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    Othello, The Moor of Venice
    Othello, The Moor of Venice
    Othello, The Moor of Venice
    Ebook187 pages1 hour

    Othello, The Moor of Venice

    By William Shakespeare

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    Othello, The Moor of Venice is a tragedy by William Shakespeare based on the short story "Moor of Venice" by Cinthio, believed to have been written in approximately 1603. The work revolves around four central characters: Othello, his wife Desdemona, his lieutenant Cassio, and his trusted advisor Iago. Attesting to its enduring popularity, the play appeared in 7 editions between 1622 and 1705. Because of its varied themes — racism, love, jealousy and betrayal — it remains relevant to the present day and is often performed in professional and community theatres alike. The play has also been the basis for numerous operatic, film and literary adaptations.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherMVP
    Release dateDec 12, 2018
    ISBN9782291061618
    Othello, The Moor of Venice
    Author

    William Shakespeare

    William Shakespeare is the world's greatest ever playwright. Born in 1564, he split his time between Stratford-upon-Avon and London, where he worked as a playwright, poet and actor. In 1582 he married Anne Hathaway. Shakespeare died in 1616 at the age of fifty-two, leaving three children—Susanna, Hamnet and Judith. The rest is silence.

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      Book preview

      Othello, The Moor of Venice - William Shakespeare

      Othello

      William Shakespeare

       Copyright © 2018 by OPU

      All rights reserved.

      No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

      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 know my voice?

      BRABANTIO

      Not I what are you?

      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.

      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.

      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 covered 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 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.

      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 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,

      However this may gall him with some cheque,

      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

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