Internet Shakespeare Editions


Jump to line
Help on texts

About this text

  • Title: Othello (Quarto 1, 1622)
  • Editor: Donald Bailey
  • ISBN: 978-1-55058-466-0

    Copyright Internet Shakespeare Editions. This text may be freely used for educational, non-proift purposes; for all other uses contact the Coordinating Editor.
    Author: William Shakespeare
    Editor: Donald Bailey
    Peer Reviewed

    Othello (Quarto 1, 1622)

    The Tragedy of Othello

    If thou but thinkest him wrongd, and makest his eare
    1755A stranger to thy thoughts.
    Iag. I doe beseech you,
    Though I perchance am vicious in my ghesse,
    As I confesse it is my natures plague,
    To spy into abuses, and oft my iealousie
    1760Shapes faults that are not, I intreate you then,
    From one that so imperfectly coniects,
    You'd take no notice, nor build your selfe a trouble,
    Out of my scattering, and vnsure obseruance;
    It were not for your quiet, nor your good,
    1765Nor for my manhood, honesty, or wisedome,
    To let you know my thoughts,
    Oth. Zouns.
    Iag. Good name in man and woman's deere my Lord;
    Is the immediate Iewell of our soules:
    1770Who steales my purse, steals trash, tis something, nothing,
    Twas mine, tis his, and has bin slaue to thousands:
    But he that filches from me my good name,
    Robs me of that, which not inriches him,
    1775And makes me poore indeed.
    Oth. By heauen I'le know thy thought.
    Iag. You cannot, if my heart were in your hand,
    Nor shall not, whilst tis in my custody:
    1780O beware iealousie.
    It is the greene eyd monster, which doth mocke
    That meate it feedes on. That Cuckold liues in blisse,
    Who certaine of his fate, loues not his wronger:
    But oh, what damned minutes tells he ore,
    1785Who dotes, yet doubts, suspects, yet strongly loues.
    Oth. O misery.
    Iag. Poore and content, is rich, and rich enough,
    But riches, finelesse, is as poore as winter,
    To him that euer feares he shall be poore:
    1790Good God, the soules of all my tribe defend
    From iealousie,
    Oth. Why, why is this?