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[Enter Montano and two Gentlemen.]

MONTANO

What from the cape can you discern at sea?

FIRST GENTLEMAN

Nothing at all: it is a high-wrought flood;

I cannot, ‘twixt the heaven and the main,

Descry a sail.

MONTANO

Methinks the wind hath spoke aloud at land;

A fuller blast ne’er shook our battlements:

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?

SECOND GENTLEMAN

A segregation of the Turkish fleet:

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 main,

Seems to cast water on the burning Bear,

And quench the guards of the ever-fixèd pole;

I never did like molestation view

On the enchafèd flood.

MONTANO

If that the Turkish fleet

Be not enshelter’d and embay’d, they are drown’d;

It is impossible to bear it out.

[Enter a third Gentleman.]

THIRD GENTLEMAN

News, lads! our wars are done.

The desperate tempest hath so bang’d the Turks

That their designment halts; a noble ship of Venice

Hath seen a grievous wreck and sufferance

On most part of their fleet.

MONTANO

How! is this true?

THIRD GENTLEMAN

The ship is here put in,

A Veronessa; Michael Cassio,

Lieutenant to the warlike Moor Othello,

Is come on shore: the Moor himself’s at sea,

And is in full commission here for Cyprus.

MONTANO

I am glad on’t; ‘tis a worthy governor.

THIRD GENTLEMAN

But this same Cassio,—though he speak of comfort

Touching the Turkish loss,—yet he looks sadly,

And prays the Moor be safe; for they were parted

With foul and violent tempest.

MONTANO

Pray heavens he be;

For I have serv’d him, and the man commands

Like a full soldier. Let’s to the seaside, ho!

As well to see the vessel that’s come in

As to throw out our eyes for brave Othello,

Even till we make the main and the aerial blue

An indistinct regard.

THIRD GENTLEMAN

Come, let’s do so;

For every minute is expectancy

Of more arrivance.

[Enter Cassio.]

CASSIO

Thanks you, the valiant of this warlike isle,

That so approve the Moor! O, let the heavens

Give him defence against the elements,

For I have lost him on a dangerous sea!

MONTANO

Is he well shipp’d?

CASSIO

His bark is stoutly timber’d, and his pilot

Of very expert and approv’d allowance;

Therefore my hopes, not surfeited to death,

Stand in bold cure.

[Within.] A sail, a sail, a sail!

[Enter a fourth Gentleman.]

CASSIO

What noise?

FOURTH GENTLEMAN

The town is empty; on the brow o’ the sea

Stand ranks of people, and they cry, “A sail!”

CASSIO

My hopes do shape him for the governor.

[Guns within.]

SECOND GENTLEMAN

They do discharge their shot of courtesy:

Our friends at least.

CASSIO

I pray you, sir, go forth,

And give us truth who ‘tis that is arriv’d.

SECOND GENTLEMAN

I shall.

[Exit.]

MONTANO

But, good lieutenant, is your general wiv’d?

CASSIO

Most fortunately: he hath achiev’d a maid

That paragons description and wild fame,

One that excels the quirks of blazoning pens,

And in the essential vesture of creation

Does tire the ingener.—

[Re-enter second Gentleman.]

How now! who has put in?

SECOND GENTLEMAN

‘Tis one Iago, ancient to the general.

CASSIO

He has had most favourable and happy speed:

Tempests themselves, high seas, and howling winds,

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

The divine Desdemona.

MONTANO

What is she?

CASSIO

She that I spake of, our great captain’s captain,

Left in the conduct of the bold Iago;

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,

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.]

O, behold,

The riches of the ship is come on shore!

Ye men of Cyprus, let her have your knees.—

Hall to thee, lady! and the grace of heaven,

Before, behind thee, and on every hand,

Enwheel thee round!

DESDEMONA

I thank you, valiant Cassio.

What tidings can you tell me of my lord?

CASSIO

He is not yet arrived nor know I aught

But that he’s well, and will be shortly here.

DESDEMONA

O, but I fear—How lost you company?

CASSIO

The great contention of the sea and skies

Parted our fellowship:—but, hark! a sail.

[Within.] A sail, a sail!

[Guns within.]

SECOND GENTLEMAN

They give their greeting to the citadel:

This likewise is a friend.

CASSIO

See for the news.

[Exit Gentleman.]

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.]

IAGO

Sir, would she give you so much of her lips

As of her tongue she oft bestows on me,

You’d have enough.

DESDEMONA

Alas, she has no speech.

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,

And chides with thinking.

EMILIA

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,

Saints in your injuries, devils being offended,

Players in your housewifery, and housewives in your beds.

DESDEMONA

O, fie upon thee, slanderer!

IAGO

Nay, it is true, or else I am a Turk:

You rise to play, and go to bed to work.

EMILIA

You shall not write my praise.

IAGO

No, let me not.

DESDEMONA

What wouldst thou write of me, if thou shouldst praise me?

IAGO

O gentle lady, do not put me to’t;

For I am nothing if not critical.

DESDEMONA

Come on, assay—There’s one gone to the harbor?

IAGO

Ay, madam.

DESDEMONA

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

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,

The one’s for use, the other useth it.

DESDEMONA

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.

DESDEMONA

Worse and worse.

EMILIA

How if fair and foolish?

IAGO

She never yet was foolish that was fair;

For even her folly help’d her to an heir.

DESDEMONA

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 thereunto,

But does foul pranks which fair and wise ones do.

DESDEMONA

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?

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”;

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;

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;—

DESDEMONA

To do what?

IAGO

To suckle fools and chronicle small beer.

DESDEMONA

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?

CASSIO

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!

[Trumpet within.]

The Moor! I know his trumpet.

CASSIO

‘Tis truly so.

DESDEMONA

Let’s meet him, and receive him.

CASSIO

Lo, where he comes!

[Enter Othello and Attendants.]

OTHELLO

O my fair warrior!

DESDEMONA

My dear Othello!

OTHELLO

It gives me wonder great as my content

To see you here before me. O my soul’s joy!

If after every tempest come such calms,

May the winds blow till they have waken’d death!

And let the laboring bark climb hills of seas

Olympus-high, and duck again as low

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

Succeeds in unknown fate.

DESDEMONA

The heavens forbid

But that our loves and comforts should increase

Even as our days do grow!

OTHELLO

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.]

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.

OTHELLO

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;

I have found great love amongst them. O my sweet,

I prattle out of fashion, and I dote

In mine own comforts.—I pry’thee, good Iago,

Go to the bay and disembark my coffers:

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 Othello, Desdemona, and Attendants.]

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 tonight watches on the court of guard: first, I must tell thee this—Desdemona is directly in love with him.

RODERIGO

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 compass 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.

RODERIGO

I cannot believe that in her; she is full of most blessed condition.

IAGO

Blest 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?

RODERIGO

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. Villainous 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 tonight: 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.

RODERIGO

Well.

IAGO

Sir, he is rash, and very sudden in choler, and haply with his truncheon 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.

RODERIGO

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.

RODERIGO

Adieu.

[Exit.]

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;

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,—

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;

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

That judgement 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;

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

And practicing 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.]