THE TRAGEDY OF OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE. טן ACT I. SCENE I.- Venice. A Street. Enter RODERIGO and IAGO. RODERIGO. USH!] never tell me, I take it much unkindly, If ever I did dream of such a matter, abhor nie. hate. Iago. Despise me, if I do not. Three great ones of the city, In personal suit to make me his lieutenant, I know my price: I am worth no worse a place; [And, in conclusion,] (371) Nonsuits my mediators; "For certes," says he, “I have already chose my officer.” And what was he? Forsooth, a great arithmetician, One Michael Cassio, a Florentine, (A fellow almost damn'd in a fair wise,) That never set a squadron in the field, Nor the division of a battle knows More than a spinster; unless the bookish theoric, And I, (God bless the mark!) his Moor-ship's an cient. Rod. By Heaven, I rather would have been his hangman. 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 To love the Moor. Rod. I would not follow him, then. Iago. O, sir! content you; I follow him to serve my turn upon him: Wears out his time, much like his master's ass, For naught but provender; and when he's old, cashier'd: Whip me such honest knaves. Others there are, their coats, Do themselves homage: these fellows have some soul; And such a one do I profess myself. It is as sure as you are Roderigo, Were I the Moor, I would not be Iago: In following him, I follow but myself; Rod. What a full fortune does the thick-lips owe, If he can carry 't thus ! : Call up her father Iago. Rouse him make after him, poison his delight, Proclaim him in the streets: incense her kinsmen; And though he in a fertile climate dwell, Plague him with flies: though that his joy be joy, Yet throw such changes of vexation on't, As it may lose some colour. Rod. Here is her father's house: I'll call aloud. Iago. Do; with like timorous accent, and dire yell, As when, by night and negligence, the fire Rod. What ho! Brabantio! signior Brabantio, ho! Iago. Awake! what, ho! Brabantio! thieves! thieves! [thieves !] Look to your house, your daughter, and your bags! Thieves thieves ! Enter BRABANTIO, above, at a window. Brabantio. What is the reason of this terrible summons ? What is the matter there? Rod. Signior, is all your family within? Iago. Why? wherefore ask you this? Iago. 'Zounds, sir! y'are robb'd; for shame, put on your gown; Your heart is burst, you have lost half your soul: What! have you lost your wits? reverend signior, do you know my Bra. Not I: what are you? Rod. My name is Roderigo. Bra. The worse welcome: I have charg'd thee not to haunt about my doors. In honest plainness thou hast heard me say, My daughter is not for thee; and now, in madness, Being full of supper and distempering draughts, Upon malicious bravery dost thou come To start my quiet. Rod. Sir, sir, sir, Bra. But thou must needs be sure, My spirit and my place have in them power To make this bitter to thee. Rod. Patience, good sir. Bra. What tell'st thou me of robbing? this is Venice; My house is not å gränge. Rod. Most grave Brabantio, Iago. ['Zounds,] sir! you are one of those that will not serve God, if the Devil bid you. Because we come to do you service, and you think we are ruffians, you'll have your daughter cover'd with a Barbary horse you'll have your nephews neigh to you; you'll have coursers for cousins, and gennets for germans. Bra. What profane wretch art thou? Iago. I am one, sir, that comes to tell you, your daughter and the Moor are [now] making the beast with two backs. Bra. Thou art a villain. You are a senator. Bra. This thou shalt answer: I know thee, Rod erigo. Rod. Sir, I will answer any thing. But I beseech you, If 't be your pleasure and most wise consent, |