Othello - William Shakespeare (autobiographies to read TXT) 📗
- Author: William Shakespeare
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I’ll have our Michael Cassio on the hip,
Abuse him to the Moor in the rank garb—
For I fear Cassio with my night-cap too—
Make the Moor thank me, love me and reward me.
For making him egregiously an ass
And practising upon his peace and quiet
Even to madness. ’Tis here, but yet confused:
Knavery’s plain face is never seen till used. Exit. Scene II
A street.
Enter a Herald with a proclamation; People following. Herald It is Othello’s pleasure, our noble and valiant general, that, upon certain tidings now arrived, importing the mere perdition of the Turkish fleet, every man put himself into triumph; some to dance, some to make bonfires, each man to what sport and revels his addiction leads him: for, besides these beneficial news, it is the celebration of his nuptial. So much was his pleasure should be proclaimed. All offices are open, and there is full liberty of feasting from this present hour of five till the bell have told eleven. Heaven bless the isle of Cyprus and our noble general Othello! Exeunt. Scene IIIA hall in the castle.
Enter Othello, Desdemona, Cassio, and Attendants. OthelloGood Michael, look you to the guard to-night:
Let’s teach ourselves that honourable stop,
Not to outsport discretion.
Iago hath direction what to do;
But, notwithstanding, with my personal eye
Will I look to’t.
Iago is most honest.
Michael, good night: to-morrow with your earliest
Let me have speech with you. To Desdemona. Come, my dear love,
The purchase made, the fruits are to ensue;
That profit’s yet to come ’tween me and you.
Good night. Exeunt Othello, Desdemona, and Attendants.
If I can fasten but one cup upon him,
With that which he hath drunk to-night already,
He’ll be as full of quarrel and offence
As my young mistress’ dog. Now, my sick fool Roderigo,
Whom love hath turn’d almost the wrong side out,
To Desdemona hath to-night caroused
Potations pottle-deep; and he’s to watch:
Three lads of Cyprus, noble swelling spirits,
That hold their honours in a wary distance,
The very elements of this warlike isle,
Have I to-night fluster’d with flowing cups,
And they watch too. Now, ’mongst this flock of drunkards,
Am I to put our Cassio in some action
That may offend the isle.—But here they come:
If consequence do but approve my dream,
My boat sails freely, both with wind and stream.
Some wine, ho!
Sings. And let me the canakin clink, clink;
And let me the canakin clink
A soldier’s a man;
A life’s but a span;
Why, then, let a soldier drink.
Some wine, boys!
Cassio ’Fore God, an excellent song. Iago I learned it in England, where, indeed, they are most potent in potting: your Dane, your German, and your swag-bellied Hollander—Drink, ho!—are nothing to your English. Cassio Is your Englishman so expert in his drinking? Iago Why, he drinks you, with facility, your Dane dead drunk; he sweats not to overthrow your Almain; he gives your Hollander a vomit, ere the next pottle can be filled. Cassio To the health of our general! Montano I am for it, lieutenant; and I’ll do you justice. IagoO sweet England!
King Stephen was a worthy peer,
His breeches cost him but a crown;
He held them sixpence all too dear,
With that he call’d the tailor lown.
He was a wight of high renown,
And thou art but of low degree:
’Tis pride that pulls the country down;
Then take thine auld cloak about thee.
Some wine, ho!
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