virtue tempts, and they tempt heaven.
So, they do nothing, 'tis a venial slip.
But if I give my wife a handkerchief...
What then?
Why then, 'tis hers, my lord,
and being hers, she may, I think, bestow it on any man.
She is protectress of her honour too. May she give that?
Her honour is but an essence that's not seen.
They have it very oft that have it not.
But for the handkerchief...
By heaven, I would most gladly have forgot it.
Thou said'st... O, it comes o'er my memory, as doth the raven
o'er the infected house, boding to all.
- He had my handkerchief. - Ay, what of that?
Well, that's not so good now.
What If I had said I had seen him do you wrong?
- Or heard him say... - Hath he said anything?
Well, he hath, my lord, but be you well assured
- no more than he'll unswear. - What hath he said?
Faith, that he did...
- I know not what he did. - What? What?
Lie.
With her?
With her, on her, what you will.
Lie with her.
Lie on her?
Work on, my medicine.
Work.
Thus credulous fools are caught.
And many worthy and chaste dames even thus,
all guiltless, meet reproach.
I say, my lord.
- My lord, Othello. - What's the matter?
How now, Cassio?
My lord is fallen into an epilepsy!
This is his second fit. He had one yesterday.
- Rub him about the temples. - No, forbear.
The lethargy must have his quiet course.
If not, he foams at mouth,
and by and by, breaks out to savage madness.
He stirs.
Do you withdraw yourself a little
while. He will recover straight.
And when he is gone, I would on great occasion speak with you.
- Did he lie on her? - Good sir, be a man.
There are millions now alive that
nightly lie in those unproper beds,
with wives they swear are faithful.
Your case is better.
O, it is the spite of hell,
the fiend's arch-mock,
to lip a wanton in a secure couch,
and suppose her chaste.
No!
No, let me know, and knowing what
I am, I know what she shall be.
O, thou art wise, it is certain.
Stand you awhile apart,
confine yourself but in a patient list.
While you were here o'erwhelmed with your grief,
a passion most unsuiting such a man,
- Cassio came hither. - What?
I shifted him away and laid good 'scuse upon your ecstasy,
bade him anon return, and here speak
with me, the which he promised.
Do but encave yourself.
And you shall mark the sneers,
the gibes, and notable scorns,
that dwell in every region of his face.
For I shall make him tell the tale anew,
of where, how, how oft, how long ago and when
he hath, and is again to cope your wife.
No!
I say, mark but his gesture.
Marry, patience,
or I shall say you are all in all
in spleen, and nothing of a man.
Dost thou hear, Iago?
I will be found most cunning in my patience.
But, dost thou hear?
- Most bloody. - That's not amiss.
But yet keep time in all. Will you withdraw?
Ay.
Now will I question Cassio of Bianca, a hussy,
that by selling her desires, buys herself bread and clothing.
It is a creature that dotes on Cassio,
as 'tis the strumpet's plague to
beguile many and be beguiled by one.
He, when he hears of her, cannot
refrain from the excess of laughter.
Look, where he comes.
As he shall smile, Othello shall go mad.
How do you now, Lieutenant?
The worser that you call me your lieutenant.
Ply Desdemona well, and you are sure on it.
Now, if this suit lay in Bianca's
power, how quickly should you speed.
Alas, poor caitiff.
Look how he laughs already.
I never knew a woman love man so.
Alas, poor rogue. I think, i' faith, she loves me.
She gives it out that you shall marry her.
- Do you intend it? - Marry her? What? A customer?
I prithee, bear some charity to my
wit, do not think it so unwholesome.
Marry her!
Faith, the cry goes that you shall marry her.
This is the monkey's own giving out.
She is persuaded I'll marry her,
out of her own love and flattery, not out of my promise.
Iago beckons. Now he begins the story.
She was here even now. She haunts me in every place.
I was, the other day, talking on
the sea-bank with certain Venetians,
and thither comes the bauble, and falls thus about my neck.
- So hangs, and lolls and... - Cassio. Cassio!
- Before me, here she come. - Cassio!
What do you mean by this haunting of me?
Let the devil and his dam haunt you!
What did you mean by that same
handkerchief you gave me even now?
I was a fine fool to take it.
I must make a copy of it?
A likely piece of work, that you should find it in your chamber
and not know who left it there.
This...
is some minx's token, and I must make a copy of it?
By heaven, that should be my handkerchief!
There, give it your hobby-horse, wheresoever you had it.
I'll make no copy of it!
How now, my sweet Bianca? How now...
If you'll come to supper tonight, you may.
If you will not, come when you are next prepared for!
After her, after her.
Faith, I must, she'll rail in the street else.
- Will you sup there? - Faith, I intend so.
Go to, say no more.
How shall I murder him, Iago?
Did you perceive how he laughed at his vice?
O, Iago.
And did you see the handkerchief?
Was that mine?
Yours, by this hand.
And to see how he prizes the foolish woman your wife!
She gave it him, and he hath given it his whore.
I would have him nine years a-killing!
A fine woman, a fair woman, a sweet woman.
Nay, you must forget that.
Ay, let her rot, and perish, and be damned tonight!
For she shall not live, no.
My heart is turned to stone. I strike it, it hurts my hand.
O, the world hath not so sweet a creature.
She might lie by an emperor's side, and command him tasks.
Nay, that's not your way.
Hang her! I do but say what she is.
So delicate with her needle,
an admirable musician.
O she will sing the savageness out of a bear.
Of so high and plenteous wit and invention.
She's the worse for all this.
O, yes, a thousand, a thousand times!
But then of so gentle a condition.
Too gentle.
Nay, that's certain.
But yet the pity of it, Iago.
O, Iago.
The pity of it, Iago.
If you are so fond over her iniquity,
give her patent to offend,
for if it touch not you, it comes near nobody.
I will chop her into messes!
- Cuckold me! - 'Tis foul in her!
- With mine officer! - That's fouler!
Get me some poison, Iago, this night.
I'll not expostulate with her, lest her
body and beauty unprovide my mind again.
This night, Iago!
Do it not with poison.
Strangle her in her bed.
Even the bed she hath contaminated.
Good.
Good. The justice of it pleases. Very good.
And for Cassio, let me be his undertaker.
You shall hear more by midnight.
Excellent good.
- What trumpet is that same? - Something from Venice, sure.
'Tis Signor Lodovico and Signor Gratiano come from the Duke.
And see, your wife is with them.
Save you, worthy general!
With all my heart, sir.
The Duke and senators of Venice greet you.
I kiss the instrument of their pleasures.
And what's the news, good cousin Lodovico?
I am very glad to see you, signor.
- Welcome to Cyprus. - I thank you.
- How does Lieutenant Cassio? - Lives, sir.
Cousin, there's fallen between
him and my lord an unkind breach,
- but you shall make all well. - Are you sure of that?
My lord?
"This fail you not to do..."
He did not call, he's busy in the paper.
Is there division 'twixt my lord and Cassio?
A most unhappy one.
I would do much to atone them, for the love I bear to Cassio.
Fire and brimstone!
- My lord? - Are you wise?
What, is he angry?
May be the letter moved him.
For, as I think, they do command him home,
deputing Cassio in his government.
- Trust me, I am glad on it. - Indeed!
- My lord! - I am glad to see you mad!
Why?
Sweet Othello.
Devil!
I have not deserved this.
My lord, this would not be believed in Venice,
though I should swear I saw it.
'Tis very much. Make her amends.
- She weeps. - Devil. Devil!
If that the earth could teem with woman's tears,
each drop she falls would prove a crocodile!
Out of my sight!
I will not stay to offend you.
Truly, an obedient lady.
I do beseech your lordship, call her back.
Mistress!
- My lord? - What would you with her, sir?
Who, I, my lord?
Ay, you did wish I would make her turn!
Sir, she can turn, and turn, and yet go on, and turn again!
And she can weep, sir, weep.
And she's obedient. As you say, obedient.
Very obedient!
Proceed you in your tears!
Concerning this, sir...
O, well-painted passion!
I am commanded home.
Get you away! I'll send for you anon.
Sir, I obey the mandate, and will return to Venice.
Hence, avaunt!
Cassio shall have...
my place.
And, sir, tonight, I do entreat that we may sup together.
You are welcome, sir,
to Cyprus!
Goats and monkeys!
Is this the noble Moor, whom our full
senate call all in all sufficient?
This? The nature whom passion could not shake?
Whose solid virtue, the shot of accident nor dart of chance
could neither graze nor pierce?
He is much changed.
Are his wits safe? Is he not light of brain?
He's that he is.
I may not breathe my censure what he might be.
If what he might he is not, I would to heaven that he were!
What, strike his wife?
Faith, that was not so well,
yet would I knew that stroke would prove the worst!
Is it his use?
Or did the letters work upon his blood and new-create this fault?
Alas.
It is not honesty in me to speak what I have seen and known.
You shall observe him, and his own courses shall denote him,
so that I may save my speech.
Do but go after, and mark how he continues.
So... So you have seen nothing, then?
Nor ever heard, nor ever did suspect.
Yes...
You have seen she and Cassio together?
But then I saw no harm.
And then I heard each syllable
that breath made up between them.
What, did they never whisper?
- Never, my lord. - Nor send you out of the way?
- Never. - To fetch her fan, her gloves,
- her mask, nor nothing? - Never, my lord.
That's strange.
I durst, my lord, to wager she is honest.
Lay down my soul at stake.
If you think other, remove your
thought, it doth abuse your bosom.
If any wretch have put this in your head,
let heaven requite it with the serpent's curse,
for if she be not honest, chaste,
and true, there's no man happy,
the purest of their wives is foul as slander.
Bid her come hither. Go.
She says enough, yet she's a simple
bawd that cannot say as much.
This is a subtle whore.
A closet lock and key of villainous secrets.
And yet she'll kneel and pray.
I've seen her do it.
My lord.
What is your will?
Pray, chuck, come hither.
What is your pleasure?
Let me see your eyes. Look in my face.
What horrible fancy is this?
Some of your function, mistress!
Leave procreants alone, and shut the door.
Nay, dispatch.
Upon my knees, what doth your speech import?
I understand a fury in your words, but not the words.
Why, what art thou?
Your wife, my lord.
Your true and loyal wife!
Come, swear it. Damn thyself.
Lest, like being one of heaven, the devils
themselves should fear to seize thee.
Therefore, be double-damned.
- Swear thou art honest! - Heaven doth truly know it.
Heaven truly knows thou art false as hell.
To whom, my lord? With whom? How am I false?
O, Desdemona, away!
Alas the heavy day, why do you weep?
Am I the motive of these tears, my lord?
Had it pleased heaven to try me with affliction,
had they rained all kinds of
sores and shames on my bare head,
steeped me in poverty to the very lips,
given to captivity me and my utmost hopes,
I should have found in some part of my soul a drop of patience.
But there, where I have garnered up my heart...
where either I must live or bear no life,
the fountain from which my current runs or else dries up...
to be discarded thence.
Or keep as a cistern for foul toads to knot and gender in!
I hope my noble lord esteems me honest.
O, ay, as summer flies are in the
shambles that quicken even with blowing.
O, thou weed,
who art so lovely fair, and smells so sweet,
that the sense aches at thee!
I would thou hadst ne'er been born!
Alas, what ignorant sin have I committed?
Was this fair paper, this most goodly book,
made to write "whore" upon?
What committed?
- Impudent strumpet! - By heaven, you do me wrong!
- Are not you a strumpet? - No!
As I am a Christian!
If to preserve this vessel for my lord
from any other foul unlawful touch
be not to be a strumpet, I am none!
- Not a whore? - No!
As I shall be saved!
Is't possible?
O heaven forgive us!
I cry you mercy, then.
I took you for that cunning whore
of Venice that married with Othello.
You, mistress!
That have the office opposite Saint
Peter and keep the gates of hell!
You! You!
Ay, you.
We have done our course, there's money for your pains.
Turn the key, and keep our counsel!
Alas.
What does this gentleman conceive?
How do you, madam?
- How do you, my good lady? - Faith...
Half asleep.
Good madam, what's the matter with my lord?
With who?
Why, with my lord, madam.
- Who is thy lord? - He that is yours, sweet lady.
I have none.
Do not talk to me, Emilia.
I cannot weep, nor answer have I
none, but what should go by water.
Prithee, tonight, lay on my bed my wedding sheets.
Remember. And call thy husband hither.
Here's a change indeed!
'Tis meet I should be used so, very meet.
How have I been behaved that he might stick
the smallest opinion on my least misuse?
What is your pleasure, madam?
How is't with you?
I cannot tell.
Those that do teach young babes do
so with gentle means and easy tasks.
He might have chid me so, for, in
good faith, I am a child to chiding.
- What's the matter, lady? - Alas, Iago,
my lord hath so bewhored her,
thrown such despite and heavy terms
upon her as true hearts cannot bear.
- Am I that name, Iago? - What name, fair lady?
Such as she says my lord did say I was.
He called her "whore".
A beggar in his drink could not have
laid such terms upon his callet.
- Why did he so? - I do not know.
I am sure I am none such.
Do not weep.
Do not weep, alas...
Hath she forsook so many noble matches,
her father, and her country, and her friends, to be called whore?
- Would it not make one weep? - It is my wretched fortune.
Beshrew him for it!
How comes this trick upon him?
Nay, heaven doth know.
I'll be hanged...
if some eternal villain,
some busy and insinuating rogue, some cogging, cozening slave,
to get some office,
have not devised this slander. I'll be hanged else.
Fie, there is no such man. It is impossible.
If any such there be, heaven pardon him!
A halter pardon him, and hell gnaw his bones!
Why should he call her
"whore"? Who keeps her company?
What place? What time? What form? What likelihood?
The Moor's abused by some most villainous knave,
some base notorious knave,
- some scurvy fellow! - Speak within door!
Alas, Iago.
What shall I do to win my lord again?
Good friend, go to him.
For by this light of heaven, I know not how I lost him.
Here I kneel.
If e'er my will did trespass against his love,
either in discourse of thought or actual deed,
or that mine eyes, mine ears, or any
sense, delighted them in any other form,
or that I do not yet, and ever did,
and ever will, though he do shake
me off to beggarly divorcement,
love him dearly, comfort forswear me!
Unkindness may do much.
And his unkindness may defeat my life,
but never taint my love.
I cannot say "whore".
It does abhor me now I speak the word.
To do the act that might the addition earn,
not the world's mass of vanity could make me.
Yet be content.
'Tis but the business of the state does him offence,
and he does chide with you.
- If it were no other... - 'Tis but so, I warrant.
Hark, how these instruments summon to supper.
The messengers of Venice stay the meat.
Go in, and weep not.
All things shall be well.
How now, Roderigo?
I do not find that thou dealest justly with me.
What, in the contrary?
Every day, thou daffest me with some device, Iago,
and rather, as it seems to me now,
keepest from me all conveniency
rather than suppliest me with the least advantage of hope.
I will indeed no longer endure it.
Nor am I yet persuaded to put up in peace
what I've already foolishly suffered.
Will you hear me, Roderigo?
Faith, faith! I've heard too much.
Your words and performances are no kin together.
- You charge me most unjustly. - With naught but truth.
I've wasted myself out of my means.
The jewels that you've had from me to give to Desdemona
would have half-corrupted a saint!
You've told me she hath received them,
and returned me expectations and comforts
of sudden respect and acquaintance. I find none.
Well, go to, very well.
"Very well, go to"? I cannot go to, man.
Nor 'tis not very well. Nay.
Nay, I say 'tis very scurvy.
I begin to find myself fopped in it.
Very well.
I tell you 'tis not very well. I
will make myself known to Desdemona.
If she will return me my jewels, I will give over my suit
and repent my unlawful solicitation. If not...
assure yourself I will seek satisfaction of you.
- You have said now. - Ay.
And said nothing but what I protest intendment of doing.
Now, do I see there's mettle in thee!
And even from this instant do build on
thee a better opinion than ever before.
Give me thy hand, Roderigo.
Give me thy hand!
Give me thy hand.
Thou hast taken against me a most just exception,
and yet, I protest, I have dealt most directly in thy affair.
It hath not appeared.
I grant indeed it hath not appeared,
and your suspicion is not without wit and judgement.
But, if thou hast that in thee indeed,
which I have greater reason to believe now than ever,
I mean purpose, courage, valour,
this night show it.
If thou the next night following enjoy not Desdemona,
let me be taken from this world with treachery
and devise engines for my life.
Well, what is it?
Sir, there is an especial commission come from Venice
to depute Cassio in Othello's place.
- Is that true? - Yes!
Why, then, Othello and Desdemona return again to Venice?
No. He goes into Mauritania, and takes
away with him the fair Desdemona.
Unless...
Unless his abode be lingered here by some accident,
wherein none can be so determinate
as the removing of Cassio.
How do you mean "removing" of him?
By making him uncapable of Othello's place.
Knocking out his brains.
That you would have me to do?
Ay.
If thou dare'st do thyself a profit and a right.
Come.
Stand not amazed at it.
And... And go along with me.
I will hear further reason for this.
And you shall be satisfied.
I do beseech you, sir, trouble yourself no further.
O, pardon me, sir, it will do me good to walk.
Madam, good night.
I humbly thank your ladyship.
Your honour is most welcome.
Will you walk, sir?
O, Desdemona.
My lord.
Get you to bed on the instant.
I will be returned forthwith.
Dismiss your attendant there.
Look it be done.
I will, my lord.
How goes it now? He looks gentler than he did.
He says he will return incontinent.
He hath commanded me to go to bed, and bade me to dismiss you.
- Dismiss me? - It's his bidding.
Therefore, good Emilia,
give me my nightly wearing, and adieu.
We must not now displease him.
I would you had never seen him!
So would not I.
My love doth so approve him, that even his
stubbornness, his checks, his frowns...
Prithee, unpin me.
have grace and favour in them.
I have laid those sheets you bade me on the bed.
All's one.
Good faith, how foolish are our minds.
If I do die before thee, prithee,
shroud me in one of these same sheets.
Come, come, you talk.
My mother had a maid called Barbary.
She was in love.
And he she loved proved mad and did forsake her.
She had a song of "Willow".
An old thing it was, but it expressed her fortune,
and she died singing it.
That song, tonight, will not go from my mind.
I have much to do but to go hang my head all at one side
and sing it like poor Barbary.
Prithee dispatch.
Shall I go fetch your night gown?
No.
Unpin me here.
This Lodovico is a proper man.
He's a very handsome man.
He speaks well.
I know a lady from Venice
who would have walked barefoot to Palestine
for a touch of his nether lip.
The poor soul sat sighing
By a sycamore tree
Sing all a green willow
Her hand on her bosom
Her head on her knee
Sing willow, willow, willow
The fresh streams ran by her
And murmured her moans
Sing willow, willow
Willow
Her salt tears fell from her
And softened the stones
Lay by these.
Sing willow, willow, willow
Prithee, hie thee. He'll come anon.
Sing all a green willow
Must be my garland
Let nobody blame him
His scorn I approve
Nay, that's not next. Hark! Who is it that knocks?
It's the wind.
I called my love false love
What said he then?
Sing willow, willow, willow
If I court more women You'll couch with more men
So...
get thee gone.
Good night.
Mine eyes do itch.
- Doth that bode weeping? - 'Tis neither here nor there.
I have heard it said so.
O these men!
These men!
Dost thou in conscience think, tell
me, Emilia, that there be women
do abuse their husbands in such gross kind?
There be some such, no question.
Wouldst thou do such a deed for all the world?
- Why, would not you? - No.
No, by this heavenly light!
Nor I neither by this heavenly light.
I might do't as well in the dark.
Wouldst thou do such a deed for all the world?
The world's a huge thing.
It's a great price for a small vice.
In troth, I think thou wouldst not.
In troth, I think I should.
And undo it when I had done it.
Marry, I would not do such a thing for...
gowns, nor petticoats, nor caps, nor any petty exhibition,
but, for the whole world, why...
who would not make her husband a cuckold to make him a monarch?
I should venture purgatory for it.
Beshrew me, if I should do such a wrong for the whole world.
Why, the wrong is but a wrong in the world,
and having the world for your labour,
'tis but a wrong in your own world,
and you might quickly make it right.
I do not think there is any such woman.
Yes!
A dozen.
And as many to the vantage as would
store the worlds they played for.
But I do think it is their
husbands' faults If wives do fall.
Say that they slack their duties, and
pour our treasures into foreign laps.
Or else break out in peevish
jealousies, throwing restraint upon us.
Or say they strike us.
Or scant our former having in despite.
Why, we have galls!
And though we have some grace, yet have we some revenge.
Let husbands know their wives have sense like them.
They see and smell,
and have their palates, both, for
sweet and sour, as husbands have.
What is it that they do when they change
us for others? Is it sport? I think it is.
And doth affection breed it? I think it doth.
And is't frailty that thus errs? It is so too!
And have not we affections...
desires for sports and frailties, as men have?
Then let them use us well.
Else let them know,
the ills we do,
their ills instruct us so.
Good night. Good night.
Heaven me such usage send, not to pick bad from bad,
nor by bad mend!
Here.
Hide behind this bunk.
Straight will he come.
Wear thy good rapier bare,
- and put it home. - Be near at hand.
I may miscarry in it.
Here, at thy hand.
Be bold, and take thy stand.
I have no great devotion to the deed.
And yet, he hath given me satisfying reasons.
'Tis but a man gone.
Forth, my sword, he dies.
I have rubbed this young quat almost to the sense,
and he grows angry.
Now, whether he kill Cassio, or Cassio him,
or each do kill the other,
every way makes my gain.
Live Roderigo, he calls me to a
restitution large of gold and jewels
that I bobbed from him, as gifts to Desdemona.
It must not be.
And if Cassio do remain,
he hath a daily beauty in his life which makes me ugly.
And besides, the Moor may unfold me to him.
There... stand I much in peril.
No, he must die, too.
But so, I hear him coming.
I know his laugh, 'tis he.
Villain, thou diest!
O, I'm slain!
Help! Ho!
Murder!
What, no watch? No passage? Murder!
What, nobody come? Then I shall bleed to death!
Who's there?
Whose noise is this that cries on murder?
Here, here! For heaven's sake, help me!
- What's the matter? - Iago?
I'm spoiled, undone by villains! Give me some help!
O, me, Lieutenant! What villains have done this?
One of them is hereabout, and cannot make away.
Help me here!
O, murderous slave! O, villain!
Damned Iago! O, inhuman dog!
Kill men in the dark. Where be these bloody thieves?
How silent is the town.
What, ho.
Murder. Murder.
This is Othello's ancient.
What may be you, good or evil?
As you shall prove us, praise us.
- Signor Lodovico. - He, sir.
I cry you mercy. Here is Cassio, hurt by villains.
Cassio!
Light. How is it, brother?
My leg is cut in two.
Marry, heaven forbid.
Light, gentlemen, I'll bind it with my shirt.
- O, sweet Cassio! - Gentlemen all,
I do suspect this trash to be a party in this injury.
I am no trash.
Lend me your light. Know we this face or no?
No, alas, it is my friend and my dear countryman.
No... Yes. Roderigo.
- What, of Venice? - Ay.
Signor Gratiano, I cry your gentle pardon.
These bloody accidents must excuse my manners,
for so neglecting you.
Cassio, how is it?
Montano, bear him carefully away.
- Cassio? - Away.
- Careful. - Alas, what's the matter?
What's the matter, husband?
Cassio hath here been set upon by Roderigo
and some fellows that are escaped.
He is almost slain, and Roderigo dead.
Emilia, run you to the citadel,
and tell my lord and lady what hath happ'd.
Will you go on afore?
This is the night
that either makes me or fordoes me quite.
It is the cause.
It is the cause, my soul, let me not
name it to you, you chaste stars!
It is the cause.
Yet I'll not shed her blood.
Nor scar that whiter skin of hers than snow,
as smooth as monumental alabaster.
Yet she must die...
else she'll betray more men.
Put out the light.
And then put out the light.
If I quench thee, thou flaming minister,
I can again thy former light restore, should I repent me.
But once put out thy light...
thou cunning'st pattern of excelling nature...
I know not where is that Promethean
heat that can thy light relume.
Once I have pluck'd thy rose,
I cannot give it vital growth again.
It needs must wither.
I'll smell it on the tree.
O, balmy breath, that dost almost
persuade justice to break her sword.
One more.
Be thus when thou art dead, and I
will kill thee and love thee after.
One more, and this the last.
So sweet was ne'er so fatal.
I must weep.
But they are cruel tears.
This sorrow's heavenly, it strikes where it doth love.
- She wakes. - Who's there?
Othello.
Ay, Desdemona.
Will you come to bed, my lord?
Have you prayed tonight, Desdemona?
Ay, my lord.
If you bethink yourself of any crime
unreconciled as yet to heaven and
grace, solicit for it straight.
Alack, my lord, what may you mean by that?
Do it, and be brief.
I will sit here.
I would not kill thy unprepared spirit, no.
Heaven forfend, I would not kill thy soul.
Talk you of killing?
Ay, I do.
Then heaven have mercy on me!
Amen, with all my heart.
If you say so, I hope you will not kill me!
And yet I fear you.
Why I should fear, I know not, since guiltiness I know not!
- But yet I feel I fear. - Think on thy sins.
They are loves I bear to you!
Ay, and for that thou diest.
That death is unnatural that kills for loving.
Some bloody passion shakes your very frame.
These are portents, but yet I hope,
I hope they do not point on me!
Peace! Peace, and be still!
I will. So...
what's the matter?
That handkerchief that I so loved and gave thee,
thou gav'st to Cassio.
No, by my life and soul!
- Send for the man and ask him. - Sweet soul, take heed!
Take heed of perjury, thou art on thy death-bed.
- Ay, but not yet to die. - Yes, presently.
Therefore, confess thee freely of thy sin!
For to deny each article with oath
cannot remove nor choke the strong
conception I do groan withal.
Thou art to die.
- Then, Lord have mercy on me! - I say, amen.
And have you mercy, too!
I never did offend you in my life, never loved Cassio,
but with such general warranty of heaven as I might love.
I never gave him token!
By heaven, I saw the handkerchief in his hand!
O perjured woman, thou dost stone my heart,
and mak'st me call a murder, which I thought a sacrifice.
I saw the handkerchief!
He found it, then.
I never gave it him.
Send for him hither. Let him confess a truth!
He hath confessed.
What, my lord?
That he hath used thee.
- How? Unlawfully? - Ay.
- He will not say so. - No.
His mouth is stopped.
Honest Iago hath ta'en order for it.
O, my fear interprets.
What, is he dead?
Had all his hairs been lives, my great
revenge had stomach for them all.
Alas, he is betrayed.
And I undone.
Out, strumpet!
Weep'st thou for him to my face?
Emilia!
Banish me, my lord, but kill me not!
Down, strumpet!
Kill me tomorrow, let me live tonight!
Nay, if you strive...
- But half an hour! - Being done, there is no pause.
But while I say one prayer!
It is too late.
My lord!
My lord! What, ho!
My lord!
Not dead. Not yet quite dead.
I that am cruel am yet merciful.
I would not have thee linger in thy pain.
So, so...
What, ho! My lord!
- My lord! - Who's there?
O, good my lord, I would speak a word with you!
Yes?
'Tis Emilia. By and by.
She's dead.
'Tis like she comes to speak of Cassio's death.
The noise was high.
No more moving.
Still as the grave.
Shall she come in? Were it good?
I think she stirs again.
No.
What's best to do?
If she come in, she'll sure speak to my wife.
My wife.
My wife!
What wife?
I have no wife.
I do beseech you,
that I may speak with you, O, good my lord!
I had forgot thee.
Come in... Come in, Emilia. Soft! Soft!
By and by.
Let me the curtains draw.
Come in. Come, Emilia.
Where art thou? What's the matter with thee now?
O, good, my lord.
Yonder's foul murder done!
- What, now? - But now, my lord.
It is the very error of the moon.
She comes more nearer Earth than she was wont and makes men mad.
Cassio, my lord, hath killed a young Venetian called Roderigo.
Roderigo killed? And Cassio killed?
No, Cassio is not killed.
Not Cassio killed?
Then murder's out of tune, and sweet revenge grows harsh.
My lady?
Help!
Ho, help!
O, lady, speak.
Sweet mistress.
O, sweet Desdemona, speak.
Who hath done this deed?
Why... How should she be murdered?
Alas...
who knows?
It was I that killed her.
O, the more angel she, and you the blacker devil!
She turned to folly, and she was a whore.
Thou dost belie her, and thou art a devil.
She was false as water!
Thou art rash as fire, to say that she was false!
O, she was heavenly true!
Cassio did top her! Ask thy husband else!
O, I were damned beneath all depth in hell,
but that I did proceed upon just grounds of this extremity.
Thy husband knew it all!
- My husband? - Thy husband!
- That she was false to wedlock? - Ay! With Cassio.
Nay, had she been true,
if heaven would make me such another world
of one entire and perfect chrysolite,
- I'd not have sold her for it. - My husband?
Ay, 'twas he that told me first.
An honest man he is, and hates the
slime that sticks on filthy deeds.
My husband?
What needs this iterance, woman? I say thy husband!
O mistress, villainy hath made mocks with love!
My husband say that she was false?
He, woman! I say thy husband! Dost understand the word?
My friend, thy husband, honest, honest Iago.
If he say so, may his pernicious soul rot half a grain a day!
He lies to the heart.
She was too fond of her most filthy bargain.
Do thy worst.
This deed of thine was no more worthy heaven
than thou was worthy her!
Peace, you were best.
Thou hast not half the power to do me harm as I have to be hurt!
O, gull!
O, dolt!
As ignorant as dirt!
Thou hast done a deed... I care not for thy sword.
I'll make thee known, though I lost twenty lives!
Help!
Ho, help!
The Moor hath killed my mistress!
Murder!
What's the matter? How now, General?
O, are you come, Iago?
You have done well that men must lay their murders on your neck.
What is the matter?
Disprove this villain, if thou be'st a man.
He says thou told'st him his wife was false.
I know thou didst not, thou art not such a villain.
Speak, for my heart is full.
I told him what I thought, and told
no more than what he found himself
was apt and true.
But did you ever tell him she was false?
I did.
You told a lie.
An odious, damnèd lie!
Upon my soul, a lie! A wicked lie!
She, false with Cassio? Did you say with Cassio?
With Cassio, mistress. Go to, charm your tongue.
I will not charm my tongue!
I am bound to speak!
My mistress here lies murdered in her bed!
Heaven forfend!
And your reports have set the murder on.
Nay, stare not, masters, it is true indeed.
- 'Tis a strange truth. - A monstrous act!
Villainy.
Villainy. I think upon it, I think I smell it.
O, villainy!
I thought so then. I'll kill myself for grief.
Villainy!
- Villainy! - What, are you mad?
- I charge you, get you home. - I will not.
Good gentlemen, give me leave to speak.
'Tis proper I obey him, but not now!
Perchance, Iago, I will ne'er go home!
Nay.
Lay thee down and roar, for thou
hast killed the sweetest innocent
that e'er did lift up eye.
She was foul!
Her breath, indeed, these hands of mine have newly stopped.
I know this act shows horrible and grim.
But yet Iago knows that she with Cassio hath the act of shame
a thousand times committed!
Cassio confessed it.
And she did gratify his amorous works
with that recognisance and pledge
of love which I first gave her.
I saw it in his hand! It was a handkerchief,
an antique token my father gave my mother.
O, heaven!
- O, heavenly powers! - Come, hold thy peace.
'Twill out, 'twill out. I peace?
No, I will speak as liberal as the north.
Let heaven and men and devils,
let them all, all, all cry shame against me, yet I'll speak!
- Be wise, and get you home. - I will not!
O, thou dull Moor, that handkerchief thou speak'st of,
I found by fortune and did give to my husband
for often with a solemn earnestness,
more than indeed belonged to such a trifle.
He begged me to steal it!
Villainous whore!
She give it Cassio? No! Alas, I
found it, and did give to my husband.
Filth, thou liest!
By heaven, I do not, I do not, gentlemen.
O, thou murderous coxcomb!
What should such a fool do with so good a wife?
Are there not stones in heaven but what serve for thunder?
Precious villain!
The woman falls. Sure, he hath killed his wife.
Ay.
Lay me by my mistress' side.
Come, guard the door without. Let
him not pass, but kill him rather.
I'll after that same villain, for 'tis a damned slave!
What did thy song bode, lady?
Hark...
canst thou hear me?
I'll play the swan...
and die in music.
Willow
Moor, she was chaste.
She loved thee... cruel Moor.
So come my soul to bliss,
as I speak true.
So speaking as I think...
I die.
I...
die.
When we shall meet at compt,
this look of thine will hurl my soul from heaven.
Desdemona's dead.
Desdemona's dead!
Where is this rash and most unfortunate man?
That's he that was Othello.
Here I am.
Where is that viper?
Bring the villain forth.
If that thou be'st a devil,
I cannot kill thee.
Restrain him!
I... bleed, sir, but not...
not killed.
I am not sorry neither. I'd have thee live,
for in my sense, 'tis happiness to die.
Did you and he consent in Cassio's death?
Ay.
Dear General, I never gave you cause.
I... I do believe it, and I ask your pardon.
Will you, I pray, demand that demi-devil
why he hath thus ensnared my soul and body?
Demand me nothing.
What you know, you know.
From this time forth, I never will speak word.
What, not to pray?
Torments will ope your lips.
How came you, Cassio, by that handkerchief that was my wife's?
I found it in my chamber, where he
had dropped it for a special reason
- which wrought to his desire. - O, fool!
You must forsake this room and go with us.
Your power and your command is taken
off, and Cassio rules in Cyprus.
For this slave...
more fell than anguish, hunger, or the sea.
This is thy work!
To you, Lord Governor, remains the
censure of this hellish villain.
The time, the place, the torture, O, enforce it!
You shall close prisoner rest,
till that the nature of your fault
be known to the Venetian state.
- Come, bring away. - Soft you.
A word or two before you go.
I have done the state some service, and they know it.
No more of that.
I pray you, in your letters,
when you these unlucky deeds relate, speak of me as I am.
Nothing extenuate, or set down aught in malice.
Then must you speak of one who loved not wisely,
but too well.
Of one not easily jealous, but being
wrought, perplexed in the extreme.
Of one whose eyes...
albeit unusèd to the melting mood,
drop tears as fast as the Arabian
trees their medicinal gum.
Set you down this.
And say besides, that in Aleppo once,
where a malignant and turbaned Turk beat
a Venetian and traduced the state...
I took by the throat, the circumcisèd dog...
and smote him, thus.
Willow, willow
The poor soul sat sighing
By a sycamore tree
Sing willow, willow, willow
Her hand on her bosom
Her head on her knee
Sing willow, willow, willow
The fresh streams ran by her
And murmured her moans
Sing willow, willow, willow
Her salt tears fell from her
And softened the stones
Sing willow, willow, willow
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