DUKE of Venice.

Brabantio, a noble Venetian.

Gratiano, Brother to Brabantio.

Lodovico, Kinfman to Brabantio and Gratiano.
Othello, the Moor, General for the Venetians in Cyprus.
Caffio, bis Lieutenant-General.

Iago, Standard-bearer to Othello.

Rodorigo, a foolish Gentleman, in love with Desdemona. Montano,the Moor's Predeceffor in the Government of Cyprus. Clown, Servant to the Moor.

Herald.

Desdemona, Daughter to Brabantio, and Wife to Othello. Emilia, Wife to Iago.

Bianca, a Courtezan, Miftrefs to Caffio.

Officers, Gentlemen, Messengers, Muficians, and Attendants.

SCENE for the First At in Venice; during the reft of the Play in Cyprus.

The Story is taken from Cynthio's Novels. Pope.

OTHELLO,

OTHELLO, the Moor of Venice.

ACTI.

N

SCENE I

A Street in VENICE.

Enter Rodorigo and Iago.

RODORIGO.

EVER tell me, I take it much unkindly,
That thou, Iago, who haft had my purse,
As if the ftrings were thine, fhouldft know
of this-

Iago. But you'll not hear me.

If ever I did dream of fuch a matter,

Abhor me then.`

Rod. Thou told'ft me, thou didst hold Him in thy hate.

Iago. Defpife me if I do not.

Three great ones of the city, in perfonal fuit
To make me his lieutenant, oft' capt to him:
And, by the faith of man, I know my price,
I'm worth no worfe a place. But he, as loving
"'His pride and purposes, evades them with
A bumbaft circumftance, horribly stuft
With epithets of war; and in conclufion
Non-fuits my mediators; Certes, fays he,
I have already chofe my officer.

1 Abhor me.

E e 4

2 His own pride and purpose,

And

And what was he?

Forfooth a great arithmetician,

One Michael Caffio, a Florentine, a

3

A fellow almost damn'd in a fair 3 'phyz ;` b
That never fet a fquadron in the field,

Nor the divifion of a battle knows

More than a spinster; but the bookish theorique,
Wherein the tongued confuls can propose

As masterly as he; meer prattle, without practice,
Is all his foldierfhip-he had the election;
And I, of whom his eyes had feen the proof
At Rhodes, at Cyprus, and on other grounds
Chriftian and heathen, must be belee'd and calm'd
By Debtor, and Creditor, this Counter-cafter.
He, in good time, muft his lieutenant be,

4/

And I, God blefs the mark! his Moor-fhip's Ancient. Rod. By heav'n, I rather would have been his hangman. Iago. But there's no remedy, 'tis the curfe of fervice; Preferment goes by letter and affection,

And not by old gradation, where each fecond

Stood heir to th' firft. Now, Sir, be judge your felf,
If I in any juft term am affign'd

To love the Moor.

Rod. I would not follow him then.

Iago. O Sir, content you;

I follow him to ferve my turn upon him.
We cannot all be mafters, nor all mafters
Cannot be truly follow'd. You fhall mark
Many a duteous and knee-crooking knave,
That, doting on his own obfequious bondage,
Wears out his time, much like his master's afs,

For (a) It is plain from many other paffages in the Play (rightly underfood) that Caflio was a Florentine and lago a Venetian.

(5) In all the former editions this hath been printed a fair wife, but furely it muft from the beginning have been a mistake, because it ap fears from a following part in the Play that Caffio was an unmarried man on the other hand his Beauty is often hinted at, which it is natural enough for other rough foldiers to treat with fcorn and ridicule, 3 wife; 4 Debitor,

For nought but provender, and when old, 's cafhier'd;
Whip me fuch honeft 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 fervice on their Lords,
Well thrive by them; and when they've lin'd their coats,
Do themselves homage. Thefe folks have fome foul,
And fuch a one do 1 profefs my self.

It is as fure as you are Rodorigo,

Were I the Moor, I would not be Iago:
In following him, I follow but my felf.
Heav'n is my judge, not I for love and duty,
But feeming fo, for my peculiar end:
For when my outward action doth demonstrate
The native act and figure.of my heart
In complement extern; 'tis not long after
But I will wear my heart upon my fleeve,
For daws to peck at; I'm not what I feem.

Rod. What a full fortune does the thick-lips owe,
If he can carry her thus !

Iago. Call up her father,

Roule him, make after him, poifon his delight.
Proclaim him in the streets, incenfe her kinfmen.
And tho' he in a fertile climate dwell,
Plague him with flies: tho' that his joy be joy,
Yet throw fuch changes of vexation on't,
As it may lofe fome colour.

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, 'a` fire
Is fpied in populous cities.

Rod. What, ho! Brabantio! Signior Brabantio! ho!
Iago. Awake! what, ho! Brabantio! ho! thieves! thieves!
Look to your houfe, your daughter, and your bags:
Thieves! thieves!

5 the

SCENE

Enter Brabantio above, at a window.

Bra. What is the reafon of this terrible fummons?

What is the matter there?

Rad. Signior, is all your family within?

Iago. Are all doors lock'd?

Bra. Why? wherefore ask you this?

[your gown,

Iago. Zounds! Sir, you're robb'd: for fhame put on Your heart is burst, you have loft half your foul;

Ev'n now, ev'n very now, an old black ram
Is tupping your white ewe. Arife, arife,
Awake the fnorting citizens with the bell,
Or elfe the Devil will make a grandfire of
Arife, I fay.

wits? your

you.

Bra. What, have you loft
Rod. Moft reverend fignior, do you know
Bra. Not I; what are you?

Rod. My name is Rodorigo.

Bra. The worfe welcome;

my voice?

I've charg'd thee not to haunt about my doors:
In honeft plainness thou haft heard me say,

My daughter's not for thee. And now in madness,
Being full of fupper and diftemp'ring draughts,
Upon malicious bravery doft thou come

To start my quiet.

Rod. Sir, Sir, Sir,

Bra. But thou must needs be fure,

My spirit and my place have in their power

To make this bitter to thee.

'Rod. Patience, good Sir.

Bra. What tell'st thou me of robbing? this is Venice: My houfe is not a grange.

Rod. Moft grave Brabantio,

In fimple and pure foul, I come to you.

Iago. Sir, you are not one of those that will not ferve God, if the devil bid you. Because we come to do you fervice,

you