The Duke himself,

Or any of my brothers of the state,

Cannot but feel this wrong as 'twere their own;

For if such actions may have passage free,

Bond-slaves and pagans shall our statesmen be.

 

Exeunt.

 

 

Scene III

Enter Duke [and] Senators [set at a table, with lights] and Officers.

 

DUKE.

There's no composition in [these] news

That gives them credit.

1. SEN.

Indeed, they are disproportioned;

My letters say a hundred and seven galleys.

DUKE.

And mine, a hundred forty.

2. SEN.

And mine, two hundred!

But though they jump not on a just accompt

(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.

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!

 

Enter Sailor.

 

OFF.

A messenger from the galleys.

DUKE.

Now? what's the business?

SAIL.

The Turkish preparation makes for Rhodes,

So was I bid report here to the state

By Signior Angelo.

 

[Exit Sailor.]

 

DUKE.

How say you by this change?

1. SEN.

This cannot be

By no assay of reason; 'tis a pageant

To keep us in false gaze. When we consider

Th' importancy of Cyprus to the Turk,

And let ourselves again but understand

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 warlike brace,

But altogether lacks th' abilities

That Rhodes is dress'd in – if we make thought of this,

We must not think the Turk is so unskillful

To leave that latest which concerns him first,

Neglecting an attempt of ease and gain

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.

 

MESS.

The Ottomites, reverend and gracious,

Steering with due course toward the isle of Rhodes,

Have there injointed them with an after fleet.

1. SEN.

Ay, so I thought. How many, as you guess?

MESS.

Of thirty sail; and now they do restem

Their backward course, bearing with frank appearance

Their purposes toward Cyprus. Signior Montano,

Your trusty and most valiant servitor,

With his free duty recommends you thus,

And prays you to believe him.

 

[Exit Messenger.]

 

DUKE.

'Tis certain then for Cyprus.

Marcus Luccicos, is not he in town?

1. SEN.

He's now in Florence.

DUKE.

Write from us to him, post-post-haste. Dispatch!

1. SEN.

Here comes Brabantio and the valiant Moor.

 

Enter Brabantio, Othello, Cassio, Iago, Roderigo, and Officers.

 

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.

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 on me; for my particular grief

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?

BRA.

My daughter! O, my daughter!

[ALL.]

Dead?

BRA.

Ay, to me:

She is abus'd, stol'n from me, and corrupted

By spells and medicines bought of mountebanks;

For nature so prepost'rously to err

(Being not deficient, blind, or lame of sense)

Sans witchcraft could not.

DUKE.

Who e'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

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,

Your special mandate for the state affairs

Hath hither brought.

ALL.

We are very sorry for't.

DUKE [To Othello.]

What, in your own part, can you say to this?

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,

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;

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

More than pertains to feats of broils 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

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.

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,

To fall in love with what she fear'd to look on!

It is a judgment main'd, and most imperfect,

That will confess perfection so could err

Against all rules of nature, and must be driven

To find out practices of cunning hell

Why this should be. I therefore vouch again

That with some mixtures pow'rful o'er the blood,

Or with some dram (conjur'd to this effect)

He wrought upon her.

[DUKE].

To vouch this is no proof,

Without more wider and more [overt] test

Than these thin habits and poor likelihoods

Of modern seeming do prefer against him.

[1.] SEN.

But, Othello, speak.

Did you by indirect and forced courses

Subdue and poison this young maid's affections?

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,

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

Even fall upon my life.

DUKE.

Fetch Desdemona hither.

 

[Exeunt two or three.]

 

OTH.

Ancient, conduct them; you best know the place.

 

[Exit Iago.]

 

And, [till] she come, as truly as to heaven

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.

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],

That I have pass'd.

I ran it through, even from my boyish days

To th' very moment that he bade me tell it;

Wherein I spoke of most disastrous chances:

Of moving accidents by flood and field,

Of hair-breadth scapes i' th' imminent deadly breach,

Of being taken by the insolent foe

And sold to slavery, of my redemption thence

And portance in my [travel's] history;

Wherein of antres vast and deserts idle,

Rough quarries, rocks, [and] hills whose [heads] touch heaven,

It was my hint to speak – such was my process –

And of the Cannibals that each [other] eat,

The Anthropophagi, and men whose heads

[Do grow] beneath their shoulders. These things to hear

Would Desdemona seriously incline;

But still the house affairs would draw her [thence],

Which ever as she could with haste dispatch,

She'ld come again, and with a greedy ear

Devour up my discourse. Which I observing,

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,

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,

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

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.