Othello, Act 2, Scene 3

Good Michael, look you to the guard tonight. Let’s teach ourselves that honourable stop, Not to outsport discretion.

Good Michael, see to the guard tonight. Let's teach ourselves that honourable limit, not to celebrate beyond what is sensible.

Iago hath direction what to do. But notwithstanding with my personal eye Will I look to’t.

Iago has his orders about what to do. But even so, I'll see to it with my own eyes.

Iago is most honest. Michael, good night. Tomorrow with your earliest Let me have speech with you. [To Desdemona.] Come, my dear love, The purchase made, the fruits are to ensue; That profit’s yet to come ’tween me and you.— Good night.

Iago is completely honest. Michael, good night. Tomorrow as early as you can, let me speak with you. [To Desdemona.] Come, my dear love, the purchase is made, the fruits are still to follow; that profit is yet to come between me and you.—Good night.

Welcome, Iago. We must to the watch.

Welcome, Iago. We must go to the watch.

Not this hour, lieutenant. ’Tis not yet ten o’ th’ clock. Our general cast us thus early for the love of his Desdemona; who let us not therefore blame: he hath not yet made wanton the night with her; and she is sport for Jove.

Not for another hour, lieutenant. It isn't ten o'clock yet. Our general dismissed us this early out of love for his Desdemona; and let's not blame him for it: he hasn't yet had his pleasure of the night with her, and she is a prize fit for Jove.

She’s a most exquisite lady.

She's a most exquisite lady.

And, I’ll warrant her, full of game.

And, I guarantee you, full of play.

Indeed, she is a most fresh and delicate creature.

Indeed, she is a most fresh and delicate creature.

What an eye she has! methinks it sounds a parley to provocation.

What an eye she has! I think it sounds a call to negotiate for temptation.

An inviting eye, and yet methinks right modest.

An inviting eye, and yet I think a very modest one.

And when she speaks, is it not an alarm to love?

And when she speaks, isn't it a trumpet call to love?

She is indeed perfection.

She is indeed perfection.

Well, happiness to their sheets! Come, lieutenant, I have a stoup of wine; and here without are a brace of Cyprus gallants that would fain have a measure to the health of black Othello.

Well, happiness to their sheets! Come, lieutenant, I have a jug of wine; and out here are a pair of Cyprus gentlemen who would gladly drink a round to the health of black Othello.

Not tonight, good Iago. I have very poor and unhappy brains for drinking. I could well wish courtesy would invent some other custom of entertainment.

Not tonight, good Iago. I have a very poor and unlucky head for drinking. I could really wish good manners would come up with some other custom for entertaining.

O, they are our friends; but one cup: I’ll drink for you.

Oh, they're our friends; just one cup: I'll do the drinking for you.

I have drunk but one cup tonight, and that was craftily qualified too, and behold, what innovation it makes here: I am unfortunate in the infirmity, and dare not task my weakness with any more.

I've drunk only one cup tonight, and that was carefully watered down too, and look what a revolution it works in here: I'm unlucky in this weakness, and I daren't put it to the test with any more.

What, man! ’Tis a night of revels. The gallants desire it.

Come on, man! It's a night of celebration. The gentlemen want it.

Where are they?

Where are they?

Here at the door. I pray you, call them in.

Here at the door. Please, call them in.

I’ll do’t; but it dislikes me.

I'll do it; but I don't like it.

If I can fasten but one cup upon him, With that which he hath drunk tonight already, He’ll be as full of quarrel and offence As my young mistress’ dog. Now my sick fool Roderigo, Whom love hath turn’d almost the wrong side out, To Desdemona hath tonight carous’d Potations pottle-deep; and he’s to watch: Three lads of Cyprus, noble swelling spirits, That hold their honours in a wary distance, The very elements of this warlike isle, Have I tonight fluster’d with flowing cups, And they watch too. Now, ’mongst this flock of drunkards, Am I to put our Cassio in some action That may offend the isle. But here they come: If consequence do but approve my dream, My boat sails freely, both with wind and stream.

If I can get just one cup into him, on top of what he has already drunk tonight, he'll be as full of quarrelling and taking offence as my young mistress's dog. Now my love-sick fool Roderigo, whom love has turned almost inside out, has tonight drunk toasts to Desdemona, deep two-quart measures; and he's on the watch. Three young men of Cyprus, noble, high-spirited fellows, who guard their honour touchily, the very life and substance of this warlike island, I have tonight made light-headed with brimming cups, and they're on the watch too. Now, among this flock of drunkards, I'm to get our Cassio into some action that will offend the island. But here they come: if the outcome just confirms my plan, my boat sails freely, with both wind and current.

’Fore God, they have given me a rouse already.

By God, they've already made me drink a full cup.

Good faith, a little one; not past a pint, as I am a soldier.

Honestly, a small one; no more than a pint, as I'm a soldier.

Some wine, ho! [Sings.]

Some wine here! [He sings.]

And let me the cannikin clink, clink, And let me the cannikin clink, clink: A soldier’s a man, O, man’s life’s but a span, Why then let a soldier drink.

And let me have the little can clink, clink, and let me have the little can clink, clink: a soldier's a man, oh, a man's life is only a hand's breadth, so why then let a soldier drink.

Some wine, boys!

Some wine, boys!

’Fore God, an excellent song.

By God, an excellent song.

I learned it in England, where indeed they are most potent in potting: your Dane, your German, and your swag-bellied Hollander,—drink, ho!—are nothing to your English.

I learned it in England, where indeed they are the mightiest at drinking: your Dane, your German, and your pot-bellied Dutchman—drink up!—are nothing compared to your Englishman.

Is your Englishman so expert in his drinking?

Is your Englishman such an expert at his drinking?

Why, he drinks you, with facility, your Dane dead drunk; he sweats not to overthrow your Almain; he gives your Hollander a vomit ere the next pottle can be filled.

Why, he'll drink your Dane dead drunk with no trouble at all; he doesn't even break a sweat knocking down your German; he makes your Dutchman vomit before the next two-quart pot can be filled.

To the health of our general!

To the health of our general!

I am for it, lieutenant; and I’ll do you justice.

I'm ready for it, lieutenant; and I'll match you drink for drink.

O sweet England!

Oh sweet England!

King Stephen was a worthy peer, His breeches cost him but a crown; He held them sixpence all too dear, With that he call’d the tailor lown. He was a wight of high renown, And thou art but of low degree: ’Tis pride that pulls the country down, Then take thine auld cloak about thee.

King Stephen was a worthy nobleman, his trousers cost him only a crown; he thought they were sixpence too expensive, so he called the tailor a lout. He was a man of high reputation, and you are only of low rank: it's pride that ruins the country, so wrap your old cloak around you.

Some wine, ho!

Some wine here!

’Fore God, this is a more exquisite song than the other.

By God, this is an even finer song than the other one.

Will you hear ’t again?

Do you want to hear it again?

No, for I hold him to be unworthy of his place that does those things. Well, God’s above all, and there be souls must be saved, and there be souls must not be saved.

No, because I consider any man who does such things unfit for his post. Well, God is above us all, and there are souls that must be saved, and there are souls that must not be saved.

It’s true, good lieutenant.

That's true, good lieutenant.

For mine own part, no offence to the general, nor any man of quality, I hope to be saved.

As for myself, with no disrespect to the general or any man of rank, I hope to be saved.

And so do I too, lieutenant.

And so do I, lieutenant.

Ay, but, by your leave, not before me; the lieutenant is to be saved before the ancient. Let’s have no more of this; let’s to our affairs. Forgive us our sins! Gentlemen, let’s look to our business. Do not think, gentlemen, I am drunk. This is my ancient, this is my right hand, and this is my left. I am not drunk now. I can stand well enough, and I speak well enough.

Yes, but, if you'll excuse me, not before I am; the lieutenant is to be saved before the ensign. Let's have no more of this; let's get to our duties. Forgive us our sins! Gentlemen, let's see to our business. Don't think, gentlemen, that I'm drunk. This is my ensign, this is my right hand, and this is my left. I'm not drunk now. I can stand well enough, and I speak well enough.

Excellent well.

Extremely well.

Why, very well then. You must not think, then, that I am drunk.

Why, very well then. So you mustn't think that I'm drunk.

To the platform, masters. Come, let’s set the watch.

To the platform, gentlemen. Come, let's set the watch.

You see this fellow that is gone before, He is a soldier fit to stand by Cæsar And give direction: and do but see his vice, ’Tis to his virtue a just equinox, The one as long as th’ other. ’Tis pity of him. I fear the trust Othello puts him in, On some odd time of his infirmity, Will shake this island.

You see this fellow who has gone on ahead, he's a soldier fit to stand beside Cæsar and give orders: and yet just look at his vice, it exactly balances his virtue, the one as great as the other. It's a pity about him. I'm afraid the trust Othello places in him will, at some unlucky moment of his weakness, shake this island.

But is he often thus?

But is he often like this?

’Tis evermore the prologue to his sleep: He’ll watch the horologe a double set If drink rock not his cradle.

It's always the prologue to his sleep: he'll stay awake watching the clock round twice over if drink doesn't rock his cradle.

It were well The general were put in mind of it. Perhaps he sees it not, or his good nature Prizes the virtue that appears in Cassio, And looks not on his evils: is not this true?

It would be a good thing if the general were reminded of it. Perhaps he doesn't see it, or his good nature values the virtue that shows in Cassio and doesn't look at his faults: isn't that true?

[Aside to him.] How now, Roderigo? I pray you, after the lieutenant; go.

[Aside to him.] What is it now, Roderigo? Please, go after the lieutenant; go.

And ’tis great pity that the noble Moor Should hazard such a place as his own second With one of an ingraft infirmity: It were an honest action to say so To the Moor.

And it's a great pity that the noble Moor should risk a position like that of his own second-in-command on a man with such a deep-rooted weakness. It would be an honest act to say so to the Moor.

Not I, for this fair island. I do love Cassio well and would do much To cure him of this evil. But, hark! What noise?

Not I, not for this whole fair island. I love Cassio dearly and would do a great deal to cure him of this fault. But listen! What's that noise?

Zounds, you rogue, you rascal!

By God's wounds, you rogue, you rascal!

What’s the matter, lieutenant?

What's the matter, lieutenant?

A knave teach me my duty! I’ll beat the knave into a twiggen bottle.

A villain, teaching me my duty! I'll beat the villain until he looks like a wicker-covered bottle.

Beat me?

Beat me?

Dost thou prate, rogue?

Are you still chattering, you rogue?

Nay, good lieutenant; I pray you, sir, hold your hand.

No, good lieutenant; please, sir, stop your hand.

Let me go, sir, Or I’ll knock you o’er the mazard.

Let me go, sir, or I'll hit you over the head.

Come, come, you’re drunk.

Come, come, you're drunk.

Drunk?

Drunk?

[Aside to Roderigo.] Away, I say! Go out and cry a mutiny.

[Aside to Roderigo.] Get going, I tell you! Go out and shout that there's a riot.

Nay, good lieutenant, God’s will, gentlemen. Help, ho!—Lieutenant,—sir,—Montano,—sir:— Help, masters! Here’s a goodly watch indeed!

No, good lieutenant—God's will, gentlemen! Help, there!—Lieutenant—sir—Montano—sir:—Help, gentlemen! This is a fine watch, this is!

Who’s that which rings the bell?—Diablo, ho! The town will rise. God’s will, lieutenant, hold, You will be sham’d forever.

Who's that ringing the bell?—Diablo, there! The town will be up in arms. God's will, lieutenant, stop, you'll be disgraced forever.

What is the matter here?

What's going on here?

Zounds, I bleed still, I am hurt to the death.

By God's wounds, I'm still bleeding, I'm wounded to death.

Hold, for your lives!

Stop, if you value your lives!

Hold, ho! lieutenant,—sir,—Montano,—gentlemen,— Have you forgot all place of sense and duty? Hold! The general speaks to you; hold, hold, for shame!

Stop, there! Lieutenant—sir—Montano—gentlemen—have you forgotten all sense of rank and duty? Stop! The general is speaking to you; stop, stop, for shame!

Why, how now, ho! From whence ariseth this? Are we turn’d Turks, and to ourselves do that Which heaven hath forbid the Ottomites? For Christian shame, put by this barbarous brawl: He that stirs next to carve for his own rage Holds his soul light; he dies upon his motion. Silence that dreadful bell, it frights the isle From her propriety. What is the matter, masters? Honest Iago, that looks dead with grieving, Speak, who began this? On thy love, I charge thee.

Well, what's this, now! Where does this come from? Have we turned into Turks, and are we doing to ourselves what heaven has forbidden the Ottomites to do? For the sake of Christian decency, put a stop to this savage brawl. The next man who moves to serve his own anger sets little value on his soul: he dies the moment he stirs. Silence that terrible bell, it's frightening the island out of its proper calm. What's the matter, gentlemen? Honest Iago, who looks deathly with grief, speak—who started this? By your love for me, I order you.

I do not know. Friends all but now, even now, In quarter, and in terms like bride and groom Devesting them for bed; and then, but now, As if some planet had unwitted men, Swords out, and tilting one at other’s breast, In opposition bloody. I cannot speak Any beginning to this peevish odds; And would in action glorious I had lost Those legs that brought me to a part of it!

I don't know. All friends just a moment ago, this very moment, on good terms, and speaking to each other like a bride and groom undressing for bed; and then, just now, as if some planet had robbed men of their senses, swords drawn, and lunging at one another's chests in bloody combat. I can't name any starting point for this stupid quarrel. And I wish I had lost the legs that carried me into part of it in some glorious action instead!

How comes it, Michael, you are thus forgot?

How does it happen, Michael, that you have forgotten yourself like this?

I pray you, pardon me; I cannot speak.

Please excuse me; I can't speak.

Worthy Montano, you were wont be civil. The gravity and stillness of your youth The world hath noted, and your name is great In mouths of wisest censure: what’s the matter, That you unlace your reputation thus, And spend your rich opinion for the name Of a night-brawler? Give me answer to it.

Worthy Montano, you used to be well behaved. The world has taken note of the seriousness and calm of your young years, and your name stands high in the mouths of the wisest judges. What's the matter, that you unfasten your reputation like this, and throw away your valuable good name to be called a night-brawler? Answer me.

Worthy Othello, I am hurt to danger. Your officer, Iago, can inform you, While I spare speech, which something now offends me, Of all that I do know; nor know I aught By me that’s said or done amiss this night, Unless self-charity be sometimes a vice, And to defend ourselves it be a sin When violence assails us.

Worthy Othello, I am dangerously wounded. Your officer, Iago, can tell you everything I know, while I save my breath, which is now somewhat painful for me. And I'm not aware of anything said or done wrongly by me tonight, unless caring for oneself is sometimes a fault, and it's a sin to defend ourselves when violence attacks us.

Now, by heaven, My blood begins my safer guides to rule, And passion, having my best judgement collied, Assays to lead the way. Zounds, if I stir, Or do but lift this arm, the best of you Shall sink in my rebuke. Give me to know How this foul rout began, who set it on, And he that is approv’d in this offence, Though he had twinn’d with me, both at a birth, Shall lose me. What! in a town of war, Yet wild, the people’s hearts brimful of fear, To manage private and domestic quarrel, In night, and on the court and guard of safety? ’Tis monstrous. Iago, who began’t?

Now, by heaven, my blood is starting to rule over my safer guides, and passion, having darkened my best judgement, is trying to take the lead. By God's wounds, if I move, or so much as lift this arm, the best of you will go down under my punishment. Let me know how this filthy riot began, who started it, and whoever is proved guilty of this offence, even if he were my twin, born at the same birth, will lose me. What! In a town at war, still unsettled, the people's hearts full to the brim with fear, to carry on a private, personal quarrel, at night, and in the very place that guards our safety? It's monstrous. Iago, who began it?

If partially affin’d, or leagu’d in office, Thou dost deliver more or less than truth, Thou art no soldier.

If out of partiality or the loyalty of fellow officers you tell more or less than the truth, you are no soldier.

Touch me not so near. I had rather have this tongue cut from my mouth Than it should do offence to Michael Cassio. Yet I persuade myself, to speak the truth Shall nothing wrong him. Thus it is, general: Montano and myself being in speech, There comes a fellow crying out for help, And Cassio following him with determin’d sword, To execute upon him. Sir, this gentleman Steps in to Cassio and entreats his pause. Myself the crying fellow did pursue, Lest by his clamour (as it so fell out) The town might fall in fright: he, swift of foot, Outran my purpose: and I return’d the rather For that I heard the clink and fall of swords, And Cassio high in oath, which till tonight I ne’er might say before. When I came back, (For this was brief) I found them close together, At blow and thrust, even as again they were When you yourself did part them. More of this matter cannot I report. But men are men; the best sometimes forget; Though Cassio did some little wrong to him, As men in rage strike those that wish them best, Yet surely Cassio, I believe, receiv’d From him that fled some strange indignity, Which patience could not pass.

Don't press me so hard. I would rather have this tongue cut out of my mouth than have it injure Michael Cassio. Yet I convince myself that speaking the truth will do him no wrong at all. This is how it was, general: Montano and I were talking when a fellow came running, shouting for help, with Cassio following him with his sword drawn, determined to strike him. Sir, this gentleman stepped in front of Cassio and begged him to stop. I myself chased the shouting fellow, in case his noise—as in fact happened—should throw the town into a panic. He was quick on his feet and outran my aim, and I came back all the sooner because I heard the clash and clatter of swords, and Cassio swearing loudly, which I could never have said of him before tonight. When I came back—for all this was quick—I found them locked together, striking and thrusting, just as they were again when you yourself separated them. I can't report any more about this business. But men are men; the best of them sometimes forget themselves. Though Cassio did him some small wrong, as men in a rage strike those who wish them best, still I'm sure Cassio received some strange insult from the man who ran off, something patience couldn't let pass.

I know, Iago, Thy honesty and love doth mince this matter, Making it light to Cassio. Cassio, I love thee, But never more be officer of mine.

I know, Iago, that your honesty and affection are softening this matter, making it seem lighter for Cassio. Cassio, I love you, but you will never be an officer of mine again.

Look, if my gentle love be not rais’d up! I’ll make thee an example.

Look, if my gentle love hasn't been woken up! I'll make an example of you.

What’s the matter?

What's the matter?

All’s well now, sweeting; come away to bed. Sir, for your hurts, myself will be your surgeon. Lead him off.

All's well now, sweetheart; come along to bed. Sir, as for your injuries, I'll be your surgeon myself. Lead him away.

Iago, look with care about the town, And silence those whom this vile brawl distracted. Come, Desdemona: ’tis the soldiers’ life To have their balmy slumbers wak’d with strife.

Iago, look carefully around the town, and quiet down those whom this vile brawl has alarmed. Come, Desdemona: it's the soldier's life to have his sweet sleep broken by fighting.

What, are you hurt, lieutenant?

What, are you hurt, lieutenant?

Ay, past all surgery.

Yes, beyond any surgery.

Marry, Heaven forbid!

Indeed, Heaven forbid!

Reputation, reputation, reputation! O, I have lost my reputation! I have lost the immortal part of myself, and what remains is bestial. My reputation, Iago, my reputation!

Reputation, reputation, reputation! Oh, I have lost my reputation! I have lost the immortal part of myself, and what's left is animal. My reputation, Iago, my reputation!

As I am an honest man, I thought you had received some bodily wound; there is more sense in that than in reputation. Reputation is an idle and most false imposition, oft got without merit and lost without deserving. You have lost no reputation at all, unless you repute yourself such a loser. What, man, there are ways to recover the general again: you are but now cast in his mood, a punishment more in policy than in malice, even so as one would beat his offenceless dog to affright an imperious lion: sue to him again, and he’s yours.

As I'm an honest man, I thought you had got some wound to your body; there's more substance in that than in reputation. Reputation is a worthless and completely false burden, often won without earning it and lost without deserving to lose it. You have lost no reputation at all, unless you consider yourself such a loser. Come, man, there are ways to win the general back: you've only been dismissed in a fit of his temper, a punishment based more on policy than on ill will, just as a man would beat his harmless dog to scare off a domineering lion. Petition him again, and he's yours.

I will rather sue to be despised than to deceive so good a commander with so slight, so drunken, and so indiscreet an officer. Drunk? and speak parrot? and squabble? swagger? swear? and discourse fustian with one’s own shadow? O thou invisible spirit of wine, if thou hast no name to be known by, let us call thee devil!

I would rather petition to be scorned than cheat so good a commander with such a worthless, drunken, reckless officer. Drunk? And babbling like a parrot? And squabbling? Swaggering? Swearing? And spouting nonsense to my own shadow? Oh, you invisible spirit of wine, if you have no name to be known by, let us call you devil!

What was he that you followed with your sword? What had he done to you?

Who was that man you chased with your sword? What had he done to you?

I know not.

I don't know.

Is’t possible?

Is that possible?

I remember a mass of things, but nothing distinctly; a quarrel, but nothing wherefore. O God, that men should put an enemy in their mouths to steal away their brains! That we should with joy, pleasance, revel, and applause, transform ourselves into beasts!

I remember a jumble of things, but nothing clearly; a quarrel, but nothing about why. Oh God, that men should put an enemy into their mouths to steal away their brains! That we should, with joy, pleasure, partying and cheering, turn ourselves into beasts!

Why, but you are now well enough: how came you thus recovered?

But you're all right now: how did you recover like this?

It hath pleased the devil drunkenness to give place to the devil wrath. One unperfectness shows me another, to make me frankly despise myself.

It has pleased the devil drunkenness to give way to the devil anger. One fault shows me another, so that I despise myself outright.

Come, you are too severe a moraler. As the time, the place, and the condition of this country stands, I could heartily wish this had not befallen; but since it is as it is, mend it for your own good.

Come, you're too harsh a moralizer. Given the time, the place, and the state of this country, I would sincerely wish this hadn't happened; but since it is what it is, put it right for your own good.

I will ask him for my place again; he shall tell me I am a drunkard! Had I as many mouths as Hydra, such an answer would stop them all. To be now a sensible man, by and by a fool, and presently a beast! O strange! Every inordinate cup is unbless’d, and the ingredient is a devil.

I'll ask him for my position back; he'll tell me I'm a drunkard! If I had as many mouths as Hydra, an answer like that would shut them all. To be a sensible man one moment, a fool the next, and immediately after that a beast! How strange! Every cup beyond measure is cursed, and what's in it is a devil.

Come, come, good wine is a good familiar creature, if it be well used. Exclaim no more against it. And, good lieutenant, I think you think I love you.

Come, come, good wine is a good friendly creature, if it's used properly. Don't complain about it any more. And, good lieutenant, I think you know I care for you.

I have well approved it, sir.—I drunk!

I have had good proof of it, sir.—Me, drunk!

You, or any man living, may be drunk at a time, man. I’ll tell you what you shall do. Our general’s wife is now the general; I may say so in this respect, for that he hath devoted and given up himself to the contemplation, mark, and denotement of her parts and graces. Confess yourself freely to her. Importune her help to put you in your place again. She is of so free, so kind, so apt, so blessed a disposition, she holds it a vice in her goodness not to do more than she is requested. This broken joint between you and her husband entreat her to splinter, and, my fortunes against any lay worth naming, this crack of your love shall grow stronger than it was before.

You, or any man alive, may be drunk at some time, man. I'll tell you what to do. Our general's wife is now the general; I can say that in this sense, because he has devoted and surrendered himself to the contemplation, observation and study of her qualities and charms. Confess to her openly. Beg her help to get you back into your position. She is of such a generous, kind, willing, blessed nature that she thinks it a fault in her goodness not to do more than she is asked. Ask her to splint this broken joint between you and her husband, and I'll bet my whole fortune against any stake worth naming that this crack in your friendship will grow stronger than it was before.

You advise me well.

You give me good advice.

I protest, in the sincerity of love and honest kindness.

I swear it comes from sincere love and honest kindness.

I think it freely; and betimes in the morning I will beseech the virtuous Desdemona to undertake for me; I am desperate of my fortunes if they check me here.

I believe that willingly; and early in the morning I'll beg the virtuous Desdemona to take up my cause. I despair of my future if I'm blocked here.

You are in the right. Good night, lieutenant, I must to the watch.

You're right. Good night, lieutenant, I must go to the watch.

Good night, honest Iago.

Good night, honest Iago.

And what’s he then, that says I play the villain? When this advice is free I give and honest, Probal to thinking, and indeed the course To win the Moor again? For ’tis most easy The inclining Desdemona to subdue In any honest suit. She’s fram’d as fruitful As the free elements. And then for her To win the Moor, were’t to renounce his baptism, All seals and symbols of redeemed sin, His soul is so enfetter’d to her love That she may make, unmake, do what she list, Even as her appetite shall play the god With his weak function. How am I then, a villain To counsel Cassio to this parallel course, Directly to his good? Divinity of hell! When devils will the blackest sins put on, They do suggest at first with heavenly shows, As I do now: for whiles this honest fool Plies Desdemona to repair his fortune, And she for him pleads strongly to the Moor, I’ll pour this pestilence into his ear, That she repeals him for her body’s lust; And by how much she strives to do him good, She shall undo her credit with the Moor. So will I turn her virtue into pitch, And out of her own goodness make the net That shall enmesh them all.

And who is he, then, that says I'm playing the villain? When this advice I give is generous and honest, plausible to any thinking person, and in fact the very way to win the Moor back? For it is the easiest thing to win over the yielding Desdemona in any honourable request. She's made as generous as the free elements. And then, for her to win over the Moor—even if it meant renouncing his baptism, and all the pledges and signs of sins forgiven—his soul is so chained up in her love that she can make him, unmake him, do whatever she pleases, as her desire plays god with his weak will. So how am I a villain for advising Cassio to this course that runs straight to his own good? Theology of hell! When devils intend to bring about the blackest sins, they first tempt with heavenly appearances, as I am doing now. For while this honest fool keeps working on Desdemona to repair his fortunes, and she pleads hard for him with the Moor, I'll pour this plague into his ear: that she calls Cassio back for her body's lust. And the more she tries to do him good, the more she'll destroy her credit with the Moor. So I'll turn her virtue into tar, and out of her own goodness make the net that will tangle them all.

How now, Roderigo?

How's it going, Roderigo?

I do follow here in the chase, not like a hound that hunts, but one that fills up the cry. My money is almost spent, I have been tonight exceedingly well cudgelled; and I think the issue will be, I shall have so much experience for my pains, and so, with no money at all and a little more wit, return again to Venice.

I'm following along in this hunt, not like a hound that does the chasing, but like one that just makes up the noise of the pack. My money is nearly gone, I've been beaten with a stick very thoroughly tonight, and I think the outcome will be that I'll have this much experience for my trouble, and so, with no money at all and a little more sense, go back to Venice.

How poor are they that have not patience! What wound did ever heal but by degrees? Thou know’st we work by wit, and not by witchcraft, And wit depends on dilatory time. Does’t not go well? Cassio hath beaten thee, And thou, by that small hurt, hast cashier’d Cassio; Though other things grow fair against the sun, Yet fruits that blossom first will first be ripe. Content thyself awhile. By the mass, ’tis morning; Pleasure and action make the hours seem short. Retire thee; go where thou art billeted. Away, I say, thou shalt know more hereafter. Nay, get thee gone.

How wretched are those who have no patience! What wound ever healed except gradually? You know we work by cleverness and not by witchcraft, and cleverness depends on time, which moves slowly. Isn't it going well? Cassio has beaten you, and you, for that small injury, have got Cassio dismissed. Though other things ripen nicely in the sun, still the fruits that blossom first will be the first to ripen. Be content for a while. By the mass, it's morning; pleasure and activity make the hours seem short. Go off; go where you're lodged. Away, I say, you'll learn more later. Come on, be off.

Two things are to be done, My wife must move for Cassio to her mistress. I’ll set her on; Myself the while to draw the Moor apart, And bring him jump when he may Cassio find Soliciting his wife. Ay, that’s the way. Dull not device by coldness and delay.

Two things have to be done. My wife must plead for Cassio with her mistress. I'll set her to it. Meanwhile, I'll draw the Moor aside and bring him back at just the moment when he can find Cassio pleading with his wife. Yes, that's the way. Don't blunt a scheme by half-heartedness and delay.