Othello, Act 1, Scene 2

Though in the trade of war I have slain men, Yet do I hold it very stuff o’ the conscience To do no contriv’d murder; I lack iniquity Sometimes to do me service: nine or ten times I had thought to have yerk’d him here under the ribs.

Though I have killed men in the business of war, I still hold it a real matter of conscience to commit no deliberate murder. I don't have enough wickedness in me to serve my own turn sometimes. Nine or ten times I thought of jabbing him here, under the ribs.

’Tis better as it is.

It's better as it is.

Nay, but he prated, And spoke such scurvy and provoking terms Against your honour, That with the little godliness I have, I did full hard forbear him. But I pray you, sir, Are you fast married? Be assur’d of this, That the magnifico is much belov’d And hath in his effect a voice potential As double as the duke’s; he will divorce you, Or put upon you what restraint and grievance The law (with all his might to enforce it on) Will give him cable.

No, but he babbled on, and used such disgusting, insulting language against your honour, that with the little godliness I have, I could barely keep my hands off him. But tell me, sir, are you securely married? Be sure of this: the great man is much loved, and his voice carries as much weight in effect as the duke's — twice as much. He'll divorce you, or impose on you whatever restraint and punishment the law (with all its force behind him) will give him room for.

Let him do his spite; My services, which I have done the signiory, Shall out-tongue his complaints. ’Tis yet to know,— Which, when I know that boasting is an honour, I shall promulgate,—I fetch my life and being From men of royal siege. And my demerits May speak unbonneted to as proud a fortune As this that I have reach’d. For know, Iago, But that I love the gentle Desdemona, I would not my unhoused free condition Put into circumscription and confine For the sea’s worth. But look, what lights come yond?

Let him do his worst. The services I have done the signiory will speak louder than his complaints. It is still unknown — and when I learn that boasting is honourable, I'll announce it — that I draw my life and being from men of royal rank. And my own merits can speak with my hat on to as proud a position as this one I have reached. For understand, Iago, if I didn't love the gentle Desdemona, I would not give up my unconfined, free condition to be hemmed in and confined, not for all the wealth of the sea. But look, what lights are those coming over there?

Those are the raised father and his friends: You were best go in.

That's the father, roused out of bed, and his friends. You had better go inside.

Not I; I must be found. My parts, my title, and my perfect soul Shall manifest me rightly. Is it they?

Not I. I must be found. My qualities, my rank, and my clear conscience will show me for what I truly am. Is it them?

By Janus, I think no.

By Janus, I think not.

The servants of the duke and my lieutenant. The goodness of the night upon you, friends! What is the news?

The duke's servants, and my lieutenant. May the night's blessings be on you, friends! What's the news?

The duke does greet you, general, And he requires your haste-post-haste appearance Even on the instant.

The duke sends you his greetings, general, and he requires you to appear with all possible speed, this very moment.

What is the matter, think you?

What's the matter, do you think?

Something from Cyprus, as I may divine. It is a business of some heat. The galleys Have sent a dozen sequent messengers This very night at one another’s heels; And many of the consuls, rais’d and met, Are at the duke’s already. You have been hotly call’d for, When, being not at your lodging to be found, The senate hath sent about three several quests To search you out.

Something from Cyprus, as far as I can guess. It's an urgent piece of business. The galleys have sent a dozen messengers one after another this very night, treading on each other's heels. Many of the consuls have been woken and have met, and are at the duke's already. You've been urgently called for, and when you couldn't be found at your lodging, the senate sent out three separate search parties to find you.

’Tis well I am found by you. I will but spend a word here in the house, And go with you.

It's good that you're the one who found me. I'll just have a word here in the house, and then go with you.

Ancient, what makes he here?

Ancient, what is he doing here?

Faith, he tonight hath boarded a land carrack: If it prove lawful prize, he’s made forever.

Honestly, tonight he has boarded a treasure ship on land. If it turns out to be a legal prize, he's made for life.

I do not understand.

I don't understand.

He’s married.

He's married.

To who?

To whom?

Marry to—Come, captain, will you go?

Why, to— Come, captain, will you go?

Have with you.

I'll come with you.

Here comes another troop to seek for you.

Here comes another group looking for you.

It is Brabantio. General, be advis’d, He comes to bad intent.

It's Brabantio. General, be on your guard: he comes meaning harm.

Holla, stand there!

Hello there, stop where you are!

Signior, it is the Moor.

Signior, it's the Moor.

Down with him, thief!

Strike him down, the thief!

You, Roderigo! Come, sir, I am for you.

You, Roderigo! Come on, sir, I'll take you on.

Keep up your bright swords, for the dew will rust them. Good signior, you shall more command with years Than with your weapons.

Put away your shining swords, or the dew will rust them. Good signior, you will command more with your years than with your weapons.

O thou foul thief, where hast thou stow’d my daughter? Damn’d as thou art, thou hast enchanted her, For I’ll refer me to all things of sense, (If she in chains of magic were not bound) Whether a maid so tender, fair, and happy, So opposite to marriage, that she shunn’d The wealthy curled darlings of our nation, Would ever have, to incur a general mock, Run from her guardage to the sooty bosom Of such a thing as thou—to fear, not to delight. Judge me the world, if ’tis not gross in sense, That thou hast practis’d on her with foul charms, Abus’d her delicate youth with drugs or minerals That weakens motion. I’ll have’t disputed on; ’Tis probable, and palpable to thinking. I therefore apprehend and do attach thee For an abuser of the world, a practiser Of arts inhibited and out of warrant.— Lay hold upon him, if he do resist, Subdue him at his peril.

Oh you filthy thief, where have you hidden my daughter? Damned as you are, you have bewitched her. I'll put it to everyone with any sense: if she weren't bound in chains of magic, would a girl so delicate, beautiful and happy, so set against marriage that she refused the rich, curly-haired favourites of our nation — would she ever have run from her guardian's care, and brought the whole world's mockery on herself, into the sooty embrace of a thing like you? Something to be feared, not enjoyed. Let the world judge me if it isn't obvious to the senses that you worked on her with vile spells, and abused her tender youth with drugs or potions that weaken the will. I'll have it examined in court; it's likely, and plain to anyone who thinks. So I arrest you and take you into custody as a corrupter of the world, a practitioner of forbidden and unlicensed arts. Seize him, and if he resists, overpower him at his own risk.

Hold your hands, Both you of my inclining and the rest: Were it my cue to fight, I should have known it Without a prompter. Where will you that I go To answer this your charge?

Hold back your hands, both you who are on my side and the rest of you. If it were my moment to fight, I would have known it without anyone prompting me. Where do you want me to go to answer this charge of yours?

To prison, till fit time Of law and course of direct session Call thee to answer.

To prison, until the proper time appointed by law and the regular course of trial calls you to answer.

What if I do obey? How may the duke be therewith satisfied, Whose messengers are here about my side, Upon some present business of the state, To bring me to him?

And what if I do obey? How will the duke be satisfied with that, when his messengers are standing here at my side, on some urgent business of the state, to bring me to him?

’Tis true, most worthy signior, The duke’s in council, and your noble self, I am sure is sent for.

It's true, most worthy signior. The duke is in council, and I'm sure your noble self has been sent for.

How? The duke in council? In this time of the night? Bring him away; Mine’s not an idle cause. The duke himself, Or any of my brothers of the state, Cannot but feel this wrong as ’twere their own. For if such actions may have passage free, Bond-slaves and pagans shall our statesmen be.

What? The duke in council? At this hour of the night? Bring him along. My case is not a trivial one. The duke himself, or any of my fellow senators, can't help feeling this wrong as if it were their own. For if such deeds are allowed to go unchecked, slaves and pagans will be our statesmen.