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In personal suit to make me his lieutenant,
Oft capped 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 stuffed with epithets of war;
And, in conclusion, nonsuits my mediators:
"For certes," says he, "I have already
Chosen my officer." And what was he?
Forsooth, a great arithmetician;
One Michael Cassio, a Florentine,
A fellow almost damned 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 togéd consuls can propose

As masterly as he. Mere 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 be-lee'd and

By debitor and creditor; this counter-caster:
He, in good time, must his lieutenant be,
And I (God bless the mark!) his Moorship's


Rod. By heaven, I rather would have been his


Iago. But there's no remedy; 'tis the curse of service:

Preferment goes by letter and affection,
Not by the 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.


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 followed. 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,

Whip me such honest knaves. Others there are,
Who, trimmed 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:

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Bra. What tell'st thou me of robbing? This is Venice:

My house is not a grange.

Rod. Most grave Brabantio,

In simple and pure soul I come to you.

Iago. 'Zounds, sir, you are one of those that will not serve God, if the devil bid you. Because we come to do you service, you think we are ruffians. You'll have your daughter covered 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. Sir, I will answer anything. But I beseech you,

If't be your pleasure and most wise consent
(As partly I find it is) that your fair daughter,
At this odd-even and dull watch o' the night,
Transported, with no worse nor better guard
But with a knave of common hire, a gondolier,
To the gross clasps of a lascivious Moor,—
If this be known to you, and your allowance,
We then have done you bold and saucy wrongs:
But if you know not this, my manners tell me
We have your wrong rebuke. Do not believe
That, from the sense of all civility,

I thus would play and trifle with your reverence:
Your daughter,-if you have not given her

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Cannot with safety cast him: for he 's embarked
With such loud reason to the Cyprus' wars
(Which even now stand in act), that, for their souls,
Another of his fathom they have not
To lead their business. In which regard,
Though I do hate him as I do hell pains,
Yet, for necessity of present life,

I must shew out a flag and sign of love,
Which is indeed but sign. That you shall
surely find him,

Lead to the Sagittary the raiséd search;
And there will I be with him. So farewell. [Exit.

Enter, below, BRABANTIO, and Servants, with torches.

Bra. It is too true an evil: gone she is; And what's to come of my despised time Is nought but bitterness.-Now, Roderigo, Where didst thou see her?-O, unhappy girl!With the Moor, say'st thou?—Who would be a father?-

How didst thou know 't was she?-O, thou deceivest me

Past thought!-What said she to you?-Get more tapers;

Raise all my kindred.-Are they married, think you?

Rod. Truly, I think they are.

Bra. O heaven!-How got she out?-O treason of the blood!-Fathers, from hence trust not your daughters' minds

By what you see them act.- -Are there not charms
By which the property of youth and maidhood
May be abused? Have you not read, Roderigo,
Of some such thing?

Yes, sir; I have indeed. Bra. Call up my brother.-O, that you had had her!

Some one way, some another.-Do you know Where we may apprehend her and the Moor?

Rod. I think I can discover him; if you please To get good guard, and go along with me.

Bra. Pray you, lead on. Atevery house I'll call; I may command at most.-Get weapons, ho! And raise some special officers of night.— On, good Roderigo: I will deserve your pains. [Exeunt.

SCENE II.-The same. Another Street. Enter OTHELLO, IAGO, and Attendants. Iago. Though in the trade of war I have slain


Yet do I hold it very stuff o' the conscience To do no contrived murder: I lack iniquity

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My services, which I have done the signiory,
Shall out-tongue his complaints. "Tis yet to know
(Which when I know that boasting is an honour
I shall promulgate) I fetch my life and being
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 unhouséd free condition
Put into circumscription and confine

For the sea's worth.-But, look! what lights come yonder?

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Good signior, you shall more command with years Than with your weapons.

Bra. 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 curléd darlings of our nation,
Would ever have, to incur a general mock,
Run from her guardage to the sooty bosom
Of such a thing as thou; to fear, not to delight.
Judge me the world, if 't is not gross in sense
That thou hast practised on her with foul charms;
Abused her delicate youth with drugs or minerals
That waken motion. I'll have it disputed on:
"Tis probable, and palpable to thinking.
I therefore apprehend and do attach thee
For an abuser of the world; a practiser
Of arts inhibited and out of warrant.-
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 have 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.

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