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which are still the official designations of the field-marshals of Europe. When in actual service, he wore the knight's armour of the age, with the mantle and baton. Othello, though he could not hold this office if he were a Venetian, could not have held office at all unless a Christian in profession, and must, of course, have assumed the appropriate costume as much as if he had been a Frenchman, or a German, or a Neapolitan.

Thus much for the antiquarian accuracy of the costume, without regard to what may have been Shakespeare's own ideal portrait of the Moor. But of his intention on this point, there cannot be much doubt. He did not conceive his Moor as attired in Mohammedan costume. The Moor is one who would not "renounce his baptism, the seals and symbols of redeemed sin." In his last breath, he describes the "dog" whom he smote for beating a Venetian and traducing Venice, as a "malignant and a turban'd Turk." This the Poet could not mean for a portrait of the state's own commanding general, who elsewhere speaks of his own "helm." The Turks too, are the enemies of Venice; and no dramatic poet could have conceived so gross an incongruity as the general of any Christian state wearing the uniform and customary attire of the enemies whom he is to combat. But Othello-so far from being represented as a person negligent of these matters is a soldier, delighting in "all quality, pride, pomp, and circumstance of glorious war."

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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,
Nor the division of a battle knows

More than a spinster; unless the bookish theoric,
Wherein the tongued consuls can propose

As masterly as he: mere prattle, without practice,
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,
Christen'd and heathen, must be be-lee'd and
calm'd

By debitor and creditor, this counter-caster:
He, in good time, must his lieutenant be,

And I, (God bless the mark!) his Moor-ship's an

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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 follow'd. 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, 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,

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.

Rod. What a full fortune does the thick-lips

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As when, (by night and negligence,) the fire
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! Thieves! thieves!

Enter BRABANTIO, above, at a window.

Bra. What is the reason of this terrible summons?

What is the matter there?

Rod. Signior, is all your family within?
Iago. Are your doors lock'd?

Bra.

Why? wherefore ask you this?

Iago. Sir! you are robbed; for shame, put on your gown;

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,
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?

Bra. Not I: what are you?
Rod. My name is Roderigo.

Bra.

The worse welcome:

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Bra. What tell'st thou me of robbing? this is Venice;

My house is not a grange.

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 ?

Iago. I am one, sir, that comes to tell you, your daughter and the Moor are now making the beast with two backs.

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Bra. This thou shalt answer: I know thee, Roderigo.

Rod. Sir, I will answer any thing. But I be

seech 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,
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,
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,

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,

In an extravagant and wheeling stranger,
Of here and everywhere. Straight satisfy yourself:
If she be in her chamber, or your house,

Let loose on me the justice of the state

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;

Belief of it oppresses me already.

Light, I say! light!

Iago.

Farewell, for I must leave you;

It seems not meet, nor wholesome to my place,
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
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,
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,

Lead to the Sagittary the raised search;

[Exit from above. And there will I be with him. So, farewell. [Exit.

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Enter BRABANTIO, and Servants with torches.

Bra. It is too true an evil: gone she is; 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, say'st thou?-Who would be a father?

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.

Bra. O heaven! - How got she out?-O, trea

son 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 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, would you had had her!

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.

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.

SCENE II.- The Same. 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 To do no contriv'd murder: I lack iniquity

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