Othello

Othello

By William Shakespeare.

Table of Contents

1. Titlepage
2. Imprint
3. Dramatis Personae
4. Othello
   1. Act I
      1. Scene I
      2. Scene II
      3. Scene III
   2. Act II
      1. Scene I
      2. Scene II
      3. Scene III
   3. Act III
      1. Scene I
      2. Scene II
      3. Scene III
      4. Scene IV
   4. Act IV
      1. Scene I
      2. Scene II
      3. Scene III
   5. Act V
      1. Scene I
      2. Scene II
5. Colophon
6. Uncopyright

Imprint

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This particular ebook is based on a transcription produced for Massachusetts Institute of Technology and on digital scans available at the HathiTrust Digital Library.

The writing and artwork within are believed to be in the U.S. public domain, and Standard Ebooks releases this ebook edition under the terms in the CC0 1.0 Universal Public Domain Dedication. For full license information, see the Uncopyright at the end of this ebook.

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Dramatis Personae

• Duke of Venice

• Brabantio, a senator

• Other senators

• Gratiano, brother to Brabantio

• Lodovico, kinsman to Brabantio

• Othello, a noble Moor in the service of the Venetian state

• Cassio, his lieutenant

• Iago, his ancient

• Roderigo, a Venetian gentleman

• Montano, Othello’s predecessor in the government of Cyprus

• Clown, servant to Othello

• Desdemona, daughter to Brabantio and wife to Othello

• Emilia, wife to Iago

• Bianca, mistress to Cassio

• Sailor, messenger, herald, officers, gentlemen, musicians, and attendants

Scene: Venice; A sea-port in Cyprus.

Othello

Act I

Scene I

Venice. A street.

	Enter Roderigo and Iago.
Roderigo	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.
Iago	’Sblood, but you will not hear me: If ever I did dream of such a matter, Abhor me.
Roderigo	Thou told’st me thou didst hold him in thy hate.
Iago	Despise me, if I do not. Three great ones of the city, In personal suit to make me his lieutenant, Off-capp’d to him: and, by the faith of man, I know my price, I am worth no worse a place: But he; as loving his own pride and purposes, Evades them, with a bombast circumstance Horribly stuff’d with epithets of war; And, in conclusion, 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 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: mere prattle, without practise, Is all his soldiership. But he, sir, had the election: And I, of whom his eyes had seen the proof At Rhodes, at Cyprus and on other grounds Christian and heathen, must be be-lee’d and calm’d By debitor and creditor: this counter-caster, He, in good time, must his lieutenant be, And I⁠—God bless the mark!⁠—his Moorship’s ancient.
Roderigo	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 Stood heir to the first. Now, sir, be judge yourself, Whether I in any just term am affined To love the Moor.
Roderigo	I would not follow him then.
Iago	O, sir, content you; I follow him to serve my turn upon him: We cannot all be masters, nor all masters 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: these fellows have some soul; And such a one do I profess myself. For, sir, It is as sure as you are Roderigo, Were I the Moor, I would not be Iago: In following him, I follow but myself; Heaven is my judge, not I for love and duty, But seeming so, for my peculiar end: For when my outward action doth demonstrate The native act and figure of my heart In compliment extern, ’tis not long after But I will wear my heart upon my sleeve For daws to peck at: I am not what I am.
Roderigo	What a full fortune does the thicklips owe If he can carry’t thus!
Iago	Call up her father, Rouse him: make after him, poison his delight, Proclaim him in the streets; incense her kinsmen, And, though he in a fertile climate dwell, Plague him with flies: though that his joy be joy, Yet throw such changes of vexation on’t, As it may lose some colour.
Roderigo	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 Is spied in populous cities.
Roderigo	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!
	Brabantio appears above, at a window.
Brabantio	What is the reason of this terrible summons? What is the matter there?
Roderigo	Signior, is all your family within?
Iago	Are your doors lock’d?
Brabantio	Why, wherefore ask you this?
Iago	’Zounds, sir, you’re robb’d; for shame, put on your gown; Your heart is burst, you have lost half your soul; Even now, now, very now, an old black ram Is topping your white ewe. Arise, arise; Awake the snorting citizens with the bell, Or else the devil will make a grandsire of you: Arise, I say.
Brabantio	What, have you lost your wits?
Roderigo	Most reverend signior, do you