Yet I, for mere suspicion in that kind,
Will do as if for surety. He holds me well;
The better shall my purpose work on him.
Cassio's a proper man: let me see now;
To get his place, and to plume up my will;

In double knavery, — How, how? — Let's see : —
After some time, to abuse Othello's ear,

That he is too familiar with his wife:

He hath a person, and a smooth dispose,
To be suspected; fram'd to make women false.
The Moor is of a free and open nature,

That thinks men honest, that but seem to be so,
And will as tenderly be led by the nose,

As asses are.

I have 't;

it is engender'd: — hell and night Must bring this monstrous birth to the world's light.

ACT II. SCENE I.

A Sea-port Town in Cyprus. A Platform.
Enter MONTANO and Two Gentlemen.

Mon. What from the cape can you discern at sea? 1 Gent. Nothing at all: it is a high-wrought flood; I cannot, 'twixt the heaven and the main,

Descry a sail.

Mon. 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?
2 Gent. 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 mane,
Seems to cast water on the burning bear,

And quench the guards of th' ever-fixed pole :

[Exit.

I never did like molestation view

On the enchafed flood.

Mon.

If that the Turkish fleet

Be not inshelter'd and embay'd, they are drown'd;
It is impossible to bear it out.

Enter a third Gentleman.

3 Gent. 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.

Mon. How! is this true?

3 Gent.

A Veronesé, Michael Cassio,

The ship is here put in:

Lieutenant to the warlike Moor, Othello,

Is come on shore: the Moor himself's at sea,
And is in full commission here for Cyprus.

Mon. I am glad on 't; 't is a worthy governor.

3 Gent. 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.

Mon.
Pray heaven he be;
For I have serv'd him, and the man commands
Like a full soldier. Let's to the sea-side, 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 th' aerial blue,
An indistinct regard.

3 Gent.

Come, let's do so;

For every minute is expectancy

Of more arrivance.

Enter CASSIO.

Cas. Thanks you, the valiant of the warlike isle, That so approve the Moor. O! let the heavens

VI.

241

Give him defence against the elements,
For I have lost him on a dangerous sea.
Mon. Is he well shipp'd?

Cas. 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 Messenger.

Cas. What noise?

Mess. The town is empty; on the brow o' the sea Stand ranks of people, and they cry, "a sail."

Cas. My hopes do shape him for the governor. [Guns heard. 2 Gent. They do discharge their shot of courtesy: Our friends, at least.

Cas.

I pray you, Sir, go forth,

And give us truth who 't is that is arriv'd.

2 Gent. I shall.

Mon. But, good lieutenant, is your general wiv'd?
Cas. Most fortunately: he hath achiev'd a maid,

That paragons description, and wild fame;

One that excels the quirks of blazoning pens,

And in th' essential vesture of creation,

[Exit.

Does bear all excellency.

How now? who has put in?

2 Gent.

Re-enter Second Gentleman.

'Tis one Iago, ancient to the general.

Cas. 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.

Cas. She that I spake of, our great captaiu'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. O, behold!

Enter DESDEMONA, EMILIA, IAGO, RODERIGO, and
Attendants.

The riches of the ship is come on shore.

Ye men of Cyprus, let her have your knees.
Hail to thee, lady! and the grace of heaven,
Before, behind thee, and on every hand,
Enwheel thee round!

Des.

I thank you, valiant Cassio. What tidings can you tell me of my lord?

Cas. He is not yet arriv'd: nor know I aught But that he's well, and will be shortly here.

Des. O! but I fear. How lost you company? Cas. The great contention of the sea and skies Parted our fellowship.

[Within.] A sail, a sail!

But, hark! a sail.

2 Gent. They give their greeting to the citadel: This likewise is a friend.

Cas.

Good ancient, you are welcome.

[Guns heard.

Welcome,

[Exit Gentleman. mistress.

[TO EMILIA.

That I extend my manners: 't is my breeding

[Kissing her.

Let it not gall your patience, good Iago,

That gives me this bold show of courtesy.

Iago. Sir, would she give you so much of her lips,

As of her tongue she oft bestows on me,

You'd have enough.

Des.

Alas! she has no speech.

lago. In faith, too much;

I find it still, when I have leave to sleep:
Marry, before your ladyship, I grant,
She puts her tongue a little in her heart,
And chides with thinking.

Emil. 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.
Des. 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.
Emil. You shall not write my praise,

Iago.

No, let me not.

Des. What would'st thou write of me, if thou should'st

praise me?

Iago. O gentle lady, do not put me to 't,

For I am nothing, if not critical.

Des.

Come on; assay.

There's one gone to the harbour?

Iago. Ay, Madam.

Des. I am not merry; but I do beguile

The thing I am, by seeming otherwise.

Come; how would'st 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.

Des. Well prais'd! How, if she be black and witty?

lago. If she be black, and thereto have a wit,

She 'll find a white that shall her blackness fit.

Des.

Worse and worse.

Emil. How, if fair and foolish?

Iago. She never yet was foolish that was fair;

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

Des. These are old fond paradoxes, to make fools laugh i' the