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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. Bat Othello—so far from being represented as a person negligent of these matters—is a soldier, delighting in "all quality, pride, pomp, and circunstance of glorious war.”

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SCENE I.-Venice. A Street.

Rod. Thou told'st me thou didst hold him in thy

hate. Enter RODERIGO and Iago.

Iago. Despise me if I do not. Three great ones Rod. Tush! never tell me; I take it much un of the city, kindly,

In personal suit to make me his lieutenant, That thou, lago, who hast had my purse,

Off-capp'd to him; and, by the faith of man, As if the strings were thine, should'st know of I know my price: I am worth no worse a place; this.

But he, as loving his own pride and purposes, Iago. But you'll not hear me : if ever I did Evades them, with a bombast circumstance, dream

Horribly stuff'd with epithets of war; Of such a matter, abhor me.

And, in conclusion,

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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 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

cient. Rod. By heaven, I rather would have been his

hangman. Iago. But there's no remedy: 'tis the curse of

service, Preferment goes by letter, and affection, Not by the old gradation, where each second Stood heir t’ the first. Now, sir, be judge yourself, Whether I in any just term am affin'd To love the Moor. Rod.

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 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

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 colour.

Rod. 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.
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 sum

What is the matter there?

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

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.

The worse welcome:
I have charg'd thee not to haunt about my doors.
In honest plainness thou hast heard me say,
My daughter is not for thee; and now, in madness,
Being full of supper and distempering draughts,
Upon malicious bravery dost thou come
To start my quiet.

Rod. Sir, sir, sir,-

But thou must needs be sure,
My spirit, and my place, have in them power
To make this bitter to thee.

Patience, good sir.
Bra. What tell'st thou me of robbing? this is

My house is not a grange,

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.

Bra. Thou art a villain.

You are-a senator. Bra. This thou shalt answer: I know thee,

Roderigo. Rod. Sir, I will answer any thing. But I beIf '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;

seech you,


But if you know not this, my manners tell me, Iago. Farewell, for I must leave you; We have your wrong rebuke. Do not believe, It seems not meet, nor wholesome to my place, That from the sense of all civility,

To be produc'd (as if I stay I shall) I thus would play and trifle with your reverence: Against the Moor: for, I do know, the state,Your daughter, if you have not given her leave, However this may gall him with some check, I say again, hath made a gross revolt,

Cannot with safety cast him; for he's embark'd Tying her duty, beauty, wit, and fortunes,

With such loud reason to the Cyprus wars, In an extravagant and wheeling stranger,

(Which even now stand in act) that, for their souls, Of here and everywhere. Straight satisfy yourself: Another of his fathom they have none, If she be in her chamber, or your house,

To lead their business; in which regard, Let loose on me the justice of the state

Though I do hate him as I do hell pains, For thus deluding you.

Yet for necessity of present life, Bra.

Strike on the tinder, ho! I must show out a flag and sign of love, Give me a taper!-call up all my people! Which is indeed but sign. That you shall surely This accident is not unlike my dream;

find him, Belief of it oppresses me already.

Lead to the Sagittary the raised search; Light, I say! light!

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

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Enter BRABANTio, and Servants with torches. Rod.

Yes, sir; I have, indeed. Bra. It is too true an evil: gone she is ;

Bra. Call up my brother.—O, would you had

had her! And what's to come of my despised time, Is nought but bitterness.-Now, Roderigo,

Some one way, some another.—Do you know Where didst thou see her?—0, unhappy girl!

Where we may apprehend her and the Moor? With the Moor, say'st thou ?-Who would be a

Rod. I think, I can discover him, if you please father?

To get good guard, and go along with me. How didst thou know 'twas she?-O! she de Bra. Pray you, lead on. At every house I'll ceives me

call; Past thought.-What said she to you ?-Get more

I may command at most.–Get weapons, ho! tapers !

And raise some special officers of night.Raise all my kindred !—Are they married, think On, good Roderigo ;—I'll deserve your pains. you?

[Ereunt. Rod. Truly, I think, they are.

SCENE II.-The Same. Another Street. Bra. O heaven !-How got she out?—0, trea

son of the blood !Fathers, from hence trust not your daughters'

Enter OTHELLO, Iago, and Attendants, with

torches. minds By what you see them act.- Are there not charms, Iago. Though in the trade of war I have slain By which the property of youth and maidhood

men, May be abus'd ?-Have you not read, Roderigo, Yet do I hold it very stuff o' the conscience Of some such thing?

To do no contriv'd murder: I lack iniquity

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