A fellow almost damn'd in a fair wife; More than a spinster; unless the bookish theoric, As masterly as he: mere prattle, without practice, And I (God bless the mark!) his Moorship's ancient. 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 Stood heir to the first. Now, sir, be judge yourself, To love the Moor. Rod. I would not follow him, then. Iago. O, sir, content you; him : I follow him to serve my turn upon 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; For when my outward action doth demonstrate Rod. What a full fortune does the thick-lips owe, Iago. Call up her father, Rouse him-make after him, poison his delight, Plague him with flies: though that his joy be joy, 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 Is spied in populous cities. Rod. What, ho, Brabantio! Signior Brabantio, ho! Iago. Awake! what, ho, Brabantio! thieves! thieves! thieves! Look to your house, your daughter, and your bags! BRABANTIO appears above, at a window. Bra. What is the reason of this terrible summons? What is the matter there? Rod. Signior, is all your family within ? Iago. Are your doors lock'd? Bra. 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; Or else the devil will make a grandsire of you: Arise, I say. Bra. What, have you lost your wits? Rod. Most reverend signior, do you know my voice? Rod. My name is Roderigo. Bra. The worser welcome: I have charg'd thee not to haunt about my doors: My daughter is not for thee; and now, in madness, 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 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, 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. Bra. What profane wretch art thou? lago. 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. Iago. You are a senator. Bra. This thou shalt answer; I know thee, Roderigo. Rod. 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, But with a knave of common hire, a gondolier, If this be known to you, and your allowance, I thus would play and trifle with your reverence: Tying her duty, beauty, wit, and fortunes, In an extravagant and wheeling stranger Of here and every where. Straight satisfy yourself: Let loose on me the justice of the state Bra. 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.- [Exit above. Iago. With such loud reason to the Cyprus wars, Which even now stand in act, that, for their souls, • 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. [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 naught but bitterness.-Now, Roderigo, Where didst thou see her?-O unhappy girl! With the Moor, say'st thou ?-Who would be a father!— Bra. O heaven!-How got she out!-O treason of the Fathers, from hence trust not your daughters' minds Rod. Yes, sir, I have indeed. Bra. 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? Rod. I think I can discover him, if you please To get good guard, and go along with me. I Bra. Pray you, lead on. At every house I'll call; may command at most.-Get weapons, ho! And raise some special officers of night.— On, good Roderigo;-I'll deserve your pains. [Exeunt. SCENE II. The same. Another street. Enter OTHELLO, IAGO, and Attendants with torches. Iago. Though in the trade of war I have slain men, To do no contriv'd murder: I lack iniquity I had thought to have yerk'd him here under the ribs. |