Act IV. Scene V.


A Room in GLOUCESTER’S Castle.
   
 
Enter REGAN and OSWALD.
   
  Reg.  But are my brother’s powers set forth?   
  Osw.        Ay, madam.      4
  Reg.  Himself in person there?   
  Osw.        Madam, with much ado:   
Your sister is the better soldier.   
  Reg.  Lord Edmund spake not with your lord at home?      8
  Osw.  No, madam.   
  Reg.  What might import my sister’s letter to him?   
  Osw.  I know not, lady.   
  Reg.  Faith, he is posted hence on serious matter.     12
It was great ignorance, Gloucester’s eyes being out,   
To let him live; where he arrives he moves   
All hearts against us. Edmund, I think, is gone,   
In pity of his misery, to dispatch     16
His nighted life; moreover, to descry   
The strength o’ the enemy.   
  Osw.  I must needs after him, madam, with my letter.   
  Reg.  Our troops set forth to-morrow; stay with us,     20
The ways are dangerous.   
  Osw.        I may not, madam;   
My lady charg’d my duty in this business.   
  Reg.  Why should she write to Edmund? Might not you     24
Transport her purposes by word? Belike,   
Something—I know not what. I’ll love thee much,   
Let me unseal the letter.   
  Osw.        Madam, I had rather—     28
  Reg.  I know your lady does not love her husband;   
I am sure of that: and at her late being here   
She gave strange œilliades and most speaking looks   
To noble Edmund. I know you are of her bosom.     32
  Osw.  I, madam!   
  Reg.  I speak in understanding; you are, I know ’t:   
Therefore I do advise you, take this note:   
My lord is dead; Edmund and I have talk’d,     36
And more convenient is he for my hand   
Than for your lady’s. You may gather more.   
If you do find him, pray you, give him this,   
And when your mistress hears thus much from you,     40
I pray desire her call her wisdom to her:   
So, fare you well.   
If you do chance to hear of that blind traitor,   
Preferment falls on him that cuts him off.     44
  Osw.  Would I could meet him, madam: I would show   
What party I do follow.   
  Reg.        Fare thee well.  [Exeunt.

Act IV. Scene VI.


The Country near Dover.
   
 
Enter GLOUCESTER, and EDGAR dressed like a peasant.
   
  Glo.  When shall I come to the top of that same hill?   
  Edg.  You do climb up it now; look how we labour.      4
  Glo.  Methinks the ground is even.   
  Edg.        Horrible steep:   
Hark! do you hear the sea?   
  Glo.        No, truly.      8
  Edg.  Why, then your other senses grow imperfect   
By your eyes anguish.   
  Glo.        So may it be, indeed.   
Methinks thy voice is alter’d, and thou speak’st     12
In better phrase and matter than thou didst.   
  Edg.  Y’are much deceiv’d; in nothing am I chang’d   
But in my garments.   
  Glo.        Methinks you’re better spoken.     16
  Edg.  Come on, sir; here’s the place: stand still.   
How fearful   
And dizzy ’tis to cast one’s eyes so low!   
The crows and choughs that wing the midway air     20
Show scarce so gross as beetles; half way down   
Hangs one that gathers samphire, dreadful trade!   
Methinks he seems no bigger than his head.   
The fishermen that walk upon the beach     24
Appear like mice, and yond tall anchoring bark   
Diminish’d to her cock, her cock a buoy   
Almost too small for sight. The murmuring surge,   
That on the unnumber’d idle pebbles chafes,     28
Cannot be heard so high. I’ll look no more,   
Lest my brain turn, and the deficient sight   
Topple down headlong.   
  Glo.        Set me where you stand.     32
  Edg.  Give me your hand; you are now within a foot   
Of the extreme verge: for all beneath the moon   
Would I not leap upright.   
  Glo.        Let go my hand.     36
Here, friend, ’s another purse; in it a jewel   
Well worth a poor man’s taking: fairies and gods   
Prosper it with thee! Go thou further off;   
Bid me farewell, and let me hear thee going.     40
  Edg.  Now fare you well, good sir.   
  Glo.        With all my heart.   
  Edg.  Why I do trifle thus with his despair   
Is done to cure it.     44
  Glo.        O you mighty gods!   
This world I do renounce, and, in your sights,   
Shake patiently my great affliction off;   
If I could bear it longer, and not fall     48
To quarrel with your great opposeless wills,   
My snuff and loathed part of nature should   
Burn itself out. If Edgar live, O, bless him!   
Now, fellow, fare thee well.  [He falls forward.     52
  Edg.        Gone, sir: farewell.   
[Aside.] And yet I know not how conceit may rob   
The treasury of life when life itself   
Yields to the theft; had he been where he thought     56
By this had thought been past. Alive or dead?   
[To GLOUCESTER.] Ho, you sir! friend! Hear you, sir? speak!   
Thus might he pass indeed; yet he revives.   
What are you, sir?     60
  Glo.        Away and let me die.   
  Edg.  Hadst thou been aught but gossamer, feathers, air,   
So many fathom down precipitating,   
Thou’dst shiver’d like an egg; but thou dost breathe,     64
Hast heavy substance, bleed’st not, speak’st, art sound.   
Ten masts at each make not the altitude   
Which thou hast perpendicularly fell:   
Thy life’s a miracle. Speak yet again.     68
  Glo.  But have I fallen or no?   
  Edg.  From the dread summit of this chalky bourn.   
Look up a-height; the shrill-gorg’d lark so far   
Cannot be seen or heard: do but look up.     72
  Glo.  Alack! I have no eyes.   
Is wretchedness depriv’d that benefit   
To end itself by death? ’Twas yet some comfort,   
When misery could beguile the tyrant’s rage,     76
And frustrate his proud will.   
  Edg.        Give me your arm:   
Up: so. How is ’t? Feel you your legs? You stand.   
  Glo.  Too well, too well.     80
  Edg.        This is above all strangeness.   
Upon the crown o’ the cliff, what thing was that   
Which parted from you?   
  Glo.        A poor unfortunate beggar.     84
  Edg.  As I stood here below methought his eyes   
Were two full moons; he had a thousand noses,   
Horns whelk’d and wav’d like the enridged sea:   
It was some fiend; therefore, thou happy father,     88
Think that the clearest gods, who make them honours   
Of men’s impossibilities, have preserv’d thee.   
  Glo.  I do remember now; henceforth I’ll bear   
Affliction till it do cry out itself     92
‘Enough, enough,’ and die. That thing you speak of   
I took it for a man; often ’twould say   
‘The fiend, the fiend:’ he led me to that place.   
  Edg.  Bear free and patient thoughts. But who comes here?     96
 
Enter LEAR, fantastically dressed with flowers.
   
The safer sense will ne’er accommodate   
His master thus.   
  Lear.  No, they cannot touch me for coining;    100
I am the king himself.   
  Edg.  O thou side-piercing sight!   
  Lear.  Nature’s above art in that respect. There’s your press-money. That fellow handles his bow like a crow-keeper: draw me a clothier’s yard. Look, look! a mouse. Peace, peace! this piece of toasted cheese will do ’t. There’s my gauntlet; I’ll prove it on a giant. Bring up the brown bills. O! well flown, bird; i’ the clout, i’ the clout: hewgh! Give the word.   
  Edg.  Sweet marjoram.    104
  Lear.  Pass.   
  Glo.  I know that voice.   
  Lear.  Ha! Goneril, with a white beard! They flatter’d me like a dog, and told me I had white hairs in my beard ere the black ones were there. To say ‘ay’ and ‘no’ to everything I said! ‘Ay’ and ‘no’ too was no good divinity. When the rain came to wet me once and the wind to make me chatter, when the thunder would not peace at my bidding, there I found ’em, there I smelt ’em out. Go to, they are not men o’ their words: they told me I was every thing; ’tis a lie, I am not ague-proof.   
  Glo.  The trick of that voice I do well remember:    108
Is ’t not the king?   
  Lear.        Ay, every inch a king:   
When I do stare, see how the subject quakes.   
I pardon that man’s life. What was thy cause?    112
Adultery?   
Thou shalt not die: die for adultery! No:   
The wren goes to ’t, and the small gilded fly   
Does lecher in my sight.    116
Let copulation thrive; for Gloucester’s bastard son   
Was kinder to his father than my daughters   
Got ’tween the lawful sheets.   
To ’t luxury, pell-mell! for I lack soldiers.    120
Behold yound simpering dame,   
Whose face between her forks presageth snow;   
That minces virtue, and does shake the head   
To hear of pleasure’s name;    124
The fitchew nor the soiled horse goes to ’t   
With a more riotous appetite.   
Down from the waist they are Centaurs,   
Though women all above:    128
But to the girdle do the gods inherit,   
Beneath is all the fiends’:   
There’s hell, there’s darkness, there is the sulphurous pit,   
Burning, scalding, stench, consumption; fie, fie, fie! pah, pah! Give me an ounce of civet, good apothecary, to sweeten my imagination: there’s money for thee.    132
  Glo.  O! let me kiss that hand!   
  Lear.  Let me wipe it first; it smells of mortality.   
  Glo.  O ruin’d piece of nature! This great world   
Shall so wear out to nought. Dost thou know me?    136
  Lear.  I remember thine eyes well enough. Dost thou squiny at me? No, do thy worst, blind Cupid; I’ll not love. Read thou this challenge; mark but the penning of it.   
  Glo.  Were all the letters suns, I could not see.   
  Edg.  [Aside.] I would not take this from report; it is,   
And my heart breaks at it.    140
  Lear.  Read.   
  Glo.  What! with the case of eyes?   
  Lear.  O, ho! are you there with me? No eyes in your head, nor no money in your purse? Your eyes are in a heavy case, your purse in a light: yet you see how this world goes.   
  Glo.  I see it feelingly.    144
  Lear.  What! art mad? A man may see how this world goes with no eyes. Look with thine ears: see how yond justice rails upon yon simple thief. Hark, in thine ear: change places; and, handy-dandy, which is the justice, which is the thief? Thou hast seen a farmer’s dog bark at a beggar?   
  Glo.  Ay, sir.   
  Lear.  And the creature run from the cur? There thou mightst behold the great image of authority; a dog’s obey’d in office.   
Thou rascal beadle, hold thy bloody hand!    148
Why dost thou lash that whore? Strip thine own back;   
Thou hotly lust’st to use her in that kind   
For which thou whipp’st her. The usurer hangs the cozener.   
Through tatter’d clothes small vices do appear;    152
Robes and furr’d gowns hide all. Plate sin with gold,   
And the strong lance of justice hurtless breaks;   
Arm it in rags, a pigmy’s straw doth pierce it.   
None does offend, none, I say none; I’ll able ’em:    156
Take that of me, my friend, who have the power   
To seal the accuser’s lips. Get thee glass eyes;   
And, like a scurvy politician, seem   
To see the things thou dost not. Now, now, now, now;    160
Pull off my boots; harder, harder; so.   
  Edg.  [Aside.] O! matter and impertinency mix’d;   
Reason in madness!   
  Lear.  If thou wilt weep my fortunes, take my eyes;    164
I know thee well enough; thy name is Gloucester:   
Thou must be patient; we came crying hither:   
Thou know’st the first time that we smell the air   
We waul and cry. I will preach to thee: mark.    168
  Glo.  Alack! alack the day!   
  Lear.  When we are born, we cry that we are come   
To this great stage of fools. This’ a good block!   
It were a delicate stratagem to shoe    172
A troop of horse with felt; I’ll put it in proof,   
And when I have stol’n upon these sons-in-law,   
Then, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill!   
 
Enter Gentleman, with Attendants.
    176
  Gent.  O! here he is; lay hand upon him. Sir,   
Your most dear daughter—   
  Lear.  No rescue? What! a prisoner? I am even   
The natural fool of fortune. Use me well;    180
You shall have ransom. Let me have surgeons;   
I am cut to the brains.   
  Gent.        You shall have any thing.   
  Lear.  No seconds? All myself?    184
Why this would make a man a man of salt,   
To use his eyes for garden water-pots,   
Ay, and laying autumn’s dust.   
  Gent.        Good sir,—    188
  Lear.  I will die bravely as a bridegroom. What!   
I will be jovial: come, come; I am a king,   
My masters, know you that?   
  Gent.  You are a royal one, and we obey you.    192
  Lear.  Then there’s life in it. Nay, an you get it, you shall get it by running. Sa, sa, sa, sa.  [Exit. Attendants follow.   
  Gent.  A sight most pitiful in the meanest wretch,   
Past speaking of in a king! Thou hast one daughter,   
Who redeems nature from the general curse    196
Which twain have brought her to.   
  Edg.  Hail, gentle sir!   
  Gent.        Sir, speed you: what’s your will?   
  Edg.  Do you hear aught, sir, of a battle toward?    200
  Gent.  Most sure and vulgar; every one hears that,   
Which can distinguish sound.   
  Edg.        But, by your favour,   
How near’s the other army?    204
  Gent.  Near, and on speedy foot; the main descry   
Stands on the hourly thought.   
  Edg.        I thank you, sir: that’s all.   
  Gent.  Though that the queen on special cause is here,    208
Her army is mov’d on.   
  Edg.        I thank you, sir.  [Exit Gentleman.   
  Glo.  You ever-gentle gods, take my breath from me:   
Let not my worser spirit tempt me again    212
To die before you please!   
  Edg.        Well pray you, father.   
  Glo.  Now, good sir, what are you?   
  Edg.  A most poor man, made tame to fortune’s blows;    216
Who, by the art of known and feeling sorrows,   
Am pregnant to good pity. Give me your hand,   
I’ll lead you to some biding.   
  Glo.        Hearty thanks:    220
The bounty and the benison of heaven   
To boot, and boot!   
 
Enter OSWALD.
   
  Osw.        A proclaim’d prize! Most happy!    224
That eyeless head of thine was first fram’d flesh   
To raise my fortunes. Thou old unhappy traitor,   
Briefly thyself remember: the sword is out   
That must destroy thee.    228
  Glo.        Now let thy friendly hand   
Put strength enough to ’t.  [EDGAR interposes.   
  Osw.        Wherefore, bold peasant,   
Dar’st thou support a publish’d traitor? Hence;    232
Lest that infection of his fortune take   
Like hold on thee. Let go his arm.   
  Edg.  Chill not let go, zur, without vurther ’casion.   
  Osw.  Let go, slave, or thou diest.    236
  Edg.  Good gentleman, go your gait, and let poor volk pass. An chud ha’ bin zwaggered out of my life, ’twould not ha’ bin zo long as ’tis by a vortnight. Nay, come not near th’ old man; keep out, che vor ye, or ise try whether your costard or my ballow be the harder. Chill be plain with you.   
  Osw.  Out, dunghill!   
  Edg.  Chill pick your teeth, zur. Come; no matter vor your foins.  [They fight and EDGAR knocks him down.   
  Osw.  Slave, thou hast slain me. Villain, take my purse.    240
If ever thou wilt thrive, bury my body;   
And give the letters which thou find’st about me   
To Edmund Earl of Gloucester; seek him out   
Upon the English party: O! untimely death.  [Dies.    244
  Edg.  I know thee well: a serviceable villain;   
As duteous to the vices of thy mistress   
As badness would desire.   
  Glo.        What! is he dead?    248
  Edg.  Sit you down, father; rest you.   
Let’s see his pockets: these letters that he speaks of   
May be my friends. He’s dead; I am only sorry   
He had no other deaths-man. Let us see:    252
Leave, gentle wax; and, manners, blame us not:   
To know our enemies’ minds, we’d rip their hearts;   
Their papers, is more lawful.   
  Let our reciprocal vows be remembered. You have many opportunities to cut him off; if your will want not, time and place will be fruitfully offered. There is nothing done if he return the conqueror; then am I the prisoner, and his bed my gaol; from the loathed warmth whereof deliver me, and supply the place for your labour.    256
    Your—wife, so I would say—   
        Affectionate servant,   
            GONERIL.   
O undistinguish’d space of woman’s will!    260
A plot upon her virtuous husband’s life,   
And the exchange my brother! Here, in the sands,   
Thee I’ll rake up, the post unsanctified   
Of murderous lechers; and in the mature time    264
With this ungracious paper strike the sight   
Of the death-practis’d duke. For him ’tis well   
That of thy death and business I can tell.   
  Glo.  The king is mad: how stiff is my vile sense,    268
That I stand up, and have ingenious feeling   
Of my huge sorrows! Better I were distract:   
So should my thoughts be sever’d from my griefs,   
And woes by wrong imaginations lose    272
The knowledge of themselves.  [Drums afar off.   
  Edg.        Give me your hand:   
Far off, methinks, I hear the beaten drum.   
Come, father, I’ll bestow you with a friend.  [Exeunt.    276

Act IV. Scene VII.


A Tent in the French Camp.
   
 
Enter CORDELIA, KENT, Doctor, and Gentleman.
   
  Cor.  O thou good Kent! how shall I live and work   
To match thy goodness? My life will be too short,      4
And every measure fail me.   
  Kent.  To be acknowledg’d, madam, is o’erpaid.   
All my reports go with the modest truth,   
Nor more nor clipp’d, but so.      8
  Cor.        Be better suited:   
These weeds are memories of those worser hours:   
I prithee, put them off.   
  Kent.        Pardon me, dear madam;     12
Yet to be known shortens my made intent:   
My boon I make it that you know me not   
Till time and I think meet.   
  Cor.  Then be ’t so, my good lord.—[To the Doctor.] How does the king?     16
  Doc.  Madam, sleeps still.   
  Cor.  O you kind gods,   
Cure this great breach in his abused nature!   
The untun’d and jarring senses, O! wind up     20
Of this child-changed father!   
  Doc.        So please your majesty   
That we may wake the king? he hath slept long.   
  Cor.  Be govern’d by your knowledge, and proceed     24
I’ the sway of your own will. Is he array’d?   
 
Enter LEAR in his chair, carried by Servants.
   
  Gent.  Ay, madam; in the heaviness of sleep,   
We put fresh garments on him.     28
  Doc.  Be by, good madam, when we do awake him;   
I doubt not of his temperance.   
  Cor.        Very well.  [Music.   
  Doc.  Please you, draw near. Louder the music there.     32
  Cor.  O my dear father! Restoration, hang   
Thy medicine on my lips, and let this kiss   
Repair those violent harms that my two sisters   
Have in thy reverence made!     36
  Kent.        Kind and dear princess!   
  Cor.  Had you not been their father, these white flakes   
Had challeng’d pity of them. Was this a face   
To be expos’d against the warring winds?     40
To stand against the deep dread-bolted thunder?   
In the most terrible and nimble stroke   
Of quick cross lightning? to watch—poor perdu!—   
With this thin helm? Mine enemy’s dog,     44
Though he had bit me, should have stood that night   
Against my fire. And wast thou fain, poor father,   
To hovel thee with swine and rogues forlorn,   
In short and musty straw? Alack, alack!     48
’Tis wonder that thy life and wits at once   
Had not concluded all. He wakes; speak to him.   
  Doc.  Madam, do you; ’tis fittest.   
  Cor.  How does my royal lord? How fares your majesty?     52
  Lear.  You do me wrong to take me out o’ the grave;   
Thou art a soul in bliss; but I am bound   
Upon a wheel of fire, that mine own tears   
Do scald like molten lead.     56
  Cor.        Sir, do you know me?   
  Lear.  You are a spirit, I know; when did you die?   
  Cor.  Still, still, far wide.   
  Doc.  He’s scarce awake; let him alone a-while.     60
  Lear.  Where have I been? Where am I? Fair day-light?   
I am mightily abus’d. I should even die with pity   
To see another thus. I know not what to say.   
I will not swear these are my hands: let’s see;     64
I feel this pin prick. Would I were assur’d   
Of my condition!   
  Cor.        O! look upon me, sir,   
And hold your hands in benediction o’er me.     68
No, sir, you must not kneel.   
  Lear.        Pray, do not mock me:   
I am a very foolish fond old man,   
Fourscore and upward, not an hour more or less;     72
And, to deal plainly,   
I fear I am not in my perfect mind.   
Methinks I should know you and know this man;   
Yet I am doubtful: for I am mainly ignorant     76
What place this is, and all the skill I have   
Remembers not these garments; nor I know not   
Where I did lodge last night. Do not laugh at me;   
For, as I am a man, I think this lady     80
To be my child Cordelia.   
  Cor.        And so I am, I am.   
  Lear.  Be your tears wet? Yes, faith. I pray, weep not:   
If you have poison for me, I will drink it.     84
I know you do not love me; for your sisters   
Have, as I do remember, done me wrong:   
You have some cause, they have not.   
  Cor.        No cause, no cause.     88
  Lear.  Am I in France?   
  Kent.        In your own kingdom, sir.   
  Lear.  Do not abuse me.   
  Doc.  Be comforted, good madam; the great rage,     92
You see, is kill’d in him; and yet it is danger   
To make him even o’er the time he has lost.   
Desire him to go in; trouble him no more   
Till further settling.     96
  Cor.  Will ’t please your highness walk?   
  Lear.        You must bear with me.   
Pray you now, forget and forgive: I am old and foolish.  [Exeunt LEAR, CORDELIA, Doctor, and Attendants.   
  Gent.  Holds it true, sir, that the Duke of    100
Cornwall was so slain?   
  Kent.  Most certain, sir.   
  Gent.  Who is conductor of his people?   
  Kent.  As ’tis said, the bastard son of Gloucester.    104
  Gent.  They say Edgar, his banished son, is with the Earl of Kent in Germany.   
  Kent.  Report is changeable. ’Tis time to look about; the powers of the kingdom approach apace.   
  Gent.  The arbitrement is like to be bloody. Fare you well, sir.  [Exit.   
  Kent.  My point and period will be throughly wrought,    108
Or well or ill, as this day’s battle’s fought.  [Exit.

Act V. Scene I.


The British Camp near Dover.
   
 
Enter, with drum and colours, EDMUND, REGAN, Officers, Soldiers, and Others.
   
  Edm.  Know of the duke if his last purpose hold,   
Or whether since he is advis’d by aught      4
To change the course; he’s full of alteration   
And self-reproving; bring his constant pleasure.  [To an Officer, who goes out.   
  Reg.  Our sister’s man is certainly miscarried.   
  Edm.  ’Tis to be doubted, madam.      8
  Reg.        Now, sweet lord,   
You know the goodness I intend upon you:   
Tell me, but truly, but then speak the truth,   
Do you not love my sister?     12
  Edm.        In honour’d love.   
  Reg.  But have you never found my brother’s way   
To the forefended place?   
  Edm.        That thought abuses you.     16
  Reg.  I am doubtful that you have been conjunct   
And bosom’d with her, as far as we call hers.   
  Edm.  No, by mine honour, madam.   
  Reg.  I never shall endure her: dear my lord,     20
Be not familiar with her.   
  Edm.        Fear me not.   
She and the duke her husband!   
 
Enter with drums and colours, ALBANY, GONERIL, and Soldiers.
     24
  Gon.  [Aside.] I had rather lose the battle than that sister   
Should loosen him and me.   
  Alb.  Our very loving sister, well be-met.   
Sir, this I heard, the king is come to his daughter,     28
With others; whom the rigour of our state   
Forc’d to cry out. Where I could not be honest   
I never yet was valiant: for this business,   
It toucheth us, as France invades our land,     32
Not bolds the king, with others, whom, I fear,   
Most just and heavy causes make oppose.   
  Edm.  Sir, you speak nobly.   
  Reg.        Why is this reason’d?     36
  Gon.  Combine together ’gainst the enemy;   
For these domestic and particular broils   
Are not the question here.   
  Alb.        Let’s then determine     40
With the ancient of war on our proceeding.   
  Edm.  I shall attend you presently at your tent.   
  Reg.  Sister, you’ll go with us?   
  Gon.  No.     44
  Reg.  ’Tis most convenient; pray you, go with us.   
  Gon.  [Aside.] O, ho! I know the riddle. [Aloud.] I will go.   
 
Enter EDGAR, disguised.
   
  Edg.  If e’er your Grace had speech with man so poor,     48
Hear me one word.   
  Alb.        I’ll overtake you. Speak.  [Exeunt EDMUND, REGAN, GONERIL, Officers, Soldiers, and Attendants.   
  Edg.  Before you fight the battle, ope this letter.   
If you have victory, let the trumpet sound     52
For him that brought it: wretched though I seem,   
I can produce a champion that will prove   
What is avouched there. If you miscarry,   
Your business of the world hath so an end,     56
And machination ceases. Fortune love you!   
  Alb.  Stay till I have read the letter.   
  Edg.        I was forbid it.   
When time shall serve, let but the herald cry,     60
And I’ll appear again.   
  Alb.  Why, fare thee well: I will o’erlook thy paper.  [Exit EDGAR.   
 
Re-enter EDMUND.
   
  Edm.  The enemy’s in view; draw up your powers.     64
Here is the guess of their true strength and forces   
By diligent discovery; but your haste   
Is now urg’d on you.   
  Alb.        We will greet the time.  [Exit.     68
  Edm.  To both these sisters have I sworn my love;   
Each jealous of the other, as the stung   
Are of the adder. Which of them shall I take?   
Both? one? or neither? Neither can be enjoy’d     72
If both remain alive: to take the widow   
Exasperates, makes mad her sister Goneril;   
And hardly shall I carry out my side,   
Her husband being alive. Now then, we’ll use     76
His countenance for the battle; which being done   
Let her who would be rid of him devise   
His speedy taking off. As for the mercy   
Which he intends to Lear, and to Cordelia,     80
The battle done, and they within our power,   
Shall never see his pardon; for my state   
Stands on me to defend, not to debate.  [Exit.

Act V. Scene II.


A Field between the two Camps.
   
 
Alarum within. Enter, with drum and colours, LEAR, CORDELIA, and their Forces; and exeunt. Enter EDGAR and GLOUCESTER.
   
  Edg.  Here, father, take the shadow of this tree   
For your good host; pray that the right may thrive.      4
If ever I return to you again,   
I’ll bring you comfort.   
  Glo.        Grace go with you, sir!  [Exit EDGAR.   
 
Alarum; afterwards a retreat. Re-enter EDGAR.
      8
  Edg.  Away, old man! give me thy hand: away!   
King Lear hath lost, he and his daughter ta’en.   
Give me thy hand; come on.   
  Glo.  No further, sir; a man may rot even here.     12
  Edg.  What. in ill thoughts again? Men must endure   
Their going hence, even as their coming hither:   
Ripeness is all. Come on.   
  Glo.        And that’s true too.  [Exeunt.     16

Act V. Scene III.


The British Camp, near Dover.
   
 
Enter, in conquest, with drum and colours, EDMUND; LEAR and CORDELIA, prisoners; Officers, Soldiers, &c.
   
  Edm.  Some officers take them away: good guard,   
Until their greater pleasures first be known      4
That are to censure them.   
  Cor.        We are not the first   
Who, with best meaning, have incurr’d the worst.   
For thee, oppressed king, am I cast down;      8
Myself could else out-frown false Fortune’s frown.   
Shall we not see these daughters and these sisters?   
  Lear.  No, no, no, no! Come, let’s away to prison;   
We two alone will sing like birds i’ the cage:     12
When thou dost ask me blessing, I’ll kneel down,   
And ask of thee forgiveness: so we’ll live,   
And pray, and sing, and tell old tales, and laugh   
At gilded butterflies, and hear poor rogues     16
Talk of court news; and we’ll talk with them too,   
Who loses and who wins; who’s in, who’s out;   
And take upon’s the mystery of things,   
As if we were God’s spies: and we’ll wear out,     20
In a wall’d prison, packs and sets of great ones   
That ebb and flow by the moon.   
  Edm.        Take them away.   
  Lear.  Upon such sacrifices, my Cordelia,     24
The gods themselves throw incense. Have I caught thee?   
He that parts us shall bring a brand from heaven,   
And fire us hence like foxes. Wipe thine eyes;   
The goujeres shall devour them, flesh and fell,     28
Ere they shall make us weep: we’ll see ’em starve first.   
Come.  [Exeunt LEAR and CORDELIA, guarded.   
  Edm.  Come hither, captain; hark,   
Take thou this note; [Giving a paper.] go follow them to prison:     32
One step I have advanc’d thee; if thou dost    
As this instructs thee, thou dost make thy way   
To noble fortunes; know thou this, that men   
Are as the time is; to be tender-minded     36
Does not become a sword; thy great employment   
Will not bear question; either say thou’lt do’t,   
Or thrive by other means.   
  Offi.        I’ll do’t, my lord.     40
  Edm.  About it; and write happy when thou hast done.   
Mark,—I say, instantly, and carry it so   
As I have set it down.   
  Offi.  I cannot draw a cart nor eat dried oats;     44
If it be man’s work I will do it.  [Exit.   
 
Flourish. Enter ALBANY, GONERIL, REGAN, Officers, and Attendants.
   
  Alb.  Sir, you have show’d to-day your valiant strain,   
And fortune led you well; you have the captives     48
Who were the opposites of this day’s strife;   
We do require them of you, so to use them   
As we shall find their merits and our safety   
May equally determine.     52
  Edm.        Sir, I thought it fit   
To send the old and miserable king   
To some retention, and appointed guard;   
Whose age has charms in it, whose title more,     56
To pluck the common bosom on his side,   
And turn our impress’d lances in our eyes   
Which do command them. With him I sent the queen;   
My reason all the same; and they are ready     60
To-morrow, or at further space, to appear   
Where you shall hold your session. At this time   
We sweat and bleed; the friend hath lost his friend,   
And the best quarrels, in the heat, are curs’d     64
By those that feel their sharpness;   
The question of Cordelia and her father   
Requires a fitter place.   
  Alb.        Sir, by your patience,     68
I hold you but a subject of this war,   
Not as a brother.   
  Reg.        That’s as we list to grace him:   
Methinks our pleasure might have been demanded,     72
Ere you had spoke so far. He led our powers,   
Bore the commission of my place and person;   
The which immediacy may well stand up,   
And call itself your brother.     76
  Gon.        Not so hot;   
In his own grace he doth exalt himself   
More than in your addition.   
  Reg.        In my rights,     80
By me invested, he compeers the best.   
  Gon.  That were the most, if he should husband you.   
  Reg.  Jesters do oft prove prophets.   
  Gon.        Holla, holla!     84
That eye that told you so look’d but a-squint.   
  Reg.  Lady, I am not well; else I should answer   
From a full-flowing stomach. General,   
Take thou my soldiers, prisoners, patrimony;     88
Dispose of them, of me; the walls are thine;   
Witness the world, that I create thee here   
My lord and master.   
  Gon.        Mean you to enjoy him?     92
  Alb.  The let-alone lies not in your good will.   
  Edm.  Nor in thine, lord.   
  Alb.        Half-blooded fellow, yes.   
  Reg.  [To EDMUND.] Let the drum strike, and prove my title thine.     96
  Alb.  Stay yet; hear reason. Edmund, I arrest thee   
On capital treason; and, in thy arrest,   
This gilded serpent. [Pointing to GONERIL.] For your claim, fair sister,   
I bar it in the interest of my wife;    100
’Tis she is sub-contracted to this lord,   
And I, her husband, contradict your bans.   
If you will marry, make your love to me,   
My lady is bespoke.    104
  Gon.        An interlude!   
  Alb.  Thou art arm’d, Gloucester; let the trumpet sound:   
If none appear to prove upon thy person   
Thy heinous, manifest, and many treasons,    108
There is my pledge; [Throws down a glove.] I’ll prove it on thy heart,   
Ere I taste bread, thou art in nothing less   
Than I have here proclaim’d thee.   
  Reg.        Sick! O sick!    112
  Gon.  [Aside.] If not, I’ll ne’er trust medicine.   
  Edm.  There’s my exchange: [Throws down a glove.] what in the world he is   
That names me traitor, villain-like he lies.   
Call by thy trumpet: he that dares approach,    116
On him, on you, who not? I will maintain   
My truth and honour firmly.   
  Alb.  A herald, ho!   
  Edm.        A herald, ho! a herald!    120
  Alb.  Trust to thy single virtue; for thy soldiers,   
All levied in my name, have in my name   
Took their discharge.   
  Reg.        My sickness grows upon me.    124
  Alb.  She is not well; convey her to my tent.  [Exit REGAN, led.   
Come hither, herald,   
 
Enter a Herald.
   
Let the trumpet sound,—    128
And read out this.   
  Offi.  Sound, trumpet!  [A trumpet sounds.   
  Her.  If any man of quality or degree within the lists of the army will maintain upon Edmund, supposed Earl of Gloucester, that he is a manifold traitor, let him appear at the third sound of the trumpet. He is bold in his defence.   
  Edm.  Sound!    [First Trumpet.    132
  Her.  Again!    [Second Trumpet.   
  Her.  Again!    [Third Trumpet.
[Trumpet answers within.   
 
Enter EDGAR, armed, with a Trumpet before him.
   
  Alb.  Ask him his purposes, why he appears    136
Upon this call o’ the trumpet.   
  Her.        What are you?   
Your name? your quality? and why you answer   
This present summons?    140
  Edg.        Know, my name is lost;   
By treason’s tooth bare-gnawn and canker-bit:   
Yet am I noble as the adversary   
I come to cope.    144
  Alb.        Which is that adversary?   
  Edg.  What’s he that speaks for Edmund Earl of Gloucester?   
  Edm.  Himself: what sayst thou to him?   
  Edg.        Draw thy sword,    148
That, if my speech offend a noble heart,   
Thy arm may do thee justice; here is mine:   
Behold, it is the privilege of mine honours,   
My oath, and my profession: I protest,    152
Maugre thy strength, youth, place, and eminence,   
Despite thy victor sword and fire-new fortune,   
Thy valour and thy heart, thou art a traitor,   
False to thy gods, thy brother, and thy father,    156
Conspirant ’gainst this high illustrious prince,   
And, from the extremest upward of thy head   
To the descent and dust below thy foot,   
A most toad-spotted traitor. Say thou ‘No,’    160
This sword, this arm, and my best spirits are bent   
To prove upon thy heart, whereto I speak,   
Thou liest.   
  Edm.  In wisdom I should ask thy name;    164
But since thy outside looks so fair and war-like,   
And that thy tongue some say of breeding breathes,   
What safe and nicely I might well delay   
By rule of knighthood, I disdain and spurn;    168
Back do I toss these treasons to thy head,   
With the hell-hated lie o’erwhelm thy heart,   
Which, for they yet glance by and scarcely bruise,   
This sword of mine shall give them instant way,    172
Where they shall rest for ever. Trumpets, speak!  [Alarums. They fight. EDMUND falls.   
  Alb.  Save him, save him!   
  Gon.        This is practice, Gloucester:   
By the law of arms thou wast not bound to answer    176
An unknown opposite; thou art not vanquish’d,   
But cozen’d and beguil’d.   
  Alb.        Shut your mouth, dame,   
Or with this paper shall I stop it. Hold, sir;    180
Thou worse than any name, read thine own evil:   
No tearing, lady; I perceive you know it.  [Gives the letter to EDMUND.   
  Gon.  Say, if I do, the laws are mine, not thine:   
Who can arraign me for ’t?  [Exit.    184
  Alb.        Most monstrous!   
Know’st thou this paper?   
  Edm.        Ask me not what I know.   
  Alb.  Go after her: she’s desperate; govern her.  [Exit an Officer.    188
  Edm.  What you have charg’d me with, that have I done,   
And more, much more; the time will bring it out:   
’Tis past, and so am I. But what art thou   
That hast this fortune on me? If thou’rt noble,    192
I do forgive thee.   
  Edg.        Let’s exchange charity.   
I am no less in blood than thou art, Edmund;   
If more, the more thou hast wrong’d me.    196
My name is Edgar, and thy father’s son.   
The gods are just, and of our pleasant vices   
Make instruments to plague us:   
The dark and vicious place where thee he got    200
Cost him his eyes.   
  Edm.        Thou hast spoken right, ’tis true;   
The wheel is come full circle; I am here.   
  Alb.  Methought thy very gait did prophesy    204
A royal nobleness: I must embrace thee:   
Let sorrow split my heart, if ever I   
Did hate thee or thy father.   
  Edg.        Worthy prince, I know ’t.    208
  Alb.  Where have you hid yourself?   
How have you known the miseries of your father?   
  Edg.  By nursing them, my lord. List a brief tale;   
And, when ’tis told, O! that my heart would burst,    212
The bloody proclamation to escape   
That follow’d me so near,—O! our lives’ sweetness,   
That we the pain of death would hourly die   
Rather than die at once!—taught me to shift    216
Into a madman’s rags, to assume a semblance   
That very dogs disdain’d: and in this habit   
Met I my father with his bleeding rings,   
Their precious stones new lost; became his guide,    220
Led him, begg’d for him, sav’d him from despair;   
Never,—O fault!—reveal’d myself unto him,   
Until some half hour past, when I was arm’d;   
Not sure, though hoping, of this good success,    224
I ask’d his blessing, and from first to last   
Told him my pilgrimage: but his flaw’d heart,—   
Alack! too weak the conflict to support;   
’Twixt two extremes of passion, joy and grief,    228
Burst smilingly.   
  Edm.  This speech of yours hath mov’d me,   
And shall perchance do good; but speak you on;   
You look as you had something more to say.    232
  Alb.  If there be more, more woeful, hold it in;   
For I am almost ready to dissolve,   
Hearing of this.   
  Edg.        This would have seem’d a period    236
To such as love not sorrow; but another,   
To amplify too much, would make much more,   
And top extremity.   
Whilst I was big in clamour came there a man,    240
Who, having seen me in my worst estate,   
Shunn’d my abhorr’d society; but then, finding   
Who ’twas that so endur’d, with his strong arms   
He fasten’d on my neck, and bellow’d out    244
As he’d burst heaven; threw him on my father;   
Told the most piteous tale of Lear and him   
That ever ear receiv’d; which in recounting   
His grief grew puissant, and the strings of life    248
Began to crack: twice then the trumpet sounded,   
And there I left him tranc’d.   
  Alb.        But who was this?   
  Edg.  Kent, sir, the banish’d Kent; who in disguise    252
Follow’d his enemy king, and did him service   
Improper for a slave.   
 
Enter a Gentleman, with a bloody knife.
   
  Gent.  Help, help! O help!    256
  Edg.        What kind of help?   
  Alb.        Speak, man.   
  Edg.  What means that bloody knife?   
  Gent.        ’Tis hot, it smokes;    260
It came even from the heart of—O! she’s dead.   
  Alb.  Who dead? speak, man.   
  Gent.  Your lady, sir, your lady: and her sister   
By her is poison’d; she confesses it.    264
  Edm.  I was contracted to them both: all three   
Now marry in an instant.   
  Edg.        Here comes Kent.   
  Alb.  Produce the bodies, be they alive or dead:    268
This judgment of the heavens, that makes us tremble,   
Touches us not with pity.  [Exit Gentleman.   
 
Enter KENT.
   
O! is this he?    272
The time will not allow the compliment   
Which very manners urges.   
  Kent.        I am come   
To bid my king and master aye good-night;    276
Is he not here?   
  Alb.        Great thing of us forgot!   
Speak, Edmund, where’s the king? and where’s Cordelia?   
Seest thou this object, Kent?  [The bodies of GONERIL and REGAN are brought in.    280
  Kent.  Alack! why thus?   
  Edm.        Yet Edmund was belov’d:   
The one the other poison’d for my sake,   
And after slew herself.    284
  Alb.  Even so. Cover their faces.   
  Edm.  I pant for life: some good I mean to do   
Despite of mine own nature. Quickly send,   
Be brief in it, to the castle; for my writ    288
Is on the life of Lear and on Cordelia.   
Nay, send in time.   
  Alb.        Run, run! O run!   
  Edg.  To whom, my lord? Who has the office? send    292
Thy token of reprieve.   
  Edm.  Well thought on: take my sword,   
Give it the captain.   
  Alb.        Haste thee, for thy life.  [Exit EDGAR.    296
  Edm.  He hath commission from my wife and me   
To hang Cordelia in the prison, and   
To lay the blame upon her own despair,   
That she fordid herself.    300
  Alb.  The gods defend her! Bear him hence awhile.  [EDMUND is borne off.   
 
Enter LEAR, with CORDELIA dead in his arms; EDGAR, Officer, and Others.
   
  Lear.  Howl, howl, howl, howl! O! you are men of stones:   
Had I your tongues and eyes, I’d use them so    304
That heaven’s vaults should crack. She’s gone for ever.   
I know when one is dead, and when one lives;   
She’s dead as earth. Lend me a looking-glass;   
If that her breath will mist or stain the stone,    308
Why, then she lives.   
  Kent.        Is this the promis’d end?   
  Edg.  Or image of that horror?   
  Alb.        Fall and cease?    312
  Lear.  This feather stirs; she lives! if it be so,   
It is a chance which does redeem all sorrows   
That ever I have felt.   
  Kent.  [Kneeling.] O, my good master!    316
  Lear.  Prithee, away.   
  Edg.        ’Tis noble Kent, your friend.   
  Lear.  A plague upon you, murderers, traitors all!   
I might have sav’d her; now, she’s gone for ever!    320
Cordelia, Cordelia! stay a little. Ha!   
What is ’t thou sayst? Her voice was ever soft,   
Gentle and low, an excellent thing in woman.   
I kill’d the slave that was a hanging thee.    324
  Off.  ’Tis true, my lord, he did.   
  Lear.        Did I not, fellow?   
I have seen the day, with my good biting falchion   
I would have made them skip: I am old now,    328
And these same crosses spoil me. Who are you?   
Mine eyes are not o’ the best: I’ll tell you straight.   
  Kent.  If fortune brag of two she lov’d and hated,   
One of them we behold.    332
  Lear.  This is a dull sight. Are you not Kent?   
  Kent.        The same,   
Your servant Kent. Where is your servant Caius?   
  Lear.  He’s a good fellow, I can tell you that;    336
He’ll strike, and quickly too. He’s dead and rotten.   
  Kent.  No, my good lord; I am the very man—   
  Lear.  I’ll see that straight.   
  Kent.  That, from your first of difference and decay,    340
Have follow’d your sad steps.   
  Lear.        You are welcome hither.   
  Kent.  Nor no man else; all’s cheerless, dark, and deadly:   
Your eldest daughters have fordone themselves,    344
And desperately are dead.   
  Lear.        Ay, so I think.   
  Alb.  He knows not what he says, and vain it is   
That we present us to him.    348
  Edg.        Very bootless.   
 
Enter an Officer.
   
  Off.  Edmund is dead, my lord.   
  Alb.        That’s but a trifle here.    352
You lords and noble friends, know our intent;   
What comfort to this great decay may come   
Shall be applied: for us, we will resign,   
During the life of this old majesty,    356
To him our absolute power:—[To EDGAR and KENT.] You, to your rights;   
With boot and such addition as your honours   
Have more than merited. All friends shall taste   
The wages of their virtue, and all foes    360
The cup of their deservings. O! see, see!   
  Lear.  And my poor fool is hang’d! No, no, no life!   
Why should a dog, a horse, a rat, have life,   
And thou no breath at all? Thou’lt come no more,    364
Never, never, never, never, never!   
Pray you, undo this button: thank you, sir.   
Do you see this? Look on her, look, her lips,   
Look there, look there!    [Dies.    368
  Edg.        He faints!—my lord, my lord!   
  Kent.  Break, heart; I prithee, break.   
  Edg.        Look up, my lord.   
  Kent.  Vex not his ghost: O! let him pass; he hates him    372
That would upon the rack of this tough world   
Stretch him out longer.   
  Edg.        He is gone, indeed.   
  Kent.  The wonder is he hath endur’d so long:    376
He but usurp’d his life.   
  Alb.  Bear them from hence. Our present business   
Is general woe. [To KENT and EDGAR.] Friends of my soul, you twain   
Rule in this realm, and the gor’d state sustain.    380
  Kent.  I have a journey, sir, shortly to go;   
My master calls me, I must not say no.   
  Alb.  The weight of this sad time we must obey;   
Speak what we feel, not what we ought to say.    384
The oldest hath borne most: we that are young,   
Shall never see so much, nor live so long.  [Exeunt, with a dead march.   

Act I. Scene I.


Venice. A Street.
   
 
Enter RODERIGO and IAGO.
   
  Rod.  Tush! Never tell me; I take it much unkindly   
That thou, Iago, who hast had my purse      4
As if the strings were thine, shouldst know of this.   
  Iago.  ’Sblood, but you will not hear me:   
If ever I did dream of such a matter,   
Abhor me.      8
  Rod.  Thou told’st me thou didst hold him in thy hate.   
  Iago.  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,     12
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;     16
And, in conclusion,   
Nonsuits my mediators; for, ‘Certes,’ says he,   
‘I have already chose my officer.’   
And what was he?     20
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,     24
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,     28
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 be-lee’d and calm’d     32
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.   
  Rod.  By heaven, I rather would have been his hangman.     36
  Iago.  Why, there’s no remedy: ’tis the curse of the service,   
Preferment goes by letter and affection,   
Not by the old gradation, where each second   
Stood heir to the first. Now, sir, be judge yourself,     40
Whe’r I in any just term am affin’d   
To love the Moor.   
  Rod.        I would not follow him then.   
  Iago.  O! sir, content you;     44
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,     48
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     52
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     56
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:     60
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     64
The native act and figure of my heart   
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.     68
  Rod.  What a full fortune does the thick-lips owe,   
If he can carry ’t thus!   
  Iago.        Call up her father;   
Rouse him, make after him, poison his delight,     72
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     76
As it may lose some colour.   
  Rod.  Here is her father’s house; I’ll call aloud.   
  Iago.  Do; with like timorous accent and dire yell   
As when, by night and negligence, the fire     80
Is spied in populous cities.   
  Rod.  What, ho! Brabantio! Signior Brabantio, ho!   
  Iago.  Awake! what, ho! Brabantio! thieves! thieves! thieves!   
Look to your house, your daughter, and your bags!     84
Thieves! thieves!   
 
Enter BRABANTIO, above, at a window.
   
  Bra.  What is the reason of this terrible summons?   
What is the matter there?     88
  Rod.  Signior, is all your family within?   
  Iago.  Are your doors lock’d?   
  Bra.        Why? wherefore ask you this?   
  Iago.  ’Zounds! sir, you’re robb’d; forshame, put on your gown;     92
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,     96
Or else the devil will make a grandsire of you.   
Arise, I say.   
  Bra.        What! have you lost your wits?   
  Rod.  Most reverend signior, do you know my voice?    100
  Bra.  Not I, what are you?   
  Rod.  My name is Roderigo.   
  Bra.        The worser welcome:   
I have charg’d thee not to haunt about my doors:    104
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 knavery dost thou come    108
To start my quiet.   
  Rod.  Sir, sir, sir!   
  Bra.        But thou must needs be sure   
My spirit and my place have in them power    112
To make this bitter to thee.   
  Rod.        Patience, good sir.   
  Bra.  What tell’st thou me of robbing? this is Venice;   
My house is not a grange.    116
  Rod.        Most grave Brabantio,   
In simple and pure soul I come to you.   
  Iago.  ’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 covered with a Barbary horse; you’ll have your nephews neigh to you; you’ll have coursers for cousins and gennets for germans.   
  Bra.  What profane wretch art thou?    120
  Iago.  I am one, sir, that comes to tell you, your daughter and the Moor are now making the beast with two backs.   
  Bra.  Thou art a villain.   
  Iago.        You are—a senator.   
  Bra.  This thou shalt answer; I know thee, Roderigo.    124
  Rod.  Sir, I will answer any thing. 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,    128
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,    132
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,    136
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    140
In an extravagant and wheeling stranger   
Of here and every where. Straight satisfy yourself:   
If she be in her chamber or your house,   
Let loose on me the justice of the state    144
For thus deluding you.   
  Bra.        Strike on the tinder, ho!   
Give me a taper! call up all my people!   
This accident is not unlike my dream;    148
Belief of it oppresses me already.   
Light, I say! light! [Exit, from above.   
  Iago.        Farewell, for I must leave you:   
It seems not meet nor wholesome to my place    152
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    156
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,    160
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,    164
Lead to the Sagittary the raised search;   
And there will I be with him. So, farewell.  [Exit.   
 
Enter below, BRABANTIO, and Servants with torches.
   
  Bra.  It is too true an evil: gone she is,    168
And what’s to come of my despised time   
Is nought but bitterness. Now, Roderigo,   
Where didst thou see her? O, unhappy girl!   
With the Moor, sayst thou? Who would be a father!    172
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?   
  Rod.  Truly, I think they are.    176
  Bra.  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. Are there not charms   
By which the property of youth and maidhood    180
May be abus’d? Have you not read, Roderigo,   
Of some such thing?   
  Rod.        Yes, sir, I have indeed.   
  Bra.  Call up my brother. O! that you had had her.    184
Some one way, some another! Do you know   
Where we may apprehend her and the Moor?   
  Rod.  I think I can discover him, if you please   
To get good guard and go along with me.    188
  Bra.  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’ll deserve your pains.  [Exeunt.    192

Act I. Scene II.


Another Street.
   
 
Enter OTHELLO, IAGO, and Attendants, with torches.
   
  Iago.  Though in the trade of war I have slain men,   
Yet do I hold it very stuff o’ the conscience      4
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.   
  Oth.  ’Tis better as it is.      8
  Iago.        Nay, but he prated,   
And spoke such scurvy and provoking terms   
Against your honour   
That, with the little godliness I have,     12
I did full hard forbear him. But, I pray, 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     16
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.     20
  Oth.        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     24
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,     28
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?     32
  Iago.  Those are the raised father and his friends:   
You were best go in.   
  Oth.        Not I; I must be found:   
My parts, my title, and my perfect soul     36
Shall manifest me rightly. Is it they?   
  Iago.  By Janus, I think no.   
 
Enter CASSIO and certain Officers, with torches.
   
  Oth.  The servants of the duke, and my lieutenant.     40
The goodness of the night upon you, friends!   
What is the news?   
  Cas.        The duke does greet you, general,   
And he requires your haste-post-haste appearance,     44
Even on the instant.   
  Oth.        What is the matter, think you?   
  Cas.  Something from Cyprus, as I may divine.   
It is a business of some heat; the galleys     48
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;     52
When, being not at your lodging to be found,   
The senate hath sent about three several quests   
To search you out.   
  Oth.        ’Tis well I am found by you.     56
I will but spend a word here in the house,   
And go with you.  [Exit.   
  Cas.        Ancient, what makes he here?   
  Iago.  Faith, he to-night hath boarded a land carrack;     60
If it prove lawful prize, he’s made for ever.   
  Cas.  I do not understand.   
  Iago.        He’s married.   
  Cas.        To who?     64
 
Re-enter OTHELLO.
   
  Iago.  Marry, to—Come, captain, will you go?   
  Oth.        Have with you.   
  Cas.  Here comes another troop to seek for you.     68
  Iago.  It is Brabantio. General, be advis’d;   
He comes to bad intent.   
 
Enter BRABANTIO, RODERIGO, and Officers, with torches and weapons.
   
  Oth.        Holla! stand there!     72
  Rod.  Signior, it is the Moor.   
  Bra.        Down with him, thief!  [They draw on both sides.   
  Iago.  You, Roderigo! come, sir, I am for you.   
  Oth.  Keep up your bright swords, for the dew will rust them.     76
Good signior, you shall more command with years   
Than with your weapons.   
  Bra.  O thou foul thief! where hast thou stow’d my daughter?   
Damn’d as thou art, thou hast enchanted her;     80
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     84
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.     88
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 weaken motion: I’ll have ’t disputed on;     92
’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.     96
Lay hold upon him: if he do resist,   
Subdue him at his peril.   
  Oth.        Hold your hands,   
Both you of my inclining, and the rest:    100
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?   
  Bra.        To prison; till fit time    104
Of law and course of direct session   
Call thee to answer.   
  Oth.        What if I do obey?   
How may the duke be there with satisfied,    108
Whose messengers are here about my side,   
Upon some present business of the state   
To bring me to him?   
  Off.        ’Tis true, most worthy signior;    112
The duke’s in council, and your noble self,   
I am sure, is sent for.   
  Bra.        How! the duke in council!   
In this time of the night! Bring him away.    116
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,    120
Bond-slaves and pagans shall our statesmen be.  [Exeunt.   

Act I. Scene III.


A Council Chamber. The DUKE and Senators sitting at a table. Officers attending.
   
  Duke.  There is no composition in these news   
That gives them credit.   
  First Sen.  Indeed, they are disproportion’d;      4
My letters say a hundred and seven galleys.   
  Duke.  And mine, a hundred and forty.   
  Sec. Sen.        And mine, two hundred:   
But though they jump not on a just account,—      8
As in these cases, where the aim reports,   
’Tis oft with difference,—yet do they all confirm   
A Turkish fleet, and bearing up to Cyprus.   
  Duke.  Nay, it is possible enough to judgment:     12
I do not so secure me in the error,   
But the main article I do approve   
In fearful sense.   
  Sailor.  [Within.] What, ho! what, ho! what, ho!     16
  Off.  A messenger from the galleys.   
 
Enter a Sailor.
   
  Duke.        Now, what’s the business?   
  Sail.  The Turkish preparation makes for Rhodes;     20
So was I bid report here to the state   
By Signior Angelo.   
  Duke.  How say you by this change?   
  First Sen.        This cannot be,     24
By no assay of reason; ’tis a pageant   
To keep us in false gaze. When we consider   
The importancy of Cyprus to the Turk,   
And let ourselves again but understand,     28
That as it more concerns the Turk than Rhodes,   
So may he with more facile question bear it,   
For that it stands not in such war-like brace,   
But altogether lacks the abilities     32
That Rhodes is dress’d in: if we make thought of this,   
We must not think the Turk is so unskilful   
To leave that latest which concerns him first,   
Neglecting an attempt of ease and gain,     36
To wake and wage a danger profitless.   
  Duke.  Nay, in all confidence, he’s not for Rhodes.   
  Off.  Here is more news.   
 
Enter a Messenger.
     40
  Mess.  The Ottomites, reverend and gracious,   
Steering with due course toward the isle of Rhodes,   
Have there injointed them with an after fleet.   
  First Sen.  Ay, so I thought. How many, as you guess?     44
  Mess.  Of thirty sail; and now they do re-stem   
Their backward course, bearing with frank appearance   
Their purposes toward Cyprus. Signior Montano,   
Your trusty and most valiant servitor,     48
With his free duty recommends you thus,   
And prays you to believe him.   
  Duke.  ’Tis certain then, for Cyprus.   
Marcus Luccicos, is not he in town?     52
  First Sen.  He’s now in Florence.   
  Duke.  Write from us to him; post-post-haste dispatch.   
  First Sen.  Here comes Brabantio and the valiant Moor.   
 
Enter BRABANTIO, OTHELLO, IAGO, RODERIGO, and Officers.
     56
  Duke.  Valiant Othello, we must straight employ you   
Against the general enemy Ottoman.   
[To BRABANTIO.] I did not see you; welcome, gentle signior;   
We lack’d your counsel and your help to-night.     60
  Bra.  So did I yours. Good your grace, pardon me;   
Neither my place nor aught I heard of business   
Hath rais’d me from my bed, nor doth the general care   
Take hold of me, for my particular grief     64
Is of so flood-gate and o’erbearing nature   
That it engluts and swallows other sorrows   
And it is still itself.   
  Duke.        Why, what’s the matter?     68
  Bra.  My daughter! O! my daughter.   
  Duke. & Sen.        Dead?   
  Bra.        Ay, to me;   
She is abus’d, stol’n from me, and corrupted     72
By spells and medicines bought of mountebanks;   
For nature so preposterously to err,   
Being not deficient, blind, or lame of sense,   
Sans witchcraft could not.     76
  Duke.  Whoe’er he be that in this foul proceeding   
Hath thus beguil’d your daughter of herself   
And you of her, the bloody book of law   
You shall yourself read in the bitter letter     80
After your own sense; yea, though our proper son   
Stood in your action.   
  Bra.        Humbly I thank your Grace.   
Here is the man, this Moor; whom now, it seems,     84
Your special mandate for the state affairs,   
Hath hither brought.   
  Duke. & Sen.        We are very sorry for it.   
  Duke.  [To OTHELLO.] What, in your own part, can you say to this?     88
  Bra.  Nothing, but this is so.   
  Oth.  Most potent, grave, and reverend signiors,   
My very noble and approv’d good masters,   
That I have ta’en away this old man’s daughter,     92
It is most true; true, I have married her:   
The very head and front of my offending   
Hath this extent, no more. Rude am I in my speech,   
And little bless’d with the soft phrase of peace;     96
For since these arms of mine had seven years’ pith,   
Till now some nine moons wasted, they have us’d   
Their dearest action in the tented field;   
And little of this great world can I speak,    100
More than pertains to feats of broil and battle;   
And therefore little shall I grace my cause   
In speaking for myself. Yet, by your gracious patience,   
I will a round unvarnish’d tale deliver    104
Of my whole course of love; what drugs, what charms,   
What conjuration, and what mighty magic,   
For such proceeding I am charg’d withal,   
I won his daughter.    108
  Bra.        A maiden never bold;   
Of spirit so still and quiet, that her motion   
Blush’d at herself; and she, in spite of nature,   
Of years, of country, credit, every thing,    112
To fall in love with what she fear’d to look on!   
It is a judgment maim’d and most imperfect   
That will confess perfection so could err   
Against all rules of nature, and must be driven    116
To find out practices of cunning hell,   
Why this should be. I therefore vouch again   
That with some mixtures powerful o’er the blood,   
Or with some dram conjur’d to this effect,    120
He wrought upon her.   
  Duke.        To vouch this, is no proof,   
Without more certain and more overt test   
Than these thin habits and poor likelihoods    124
Of modern seeming do prefer against him.   
  First Sen.  But, Othello, speak:   
Did you by indirect and forced courses   
Subdue and poison this young maid’s affections;    128
Or came it by request and such fair question   
As soul to soul affordeth?   
  Oth.        I do beseech you,   
Send for the lady to the Sagittary,    132
And let her speak of me before her father:   
If you do find me foul in her report,   
The trust, the office I do hold of you,   
Not only take away, but let your sentence    136
Even fall upon my life.   
  Duke.        Fetch Desdemona hither.   
  Oth.  Ancient, conduct them; you best know the place.  [Exeunt IAGO and Attendants.   
And, till she come, as truly as to heaven    140
I do confess the vices of my blood,   
So justly to your grave ears I’ll present   
How I did thrive in this fair lady’s love,   
And she in mine.    144
  Duke.  Say it, Othello.   
  Oth.  Her father lov’d me; oft invited me;   
Still question’d me the story of my life   
From year to year, the battles, sieges, fortunes    148
That I have pass’d.   
I ran it through, even from my boyish days   
To the very moment that he bade me tell it;   
Wherein I spake of most disastrous chances,    152
Of moving accidents by flood and field,   
Of hair-breadth ’scapes i’ the imminent deadly breach,   
Of being taken by the insolent foe   
And sold to slavery, of my redemption thence    156
And portance in my travel’s history;   
Wherein of antres vast and desarts idle,   
Rough quarries, rocks and hills whose heads touch heaven,   
It was my hint to speak, such was the process;    160
And of the Cannibals that each other eat,   
The Anthropophagi, and men whose heads   
Do grow beneath their shoulders. This to hear   
Would Desdemona seriously incline;    164
But still the house-affairs would draw her thence;   
Which ever as she could with haste dispatch,   
She’d come again, and with a greedy ear   
Devour up my discourse. Which I observing,    168
Took once a pliant hour, and found good means   
To draw from her a prayer of earnest heart   
That I would all my pilgrimage dilate,   
Whereof by parcels she had something heard,    172
But not intentively: I did consent;   
And often did beguile her of her tears,   
When I did speak of some distressful stroke   
That my youth suffer’d. My story being done,    176
She gave me for my pains a world of sighs:   
She swore, in faith, ’twas strange, ’twas passing strange;   
’Twas pitiful, ’twas wondrous pitiful:   
She wish’d she had not heard it, yet she wish’d    180
That heaven had made her such a man; she thank’d me,   
And bade me, if I had a friend that lov’d her,   
I should but teach him how to tell my story,   
And that would woo her. Upon this hint I spake:    184
She lov’d me for the dangers I had pass’d,   
And I lov’d her that she did pity them.   
This only is the witchcraft I have us’d:   
Here comes the lady; let her witness it.    188
 
Enter DESDEMONA, IAGO, and Attendants.
   
  Duke.  I think this tale would win my daughter too.   
Good Brabantio,   
Take up this mangled matter at the best;    192
Men do their broken weapons rather use   
Than their bare hands.   
  Bra.        I pray you, hear her speak:   
If she confess that she was half the wooer,    196
Destruction on my head, if my bad blame   
Light on the man! Come hither, gentle mistress:   
Do you perceive in all this noble company   
Where most you owe obedience?    200
  Des.        My noble father,   
I do perceive here a divided duty:   
To you I am bound for life and education;   
My life and education both do learn me    204
How to respect you; you are the lord of duty,   
I am hitherto your daughter: but here’s my husband;   
And so much duty as my mother show’d   
To you, preferring you before her father,    208
So much I challenge that I may profess   
Due to the Moor my lord.   
  Bra.        God be with you! I have done.   
Please it your Grace, on to the state affairs:    212
I had rather to adopt a child than get it.   
Come hither, Moor:   
I here do give thee that with all my heart   
Which, but thou hast already, with all my heart    216
I would keep from thee. For your sake, jewel,   
I am glad at soul I have no other child;   
For thy escape would teach me tyranny,   
To hang clogs on them. I have done, my lord.    220
  Duke.  Let me speak like yourself and lay a sentence,   
Which as a grize or step, may help these lovers   
Into your favour.   
When remedies are past, the griefs are ended    224
By seeing the worst, which late on hopes depended.   
To mourn a mischief that is past and gone   
Is the next way to draw new mischief on.   
What cannot be preserv’d when Fortune takes,    228
Patience her injury a mockery makes.   
The robb’d that smiles steals something from the thief;   
He robs himself that spends a bootless grief.   
  Bra.  So let the Turk of Cyprus us beguile;    232
We lose it not so long as we can smile.   
He bears the sentence well that nothing bears   
But the free comfort which from thence he hears;   
But he bears both the sentence and the sorrow    236
That, to pay grief, must of poor patience borrow.   
These sentences, to sugar, or to gall,   
Being strong on both sides, are equivocal:   
But words are words; I never yet did hear    240
That the bruis’d heart was pierced through the ear.   
I humbly beseech you, proceed to the affairs of state.   
  Duke.  The Turk with a most mighty preparation makes for Cyprus. Othello, the fortitude of the place is best known to you; and though we have there a substitute of most allowed sufficiency, yet opinion, a sovereign mistress of effects, throws a more safer voice on you: you must therefore be content to slubber the gloss of your new fortunes with this more stubborn and boisterous expedition.   
  Oth.  The tyrant custom, most grave senators,    244
Hath made the flinty and steel couch of war   
My thrice-driven bed of down: I do agnize   
A natural and prompt alacrity   
I find in hardness, and do undertake    248
These present wars against the Ottomites.   
Most humbly therefore bending to your state,   
I crave fit disposition for my wife,   
Due reference of place and exhibition,    252
With such accommodation and besort   
As levels with her breeding.   
  Duke.        If you please,   
Be ’t at her father’s.    256
  Bra.        I’ll not have it so.   
  Oth.  Nor I.   
  Des.  Nor I; I would not there reside,   
To put my father in impatient thoughts    260
By being in his eye. Most gracious duke,   
To my unfolding lend your gracious ear;   
And let me find a charter in your voice   
To assist my simpleness.    264
  Duke.  What would you, Desdemona?   
  Des.  That I did love the Moor to live with him,   
My downright violence and storm of fortunes   
May trumpet to the world; my heart’s subdu’d    268
Even to the very quality of my lord;   
I saw Othello’s visage in his mind,   
And to his honours and his valiant parts   
Did I my soul and fortunes consecrate.    272
So that, dear lords, if I be left behind,   
A moth of peace, and he go to the war,   
The rites for which I love him are bereft me,   
And I a heavy interim shall support    276
By his dear absence. Let me go with him.   
  Oth.  Let her have your voices.   
Vouch with me, heaven, I therefore beg it not   
To please the palate of my appetite,    280
Nor to comply with heat,—the young affects   
In me defunct,—and proper satisfaction,   
But to be free and bounteous to her mind;   
And heaven defend your good souls that you think    284
I will your serious and great business scant   
For she is with me. No, when light-wing’d toys   
Of feather’d Cupid seel with wanton dulness   
My speculative and offic’d instruments,    288
That my disports corrupt and taint my business,   
Let housewives make a skillet of my helm,   
And all indign and base adversities   
Make head against my estimation!    292
  Duke.  Be it as you shall privately determine,   
Either for her stay or going. The affair cries haste,   
And speed must answer it.   
  First Sen.  You must away to-night.    296
  Oth.        With all my heart.   
  Duke.  At nine i’ the morning here we’ll meet again.   
Othello, leave some officer behind,   
And he shall our commission bring to you;    300
With such things else of quality and respect   
As doth import you.   
  Oth.        So please your Grace, my ancient;   
A man he is of honesty and trust:    304
To his conveyance I assign my wife,   
With what else needful your good grace shall think   
To be sent after me.   
  Duke.        Let it be so.    308
Good night to every one. [To BRABANTIO.] And, noble signior,   
If virtue no delighted beauty lack,   
Your son-in-law is far more fair than black.   
  First Sen.  Adieu, brave Moor! use Desdemona well.    312
  Bra.  Look to her, Moor, if thou hast eyes to see:   
She has deceiv’d her father, and may thee.  [Exeunt DUKE, Senators, Officers, &c.   
  Oth.  My life upon her faith! Honest Iago,   
My Desdemona must I leave to thee:    316
I prithee, let thy wife attend on her;   
And bring them after in the best advantage.   
Come, Desdemona; I have but an hour   
Of love, of worldly matters and direction,    320
To spend with thee: we must obey the time.  [Exeunt OTHELLO and DESDEMONA.   
  Rod.  Iago!   
  Iago.  What sayst thou, noble heart?   
  Rod.  What will I do, think’st thou?    324
  Iago.  Why, go to bed, and sleep.   
  Rod.  I will incontinently drown myself.   
  Iago.  Well, if thou dost, I shall never love thee after. Why, thou silly gentleman!   
  Rod.  It is silliness to live when to live is torment; and then have we a prescription to die when death is our physician.    328
  Iago.  O! villanous; I have looked upon the world for four times seven years, and since I could distinguish betwixt a benefit and an injury, I never found man that knew how to love himself. Ere I would say, I would drown myself for the love of a guinea-hen, I would change my humanity with a baboon.   
  Rod.  What should I do? I confess it is my shame to be so fond; but it is not in my virtue to amend it.   
  Iago.  Virtue! a fig! ’tis in ourselves that we are thus, or thus. Our bodies are our gardens, to the which our wills are gardeners; so that if we will plant nettles or sow lettuce, set hyssop and weed up thyme, supply it with one gender of herbs or distract it with many, either to have it sterile with idleness or manured with industry, why, the power and corrigible authority of this lies in our wills. If the balance of our lives had not one scale of reason to poise another of sensuality, the blood and baseness of our natures would conduct us to most preposterous conclusions; but we have reason to cool our raging motions, our carnal stings, our unbitted lusts, whereof I take this that you call love to be a sect or scion.   
  Rod.  It cannot be.    332
  Iago.  It is merely a lust of the blood and a permission of the will. Come, be a man. Drown thyself! drown cats and blind puppies. I have professed me thy friend, and I confess me knit to thy deserving with cables of perdurable toughness; I could never better stead thee than now. Put money in thy purse; follow these wars; defeat thy favour with a usurped beard; I say, put money in thy purse. It cannot be that Desdemona should long continue her love to the Moor,—put money in thy purse,—nor he his to her. It was a violent commencement in her, and thou shalt see an answerable sequestration; put but money in thy purse. These Moors are changeable in their wills;—fill thy purse with money:—the food that to him now is as luscious as locusts, shall be to him shortly as bitter as coloquintida. She must change for youth: when she is sated with his body, she will find the error of her choice. She must have change, she must: therefore put money in thy purse. If thou wilt needs damn thyself, do it a more delicate way than drowning. Make all the money thou canst. If sanctimony and a frail vow betwixt an erring barbarian and a supersubtle Venetian be not too hard for my wits and all the tribe of hell, thou shalt enjoy her; therefore make money. A pox of drowning thyself! it is clean out of the way: seek thou rather to be hanged in compassing thy joy than to be drowned and go without her.   
  Rod.  Wilt thou be fast to my hopes, if I depend on the issue?   
  Iago.  Thou art sure of me: go, make money. I have told thee often, and I re-tell thee again and again, I hate the Moor: my cause is hearted: thine hath no less reason. Let us be conjunctive in our revenge against him; if thou canst cuckold him, thou dost thyself a pleasure, me a sport. There are many events in the womb of time which will be delivered. Traverse; go: provide thy money. We will have more of this to-morrow. Adieu.   
  Rod.  Where shall we meet i’ the morning?    336
  Iago.  At my lodging.   
  Rod.  I’ll be with thee betimes.   
  Iago.  Go to; farewell. Do you hear, Roderigo?   
  Rod.  What say you?    340
  Iago.  No more of drowning, do you hear?   
  Rod.  I am changed. I’ll sell all my land.   
  Iago.  Go to; farewell! put money enough in your purse. [Exit RODERIGO.   
Thus do I ever make my fool my purse;    344
For I mine own gain’d knowledge should profane,   
If I would time expend with such a snipe   
But for my sport and profit. I hate the Moor,   
And it is thought abroad that ’twixt my sheets    348
He has done my office: I know not if ’t be true,   
But I, for mere suspicion in that kind,   
Will do as if for surety. He holds me well;   
The better shall my purpose work on him.    352
Cassio’s a proper man; let me see now:   
To get his place; and to plume up my will   
In double knavery; how, how? Let’s see:   
After some time to abuse Othello’s ear    356
That he is too familiar with his wife:   
He hath a person and a smooth dispose   
To be suspected; framed to make women false.   
The Moor is of a free and open nature,    360
That thinks men honest that but seem to be so,   
And will as tenderly be led by the nose   
As asses are.   
I have ’t; it is engender’d: hell and night    364
Must bring this monstrous birth to the world’s light.  [Exit.   

Act II. Scene I.


A Sea-port Town in Cyprus.
An open place near the Quay.
   
 
Enter MONTANO and two Gentlemen.
   
  Mon.  What from the cape can you discern at sea?   
  First Gent.  Nothing at all: it is a high-wrought flood;      4
I cannot ’twixt the heaven and the main   
Descry a sail.   
  Mon.  Methinks the wind hath spoke aloud at land;   
A fuller blast ne’er shook our battlements;      8
If it hath ruffian’d so upon the sea,   
What ribs of oak, when mountains melt on them,   
Can hold the mortise? what shall we hear of this?   
  Sec. Gent.  A segregation of the Turkish fleet;     12
For do but stand upon the foaming shore,   
The chidden billow seems to pelt the clouds;   
The wind-shak’d surge, with high and monstrous mane,   
Seems to cast water on the burning bear     16
And quench the guards of the ever-fixed pole:   
I never did like molestation view   
On the enchafed flood.   
  Mon.        If that the Turkish fleet     20
Be not enshelter’d and embay’d, they are drown’d;   
It is impossible they bear it out.   
 
Enter a third Gentleman.
   
  Third Gent.  News, lads! our wars are done.     24
The desperate tempest hath so bang’d the Turks   
That their designment halts; a noble ship of Venice   
Hath seen a grievous wrack and sufferance   
On most part of their fleet.     28
  Mon.  How! is this true?   
  Third Gent.        The ship is here put in,   
A Veronesa; Michael Cassio,   
Lieutenant to the war-like Moor Othello,     32
Is come on shore: the Moor himself’s at sea,   
And is in full commission here for Cyprus.   
  Mon.  I am glad on ’t; ’t is a worthy governor.   
  Third Gent.  But this same Cassio, though he speak of comfort     36
Touching the Turkish loss, yet he looks sadly   
And prays the Moor be safe; for they were parted   
With foul and violent tempest.   
  Mon.        Pray heaven he be;     40
For I have serv’d him, and the man commands   
Like a full soldier. Let’s to the sea-side, ho!   
As well to see the vessel that’s come in   
As to throw out our eyes for brave Othello,     44
Even till we make the main and the aerial blue   
An indistinct regard.   
  Third Gent.        Come, let’s do so;   
For every minute is expectancy     48
Of more arrivance.   
 
Enter CASSIO.
   
  Cas.  Thanks, you the valiant of this war-like isle,   
That so approve the Moor. O! let the heavens     52
Give him defence against the elements,   
For I have lost him on a dangerous sea.   
  Mon.  Is he well shipp’d?   
  Cas.  His bark is stoutly timber’d, and his pilot     56
Of very expert and approv’d allowance;   
Therefore my hopes, not surfeited to death,   
Stand in bold cure.  [Within, ‘A sail!—a saill!—a sail!’   
 
Enter a Messenger.
     60
  Cas.  What noise?   
  Mess.  The town is empty; on the brow o’ the sea   
Stand ranks of people, and they cry, ‘A sail!’   
  Cas.  My hopes do shape him for the governor.  [Guns heard.     64
  Sec. Gent.  They do discharge their shot of courtesy;   
Our friends at least.   
  Cas.        I pray you, sir, go forth,   
And give us truth who ’tis that is arriv’d.     68
  Sec. Gent.  I shall.  [Exit.   
  Mon.  But, good lieutenant, is your general wiv’d?   
  Cas.  Most fortunately: he hath achiev’d a maid   
That paragons description and wild fame;     72
One that excels the quirks of blazoning pens,   
And in th’ essential vesture of creation   
Does tire the ingener.   
 
Re-enter second Gentleman.
     76
How now! who has put in?   
  Sec. Gent.  ’Tis one Iago, ancient to the general.   
  Cas.  He has had most favourable and happy speed:   
Tempests themselves, high seas, and howling winds,     80
The gutter’d rocks, and congregated sands,   
Traitors ensteep’d to clog the guiltless keel,   
As having sense of beauty, do omit   
Their mortal natures, letting go safely by     84
The divine Desdemona.   
  Mon.        What is she?   
  Cas.  She that I spake of, our great captain’s captain,   
Left in the conduct of the bold Iago,     88
Whose footing here anticipates our thoughts   
A se’nnight’s speed. Great Jove, Othello guard,   
And swell his sail with thine own powerful breath,   
That he may bless this bay with his tall ship,     92
Make love’s quick pants in Desdemona’s arms,   
Give renew’d fire to our extincted spirits,   
And bring all Cyprus comfort!   
 
Enter DESDEMONA, EMILIA, IAGO, RODERIGO, and Attendants.
     96
O! behold,   
The riches of the ship is come on shore.   
Ye men of Cyprus, let her have your knees.   
Hail to thee, lady! and the grace of heaven,    100
Before, behind thee, and on every hand,   
Enwheel thee round!   
  Des.        I thank you, valiant Cassio.   
What tidings can you tell me of my lord?    104
  Cas.  He is not yet arriv’d; nor know I aught   
But that he’s well, and will be shortly here.   
  Des.  O! but I fear—How lost you company?   
  Cas.  The great contention of the sea and skies    108
Parted our fellowship. But hark! a sail.  [Cry within, ‘A sail!—a sail!’ Guns heard.   
  Sec. Gent.  They give their greeting to the citadel:   
This likewise is a friend.   
  Cas.        See for the news!  [Exit Gentleman.    112
Good ancient, you are welcome:—[To EMILIA.] welcome, mistress.   
Let it not gall your patience, good Iago,   
That I extend my manners; ’tis my breeding   
That gives me this bold show of courtesy.  [Kissing her.    116
  Iago.  Sir, would she give you so much of her lips   
As of her tongue she oft bestows on me,   
You’d have enough.   
  Des.        Alas! she has no speech.    120
  Iago.  In faith, too much;   
I find it still when I have list to sleep:   
Marry, before your ladyship, I grant,   
She puts her tongue a little in her heart,    124
And chides with thinking.   
  Emil.  You have little cause to say so.   
  Iago.  Come on, come on; you are pictures out of doors,   
Bells in your parlours, wild cats in your kitchens,    128
Saints in your injuries, devils being offended,   
Players in your housewifery, and housewives in your beds.   
  Des.  O! fie upon thee, slanderer.   
  Iago.  Nay, it is true, or else I am a Turk:    132
You rise to play and go to bed to work.   
  Emil.  You shall not write my praise.   
  Iago.        No, let me not.   
  Des.  What wouldst thou write of me, if thou shouldst praise me?    136
  Iago.  O gentle lady, do not put me to ’t,   
For I am nothing if not critical.   
  Des.  Come on; assay. There’s one gone to the harbour?   
  Iago.  Ay, madam.    140
  Des.  I am not merry, but I do beguile   
The thing I am by seeming otherwise.   
Come, how wouldst thou praise me?   
  Iago.  I am about it; but indeed my invention    144
Comes from my pate as birdlime does from frize;   
It plucks out brains and all: but my muse labours,   
And thus she is deliver’d.   
If she be fair and wise, fairness and wit,    148
The one’s for use, the other useth it.   
  Des.  Well prais’d! How if she be black and witty?   
  Iago.  If she be black, and thereto have a wit,   
She’ll find a white that shall her blackness fit.    152
  Des.  Worse and worse.   
  Emil.  How if fair and foolish?   
  Iago.  She never yet was foolish that was fair,   
For even her folly help’d her to an heir.    156
  Des.  These are old fond paradoxes to make fools laugh i’ the alehouse. What miserable praise hast thou for her that’s foul and foolish?   
  Iago.  There’s none so foul and foolish there-unto   
But does foul pranks which fair and wise ones do.   
  Des.  O heavy ignorance! thou praisest the worst best. But what praise couldst thou bestow on a deserving woman indeed, one that, in the authority of her merit, did justly put on the vouch of very malice itself?    160
  Iago.  She that was ever fair and never proud,   
Had tongue at will and yet was never loud,   
Never lack’d gold and yet went never gay,   
Fled from her wish and yet said ‘Now I may,’    164
She that being anger’d, her revenge being nigh,   
Bade her wrong stay and her displeasure fly,   
She that in wisdom never was so frail   
To change the cod’s head for the salmon’s tail,    168
She that could think and ne’er disclose her mind,   
See suitors following and not look behind,   
She was a wight, if ever such wight were,—   
  Des.  To do what?    172
  Iago.  To suckle fools and chronicle small beer.   
  Des.  O most lame and impotent conclusion! Do not learn of him, Emilia, though he be thy husband. How say you, Cassio? is he not a most profane and liberal counsellor?   
  Cas.  He speaks home, madam; you may relish him more in the soldier than in the scholar.   
  Iago.  [Aside.] He takes her by the palm; ay, well said, whisper; with as little a web as this will I ensnare as great a fly as Cassio. Ay, smile upon her, do; I will gyve thee in thine own courtship. You say true, ’tis so, indeed. If such tricks as these strip you out of your lieutenantry, it had been better you had not kissed your three fingers so oft, which now again you are most apt to play the sir in. Very good; well kissed! an excellent courtesy! ’tis so, indeed. Yet again your fingers to your lips? would they were clyster-pipes for your sake! [A trumpet heard.] The Moor! I know his trumpet.    176
  Cas.  ’Tis truly so.   
  Des.  Let’s meet him and receive him.   
  Cas.  Lo! where he comes.   
 
Enter OTHELLO and Attendants.
    180
  Oth.  O my fair warrior!   
  Des.        My dear Othello!   
  Oth.  It gives me wonder great as my content   
To see you here before me. O my soul’s joy!    184
If after every tempest come such calms,   
May the winds blow till they have waken’d death!   
And let the labouring bark climb hills of seas   
Olympus-high, and duck again as low    188
As hell’s from heaven! If it were now to die,   
’Twere now to be most happy, for I fear   
My soul hath her content so absolute   
That not another comfort like to this    192
Succeeds in unknown fate.   
  Des.        The heavens forbid   
But that our loves and comforts should increase   
Even as our days do grow!    196
  Oth.        Amen to that, sweet powers!   
I cannot speak enough of this content;   
It stops me here; it is too much of joy:   
And this, and this, the greatest discords be,  [Kissing her.    200
That e’er our hearts shall make!   
  Iago.  [Aside.] O! you are well tun’d now,   
But I’ll set down the pegs that make this music,   
As honest as I am.    204
  Oth.        Come, let us to the castle.   
News, friends; our wars are done, the Turks are drown’d.   
How does my old acquaintance of this isle?   
Honey, you shall be well desir’d in Cyprus;    208
I have found great love amongst them. O my sweet,   
I prattle out of fashion, and I dote   
In mine own comforts. I prithee, good Iago,   
Go to the bay and disembark my coffers.    212
Bring thou the master to the citadel;   
He is a good one, and his worthiness   
Does challenge much respect. Come, Desdemona,   
Once more well met at Cyprus.  [Exeunt all except IAGO and RODERIGO.    216
  Iago.  Do thou meet me presently at the harbour. Come hither. If thou be’st valiant, as they say base men being in love have then a nobility in their natures more than is native to them, list me. The lieutenant to-night watches on the court of guard: first, I must tell thee this, Desdemona is directly in love with him.   
  Rod.  With him! why, ’tis not possible.   
  Iago.  Lay thy finger thus, and let thy soul be instructed. Mark me with what violence she first loved the Moor but for bragging and telling her fantastical lies; and will she love him still for prating? let not thy discreet heart think it. Her eye must be fed; and what delight shall she have to look on the devil? When the blood is made dull with the act of sport, there should be, again to inflame it, and to give satiety a fresh appetite, loveliness in favour, sympathy in years, manners, and beauties; all which the Moor is defective in. Now, for want of these required conveniences, her delicate tenderness will find itself abused, begin to heave the gorge, disrelish and abhor the Moor; very nature will instruct her in it, and compel her to some second choice. Now, sir, this granted, as it is a most pregnant and unforced position, who stands so eminently in the degree of this fortune as Cassio does? a knave very voluble, no further conscionable than in putting on the mere form of civil and humane seeming, for the better compassing of his salt and most hidden loose affection? why, none; why, none: a slipper and subtle knave, a finder-out of occasions, that has an eye can stamp and counterfeit advantages, though true advantage never present itself; a devilish knave! Besides, the knave is handsome, young, and hath all those requisites in him that folly and green minds look after; a pestilent complete knave! and the woman hath found him already.   
  Rod.  I cannot believe that in her; she is full of most blessed condition.    220
  Iago.  Blessed fig’s end! the wine she drinks is made of grapes; if she had been blessed she would never have loved the Moor; blessed pudding! Didst thou not see her paddle with the palm of his hand? didst not mark that?   
  Rod.  Yes, that I did; but that was but courtesy.   
  Iago.  Lechery, by this hand! an index and obscure prologue to the history of lust and foul thoughts. They met so near with their lips, that their breaths embraced together. Villanous thoughts, Roderigo! when these mutualities so marshal the way, hard at hand comes the master and main exercise, the incorporate conclusion. Pish! But, sir, be you ruled by me: I have brought you from Venice. Watch you to-night; for the command, I’ll lay ’t upon you: Cassio knows you not. I’ll not be far from you: do you find some occasion to anger Cassio, either by speaking too loud, or tainting his discipline; or from what other course you please, which the time shall more favourably minister.   
  Rod.  Well.    224
  Iago.  Sir, he is rash and very sudden in choler, and haply may strike at you: provoke him, that he may; for even out of that will I cause these of Cyprus to mutiny, whose qualification shall come into no true taste again but by the displanting of Cassio. So shall you have a shorter journey to your desires by the means I shall then have to prefer them; and the impediment most profitably removed, without the which there were no expectation of our prosperity.   
  Rod.  I will do this, if I can bring it to any opportunity.   
  Iago.  I warrant thee. Meet me by and by at the citadel: I must fetch his necessaries ashore. Farewell.   
  Rod.  Adieu.  [Exit.    228
  Iago.  That Cassio loves her, I do well believe it;   
That she loves him, ’tis apt, and of great credit:   
The Moor, howbeit that I endure him not,   
Is of a constant, loving, noble nature;    232
And I dare think he’ll prove to Desdemona   
A most dear husband. Now, I do love her too;   
Not out of absolute lust,—though peradventure   
I stand accountant for as great a sin,—    236
But partly led to diet my revenge,   
For that I do suspect the lusty Moor   
Hath leap’d into my seat; the thought whereof   
Doth like a poisonous mineral gnaw my inwards;    240
And nothing can or shall content my soul   
Till I am even’d with him, wife for wife;   
Or failing so, yet that I put the Moor   
At least into a jealousy so strong    244
That judgment cannot cure. Which thing to do,   
If this poor trash of Venice, whom I trash   
For his quick hunting, stand the putting-on,   
I’ll have our Michael Cassio on the hip;    248
Abuse him to the Moor in the rank garb,   
For I fear Cassio with my night-cap too,   
Make the Moor thank me, love me, and reward me   
For making him egregiously an ass    252
And practising upon his peace and quiet   
Even to madness. ’Tis here, but yet confus’d:   
Knavery’s plain face is never seen till us’d.  [Exit.