Act IScene I
Venice. A street
Enter Roderigo and Iago.
Roderigo
Tush, never tell me, I take it much unkindlyThat 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 knowsMore than a spinster, unless the bookish theoric,Wherein the toged consuls can proposeAs masterly as he: mere prattle without practiceIs all his soldiership. But he, sir, had the election,And I, of whom his eyes had seen the proofAt Rhodes, at Cyprus, and on other grounds,Christian and heathen, must be belee’d and calm’dBy 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 secondStood heir to the first. Now sir, be judge yourselfWhether I in any just term am affin’dTo 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 mastersCannot be truly follow’d. You shall markMany a duteous and knee-crooking knaveThat, 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 areWho, 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 demonstrateThe native act and figure of my heartIn complement extern, ’tis not long afterBut I will wear my heart upon my sleeveFor daws to peck at: I am not what I am.
Roderigo
What a full fortune does the thick-lips 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 color.
Roderigo
Here is her father’s house, I’ll call aloud.
Iago
Do, with like timorous accent and dire yellAs when, by night and negligence, the fireIs spied in populous cities.
Roderigo
What ho, Brabantio! Signior Brabantio, ho!
Iago
Awake! what ho, Brabantio! 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 locked?
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 ramIs 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.
Brabantio
What, have you lost your wits?
Roderigo
Most reverend signior, do you know my voice?
Brabantio
Not I. What are you?
Roderigo
My name is Roderigo.
Brabantio
The worser welcome.I have charg’d thee not to haunt about my doors;In honest plainness thou hast heard me sayMy daughter is not for thee; and now in madness,Being full of supper and distempering draughts,Upon malicious bravery, dost thou comeTo start my quiet.
Roderigo
Sir, sir, sir,—
Brabantio
But thou must needs be sureMy spirit and my place have in them powerTo make this bitter to thee.
Roderigo
Patience, good sir.
Brabantio
What tell’st thou me of robbing?This is Venice. My house is not a grange.
Roderigo
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 cover’d with a Barbary horse; you’ll have your nephews neigh to you; you’ll have coursers for cousins and gennets for germans.
Brabantio
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.
Brabantio
Thou art a villain.
Iago
You are a senator.
Brabantio
This thou shalt answer. I know thee, Roderigo.
Roderigo
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 believeThat 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 fortunesIn an extravagant and wheeling strangerOf here and everywhere. Straight satisfy yourself:If she be in her chamber or your house,Let loose on me the justice of the stateFor thus deluding you.
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!
Exit from above.
Iago
Farewell; for I must leave you:It seems not meet nor wholesome to my placeTo be produc’d, as if I stay I shall,Against the Moor. For I do know the state,However this may gall him with some check,Cannot with safety cast him, for he’s embark’dWith such loud reason to the Cyprus wars,Which even now stand in act, that, for their souls,Another of his fathom they have noneTo 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.
Exit.
Enter Brabantio with Servants and torches.
Brabantio
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!)How didst thou know ’twas she? (O, she deceives mePast thought.) What said she to you? Get more tapers,Raise all my kindred. Are they married, think you?
Roderigo
Truly I think they are.
Brabantio
O heaven! How got she out? O treason of the blood!Fathers, from hence trust not your daughters’ mindsBy what you see them act. Is there not charmsBy which the property of youth and maidhoodMay be abused? Have you not read, Roderigo,Of some such thing?
Roderigo
Yes, sir, I have indeed.
Brabantio
Call up my brother. O, would you had had her!Some one way, some another. Do you knowWhere we may apprehend her and the Moor?
Roderigo
I think I can discover him, if you pleaseTo get good guard, and go along 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 will deserve your pains.
Exeunt.