Othello By William Shakespeare Act I: Scene 1

What profane wretch art thou?

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

Thou art a villain.

You are — a senator.

This thou shalt answer; I know thee, Roderigo.

Sir, I will answer anything. But, I beseech 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.

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!

[Exit from above.]

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;
And there will I be with him. So, farewell.


[Enter, below, Brabantio, and Servants with torches.]

It is too true an evil: gone she is;
And what's to come of my despised time
Is naught 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?

Truly, I think they are.

O heaven! — How got she out? — O treason 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 abused? Have you not read, Roderigo,
Of some such thing?

Yes, sir, I have indeed.

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?

I think I can discover him, if you please
To get good guard, and go along with me.

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.


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