Othello, Act 1, Scene 1

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.

Enough, don't tell me anything. I take it very badly that you, Iago, who have had the use of my purse as if the strings were your own, knew about this.

’Sblood, but you will not hear me. If ever I did dream of such a matter, Abhor me.

By God's blood, you won't listen to me. If I ever so much as dreamed of such a thing, then loathe me.

Thou told’st me, thou didst hold him in thy hate.

You told me you hated him.

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 practice 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 belee’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.

Scorn me if I don't. Three important men of the city took off their caps to him, personally asking him to make me his lieutenant; and by my faith as a man, I know what I'm worth, I deserve no lesser post. But he, in love with his own pride and his own plans, puts them off with inflated talk stuffed horribly full of military jargon, and in the end he dismisses my supporters' case, saying, "Certainly, I have already chosen my officer." And who was he? Why, a great arithmetician, one Michael Cassio, a Florentine, a fellow almost damned by a beautiful wife, who never commanded a squadron in the field and knows no more about how a battle is divided up than a spinning-woman does — nothing but bookish theory, which the consuls in their robes can discuss as expertly as he can. Mere chatter without practice is all his soldiership. But he, sir, got the appointment, and I, whose proof his own eyes have seen at Rhodes, at Cyprus, and on other ground, Christian and heathen, must have the wind taken out of my sails by a book-keeper, this bean-counter. He, if you please, must be his lieutenant, and I — God save us — must be his Moorship's ensign.

By heaven, I rather would have been his hangman.

By heaven, I would rather have been his hangman.

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 affin’d To love the Moor.

Well, there's no cure for it. It's the curse of military service: promotion goes by letters of recommendation and favouritism, and not by the old order of seniority, where each man in second place was heir to the first. Now, sir, judge for yourself whether I have any fair reason to be bound to love the Moor.

I would not follow him, then.

I wouldn't serve him, then.

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 lin’d 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 complement 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.

Oh, sir, be easy. I serve him to use him for my own purposes. We can't all be masters, nor can all masters be served faithfully. You'll notice many a dutiful, knee-bending servant who, doting on his own fawning slavery, wastes his life away just like his master's donkey, for nothing but his feed, and when he's old, is dismissed. Whip such honest servants for me. There are others who, dressed up in the forms and faces of duty, still keep their hearts busy with themselves, and, throwing only the appearance of service at their lords, do very well out of them, and when they have lined their pockets, pay homage to themselves. Those fellows have some spirit, and I declare myself to be one of them. For, sir, it's as certain as you are Roderigo: if I were the Moor, I wouldn't want to be Iago. In serving him, I serve only myself. Heaven is my judge, I act not out of love and duty, but only seem to, for my own private purpose. For when my outward behaviour shows the true working and shape of my heart in outward display, it won't be long before I wear my heart on my sleeve for jackdaws to peck at. I am not what I am.

What a full fortune does the thick-lips owe, If he can carry’t thus!

What complete good luck the thick-lips has, if he can pull it off like this!

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 color.

Wake up her father. Rouse him, chase after him, poison his pleasure, denounce him in the streets. Inflame her relatives, and though he lives in a rich climate, torment him with flies. Even if his joy is real joy, still throw so many kinds of trouble on it that it loses some of its colour.

Here is her father’s house, I’ll call aloud.

Here is her father's house. I'll shout out loud.

Do, with like timorous accent and dire yell As when, by night and negligence, the fire Is spied in populous cities.

Do, with the same frightened voice and dreadful shriek as when fire is spotted at night, through carelessness, in a crowded city.

What ho, Brabantio! Signior Brabantio, ho!

Hello there, Brabantio! Signior Brabantio, hello!

Awake! what ho, Brabantio! Thieves, thieves! Look to your house, your daughter, and your bags! Thieves, thieves!

Wake up! Hello there, Brabantio! Thieves, thieves! Look to your house, your daughter, and your money bags! Thieves, thieves!

Brabantio appears above at a window.

Brabantio appears above at a window.

What is the reason of this terrible summons? What is the matter there?

What's the reason for this dreadful calling out? What's the matter down there?

Signior, is all your family within?

Signior, is your whole family inside?

Are your doors locked?

Are your doors locked?

Why, wherefore ask you this?

Why, what are you asking that for?

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 tupping 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.

By God's wounds, sir, you've been robbed. For shame, put on your gown. Your heart is broken, you have lost half your soul. Right now, now, this very moment, an old black ram is mating with your white ewe. Get up, get up! Wake the snoring citizens with the bell, or else the devil will make you a grandfather. Get up, I say.

What, have you lost your wits?

What, have you lost your mind?

Most reverend signior, do you know my voice?

Most respected signior, do you recognise my voice?

Not I. What are you?

No, I don't. Who are you?

My name is Roderigo.

My name is Roderigo.

The worser welcome. I have charg’d 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.

You're all the less welcome. I have ordered you not to hang around my doors. In honest plain words you have heard me say my daughter is not for you; and now, in madness, full of supper and of drinks that upset your brain, out of spiteful defiance you come to disturb my peace.

Sir, sir, sir,—

Sir, sir, sir—

But thou must needs be sure My spirit and my place have in them power To make this bitter to thee.

But you can be quite sure that my temper and my position have the power in them to make you regret this bitterly.

Patience, good sir.

Be patient, good sir.

What tell’st thou me of robbing? This is Venice. My house is not a grange.

Why do you talk to me about robbing? This is Venice. My house isn't an isolated farmhouse.

Most grave Brabantio, In simple and pure soul I come to you.

Most serious Brabantio, I come to you with a plain and honest heart.

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 cover’d with a Barbary horse; you’ll have your nephews neigh to you; you’ll have coursers for cousins and gennets for germans.

By God's wounds, sir, you are one of those men who won't serve God if the devil tells you to. Because we come to do you a service, and you think we're thugs, you'd rather have your daughter mounted by a Barbary horse; you'd rather have your grandsons neighing at you; you'd rather have racehorses for relatives and Spanish ponies for kinsmen.

What profane wretch art thou?

What foul-mouthed wretch are you?

I am one, sir, that comes to tell you your daughter and the Moor are now making the beast with two backs.

I am a man, sir, who comes to tell you that your daughter and the Moor are right now making the beast with two backs.

Thou art a villain.

You are a villain.

You are a senator.

You are a senator.

This thou shalt answer. I know thee, Roderigo.

You'll answer for this. I know you, Roderigo.

Sir, I will answer anything. 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 everywhere. 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.

Sir, I'll answer for anything. But I beg you: if it is your wish and your fully considered consent — as I partly find it is — that your beautiful daughter, at this strange hour and dead time of the night, should be carried off with no better or worse escort than a common hired fellow, a gondolier, to the coarse embraces of a lustful Moor — if you know about this and have permitted it, then we have done you bold and insolent wrongs. But if you don't know about it, my sense of good manners tells me that you are scolding us unfairly. Don't think that, casting off all sense of decency, I would play games and trifle with your honoured self like this. Your daughter — if you have not given her permission — has, I say again, committed an outrageous rebellion, binding her duty, beauty, brains and fortune to a wandering, roaming foreigner from here and everywhere. Satisfy yourself at once: if she is in her bedroom or anywhere in your house, let the justice of the state fall on me for deceiving you like this.

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!

Strike a light, there! Bring me a candle! Wake up all my household! This event is not unlike my dream; believing it is already crushing me. Light, I say, light!

Farewell; for I must leave you: It seems not meet nor wholesome to my place To be produc’d, as if I stay I shall, Against the Moor. For I do know the state, However this may gall him with some check, 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 be with him. So, farewell.

Goodbye, because I must leave you. It doesn't seem fitting or healthy for my position to be brought forward, as I will be if I stay, as a witness against the Moor. For I know that the state, however much this may annoy him with some reprimand, cannot safely dismiss him, because he is engaged with such strong justification in the Cyprus wars, which are happening right now, that for the life of them they have no one else of his depth to lead their business. For that reason, though I hate him as I hate the pains of hell, still, because I have to live in the present, I must fly a flag and show a sign of love — which is indeed only a sign. So that you'll be sure to find him, take the search party you've raised to the Sagittary, and I'll be there with him. So, goodbye.

It is too true an evil. Gone she is, And what’s to come of my despised time, Is naught but bitterness. Now Roderigo, Where didst thou see her? (O unhappy girl!) With the Moor, say’st thou? (Who would be a father!) How didst thou know ’twas she? (O, she deceives me Past thought.) What said she to you? Get more tapers, Raise all my kindred. Are they married, think you?

It's an evil that's all too true. She is gone, and whatever remains of my scorned life is nothing but bitterness. Now, Roderigo, where did you see her? (Oh, wretched girl!) With the Moor, you say? (Who would want to be a father!) How did you know it was her? (Oh, she deceives me beyond anything I could imagine.) What did she say to you? Bring more candles. Wake all my relatives. Are they married, do you think?

Truly I think they are.

Truly, I think they are.

O heaven! How got she out? O treason of the blood! Fathers, from hence trust not your daughters’ minds By what you see them act. Is there not charms By which the property of youth and maidhood May be abused? Have you not read, Roderigo, Of some such thing?

Oh heaven! How did she get out? Oh, betrayal by my own blood! Fathers, from now on don't trust your daughters' minds just because of what you see them do. Aren't there spells by which the nature of youth and maidenhood can be tampered with? Haven't you read, Roderigo, of some such thing?

Yes, sir, I have indeed.

Yes, sir, I have indeed.

Call up my brother. O, would you had had her! Some one way, some another. Do you know Where we may apprehend her and the Moor?

Wake my brother. Oh, I wish you had married her! Some of you go one way, some another. Do you know where we might catch her and the Moor?

I think I can discover him, if you please To get good guard, and go along with me.

I think I can find him, if you'll get a good guard together and come with me.

Pray you lead on. At every house I’ll call, I may command at most. Get weapons, ho! And raise some special officers of night. On, good Roderigo. I will deserve your pains.

Please lead the way. I'll call at every house; I can give orders at most of them. Get weapons, there! And call out some of the night watch officers. On we go, good Roderigo. I'll make your trouble worth your while.