Othello Act 1 Scene 1
Venice. A street at night.
The Original
Plain Modern English
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.
Roderigo
Oh, don't give me that. I take it very badly
that you, Iago — who've had my money
as though the purse strings were your own — knew about this.
Iago
'Sblood, but you will not hear me:
If ever I did dream of such a matter,
Abhor me.
Iago
God's blood, you won't listen to me.
If I ever so much as dreamed of such a thing,
despise me.
Roderigo
Thou told'st me thou didst hold him in thy hate.
Roderigo
You told me you hated him.
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.
Iago
Despise me if I don't. Three of the most important men in the city,
personally petitioning him to make me his lieutenant,
took off their caps to him. And on my honour as a man,
I know my worth — I deserve no lesser post.
But he, in love with his own pride and plans,
fobs them off with a padded rigmarole
horribly stuffed with military jargon,
and finally
rejects the men speaking for me. 'Certainly,' he says,
'I've already chosen my officer.'
And who was it?
Why, a great mathematician —
one Michael Cassio, a Florentine,
a man practically ruined by a pretty wife;
who has never commanded a squadron in the field
and knows no more about drawing up a battle line
than a housewife does — except for the bookish theory
that senators in togas can discuss
just as expertly. Pure chatter, with no practice behind it,
is the whole of his soldiering. But he got the appointment.
And I, whose ability Othello has seen proved
at Rhodes, at Cyprus and on other fields,
Christian and heathen, must have the wind stolen from my sails
by a bookkeeper — this bean-counter.
He, all of a sudden, must be his lieutenant,
and I — heaven help us — remain his Moorship's flag-carrier. (Every grievance he lists is real. It is also not why he does what he does.)
Roderigo
By heaven, I rather would have been his hangman.
Roderigo
By God, I'd rather 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.
Iago
There's no help for it. It's the curse of military service:
promotion goes by recommendation and favouritism,
not by the old system of seniority, where the second in line
inherited from the first. Now, sir, judge for yourself
whether I'm bound by any fair reckoning
to love the Moor.
Roderigo
I would not follow him then.
Roderigo
Then I wouldn't serve him.
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 lin'd 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.
Iago
Calm yourself, sir.
I serve him in order to use him for my own ends.
We can't all be masters, and not all masters
can be honestly served. You'll notice
plenty of dutiful, knee-bending servants
who, in love with their own grovelling servitude,
waste their lives like their master's donkey,
working for nothing but feed, and dismissed when they get old.
Whip such honest fools. There are others
who, dressed up in the manners and expressions of duty,
keep their hearts serving themselves —
and, giving their masters nothing but a show of service,
do very well out of them; and once they've lined their pockets
they serve themselves. Those men have some spirit,
and I declare myself one of them. Because, sir,
as surely as you are Roderigo,
if I were the Moor I wouldn't want an Iago serving me.
In serving him I'm only serving myself.
Heaven is my judge — I don't act out of love and duty,
only seeming to, for my own private purpose.
Because once my outward behaviour displays
the true workings and shape of my heart
in external show, it won't be long
before I'm wearing my heart on my sleeve
for birds to peck at. I am not what I am. (The most chilling line in the play, spoken in the first two minutes. He tells us exactly what he is, and everyone in Venice keeps calling him honest.)
Roderigo
What a full fortune does the thick-lips owe
If he can carry't thus!
Roderigo
What luck the thick-lipped one has
if he can pull this off! (Roderigo's first reference to Othello is a racial insult. Neither man ever uses his name.)
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 color.
Iago
Wake her father.
Rouse him. Go after Othello, poison his happiness,
denounce him in the streets, enrage her relatives.
And though he's living in a fortunate situation,
plague him with irritations. Though his joy is real joy,
throw so many vexing changes at it
that it loses some of its colour.
Roderigo
Here is her father's house; I'll call aloud.
Roderigo
Here's her father's house. I'll shout.
Iago
Do, with like timorous accent and dire yell
As when, by night and negligence, the fire
Is spied in populous cities.
Iago
Do — with the same terrifying tone and dreadful yell
as when a fire, started at night by carelessness,
is spotted in a crowded city.
Roderigo
What, ho, Brabantio! Signior Brabantio, ho!
Roderigo
Hello there, Brabantio! Signor Brabantio!
Iago
Awake! what, ho, Brabantio! thieves! thieves! thieves!
Look to your house, your daughter and your bags!
Thieves! thieves!
Iago
Wake up! Brabantio! Thieves! Thieves! Thieves!
Look to your house, your daughter and your money-bags!
Thieves! Thieves! (He lists the daughter between the house and the cash. That ordering is the argument he is about to make.)
Brabantio appears above, at a window.
Brabantio
What is the reason of this terrible summons?
What is the matter there?
Brabantio
What's the reason for this frightful racket?
What's going on down there?
Roderigo
Signior, is all your family within?
Roderigo
Signor, is your whole family indoors?
Iago
Are your doors lock'd?
Iago
Are your doors locked?
Brabantio
Why, wherefore ask you this?
Brabantio
Why do you ask that?
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 tupping 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.
Iago
God's wounds, sir, you've been robbed! For shame — put your gown on.
Your heart is broken, you've lost half your soul.
Right now, this very moment, an old black ram
is mounting your white ewe. Get up, get up!
Wake the snoring citizens with the alarm bell,
or the devil will make a grandfather of you.
Get up, I say. (He reduces the marriage to livestock breeding, and the husband to the devil. This is how the play's racism is introduced: as a deliberate weapon.)
Brabantio
What, have you lost your wits?
Brabantio
What — have you gone out of your minds?
Roderigo
Most reverend signior, do you know my voice?
Roderigo
Most respected signor, do you recognise my voice?
Brabantio
Not I; what are you?
Brabantio
No. Who are you?
Roderigo
My name is Roderigo.
Roderigo
My name is Roderigo.
Brabantio
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; and now, in madness,
Being full of supper and distempering draughts,
Upon malicious bravery, dost thou come
To start my quiet.
Brabantio
All the less welcome, then.
I've ordered you not to hang about my door.
You've heard me say, in plain honest terms,
that my daughter isn't for you. And now, out of your mind,
stuffed with supper and intoxicating drink,
you come here out of spiteful bravado
to disturb my peace.
Roderigo
Sir, sir, sir,—
Roderigo
Sir, sir, sir—
Brabantio
But thou must needs be sure
My spirit and my place have in them power
To make this bitter to thee.
Brabantio
You'd better be quite certain
that my temper and my position have the power
to make you regret this bitterly.
Roderigo
Patience, good sir.
Roderigo
Patience, good sir.
Brabantio
What tell'st thou me of robbing? this is Venice;
My house is not a grange.
Brabantio
What are you telling me about robbery? This is Venice.
My house isn't an isolated farm.
Roderigo
Most grave Brabantio,
In simple and pure soul I come to you.
Roderigo
Most respected Brabantio,
I've come to you in complete sincerity.
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 covered with a Barbary horse;
you'll have your nephews neigh to you; you'll have
coursers for cousins and gennets for germans.
Iago
God's wounds, sir, you're one of those men who wouldn't
serve God if the devil suggested it. Because we've come to
do you a service and you take us for thugs, you'll end up
having your daughter mounted by a North African horse.
You'll have grandsons who neigh at you. You'll have
warhorses for relatives and Spanish ponies for kin.
Brabantio
What profane wretch art thou?
Brabantio
What foul-mouthed wretch are you?
Iago
I am one, sir, that comes to tell you your daughter
and the Moor are now making the beast with two
backs.
Iago
I'm someone, sir, who's come to tell you your daughter
and the Moor are at this moment making the beast with two
backs.
Brabantio
Thou art a villain.
Brabantio
You're a villain.
Iago
You are — a senator.
Iago
And you are — a senator. (The pause is the insult. He is equating the two.)
Brabantio
This thou shalt answer; I know thee, Roderigo.
Brabantio
You'll answer for this. — I know you, Roderigo.
Roderigo
Sir, I will answer any thing. 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 leave,
I say again, hath made a gross revolt;
Tying her duty, beauty, wit and fortunes
In an extravagant and wheeling stranger
Of here and every where. Straight satisfy yourself:
If she be in her chamber or your house,
Let loose on me the justice of the state
For thus deluding you.
Roderigo
Sir, I'll answer for anything. But I beg you —
if this is happening with your permission and considered approval,
as I half suspect it is — that your daughter,
in these dead small hours of the night,
has been carried off with no better escort
than a hired gondolier,
into the crude embraces of a lustful Moor —
if you know about this and have allowed it,
then we've wronged you insolently.
But if you don't know, then my sense of decency says
you've rebuked us unfairly. Don't imagine
that, against all sense of decency,
I'd toy with a man of your standing like this.
Your daughter, if you haven't given her permission,
has committed — I say it again — an outrageous rebellion,
tying her duty, her beauty, her intelligence and her fortune
to a rootless, roving foreigner
who belongs everywhere and nowhere. Go and check for yourself.
If she's in her room or anywhere in the house,
turn the full justice of the state on me
for deceiving you like this.
Brabantio
Strike on the tinder, ho!
Give me a taper! call up all my people!
This accident is not unlike my dream:
Belief of it oppresses me already.
Light, I say! light!
Brabantio
Strike a light, there!
Bring me a candle! Wake all my servants!
This event is very like a dream I had.
Believing it is already crushing me.
Light, I say! Light!
Exit Brabantio from above.
Iago
Farewell; for I must leave you:
It seems not meet, nor wholesome to my place,
To be produced — as, if I stay, I shall —
Against the Moor: for, I do know, the state,
How ever this may gall him with some check,
Cannot with safety cast him, for he's embark'd
With such loud reason to the Cyprus wars,
Which even now stand in act, that, for their souls,
Another of his fathom they have none,
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 show out a flag and sign of love,
Which is indeed but sign. That you shall surely find him,
Lead to the Sagittary the raised search;
And there will I be with him. So, farewell.
Iago
Goodbye — I have to leave you.
It wouldn't be right, or good for my position,
to be brought forward as a witness — which I will be if I stay —
against the Moor. Because I know the state,
however much this may earn him a reprimand,
can't safely dismiss him. He's been enlisted,
with such obvious justification, for the Cyprus wars
which are under way right now — and to save their lives
they haven't got another man of his calibre
to lead the campaign. For that reason,
though I hate him like the torments of hell,
for the practical needs of the moment
I have to fly a flag and show a sign of loyalty —
which is nothing but a sign. To be sure of finding him,
take the search party to the Sagittary inn.
I'll be there with him. So — goodbye.
Exit Iago. Enter Brabantio below, with servants and torches.
Brabantio
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 'twas she? O she deceives me
Past thought! What said she to you? Get moe tapers:
Raise all my kindred. Are they married, think you?
Brabantio
It's all too true. She's gone.
And whatever is left of my hateful life
will be nothing but bitterness. — Now, Roderigo,
where did you see her? Oh, wretched girl!
With the Moor, you say? Who would ever be a father!
How did you know it was her? Oh, she's deceived me
beyond imagining. What did she say to you? — Get more candles.
Rouse all my relatives. — Are they married, do you think?
Roderigo
Truly, I think they are.
Roderigo
Honestly, I think they are.
Brabantio
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. Is there not charms
By which the property of youth and maidhood
May be abused? Have you not read, Roderigo,
Of some such thing?
Brabantio
Good God! How did she get out? Oh, treachery within the family!
Fathers, from now on don't trust what your daughters are thinking
based on how you see them behave. — Aren't there magic spells
by which the very nature of youth and virginity
can be corrupted? Haven't you read about
such things, Roderigo? (He would rather believe in witchcraft than believe his daughter chose freely. That refusal drives the whole first act.)
Roderigo
Yes, sir, I have indeed.
Roderigo
Yes, sir, I have indeed.
Brabantio
Call up my brother. O, would you had had her!
Some one way, some another. Do you know
Where we may apprehend her and the Moor?
Brabantio
Fetch my brother. — Oh, I wish you'd married her!
Some of you go one way, some another. — Do you know
where we can catch her and the Moor?
Roderigo
I think I can discover him, if you please,
To get good guard and go along with me.
Roderigo
I think I can track him down, if you'll
get a decent guard together and come with me.
Brabantio
Pray you, lead on. At every house I'll call;
I may command at most. Get weapons, ho!
And raise some special officers of night.
On, good Roderigo: I'll deserve your pains.
Brabantio
Lead on, please. I'll call at every house —
I can count on most of them. Get weapons!
And rouse the night officers.
On you go, Roderigo. I'll see you're rewarded for your trouble.
Exeunt.