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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. 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. Othello: the Moor of Venice / by William Shakespeare ; with related readings. p. cm. Description of Africa, a book written in by Moorish.

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Othello William ShakespeareThree Watson Irvine, CA Website: No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or. Othello, a Moorish general in the Venetian army, has secretly married Desdemona, the daughter of Brabantio. Iago, his ensign, is jealous of. The Tragedy of Othello is tragedy written by William Shakespeare based on the inspiration from an Italian short story of Cinthio, A Moorish Captain. Othello is.

IAGO 'Sblood, but you will not hear me: If ever I did dream of such a matter, Abhor me. Three great ones of the city, In personal suit to make me his lieutenant, Off-capp'd to him: But he; as loving his own pride and purposes, Evades them, with a bombast circumstance Horribly stuff'd with epithets of war; And, in conclusion, Nonsuits my mediators; for, 'Certes,' says he, 'I have already chose my officer. Forsooth, a great arithmetician, One Michael Cassio, a Florentine, A fellow almost damn'd in a fair wife; That never set a squadron in the field, Nor the division of a battle knows More than a spinster; unless the bookish theoric, Wherein the toged consuls can propose As masterly as he: But he, sir, had the election: And I, of whom his eyes had seen the proof At Rhodes, at Cyprus and on other grounds Christian and heathen, must be be-lee'd and calm'd By debitor and creditor: IAGO Why, there's no remedy; 'tis the curse of service, Preferment goes by letter and affection, And not by old gradation, where each second Stood heir to the first. Now, sir, be judge yourself, Whether I in any just term am affined To love the Moor. We cannot all be masters, nor all masters Cannot be truly follow'd. You shall mark Many a duteous and knee-crooking knave, That, doting on his own obsequious bondage, Wears out his time, much like his master's ass, For nought but provender, and when he's old, cashier'd: Whip me such honest knaves. Others there are Who, trimm'd in forms and visages of duty, Keep yet their hearts attending on themselves, And, throwing but shows of service on their lords, Do well thrive by them and when they have lined their coats Do themselves homage: In following him, I follow but myself; Heaven is my judge, not I for love and duty, But seeming so, for my peculiar end:

Her father loved me; oft invited me; Still question'd me the story of my life, From year to year, the battles, sieges, fortunes, That I have 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 i' the imminent deadly breach, Of being taken by the insolent foe And sold to slavery, of my redemption thence And portance in my travels' history: Wherein of antres 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'ld come again, and with a greedy ear Devour up my discourse: I did consent, And often did beguile her of her tears, When I did speak of some distressful stroke That my youth suffer'd.

My story being done, She gave me for my pains a world of sighs: She swore, in faith, twas strange, 'twas passing strange, 'Twas pitiful, 'twas wondrous pitiful: She wish'd she had not heard it, yet she wish'd That heaven had made her such a man: Upon this hint I spake: She loved me for the dangers I had pass'd, 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, Take up this mangled matter at the best: Men do their broken weapons rather use Than their bare hands.

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: 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: God be wi' you! I have done.

Please it your grace, on to the state-affairs: I had rather to adopt a child than get it. 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: I have done, my lord. Let me speak like yourself, and lay a sentence, Which, as a grise or step, may help these lovers Into your favour.

To mourn a mischief that is past and gone Is the next way to draw new mischief on. What cannot be preserved when fortune takes Patience her injury a mockery makes.

The robb'd 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. These sentences, to sugar, or to gall, Being strong on both sides, are equivocal: But words are words; I never yet did hear That the bruised heart was pierced through the ear.

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; and though we have there a substitute of most allowed sufficiency, yet opinion, a sovereign mistress of effects, throws a more safer voice on you: The tyrant custom, most grave senators, Hath made the flinty and steel couch of war My thrice-driven bed of down: I do agnise A natural and prompt alacrity I find in hardness, and do undertake These present wars against the Ottomites. Most humbly therefore bending to your state, I crave fit disposition for my wife.

If you please, Be't at 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: I saw Othello's visage in his mind, And to his honour 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 voices. Vouch with me, heaven, I therefore beg it not, To please the palate of my appetite, Nor to comply with heat—the young affects In me defunct—and proper satisfaction. But to be free and bounteous to her mind: And heaven defend your good souls, that you think I will your serious and great business scant For she is with me: Be it as you shall privately determine, Either for her stay or going: You must away to-night.

With all my heart. At nine i' the morning here we'll meet again. Othello, leave some officer behind, And 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 honest 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 every one. 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.

I have but an hour Of love, of worldly matters and direction, To spend with thee: Iago,— Iago. What say'st 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; and then have we a prescription to die when death is our physician.

O villainous! I have looked upon the world for four times seven years; and since I could distinguish betwixt a benefit and an injury, I never found man that knew how to love himself.

Ere I would say, I would drown myself for the love of a guinea-hen, I would change my humanity with a baboon. What should I do? I confess it is my shame to be so fond; but it is not in my virtue to amend it. Our bodies are our gardens, to the which our wills are gardeners: 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: It cannot be.

It is merely a lust of the blood and a permission of the will. Come, be a man. Drown thyself! I have professed me thy friend and I confess me knit to thy deserving with cables of perdurable toughness; I could never better stead thee than now. Put money in thy purse; follow thou the wars; defeat thy favour with an usurped beard; I say, put money in thy purse. It cannot be that Desdemona should long continue her love to the Moor,— put money in thy purse,—nor he his to her: These Moors are changeable in their wills: She must change for youth: If thou wilt needs damn thyself, do it a more delicate way than drowning.

Make all the money thou canst: A pox of drowning thyself! Wilt thou be fast to my hopes, if I depend on the issue? Thou art sure of me: Let us be conjunctive in our revenge against him: There are many events in the womb of time which will be delivered. We will have more of this to-morrow.

Where shall we meet i' 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 am changed: I'll go sell all my land. Thus do I ever make my fool my purse: But for my sport and profit. I hate the Moor: And it is thought abroad, that 'twixt my sheets He has done my office: I know not if't be true; But I, for mere suspicion in that kind, Will do as if for surety.

He holds me well; The better shall my purpose work on him. Cassio's a proper man: To get his place and to plume up my will In double knavery—How, how?

Let's see: He hath a person and a smooth dispose To be suspected, framed to make women false. I have't. It is engender'd. Hell and night Must bring this monstrous birth to the world's light. What from the cape can you discern at sea? First Gentleman. Nothing at all: Methinks the wind hath spoke aloud at land; A fuller blast ne'er shook our battlements: If it hath ruffian'd so upon the sea, What ribs of oak, when mountains melt on them, Can hold the mortise?

What shall we hear of this? Second Gentleman. A segregation of the Turkish fleet: For do but stand upon the foaming shore, The chidden billow seems to pelt the clouds; The wind-shaked surge, with high and monstrous mane, seems to cast water on the burning bear, And quench the guards of the ever-fixed pole: I never did like molestation view On the enchafed flood.

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If that the Turkish fleet Be not enshelter'd and embay'd, they are drown'd: It is impossible they bear it out. News, lads! I am glad on't; 'tis a worthy governor. Third Gentleman. But this same Cassio, though he speak of comfort Touching the Turkish loss, yet he looks sadly, And prays the Moor be safe; for they were parted With foul and violent tempest. Pray heavens he be; For I have served him, and the man commands Like a full soldier. Let's to the seaside, ho! As well to see the vessel that's come in As to throw out our eyes for brave Othello, Even till we make the main and the aerial blue An indistinct regard.

Come, let's do so: For every minute is expectancy Of more arrivance. 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 us him on a dangerous sea.

Is he well shipp'd? His bark is stoutly timber'd, his pilot Of very expert and approved allowance; Therefore my hopes, not surfeited to death, Stand in bold cure. What noise? Fourth Gentleman. The town is empty; on the brow o' the sea Stand ranks of people, and they cry 'A sail! My hopes do shape him for the governor. They do discharge their shot of courtesy: Our friends at least. I pray you, sir, go forth, And give us truth who 'tis that is arrived.

I shall. But, good lieutenant, is your general wived? Most fortunately: Has had most favourable and happy speed: Tempests themselves, high seas, and howling winds, The gutter'd rocks and congregated sands— Traitors ensteep'd to clog the guiltless keel,— 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, Whose footing here anticipates our thoughts A se'nnight's speed. 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 pants in Desdemona's arms, Give renew'd fire to our extincted spirits And bring all Cyprus comfort!

Ye men of Cyprus, let her have your knees. Hail to thee, lady! I thank you, valiant Cassio. What tidings can you tell me of my lord? He is not yet arrived: O, but I fear—How lost you company? The great contention of the sea and skies Parted our fellowship—But, hark!

They give their greeting to the citadel; This likewise is a friend. See for the news. Let it not gall your patience, good Iago, That I extend my manners; 'tis my breeding That gives me this bold show of courtesy.

Sir, would she give you so much of her lips As of her tongue she oft bestows on me, You'll have enough. Alas, she has no speech. In faith, too much; I find it still, when I have list to sleep: Marry, before your ladyship, I grant, She puts her tongue a little in her heart, And chides with thinking.

You have little cause to say so. Come on, come on; you are pictures out of doors, Bells in your parlors, wild-cats in your kitchens, Saints m your injuries, devils being offended, Players in your housewifery, and housewives' in your beds.

O, fie upon thee, slanderer! Nay, it is true, or else I am a Turk: You rise to play and go to bed to work. You shall not write my praise. No, let me not. What wouldst thou write of me, if thou shouldst praise me? O gentle lady, do not put me to't; For I am nothing, if not critical. Come on assay. There's one gone to the harbour?

Ay, madam. I am not merry; but I do beguile The thing I am, by seeming otherwise. Come, how wouldst thou praise me? I am about it; but indeed my invention Comes from my pate as birdlime does from frize; It plucks out brains and all: If she be fair and wise, fairness and wit, The one's for use, the other useth it. Well praised! How if she be black and witty? If she be black, and thereto have a wit, She'll find a white that shall her blackness fit.

Worse and worse. How if fair and foolish? She never yet was foolish that was fair; For even her folly help'd her to an heir. These are old fond paradoxes to make fools laugh i' the alehouse. What miserable praise hast thou for her that's foul and foolish?

There's none so foul and foolish thereunto, But does foul pranks which fair and wise ones do. O heavy ignorance! But what praise couldst thou bestow on a deserving woman indeed, one that, in the authority of her merit, did justly put on the vouch of very malice itself?

She that was ever fair and never proud, Had tongue at will and yet was never loud, Never lack'd gold and yet went never gay, Fled from her wish and yet said 'Now I may,' She that being anger'd, her revenge being nigh, Bade her wrong stay and her displeasure fly, She that in wisdom never was so frail To change the cod's head for the salmon's tail; She that could think and ne'er disclose her mind, See suitors following and not look behind, She was a wight, if ever such wight were,— Desdemona.

To do what? To suckle fools and chronicle small beer. O most lame and impotent conclusion! Do not learn of him, Emilia, though he be thy husband. How say you, Cassio? He speaks home, madam: You may relish him more in the soldier than in the scholar. Ay, smile upon her, do; I will gyve thee in thine own courtship. You say true; 'tis so, indeed: Very good; well kissed!

Yet again your fingers to your lips? I know his trumpet. Let's meet him and receive him.

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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! 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 of joy: But I'll set down the pegs that make this music, As honest as I am.

Come, let us to the castle. News, friends; our wars are done, the Turks are drown'd. How does my old acquaintance of this isle?

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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: 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 natures more than is native to them—list me.

The lieutenant tonight watches on the court of guard: With him! Lay thy finger thus, and let thy soul be instructed. Mark me with what violence she first loved the Moor, but for bragging and telling her fantastical lies: Her eye must be fed; and what delight shall she have to look on the devil?

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When the blood is made dull with the act of sport, there should be, again to inflame it and to give satiety a fresh appetite, loveliness in favour, sympathy in years, manners and beauties; all which the Moor is defective in: Now, sir, this granted,—as it is a most pregnant and unforced position—who stands so eminent in the degree of this fortune as Cassio does?

Besides, the knave is handsome, young, and hath all those requisites in him that folly and green minds look after: I cannot believe that in her; she's full of most blessed condition. Blessed fig's-end! Blessed pudding! Didst thou not see her paddle with the palm of his hand? Yes, that I did; but 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.

Villanous thoughts, Roderigo! But, sir, be you ruled by me: I have brought you from Venice. Watch you to-night; for the command, I'll lay't upon you. Cassio knows you not. I'll not be far from you: Sir, he is rash and very sudden in choler, and haply may strike at you: So shall you have a shorter journey to your desires by the means I shall then have to prefer them; and the impediment most profitably removed, without the which there were no expectation of our prosperity.

I will do this, if I can bring it to any opportunity. I warrant thee. Meet me by and by at the citadel: I must fetch his necessaries ashore. That Cassio loves her, I do well believe it; That she loves him, 'tis apt and of great credit: The Moor, howbeit that I endure him not, Is of a constant, loving, noble nature, And I dare think he'll prove to Desdemona A most dear husband.

Now, I do love her too; Not out of absolute lust, though peradventure I stand accountant for as great a sin, But partly led to diet my revenge, For that I do suspect the lusty Moor Hath leap'd into my seat; the thought whereof Doth, like a poisonous mineral, gnaw my inwards; And nothing can or shall content my soul Till I am even'd with him, wife for wife, Or failing so, yet that I put the Moor At least into a jealousy so strong That judgment cannot cure.

Which thing to do, If this poor trash of Venice, whom I trash For his quick hunting, stand the putting on, I'll have our Michael Cassio on the hip, Abuse him to the Moor in the rank garb— For I fear Cassio with my night-cap too— Make the Moor thank me, love me and reward me. For making him egregiously an ass And practising upon his peace and quiet Even to madness.

Knavery's plain face is never seen tin used. It is Othello's pleasure, our noble and valiant general, that, upon certain tidings now arrived, importing the mere perdition of the Turkish fleet, every man put himself into triumph; some to dance, some to make bonfires, each man to what sport and revels his addiction leads him: So much was his pleasure should be proclaimed. All offices are open, and there is full liberty of feasting from this present hour of five till the bell have told eleven.

Heaven bless the isle of Cyprus and our noble general Othello! Good Michael, look you to the guard to-night: Iago hath direction what to do; But, notwithstanding, with my personal eye Will I look to't.

Iago is most honest. Michael, good night: Good night. Welcome, Iago; we must to the watch. Not this hour, lieutenant; 'tis not yet ten o' the clock. Our general cast us thus early for the love of his Desdemona; who let us not therefore blame: She's a most exquisite lady. And, I'll warrant her, fun of game. Indeed, she's a most fresh and delicate creature. What an eye she has!

An inviting eye; and yet methinks right modest. And when she speaks, is it not an alarum to love? She is indeed perfection. Well, happiness to their sheets! Come, lieutenant, I have a stoup of wine; and here without are a brace of Cyprus gallants that would fain have a measure to the health of black Othello.

Not to-night, good Iago: I have very poor and unhappy brains for drinking: I could well wish courtesy would invent some other custom of entertainment. O, they are our friends; but one cup: I'll drink for you. I have drunk but one cup to-night, 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! Where are they? Here at the door; I pray you, call them in. I'll do't; but it dislikes me.

If I can fasten but one cup upon him, With that which he hath drunk to-night already, He'll be as full of quarrel and offence As my young mistress' dog. Now, my sick fool Roderigo, Whom love hath turn'd almost the wrong side out, To Desdemona hath to-night caroused Potations pottle-deep; and he's to watch: Three lads of Cyprus, noble swelling spirits, That hold their honours in a wary distance, The very elements of this warlike isle, Have I to-night fluster'd with flowing cups, And they watch too.

Now, 'mongst this flock of drunkards, Am I to put our Cassio in some action That may offend the isle. If consequence do but approve my dream, My boat sails freely, both with wind and stream.

Good faith, a little one; not past a pint, as I am a soldier. Some wine, ho! Some wine, boys! I learned it in England, where, indeed, they are most potent in potting: Is your Englishman so expert in his drinking?

Why, he drinks you, with facility, your Dane dead drunk; he sweats not to overthrow your Almain; he gives your Hollander a vomit, ere the next pottle can be filled. To the health of our general! I am for it, lieutenant; and I'll do you justice.

O sweet England! He was a wight of high renown, And thou art but of low degree: Why, this is a more exquisite song than the other. Will you hear't again? No; for I hold him to be unworthy of his place that does those things. Well, God's above all; and there be souls must be saved, and there be souls must not be saved. It's true, good lieutenant. For mine own part,—no offence to the general, nor any man of quality,—I hope to be saved.

And so do I too, lieutenant. Ay, but, by your leave, not before me; the lieutenant is to be saved before the ancient. Let's have no more of this; let's to our affairs. Do not think, gentlemen. I am drunk: I am not drunk now; I can stand well enough, and speak well enough. Excellent well.

Why, very well then; you must not think then that I am drunk. To the platform, masters; come, let's set the watch. You see this fellow that is gone before; He is a soldier fit to stand by Caesar And give direction: On some odd time of his infirmity, Will shake this island. But is he often thus? It were well The general were put in mind of it. Perhaps he sees it not; or his good nature Prizes the virtue that appears in Cassio, And looks not on his evils: I pray you, after the lieutenant; go.

And 'tis great pity that 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 island: I do love Cassio well; and would do much To cure him of this evil—But, hark!

You rogue! 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? Nay, good lieutenant; [Staying him] I pray you, sir, hold your hand. Let me go, sir, Or I'll knock you o'er the mazzard. Come, come, you're drunk. The town will rise: God's will, lieutenant, hold! What is the matter here? Hold, for your lives!

Hold, ho! Lieutenant,—sir—Montano,—gentlemen,— Have you forgot all sense of place and duty? Why, how now, ho! For Christian shame, put by this barbarous brawl: He that stirs next to carve for his own rage Holds his soul light; he dies upon his motion.

What is the matter, masters? Honest Iago, that look'st dead with grieving, Speak, who began this? I do not know: 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; The gravity and stillness of your youth The world hath noted, and your name is great In mouths of wisest censure: Worthy Othello, I am hurt to danger: Your officer, Iago, can inform you,— While I spare speech, which something now offends me,— Of all that I do know: Now, by heaven, My blood begins my safer guides to rule; And passion, having my best judgment collied, Assays to lead the way: Give me to know How this foul rout began, who set it on; And he that is approved in this offence, Though he had twinn'd with me, both at a birth, Shall lose me.

Iago, who began't? If partially affined, or leagued in office, 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: Sir, this gentleman Steps in to Cassio, and entreats his pause: Myself the crying fellow did pursue, Lest by his clamour—as it so fell out— The town might fall in fright: When I came back— For this was brief—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: 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. 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: Come, Desdemona: What, are you hurt, lieutenant? Ay, past all surgery.

Marry, heaven forbid! Reputation, reputation, reputation! O, I have lost my reputation! I have lost the immortal part of myself, and what remains is bestial. My 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: I will rather sue to be despised than to deceive so good a commander with so slight, so drunken, and so indiscreet an officer.

O thou invisible spirit of wine, if thou hast no name to be known by, let us call thee devil! What was he that you followed with your sword? What had he done to you? I know not.

Is't possible? I remember a mass of things, but nothing distinctly; a quarrel, but nothing wherefore. O God, that men should put an enemy in their mouths to steal away their brains! Why, but you are now well enough: It hath pleased the devil drunkenness to give place to the devil wrath; one unperfectness shows me another, to make me frankly despise myself.

Come, you are too severe a moraler: I will ask him for my place again; he shall tell me I am a drunkard! Had I as many mouths as Hydra, such an answer would stop them all. To be now a sensible man, by and by a fool, and presently a beast! O strange! Every inordinate cup is unblessed and the ingredient is a devil.

Come, come, good wine is a good familiar creature, if it be well used: And, good lieutenant, I think you think I love you. I have well approved it, sir. I drunk! You or any man living may be drunk! I'll tell you what you shall do. Our general's wife is now the general: You advise me well.

I protest, in the sincerity 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 cheque me here. You are in the right. Good night, lieutenant; I must to the watch. And what's he then that says I play the villain? When this advice is free I give and honest, Probal to thinking and indeed the course To win the Moor again?

For 'tis most easy The inclining Desdemona to subdue In any honest suit: And then for her To win the Moor—were't to renounce his baptism, All seals and symbols of redeemed sin, His soul is so enfetter'd 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?

Divinity of hell! When devils will the blackest sins put on, They do suggest at first with heavenly shows, As I do now: So will I turn her virtue into pitch, And out of her own goodness make the net That shall enmesh them all. I do follow here in the chase, not like a hound that hunts, but one that fills up the cry. My money is almost spent; I have been to-night exceedingly well cudgelled; and I think the issue will be, I shall have so much experience for my pains, and so, with no money at all and a little more wit, return again to Venice.

How poor are they that have not patience! What wound did ever heal but by degrees? Thou know'st we work by wit, and not by witchcraft; And wit depends on dilatory time. Does't not go well? Cassio hath beaten thee. And thou, by that small hurt, hast cashier'd Cassio: Though other things grow fair against the sun, Yet fruits that blossom first will first be ripe: By the mass, 'tis morning; Pleasure and action make the hours seem short.

Retire thee; go where thou art billeted: Away, I say; thou shalt know more hereafter: Nay, get thee gone. My wife must move for Cassio to her mistress; I'll set her on; Myself the while to draw the Moor apart, And bring him jump when he may Cassio find Soliciting his wife: Masters, play here; I will content your pains; Something that's brief; and bid 'Good morrow, general. Why masters, have your instruments been in Naples, that they speak i' the nose thus?

First Musician. How, sir, how! Are these, I pray you, wind-instruments? Ay, marry, are they, sir. O, thereby hangs a tail. Whereby hangs a tale, sir? But, masters, here's money for you: Well, sir, we will not. If you have any music that may not be heard, to't again: We have none such, sir. Then put up your pipes in your bag, for I'll away: Dost thou hear, my honest friend? No, I hear not your honest friend; I hear you. Prithee, keep up thy quillets.

There's a poor piece of gold for thee: She is stirring, sir: Do, good my friend. 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: 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't. 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: Yet, I beseech you, If you think fit, or that it may be done, Give me advantage of some brief discourse With Desdemona alone.

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 give, Iago, to the pilot; And by him do my duties to the senate: That done, I will be walking on the works; Repair there to me.

Well, my good lord, I'll do't. This fortification, gentlemen, shall we see't?

We'll 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 case were his. O, 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 any thing but your true servant.

I know't; I thank you. You do love my lord: You have known him long; and be you well assured He shall in strangeness stand no further off Than in a polite distance. Ay, but, lady, That policy may either last so long, Or feed upon such nice and waterish diet, Or breed itself so out of circumstance, That, I being absent 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: First Officer A messenger from the galleys.

Enter a Sailor. A Sea-port in Cyprus. An open place near the quay. First Gentleman Nothing at all: If it hath ruffian'd so upon the sea, What ribs of oak, when mountains melt on them, Can hold the mortise? What shall we hear of this? Second Gentleman A segregation of the Turkish fleet: For do but stand upon the foaming shore, The chidden billow seems to pelt the clouds; The wind-shaked surge, with high and monstrous mane, seems to cast water on the burning bear, And quench the guards of the ever-fixed pole: I never did like molestation view On the enchafed flood.

It is impossible they bear it out. Enter a third Gentleman. Enter a Herald with a proclamation; People following Herald It is Othello's pleasure, our noble and valiant general, that, upon certain tidings now arrived, importing the mere perdition of the Turkish fleet, every man put himself into triumph; some to dance, some to make bonfires, each man to what sport and revels his addiction leads him: So much was his pleasure should be proclaimed.

All offices are open, and there is full liberty of feasting from this present hour of five till the bell have told eleven. Heaven bless the isle of Cyprus and our noble general Othello!

Let's teach ourselves that honourable stop, Not to outsport discretion. Michael, good night: Before the castle. That done, I will be walking on the works; Repair there to me. Gentleman We'll wait upon your lordship. I warrant it grieves my husband, As if the case were his. Do not doubt, Cassio, But I will have my lord and you again As friendly as you were. You do love my lord: You have known him long; and be you well assured He shall in strangeness stand no further off Than in a polite distance.

CASSIO Ay, but, lady, That policy may either last so long, Or feed upon such nice and waterish diet, Or breed itself so out of circumstance, That, I being absent and my place supplied, My general will forget my love and service. I am very ill at ease, Unfit for mine own purposes. Clown I dare not say he lies any where. Clown He's a soldier, and for one to say a soldier lies, is stabbing.

Clown To tell you where he lodges, is to tell you where I lie. Clown I know not where he lodges, and for me to devise a lodging and say he lies here or he lies there, were to lie in mine own throat. Clown I will catechise the world for him; that is, make questions, and by them answer. Clown To do this is within the compass of man's wit: It is hypocrisy against the devil: They that mean virtuously, and yet do so, The devil their virtue tempts, and they tempt heaven.

IAGO So they do nothing, 'tis a venial slip: May she give that? Thou said'st, it comes o'er my memory, As doth the raven o'er the infected house, Boding to all--he had my handkerchief. IAGO Ay, what of that? Or heard him say,--as knaves be such abroad, Who having, by their own importunate suit, Or voluntary dotage of some mistress, Convinced or supplied them, cannot choose But they must blab-- OTHELLO Hath he said any thing?

IAGO With her, on her; what you will. We say lie on her, when they belie her. Lie with her!

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