SCENE I. Venice. A street.
Enter RODERIGO and IAGO
Tush! never tell me; I take it much unkindly
That thou, Iago, who hast had my purse
'Sblood, but you will not hear me:
Thou told'st me thou didst hold him in thy hate.
In personal suit to make me his lieutenant,
Off-capp'd to him: and, by the faith of man,
Evades them, with a bombast circumstance
Horribly stuff'd with epithets of war;
And, in conclusion,
Nonsuits my mediators; for, 'Certes,' says he,
And what was he?
Forsooth, a great arithmetician,
One Michael Cassio, a Florentine,
Is all his soldiership. But he, sir, had the election:
And I, of whom his eyes had seen the proof
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.
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.
O, sir, content you;
We cannot all be masters, nor all masters
Many a duteous and knee-crooking knave,
Wears out his time, much like his master's ass,
For nought but provender, and when he's old, cashier'd:
Do well thrive by them and when they have lined
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:
Heaven is my judge, not I for love and duty,
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.
If he can carry't thus!
Call up her father,
Proclaim him in the streets; incense her kinsmen,
Plague him with flies: though that his joy be joy,
As it may lose some colour.
Here is her father's house; I'll call aloud.
As when, by night and negligence, the fire
What, ho, Brabantio! Signior Brabantio, ho!
Awake! what, ho, Brabantio! thieves! thieves! thieves!
Look to your house, your daughter and your bags!
BRABANTIO appears above, at a window
Synopsis: Othello is a tragedy by William Shakespeare, believed to have been written in 1603. It is based on the story Un Capitano Moro by Cinthio, a disciple of Boccaccio, first published in 1565.