 | The Tragedie of Othello, the Moore of Venice |  |
Scena Secunda.
Enter Othello, and Æmilia.Othe.
You haue seene nothing then?
Æmil.
Nor euer heard: nor euer did suspect.
Othe.
Yes, you haue seene Cassio, and she together.
Æmi.
But then I saw no harme: and then I heard,
Each syllable that breath made vp betweene them.
Othe.
What? Did they neuer whisper?
Æmil.
Neuer my Lord.
Othe.
Nor send you out o'th' way?
Æmil.
Neuer.
Othe.
To fetch her Fan, her Gloues, her Mask, nor nothing?
Æmil.
Neuer my Lord.
Othe.
That's strange.
Æmil.
I durst (my Lord) to wager, she is honest:
Lay downe my Soule at stake: If you thinke other,
Remoue your thought. It doth abuse your bosome:
If any wretch haue put this in your head,
Let Heauen requit it with the Serpents curse,
For if she be not honest, chaste, and true,
There's no man happy. The purest of their Wiues
Is foule as Slander.
Othe.
Bid her come hither: go.
Exit Æmilia.
She saies enough: yet she's a simple Baud
That cannot say as much. This is a subtile Whore:
A Closset Locke and Key of Villanous Secrets,
And yet she'le kneele, and pray: I haue seene her do't.
Enter Desdemona, and Æmilia.
Des.
My Lord, what is your will?
Othe.
Pray you Chucke come hither.
Des.
What is your pleasure?
Oth.
Let me see your eyes: looke in my face.
Des.
What horrible Fancie's this?
Othe.
Some of your Function Mistris:
Leaue Procreants alone, and shut the doore:
Cough, or cry hem; if any body come:
Your Mystery, your Mystery: May dispatch.
Exit Æmi.
Des.
Vpon my knee, what doth your speech import?
I vnderstand a Fury in your words.
Othe.
Why? What art thou?
Des.
Your wife my Lord: your true and loyall wife.
Othello.
Come sweare it: damne thy selfe, least
being like one of Heauen, the diuells themselues should
feare to ceaze thee. Therefore be double damn'd: sweare
thou art honest.
Des.
Heauen doth truely know it.
Othe.
Heauen truely knowes, that thou art false as hell.
Des.
To whom my Lord?
With whom? How am I false?
Othe.
Ah Desdemon, away, away, away.
Des.
Alas the heauy day: why do you weepe?
Am I the motiue of these teares my Lord?
If happely you my Father do suspect,
An Instrument of this your calling backe,
Lay not your blame on me: if you haue lost him,
I haue lost him too.
Othe.
Had it pleas'd Heauen,
To try me with Affliction, had they rain'd
All kind of Sores, and Shames on my bare-head:
Steep'd me in pouertie to the very lippes.
Giuen to Captiuitie, me, and my vtmost hopes,
I should haue found in some place of my Soule
A drop of patience. But alas, to make me
The fixed Figure for the time of Scorne,
To point his slow, and mouing finger at.
Yet could I beare that too, well, very well:
But there where I haue garnerd vp my heart,
Where either I must liue, or beare no life,
The Fountaine from the which my currant runnes,
Or else dries vp: to be discarded thence,
Or keepe it as a Cesterne, for foule Toades
To knot and gender in. Turne thy complexion there:
Patience, thou young and Rose-lip'd Cherubin,
I heere looke grim as hell.
Des.
I hope my Noble Lord esteemes me honest.
Othe.
Oh I, as Sommer Flyes are in the Shambles,
That quicken euen with blowing. Oh thou weed:
Who art so louely faire, and smell'st so sweete,
That the Sense akes at thee,
Would thou had'st neuer bin borne.
Des.
Alas, what ignorant sin haue I committed?
Othe.
Was this faire Paper? This most goodly Booke
Made to write Whore vpon? What commited,
I should make very Forges of my cheekes,
That would to Cynders burne vp Modestie.
Did I but speake thy deedes. What commited?
Heauen stoppes the Nose at it, and the Moone winks:
The baudy winde that kisses all it meetes,
Is hush'd within the hollow Myne of Earth
And will not hear't. What commited?
Des.
By Heauen you do me wrong.
Othe.
Are not you a Strumpet?
Des.
No, as I am a Christian.
If to preserue this vessell for my Lord,
From any other foule vnlawfull touch
Be not to be a Strumpet, I am none.
Othe.
What, not a Whore?
Des.
No, as I shall be sau'd.
Othe.
Is't possible?
Des.
Oh Heauen forgiue vs.
Othe.
I cry you mercy then.
I tooke you for that cunning Whore of Venice,
That married with Othello. You Mistris,
Enter Æmilia.
That haue the office opposite to Saint Peter,
And keepes the gate of hell. You, you: I you.
We haue done our course: there's money for your paines:
I pray you turne the key, and keepe our counsaile.
Exit.
Æmil.
Alas, what do's this Gentleman conceiue?
How do you Madam? how do you my good Lady?
Des.
Faith, halfe a sleepe.
Æmi.
Good Madam,
What's the matter with my Lord?
Des.
With who?
Æmil.
Why, with my Lord, Madam?
Des.
Who is thy Lord?
Æmil.
He that is yours, sweet Lady.
Des.
I haue none: do not talke to me, Æmilia,
I cannot weepe: nor answeres haue I none,
But what should go by water. Prythee to night,
Lay on my bed my wedding sheetes, remember,
And call thy husband hither.
Æmil.
Heere's a change indeed.
Exit.
Des.
'Tis meete I should be vs'd so: very meete.
How haue I bin behau'd, that he might sticke
The small'st opinion on my least misvse?
Enter Iago, and Æmilia.
Iago.
What is your pleasure Madam?
How is't with you?
Des.
I cannot tell: those that do teach yong Babes
Do it with gentle meanes, and easie taskes
He might haue chid me so: for in good faith
I am a Child to chiding.
Iago.
What is the matter Lady?
Æmil.
Alas (Iago) my Lord hath so bewhor'd her,
Throwne such dispight, and heauy termes vpon her
That true hearts cannot beare it.
Des.
Am I that name, Iago?
Iago.
What name (faire Lady?)
Des.
Such as she said my Lord did say I was.
Æmil.
He call'd her whore: a Begger in his drinke:
Could not haue laid such termes vpon his Callet.
Iago.
Why did he so?
Des.
I do not know: I am sure I am none such.
Iago.
Do not weepe, do not weepe: alas the day.
Æmil.
Hath she forsooke so many Noble Matches?
Her Father? And her Country? And her Friends?
To be call'd Whore? Would it not make one weepe?
Des.
It is my wretched Fortune.
Iago.
Beshrew him for't:
How comes this Tricke vpon him?
Des.
Nay, Heauen doth know.
Æmi.
I will be hang'd, if some eternall Villaine,
Some busie and insinuating Rogue,
Some cogging, cozening Slaue, to get some Office,
Haue not deuis'd this Slander: I will be hang'd else.
Iago.
Fie, there is no such man: it is impossible.
Des.
If any such there be, Heauen pardon him.
Æmil.
A halter pardon him:
And hell gnaw his bones.
Why should he call her Whore?
Who keepes her companie?
What Place? What Time?
What Forme? What liklyhood?
The Moore's abus'd by some most villanous Knaue,
Some base notorious Knaue, some scuruy Fellow.
Oh Heauens, that such companions thou'd'st vnfold,
And put in euery honest hand a whip
To lash the Rascalls naked through the world,
Euen from the East to th'West.
Iago.
Speake within doore.
Æmil.
Oh fie vpon them: some such Squire he was
That turn'd your wit, the seamy-side without,
And made you to suspect me with the Moore.
Iago.
You are a Foole: go too.
Des.
Alas Iago,
What shall I do to win my Lord againe?
Good Friend, go to him: for by this light of Heauen,
I know not how I lost him, Heere I kneele:
If ere my will did trespasse 'gainst his Loue,
Either in discourse of thought, or actuall deed,
Or that mine Eyes, mine Eares, or any Sence
Delighted them: or any other Forme.
Or that I do not yet, and euer did,
And euer will, (though he do shake me off
To beggerly diuorcement) Loue him deerely,
Comfort forsweare me. Vnkindnesse may do much,
And his vnkindnesse may defeat my life,
But neuer taynt my Loue. I cannot say Whore,
It do's abhorre me now I speake the word,
To do the Act, that might the addition earne,
Not the worlds Masse of vanitie could make me.
Iago.
I pray you be content: 'tis but his humour:
The businesse of the State do's him offence.
Des.
If't were no other.
Iago.
It is but so, I warrant,
Hearke how these Instruments summon to supper:
The Messengers of Venice staies the meate,
Go in, and weepe not: all things shall be well.
Exeunt Desdemona and Æmilia.
Enter Rodorigo.
How now Rodorigo?
Rod.
I do not finde
That thou deal'st iustly with me.
Iago.
What in the contrarie?
Rodori.
Euery day thou dafts me with some deuise
Iago, and rather, as it seemes to me now, keep'st from
me all conueniencie, then suppliest me with the least aduantage
of hope: I will indeed no longer endure it. Nor
am I yet perswaded to put vp in peace, what already I
haue foolishly suffred.
Iago.
Will you heare me Rodorigo?
I haue heard too much: and your words and
Performances are no kin together.
Iago.
You charge me most vniustly.
Rodo.
With naught but truth: I haue wasted my
selfe out of my meanes. The Iewels you haue had from
me to deliuer Desdemona, would halfe haue corrupted a
Votarist. You haue told me she hath receiu'd them,
and return'd me expectations and comforts of sodaine
respect, and acquaintance, but I finde none.
Iago.
Well, go too: very well.
Rod.
Very well go too: I cannot go too, (man) not
tis not very well. Nay I think it is scuruy: and begin to
finde my selfe fopt in it.
Iago.
Very well.
Rodor.
I tell you, 'tis not very well: I will make my
selfe knowne to Desdemona. If she will returne me my
Iewels, I will giue ouer my Suit, and repent my vnlawfull
solicitation. If not, assure your selfe, I will seeke
satisfaction of you.
Iago.
You haue said now.
Rodo.
I: and said nothing but what I protest intendment
of doing.
Iago.
Why, now I see there's mettle in thee: and
euen from this instant do build on thee a better opinion
then euer before: giue me thy hand Rodorigo.
Thou hast taken against me a most iust exception:
but yet I protest I haue dealt most directly in thy
Affaire.
Rod.
It hath not appeer'd.
Iago.
I grant indeed it hath not appeer'd: and
your suspition is not without wit and iudgement.
But Rodorigo, if thou hast that in thee indeed, which
I haue greater reason to beleeue now then euer (I
meane purpose, Courage, and Valour) this night
shew it. If thou the next night following enioy not
Desdemona, take me from this world with Treacherie,
and deuise Engines for my life.
Rod.
Well: what is it? Is it within, reason and compasse?
Iago.
Sir, there is especiall Commission come from
Venice to depute Cassio in Othello's place.
Rod.
Is that true? Why then Othello and Desdemona
returne againe to Venice.
Iago.
Oh no: he goes into Mauritania and taketh
away with him the faire Desdemona, vnlesse his abode
be lingred heere by some accident. Wherein
none can be so determinate, as the remouing of
Cassio.
Rod.
How do you meane remouing him?
Iago.
Why, by making him vncapable of Othello's
place: knocking out his braines.
Rod.
And that you would haue me to do.
Iago.
I: if you dare do your selfe a profit, and a
right. He sups to night with a Harlotry: and thither
will I go to him. He knowes not yet of his Honourable
Fortune, if you will watch his going thence (which
I will fashion to fall out betweene twelue and one)
you may take him at your pleasure. I will be neere
to second your Attempt, and he shall fall betweene
vs. Come, stand not amaz'd at it, but go along with
me: I will shew you such a necessitie in his death, that
you shall thinke your selfe bound to put it on him. It
is now high supper time: and the night growes to wast.
About it.
Rod.
I will heare further reason for this.
Iago.
And you shalbe satisfi'd.
Exeunt.
| The Tragedie of Othello, the Moore of Venice | |