Othello, Act 4, Scene 1

Will you think so?

Are you going to think that?

Think so, Iago?

Think that, Iago?

What, To kiss in private?

What — to kiss in private?

An unauthoriz’d kiss.

A kiss with no right to it.

Or to be naked with her friend in bed An hour or more, not meaning any harm?

Or to lie naked in bed with her friend for an hour or more, and mean no harm by it?

Naked in bed, Iago, and not mean harm? It is hypocrisy against the devil: They that mean virtuously and yet do so, The devil their virtue tempts, and they tempt heaven.

Naked in bed, Iago, and mean no harm? That is hypocrisy against the devil. People who intend to be virtuous and yet do that — the devil tempts their virtue, and they tempt heaven.

So they do nothing, ’tis a venial slip. But if I give my wife a handkerchief—

So long as they do nothing, it is a pardonable slip. But if I give my wife a handkerchief—

What then?

What then?

Why then, ’tis hers, my lord, and being hers, She may, I think, bestow’t on any man.

Why then it is hers, my lord, and since it is hers, she may, I think, give it to any man.

She is protectress of her honour too. May she give that?

She is the keeper of her honour too. May she give that away?

Her honour is an essence that’s not seen; They have it very oft that have it not: But for the handkerchief—

Her honour is a substance that cannot be seen; plenty of women are credited with it who do not have it. But as for the handkerchief—

By heaven, I would most gladly have forgot it. Thou said’st (O, it comes o’er my memory, As doth the raven o’er the infected house, Boding to all) he had my handkerchief.

By heaven, I would have been very glad to forget it. You said — oh, it comes back over my memory the way the raven passes over a plague-struck house, an omen of doom to everyone inside — that he had my handkerchief.

Ay, what of that?

Yes, and what about it?

That’s not so good now.

That is not so good now.

What If I had said I had seen him do you wrong? Or heard him say (as knaves be such abroad, Who having, by their own importunate suit, Or voluntary dotage of some mistress, Convinced or supplied them, cannot choose But they must blab.)

What if I had said I had seen him wrong you? Or heard him say it — for there are scoundrels of that kind about, who, having by their own persistent begging, or by some woman's willing infatuation, won her over or satisfied her, cannot help blabbing about it.

Hath he said anything?

Has he said anything?

He hath, my lord, but be you well assur’d, No more than he’ll unswear.

He has, my lord; but be quite sure, no more than he will swear was never true.

What hath he said?

What has he said?

Faith, that he did—I know not what he did.

Honestly, that he did — I do not know what he did.

What? What?

What? What?

Lie.

Lie.

With her?

With her?

With her, on her, what you will.

With her, on her, whatever you like.

Lie with her! lie on her!—We say lie on her when they belie her.—Lie with her! that’s fulsome. Handkerchief—confessions—handkerchief! To confess, and be hanged for his labour. First, to be hanged, and then to confess. I tremble at it. Nature would not invest herself in such shadowing passion without some instruction. It is not words that shake me thus. Pish! Noses, ears, and lips. Is’t possible?—Confess?—handkerchief?—O devil!—

Lie with her! Lie on her! We say "lie on her" when they tell lies about her. Lie with her! That is disgusting. Handkerchief — confessions — handkerchief! To confess, and be hanged for his trouble. First to be hanged, and then to confess. I shake at it. Nature would not clothe herself in such a darkening passion without some prompting. It is not mere words that shake me like this. Pish! Noses, ears, and lips. Is it possible? Confess? Handkerchief? Oh, devil!

Work on, My medicine, work! Thus credulous fools are caught, And many worthy and chaste dames even thus, All guiltless, meet reproach. What, ho! my lord! My lord, I say! Othello!

Work away, my medicine, work! This is how gullible fools are trapped, and this is how many worthy, chaste ladies, entirely innocent, come to be disgraced. Hello there! My lord! My lord, I say! Othello!

How now, Cassio!

What now, Cassio!

What’s the matter?

What is the matter?

My lord is fallen into an epilepsy. This is his second fit. He had one yesterday.

My lord has fallen into an epileptic fit. This is his second one. He had one yesterday.

Rub him about the temples.

Rub his temples.

No, forbear; The lethargy must have his quiet course. If not, he foams at mouth, and by and by Breaks out to savage madness. Look, he stirs: Do you withdraw yourself a little while, He will recover straight. When he is gone, I would on great occasion speak with you.

No, leave him alone. The unconsciousness must run its quiet course. If it does not, he foams at the mouth and soon breaks out into wild madness. Look, he is stirring. Take yourself off for a little while; he will come round at once. When he has gone, I want to speak with you about something important.

How is it, general? Have you not hurt your head?

How are you, general? Have you not hurt your head?

Dost thou mock me?

Are you mocking me?

I mock you? No, by heaven. Would you would bear your fortune like a man!

I, mock you? No, by heaven. I wish you would bear your bad luck like a man!

A horned man’s a monster and a beast.

A man with horns is a monster and an animal.

There’s many a beast, then, in a populous city, And many a civil monster.

Then there are plenty of animals in a crowded city, and plenty of respectable monsters.

Did he confess it?

Did he confess it?

Good sir, be a man. Think every bearded fellow that’s but yok’d May draw with you. There’s millions now alive That nightly lie in those unproper beds Which they dare swear peculiar: your case is better. O, ’tis the spite of hell, the fiend’s arch-mock, To lip a wanton in a secure couch, And to suppose her chaste! No, let me know, And knowing what I am, I know what she shall be.

Good sir, be a man. Consider that every bearded fellow who is harnessed in marriage may be pulling the same yoke as you. There are millions alive right now who lie nightly in beds that are not their own, which they would swear were theirs alone. Your case is better. Oh, it is the malice of hell, the devil's greatest joke, to kiss a loose woman in a bed you think safe and believe her chaste! No, let me know the truth, and knowing what I am, I know what she is going to get.

O, thou art wise, ’tis certain.

Oh, you are wise, that is certain.

Stand you awhile apart, Confine yourself but in a patient list. Whilst you were here o’erwhelmed with your grief, (A passion most unsuiting such a man) Cassio came hither. I shifted him away, And laid good ’scuse upon your ecstasy, Bade him anon return, and here speak with me, The which he promis’d. Do but encave yourself, And mark the fleers, the gibes, and notable scorns, That dwell in every region of his face; For I will make him tell the tale anew, Where, how, how oft, how long ago, and when He hath, and is again to cope your wife: I say, but mark his gesture. Marry, patience, Or I shall say you are all in all in spleen, And nothing of a man.

Stand aside for a while; keep yourself within the bounds of patience. While you were lying here overwhelmed by your grief — a fit of feeling quite unworthy of a man like you — Cassio came here. I got rid of him and made a good excuse for your collapse, told him to come back soon and speak with me here, and he promised he would. Just hide yourself and notice the sneers, the jeers, and the plain contempt that live in every part of his face; for I will make him tell the story all over again — where, how, how often, how long ago, and when he has had your wife and is going to have her again. I tell you, just watch his gestures. But have patience, or I shall say you are nothing but temper and not a man at all.

Dost thou hear, Iago? I will be found most cunning in my patience; But,—dost thou hear?—most bloody.

Do you hear me, Iago? I will show great cleverness in my patience — but, do you hear? — great bloodiness too.

That’s not amiss. But yet keep time in all. Will you withdraw?

That is not wrong. But keep everything to its proper time. Will you go aside?

Now will I question Cassio of Bianca, A housewife that by selling her desires Buys herself bread and clothes: it is a creature That dotes on Cassio, (as ’tis the strumpet’s plague To beguile many and be beguil’d by one.) He, when he hears of her, cannot refrain From the excess of laughter. Here he comes.

Now I will question Cassio about Bianca, a woman who by selling her desires buys herself bread and clothes. She is a creature who adores Cassio — as it is the prostitute's curse to trick many men and be tricked by one. When he hears her mentioned, he cannot hold back from laughing too much. Here he comes.

As he shall smile Othello shall go mad, And his unbookish jealousy must construe Poor Cassio’s smiles, gestures, and light behaviour Quite in the wrong. How do you now, lieutenant?

As soon as he smiles, Othello will go mad, and his ignorant jealousy is bound to read poor Cassio's smiles, gestures, and easy manner completely the wrong way. How are you now, lieutenant?

The worser that you give me the addition Whose want even kills me.

All the worse for your calling me by the title whose loss is killing me.

Ply Desdemona well, and you are sure on’t. [Speaking lower.] Now, if this suit lay in Bianca’s power, How quickly should you speed!

Keep working on Desdemona and you will certainly get it back. [Speaking more quietly.] Now, if the decision lay in Bianca's hands, how quickly you would succeed!

Alas, poor caitiff!

Poor wretch, I'm sorry for her!

[Aside.] Look how he laughs already!

[Aside.] Look how he is laughing already!

I never knew a woman love man so.

I have never known a woman love a man so much.

Alas, poor rogue! I think, i’ faith, she loves me.

Poor rascal! Honestly, I do think she loves me.

[Aside.] Now he denies it faintly and laughs it out.

[Aside.] Now he half denies it and laughs it off.

Do you hear, Cassio?

Do you hear me, Cassio?

Now he importunes him To tell it o’er. Go to, well said, well said.

Now he is pressing him to tell the whole story again. Go on, well done, well done.

She gives it out that you shall marry her. Do you intend it?

She is putting it about that you are going to marry her. Do you mean to?

Ha, ha, ha!

Ha, ha, ha!

Do you triumph, Roman? Do you triumph?

Are you celebrating a victory, Roman? Are you celebrating?

I marry her? What? A customer? I prithee, bear some charity to my wit, do not think it so unwholesome. Ha, ha, ha!

Me, marry her? What, a woman who sells herself? Please, have some pity on my brains; do not think them as rotten as that. Ha, ha, ha!

So, so, so, so. They laugh that wins.

So, so, so, so. The winners are the ones who laugh.

Faith, the cry goes that you shall marry her.

Honestly, the talk is that you are going to marry her.

Prithee say true.

Please, tell me the truth.

I am a very villain else.

I am an outright villain if it is not so.

Have you scored me? Well.

Have you marked me down? Fine.

This is the monkey’s own giving out. She is persuaded I will marry her, out of her own love and flattery, not out of my promise.

That's the monkey's own story. She's convinced I'll marry her, out of her own love and self-flattery, not because I promised anything.

Iago beckons me. Now he begins the story.

Iago is signalling to me. Now he's starting the story.

She was here even now. She haunts me in every place. I was the other day talking on the sea-bank with certain Venetians, and thither comes the bauble, and falls thus about my neck.

She was here just now. She follows me everywhere. The other day I was talking on the sea-wall with some Venetians, and along comes the silly toy, and throws herself around my neck like this.

Crying, “O dear Cassio!” as it were: his gesture imports it.

Crying "Oh, dear Cassio!" or something like it — his gesture shows it.

So hangs, and lolls, and weeps upon me; so hales and pulls me. Ha, ha, ha!

She hangs on me like this, and droops, and weeps all over me; and tugs and pulls at me. Ha, ha, ha!

Now he tells how she plucked him to my chamber. O, I see that nose of yours, but not that dog I shall throw it to.

Now he's telling how she dragged him into my bedroom. Oh, I can see that nose of yours, but not the dog I'll throw it to.

Well, I must leave her company.

Well, I'll have to stop keeping company with her.

Before me! look where she comes.

Good heavens! Look, here she comes.

’Tis such another fitchew! Marry, a perfum’d one. What do you mean by this haunting of me?

She's another one of those polecats! And a perfumed one, at that. What do you mean by following me around like this?

Let the devil and his dam haunt you! What did you mean by that same handkerchief you gave me even now? I was a fine fool to take it. I must take out the work? A likely piece of work, that you should find it in your chamber and not know who left it there! This is some minx’s token, and I must take out the work? There, give it your hobby-horse. Wheresoever you had it, I’ll take out no work on’t.

Let the devil and his mother follow you! What did you mean by that handkerchief you gave me just now? I was a real fool to take it. I'm to copy the embroidery, am I? A likely story, that you found it in your room and don't know who left it there! This is some hussy's love-token, and I'm to copy the pattern? There, give it to your tart. Wherever you got it, I'll copy no pattern from it.

How now, my sweet Bianca? How now, how now?

What's this, my sweet Bianca? What's going on, what's going on?

By heaven, that should be my handkerchief!

By heaven, that must be my handkerchief!

If you’ll come to supper tonight, you may. If you will not, come when you are next prepared for.

If you want to come to supper tonight, you can. If you don't, come when you're next invited.

After her, after her.

Go after her, go after her.

Faith, I must; she’ll rail in the street else.

I really must; otherwise she'll make a scene in the street.

Will you sup there?

Will you have supper there?

Faith, I intend so.

Yes, that's what I mean to do.

Well, I may chance to see you, for I would very fain speak with you.

Well, I may happen to see you there, because I'd very much like to talk with you.

Prithee come, will you?

Please come — will you?

Go to; say no more.

Enough; say no more.

[Coming forward.] How shall I murder him, Iago?

[Coming forward.] How shall I murder him, Iago?

Did you perceive how he laughed at his vice?

Did you notice how he laughed about his own vice?

O Iago!

Oh, Iago!

And did you see the handkerchief?

And did you see the handkerchief?

Was that mine?

Was that one mine?

Yours, by this hand: and to see how he prizes the foolish woman your wife! she gave it him, and he hath given it his whore.

Yours, I swear it: and to see how little he values that foolish woman, your wife! She gave it to him, and he's given it to his whore.

I would have him nine years a-killing. A fine woman, a fair woman, a sweet woman!

I'd like to spend nine years killing him. A fine woman, a beautiful woman, a sweet woman!

Nay, you must forget that.

No, you must forget all that.

Ay, let her rot, and perish, and be damned tonight, for she shall not live. No, my heart is turned to stone; I strike it, and it hurts my hand. O, the world hath not a sweeter creature. She might lie by an emperor’s side, and command him tasks.

Yes, let her rot and die and be damned tonight, because she won't live. No, my heart has turned to stone; I strike it, and it hurts my hand. Oh, the world has no sweeter creature. She could lie beside an emperor and give him orders.

Nay, that’s not your way.

No, that's not the way for you to think.

Hang her, I do but say what she is. So delicate with her needle, an admirable musician! O, she will sing the savageness out of a bear! Of so high and plenteous wit and invention!

To hell with her, I'm only saying what she is. So skilful with her needle, a wonderful musician! Oh, she could sing the wildness out of a bear! And of such high, abundant intelligence and imagination!

She’s the worse for all this.

All that only makes her worse.

O, a thousand, a thousand times: and then of so gentle a condition!

Oh, a thousand, a thousand times worse. And then, such a gentle nature!

Ay, too gentle.

Yes, too gentle.

Nay, that’s certain. But yet the pity of it, Iago! O Iago, the pity of it, Iago!

No, that's certainly true. But still, what a pity it is, Iago! Oh Iago, what a pity it is, Iago!

If you are so fond over her iniquity, give her patent to offend, for if it touch not you, it comes near nobody.

If you're so tender about her wickedness, give her an official licence to sin, because if it doesn't touch you, it concerns nobody.

I will chop her into messes. Cuckold me!

I'll chop her into little pieces. To make me a cuckold!

O, ’tis foul in her.

Oh, it's disgusting of her.

With mine officer!

With my own officer!

That’s fouler.

That's more disgusting still.

Get me some poison, Iago; this night. I’ll not expostulate with her, lest her body and beauty unprovide my mind again. This night, Iago.

Get me some poison, Iago; tonight. I won't argue it out with her, in case her body and her beauty disarm my resolve again. Tonight, Iago.

Do it not with poison, strangle her in her bed, even the bed she hath contaminated.

Don't do it with poison — strangle her in her bed, the very bed she has defiled.

Good, good. The justice of it pleases. Very good.

Good, good. The justice of it is satisfying. Very good.

And for Cassio, let me be his undertaker. You shall hear more by midnight.

And as for Cassio, let me be the one who handles his burial. You'll hear more by midnight.

Excellent good. [A trumpet within.] What trumpet is that same?

Excellent. [A trumpet sounds offstage.] What trumpet is that?

Something from Venice, sure. ’Tis Lodovico Come from the duke. See, your wife is with him.

Something from Venice, certainly. It's Lodovico, come from the duke. Look, your wife is with him.

Save you, worthy general!

God bless you, worthy general!

With all my heart, sir.

And the same to you with all my heart, sir.

The duke and senators of Venice greet you.

The duke and the senators of Venice send you their greetings.

I kiss the instrument of their pleasures.

I kiss the document that carries their wishes.

And what’s the news, good cousin Lodovico?

And what's the news, good cousin Lodovico?

I am very glad to see you, signior. Welcome to Cyprus.

I'm very glad to see you, sir. Welcome to Cyprus.

I thank you. How does Lieutenant Cassio?

Thank you. How is Lieutenant Cassio?

Lives, sir.

He's alive, sir.

Cousin, there’s fall’n between him and my lord An unkind breach, but you shall make all well.

Cousin, a bad quarrel has broken out between him and my husband, but you'll put everything right.

Are you sure of that?

Are you sure of that?

My lord?

My lord?

[Reads.] “This fail you not to do, as you will—”

[Reading.] "Do not fail to do this, as you will—"

He did not call; he’s busy in the paper. Is there division ’twixt my lord and Cassio?

He wasn't calling you; he's absorbed in the letter. Is there a quarrel between my lord and Cassio?

A most unhappy one. I would do much To atone them, for the love I bear to Cassio.

A very unhappy one. I would do a great deal to reconcile them, for the love I have for Cassio.

Fire and brimstone!

Fire and brimstone!

My lord?

My lord?

Are you wise?

Are you in your right mind?

What, is he angry?

What, is he angry?

May be the letter mov’d him; For, as I think, they do command him home, Deputing Cassio in his government.

Perhaps the letter upset him; because, as I understand it, they are ordering him home and appointing Cassio to his post.

Trust me, I am glad on’t.

Believe me, I am glad of it.

Indeed!

Really!

My lord?

My lord?

I am glad to see you mad.

I am glad to see you mad.

Why, sweet Othello?

Why, sweet Othello?

Devil!

Devil!

I have not deserv’d this.

I have not deserved this.

My lord, this would not be believ’d in Venice, Though I should swear I saw’t: ’tis very much. Make her amends. She weeps.

My lord, this would not be believed in Venice, even if I swore I saw it. This is too much. Make it up to her. She is weeping.

O devil, devil! If that the earth could teem with woman’s tears, Each drop she falls would prove a crocodile. Out of my sight!

Oh, devil, devil! If the earth could be made pregnant by a woman's tears, every drop she sheds would breed a crocodile. Get out of my sight!

I will not stay to offend you.

I will not stay here and offend you.

Truly, an obedient lady. I do beseech your lordship, call her back.

Truly, an obedient lady. I beg your lordship, call her back.

Mistress!

Mistress!

My lord?

My lord?

What would you with her, sir?

What do you want with her, sir?

Who, I, my lord?

Who, me, my lord?

Ay, you did wish that I would make her turn. Sir, she can turn, and turn, and yet go on, And turn again. And she can weep, sir, weep; And she’s obedient, as you say, obedient, Very obedient. Proceed you in your tears. Concerning this, sir,—O well-painted passion! I am commanded home.—Get you away; I’ll send for you anon.—Sir, I obey the mandate, And will return to Venice.—Hence, avaunt!

Yes, you wanted me to make her turn back. Sir, she can turn, and turn, and still keep going, and turn again. And she can weep, sir, weep; and she is obedient, as you say, obedient, very obedient. Go on with your tears. As for this letter, sir — oh, what a well-painted show of grief! — I am ordered home. Go away; I'll send for you shortly. Sir, I obey the order, and will go back to Venice. Away, get out!

Cassio shall have my place. And, sir, tonight, I do entreat that we may sup together. You are welcome, sir, to Cyprus. Goats and monkeys!

Cassio shall have my position. And, sir, tonight I ask that we may have supper together. You are welcome, sir, to Cyprus. Goats and monkeys!

Is this the noble Moor, whom our full senate Call all in all sufficient? Is this the nature Whom passion could not shake? whose solid virtue The shot of accident nor dart of chance Could neither graze nor pierce?

Is this the noble Moor whom our whole senate calls completely capable? Is this the character that passion could not shake, whose solid virtue the shot of accident and the dart of chance could neither graze nor pierce?

He is much chang’d.

He is much changed.

Are his wits safe? Is he not light of brain?

Is he sane? Isn't he out of his mind?

He’s that he is. I may not breathe my censure What he might be. If what he might he is not, I would to heaven he were!

He is what he is. I must not utter my opinion of what he might be. If he is not what he might be, I wish to heaven he were!

What, strike his wife?

What, strike his wife?

Faith, that was not so well; yet would I knew That stroke would prove the worst!

Honestly, that was not well done; and yet I wish I could be sure that blow will turn out to be the worst of it!

Is it his use? Or did the letters work upon his blood, And new-create this fault?

Is it his habit? Or did the letters work on his temper and create this fault in him for the first time?

Alas, alas! It is not honesty in me to speak What I have seen and known. You shall observe him, And his own courses will denote him so That I may save my speech: do but go after, And mark how he continues.

Oh dear, oh dear! It would not be honourable of me to say what I have seen and known. You can watch him, and his own behaviour will show him up so clearly that I need not say anything: just follow him, and notice how he goes on.

I am sorry that I am deceiv’d in him.

I am sorry that I was mistaken about him.