But for my Sport, and Profit: I hate the Moore,
And it is thought abroad, that 'twixt my sheets
She ha's done my Office. I know not if't be true,
But I, for meere suspition in that kinde,
Will do, as if for Surety. He holds me well,
The better shall my purpose worke on him:
Cassio's a proper man: Let me see now,
To get his Place, and to plume vp my will
In double Knauery. How? How? Let's see.
After some time, to abuse Othello's eares,
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 Moore is of a free, and open Nature,
That thinkes men honest, that but seeme to be so,
And will as tenderly be lead by'th'Nose
As Asses are:
I hau't: it is engendred: Hell, and Night,
Must bring this monstrous Birth, to the worlds light.
Actus Secunda. Scena Prima.
Enter Montano, and two Gentlemen.
Mon.
What from the Cape, can you discerne at Sea?
1. Gent.
Nothing at all, it is a high wrought Flood:
I cannot 'twixt the Heauen, and the Maine,
Descry a Saile.
Mon.
Me thinks, the wind hath spoke aloud at Land,
A fuller blast ne're shooke our Battlements:
If it hath ruffiand so vpon the Sea,
What ribbes of Oake, when Mountaines melt on them,
Can hold the Morties. What shall we heare of this?
2
A Segregation of the Turkish Fleet:
For do but stand vpon the Foaming Shore,
The chidden Billow seemes to pelt the Clowds,
The winde-shak'd-Surge, with high & monstrous Maine
Seemes to cast water on the burning Beare,
And quench the Guards of th'euer-fixed Pole:
I neuer did like mollestation view
On the enchafed Flood.
Mon.
If that the Turkish Fleete
Be not enshelter'd, and embay'd, they are drown'd,
It is impossible to beare it out.
Enter a Gentleman.
3
Newes Laddes: our warres are done:
The desperate Tempest hath so bang'd the Turkes,
That their designement halts. A Noble ship of Venice,
Hath seene a greeuous wracke and sufferance
On most part of their Fleet.
Mon.
How? Is this true?
3
The Ship is heere put in: A Verennessa, Michael Cassio
Lieutenant to the warlike Moore. Othello,
Is come on Shore: the Moore himself at Sea,
And is in full Commission heere for Cyprus.
Mon.
I am glad on't:
'Tis a worthy Gouernour.
3
But this same Cassio, though he speake of comfort,
Touching the Turkish losse, yet he lookes sadly,
And praye the Moore be safe; for they were parted
With fowle and violent Tempest.
Mon.
Pray Heauens he be:
For I haue seru'd him, and the man commands
Like a full Soldier. Let's to the Sea-side (hoa)
As well to see the Vessell that's come in,
As to throw-out our eyes for braue Othello,
Euen till we make the Maine, and th'Eriall blew,
An indistinct regard.
Gent.
Come, let's do so;
For euery Minute is expectancie
Of more Arriuancie.
Enter Cassio.
Cassi.
Thankes you, the valiant of the warlike Isle,
That so approoue the Moore: Oh let the Heauens
Giue him defence against the Elements,
For I haue lost him on a dangerous Sea.
Mon.
Is he well ship'd?
Cassio.
His Barke is stoutly Timber'd, and his Pylot
Of verie expert, and approu'd Allowance;
Therefore my hope's (not surfetted to death)
Stand in bold Cure.
Within.
A Saile, a Saile, a Saile.
Cassio.
What noise?
Gent.
The Towne is empty; on the brow o'th'Sea
Stand rankes of People and they cry, a Saile.
Cassio.
My hopes do shape him for the Gouernor.
Gent.
They do discharge their Shot of Courtesie,
Our Friends, at least.
Cassio.
I pray you Sir, go forth,
And giue vs truth who 'tis that is arriu'd.
Gent.
I shall.Exit.
Mon.
But good Lieutenant, is your Generall wiu'd?
Cassio.
Most fortunately: he hath atchieu'd a Maid
That paragons description, and wilde Fame:
One that excels the quirkes of Blazoning pens,
And in th'essentiall Vesture of Creation,
Do's tyre the Ingeniuer.
Enter Gentleman.
Gent.
'Tis one Iago, Auncient to the Generall.
Cassio.
Ha's had most fauourable, and happie speed:
Tempests themselues, high Seas, and howling windes,
The gutter'd-Rockes, and Congregated Sands,
Traitors ensteep'd, to enclogge the guiltlesse Keele,
As hauing sence of Beautie, do omit
Their mortall Natures, letting go safely by
The Diuine Desdemona.
Mon.
What is she?
Cassio.
She that I spake of:
Our great Captains Captaine,
Left in the conduct of the bold Iago,
Whose footing heere anticipates our thoughts,
A Senights speed. Great Ioue, Othello guard,
And swell his Saile with thine owne powrefull breath,
That he may blesse this Bay with his tall Ship,
Make loues quicke pants in Desdemonaes Armes,
Giue renew'd fire to our extincted Spirits.
Enter Desdemona, Iago, Rodorigo, and Æmilia.
The Riches of the Ship is come on shore:
You men of Cyprus, let her haue your knees.
Haile to thee Ladie: and the grace of Heauen,
Before, behinde thee, and on euery hand
Enwheele thee round.
Des.
I thanke you, Valiant Cassio,
What tydings can you tell of my Lord?
Cassio.
