Upon this hint I spake:

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.

 

Enter Desdemona, Iago, Attendants.

 

DUKE.

I think this tale would win my daughter too.

Good Brabantio,

Take up this mangled matter at the best;

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,

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?

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

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,

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.

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

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.

DUKE.

Let me speak like yourself, and lay a sentence,

Which as a grise or step, may help these lovers

[Into your favor].

When remedies are past, the griefs are ended

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,

Patience her injury a mock'ry 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,

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

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

That the bruis'd heart was pierced through the [ear].

I humbly beseech you proceed to th' 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 allow'd 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 boist'rous expedition.

OTH.

The tyrant custom, most grave senators,

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

This 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,

With such accommodation and besort

As levels with her breeding.

DUKE.

[If you please,

Be't] at her father's.

BRA.

I will not have it so.

OTH.

Nor I.

DES.

Nor [I; I would not] there reside,

To put my father in impatient thoughts

By being in his eye. Most gracious Duke,

To my unfolding lend your prosperous ear,

And let me find a charter in your voice

T' assist my simpleness.

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

Even to the very quality of my lord.

I saw Othello's visage in his mind,

And to his honors and his valiant parts

Did I my soul and fortunes consecrate.

So that, dear lords, if I be left behind,

A moth of peace, and he go to the war,

The rites for why I love him are bereft me,

And I a heavy interim shall support

By his dear absence. Let me go with him.

OTH.

Let her have your voice.

Vouch with me, heaven, I therefore beg it not

To please the palate of my appetite,

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

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 dullness

My speculative and offic'd [instruments],

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!

DUKE.

Be it as you shall privately determine,

Either for her stay or going; th' affair cries haste,

And speed must answer it.

[1.] SEN.

You must away to-night.

[DES.

To-night, my lord?

DUKE.

This night.]

OTH.

With all my heart.

DUKE.

At nine i' th' morning here we'll meet again.

Othello, leave some officer behind,

And he shall our commission bring to you;

And 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.

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.

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.

[1.] SEN.

Adieu, brave Moor, use Desdemona well.

BRA.

Look to her, Moor, if thou hast eyes to see;

She has deceiv'd her father, and may thee.

 

Exeunt [Duke, Senators, Officers, etc.].

 

OTH.

My life upon her faith! Honest Iago,

My Desdemona must I leave to thee.

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 wordly matter and direction,

To spend with thee. We must obey the time.

Exit [with Desdemona].

 

ROD.

Iago –

IAGO.

What say'st thou, noble heart?

ROD.

What will I do, think'st thou?

IAGO.

Why, go to bed and sleep.

ROD.

I will incontinently drown myself.

IAGO. 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.

IAGO. O villainous! I have look'd 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 [tine], supply it with one gender of herbs or distract it with many, either to have it sterile with idleness or manur'd with industry – why, the power and corrigible authority of this lies in our wills.