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ACT 1
SCENE I. Venice. A street.
Enter Roderigo and Iago
Roderigo
(Tush) never tell me; I take it much unkindly
That thou, Iago, who hast had my purse
As if the strings were thine, shouldst know of this.
Iago
(S'blood), but you will not hear me!
If ever I did dream of such a matter,
Abhor me.
Roderigo
Thou toldst 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-capped to him; and, by the faith of man,
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,
(And, in conclusion),
Nonsuits my mediators. For, "Certes," says he,
I have already chose my officer."
And what was he?
Forsooth, a great arithmetician,
One Michael Cassio, a Florentine,
A fellow almost damned in a fair wife;
That never set a squadron in the field,
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 practise,
Is all his soldiership. But he, sir, had th' 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
Calmed
By debitor and creditor. This countercaster,
He, in good time, must his lieutenant be,
And I (God) bless the mark! his Moorship's ancient.
Roderigo
By heaven, I rather would have been his hangman.
Iago
Why, there's no remedy. 'Tis the curse of service,.
Preferment goes by letter and affection,
And not by old gradation, where each second
Stood heir to th' first. Now, sir, be judge yourself,
Whether I in any just term am affined
To love the Moor.
Roderigo
I would not follow him then.
Iago
O, sir, content you.
I follow him to serve my turn upon him:
We cannot all be masters, nor all masters
Cannot be truly followed. You shall mark
Many a duteous and knee-crooking knave,
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
Who, trimmed 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 lined
their coats
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.
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
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.
Roderigo
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,
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,
As it may lose some color.
Roderigo
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
Is spied in populous cities.
Roderigo
What, ho, Brabantio! Signior Brabantio, ho!
Iago
Awake! what, ho, Brabantio! thieves! thieves! thieves!
Look to your house, your daughter and your bags!
Thieves! thieves!
&BRABANTIO appears above, at a window
Brabantio
What is the reason of this terrible summons?
What is the matter there?
Roderigo
Signior, is all your family within?
Iago
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