Internet Shakespeare Editions

About this text

  • Title: Othello (Folio 1, 1623)
  • Editor: Donald Bailey
  • ISBN: 978-1-55058-466-0

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    Author: William Shakespeare
    Editor: Donald Bailey
    Peer Reviewed

    Othello (Folio 1, 1623)

    320The Tragedie of Othello
    The one as long as th'other. 'Tis pittie of him:
    I feare the trust Othello puts him in,
    On some odde time of his infirmitie
    1240Will shake this Island.
    Mont. But is he often thus?
    Iago. 'Tis euermore his prologue to his sleepe,
    He'le watch the Horologe a double Set,
    If Drinke rocke not his Cradle.
    1245Mont. It were well
    The Generall were put in mind of it:
    Perhaps he sees it not, or his good nature
    Prizes the vertue that appeares in Cassio,
    And lookes not on his euills: is not this true?
    1250Enter Rodorigo.
    Iago. How now Rodorigo?
    I pray you after the Lieutenant, go.
    Mon. And 'tis great pitty, that the Noble Moore
    Should hazard such a Place, as his owne Second
    1255With one of an ingraft Infirmitie,
    It were an honest Action, to say so
    To the Moore.
    Iago. Not I, for this faire Island,
    I do loue Cassio well: and would do much
    1260To cure him of this euill, But hearke, what noise?
    Enter Cassio pursuing Rodorigo.
    Cas. You Rogue: you Rascall.
    Mon. What's the matter Lieutenant?
    Cas. A Knaue teach me my dutie? Ile beate the
    1265Knaue into a Twiggen-Bottle.
    Rod. Beate me?
    Cas. Dost thou prate, Rogue?
    Mon. Nay, good Lieutenant:
    I pray you Sir, hold your hand.
    1270Cassio. Let me go (Sir)
    Or Ile knocke you o're the Mazard.
    Mon. Come, come: you're drunke.
    Cassio. Drunke?
    Iago. Away I say: go out and cry a Mutinie.
    1275Nay good Lieutenant. Alas Gentlemen:
    Helpe hoa. Lieutenant. Sir Montano:
    Helpe Masters. Heere's a goodly Watch indeed.
    Who's that which rings the Bell: Diablo, hoa:
    The Towne will rise. Fie, fie Lieutenant,
    1280You'le be asham'd for euer.

    Enter Othello, and Attendants.
    Othe. What is the matter heere?
    Mon. I bleed still, I am hurt to th'death. He dies.
    Othe. Hold for your liues.
    1285Iag. Hold hoa: Lieutenant, Sir Montano, Gentlemen:
    Haue you forgot all place of sense and dutie?
    Hold. The Generall speaks to you: hold for shame.
    Oth. Why how now hoa? From whence ariseth this?
    Are we turn'd Turkes? and to our selues do that
    1290Which Heauen hath forbid the Ottamittes.
    For Christian shame, put by this barbarous Brawle:
    He that stirs next, to carue for his owne rage,
    Holds his soule light: He dies vpon his Motion.
    Silence that dreadfull Bell, it frights the Isle,
    1295From her propriety. What is the matter, Masters?
    Honest Iago, that lookes dead with greeuing,
    Speake: who began this? On thy loue I charge thee?
    Iago. I do not know: Friends all, but now, euen now.
    In Quarter, and in termes like Bride, and Groome
    1300Deuesting them for Bed: and then, but now:
    (As if some Planet had vnwitted men)

    Swords out, and tilting one at others breastes,
    In opposition bloody. I cannot speake
    Any begining to this peeuish oddes.
    1305And would, in Action glorious, I had lost
    Those legges, that brought me to a part of it.
    Othe. How comes it (Michaell) you are thus forgot?
    Cas. I pray you pardon me, I cannot speake.
    Othe. Worthy Montano, you were wont to be ciuill:
    1310The grauitie, and stillnesse of your youth
    The world hath noted. And your name is great
    In mouthes of wisest Censure. What's the matter
    That you vnlace your reputation thus,
    And spend your rich opinion, for the name
    1315Of a night-brawler? Giue me answer to it.
    Mon. Worthy Othello, I am hurt to danger,
    Your Officer Iago, can informe you,
    While I spare speech which something now offends me.
    Of all that I do know, nor know I ought
    1320By me, that's said, or done amisse this night,
    Vnlesse selfe-charitie be sometimes a vice,
    And to defend our selues, it be a sinne
    When violence assailes vs.
    Othe. Now by Heauen,
    1325My blood begins my safer Guides to rule,
    And passion (hauing my best iudgement collied)
    Assaies to leade the way. If I once stir,
    Or do but lift this Arme, the best of you
    Shall sinke in my rebuke. Giue me to know
    1330How this foule Rout began: Who set it on,
    And he that is approu'd in this offence,
    Though he had twinn'd with me, both at a birth,
    Shall loose me. What in a Towne of warre,
    Yet wilde, the peoples hearts brim-full of feare,
    1335To Manage priuate, and domesticke Quarrell?
    In night, and on the Court and Guard of safetie?
    'Tis monstrous: Iago, who began't?
    Mon. If partially Affin'd, or league in office,
    Thou dost deliuer more, or lesse then Truth,
    1340Thou art no Souldier.
    Iago. Touch me not so neere,
    I had rather haue this tongue cut from my mouth,
    Then it should do offence to Michaell Cassio.
    Yet I perswade my selfe, to speake the truth
    1345Shall nothing wrong him. This it is Generall:
    Montano and my selfe being in speech,
    There comes a Fellow, crying out for helpe,
    And Cassio following him with determin'd Sword
    To execute vpon him. Sir, this Gentleman,
    1350Steppes in to Cassio, and entreats his pause;
    My selfe, the crying Fellow did pursue,
    Least by his clamour (as it so fell out)
    The Towne might fall in fright. He, (swift of foote)
    Out-ran my purpose: and I return'd then rather
    1355For that I heard the clinke, and fall of Swords,
    And Cassio high in oath: Which till to night
    I nere might say before. When I came backe
    (For this was briefe) I found them close together
    At blow, and thrust, euen as againe they were
    1360When you your selfe did part them.
    More of this matter cannot I report,
    But Men are Men: The best sometimes forget,
    Though Cassio did some little wrong to him,
    As men in rage strike those that wish them best,
    1365Yet surely Cassio, I beleeue receiu'd
    From him that fled, some strange Indignitie,
    Which patience could not passe.