All language subtitles for Othello.2026.1080p.x264.AAC.LAMA.eng

Tush! Never tell me.

I take it much unkindly that

thou, Iago, who
hast had my purse,

as if the strings were thine,
shouldst know of this.

'Sblood, but you'll not hear me.

If ever I did dream of
such a matter, abhor me.

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

Despise me if I do not.

Three great ones of the city,

in personal suit to
make me his lieutenant,

off-capp'd to him.

And by the faith of
man, I know my price.

I am worth no worse
a place, but he, sir,

evades them, with a
bombast circumstance,

"I have already chose my
officer." And what was he?

Forsooth, a great arithmetician,

one Michael
Cassio, a Florentine.

That never set a
squadron in the field,

nor the division of a battle
knows more than a spinster!

Prattle without practice
is all his soldiership.

But he, sir, had
the election, and I,

of whom his eyes
had seen the proof

at Rhodes, at Cyprus,
and on other grounds,

Christian and heathen,
must be belee'd and calm'd.

He, in good times,
his lieutenant be,

and I, God bless the mark,
his Moorship's ancient.

- What's that?
- Flag-waver.

I would not follow him, then.

O, sir, content you.

In following him, I
follow but myself.

Heaven is my judge,
not I for love or duty,

but seeming so
for my peculiar end.

For when my outward
action doth demonstrate

the native act and
figure of my heart

in complement 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.

What a full fortune
doth his Moorship

win, if he can marry her thus!

Call up her father, rouse him,

make after him,
poison his delight,

proclaim him in the streets.

This is her father's
house. I'll call aloud.

No. Do it with like
timorous accent and dire yell

as when, by night
and negligence,

the fire is spied
in populous cities.

What, ho.

- Brabantio...
- Awake!

Brabantio!

Thieves, thieves!

Look to your house,
your daughter, your bags!

What is the reason of
this terrible summons?

What is the matter there?

Most reverend signor,
do you know my voice?

Not I. What are you?

My name is Roderigo.

The worser welcome.

I have charged thee
not to haunt about my doors.

In honest plainness
thou hast heard me say

my daughter is not for thee.

Most grave
signor, in simple...

Zounds, sir!

Because we come
to do you service,

and you think we are ruffians,

you'll have your daughter
covered with a Barbary horse!

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,

an old Black Ram is
tupping your white ewe.

Thou art a villain!

You are a senator!

This thou shalt answer!

I know thee, Roderigo.

Farewell.

For I must leave you. It seems
not meet or wholesome to my part

to be produced, as if I stay,
I shall against the Moors...

Desdemona!

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.
- Desdemona!

But you shall surely
find him. Lead to

the Sagittary, the
raisèd search,

there will I be with him. Adieu.

It is too true an evil!

Gone she is!

And what's to come
of my despised time,

is naught but bitterness.

O, unhappy girl.

With the Moor, say, sire?

O, would that you had had her.

Do you know where we may
apprehend her and the Moor?

I think I can discover them,

if you please to get good guard,
and go along with me.

At every house, I'll call.

Get weapons. Go.

Go.

I pray you, sir, are
you fast married?

Be assured of this.

Signor Brabantio is much beloved

and hath in his effect a voice

potential as double
as the Duke's.

He will divorce
you, or put upon you

what restraint and grievance the

law with all his
might enforce it on

- will give him cable.
- Let him do his spite.

My services, which
I have done the

signory, shall
out-tongue his complaints.

I fetch my life and blood
from men of royal siege.

And my demerits
may speak unbonneted

to as proud a fortune
as this that I have reached.

For know, Iago...

but that I love the
gentle Desdemona,

I would not my
unhoused free condition

put into circumscription and
confine for the sea's worth.

But, look, what
lights come yond?

'Tis the raisèd
father and

his friends. You
were best go in.

Not I. I must be found.

My parts, my title,
and my perfect

soul shall manifest me rightly.

- Is it they?
- By Janus, I think no.

The servants of the
Duke and my lieutenant.

The goodness of the night upon
you, friends! What is the news?

The Duke does
greet you, General,

and he requires your
haste-post-haste appearance,

- even on the instant.
- What is the matter, think you?

Something from
Cyprus, as I may divine.

It is a business of some heat,

and many of the consuls, raised

and met, are at
the Duke's already.

You have been hotly called for.

When, being not at
your lodging to be found,

the senate hath sent about three

several quests
to search you out.

'Tis well I am found by you.

I will but spend a
word here in the house,

- and go with you.
- It's here.

Send him home!

Arrest him!

Here comes another
troop to seek for you.

Bloody foreigner!

It is Signor Brabantio.

General, be advised,
he comes to bad intent.

- Holla, stand there!
- Signor, it is the Moor.

Down with him, thief!

You, sir, Roderigo!

- Come, I am for you.
- Keep up your bright swords

for the dew will rust them.

Good signor, you
shall more command

with years than
with your weapons.

O, thou foul thief, where
hast thou stowed my daughter?

Damned as thou art,
thou hast enchanted her!

For I'll refer me to
all things of sense

if she, in chains of
magic were not bound,

whether a maid so
tender, fair, and happy,

so opposite to marriage,

that she shunned the wealthy

curlèd
darlings of our nation,

to incur a general mock,
would run from her family,

to the sooty bosom of
such a thing as thou?

To fear, not to delight...

Lay hold upon him. If he do
resist, subdue him at his peril.

Hold your hands, both you
of my inclining and the rest!

Were it my cue
to fight, I should've

known it without a prompter.

Where will you that I go
to answer this your charge?

To prison!

Till fit time of
law, and course of

direct session
call thee to answer.

What if I do obey?

How may the Duke
be therewith satisfied,

whose messengers
are here about my side

upon some present
business of the state

to bring me to him?

'Tis true, most worthy signor,

the Duke's in council, and your

noble self, I am
sure is sent for.

How? The Duke in council?
At this time of the night?

Mine's not an idle cause.

The Duke himself or any
of my brothers of the state

cannot but feel this wrong
as t'were their own.

There is no composition in these
news that gives them credit.

Indeed! They are
disproportioned.

My letters say 107 galleys.

- Mine, 140.
- And mine, 200.

But though they jump
not on a just account,

as in these cases, where the aim

reports 'tis oft
with difference,

yet do they all
confirm a Turkish

fleet, and bearing up to Cyprus.

Signor Montano, your trusty
and most valiant servitor,

with his free duty
recommends you

thus, and prays
you to believe him.

'Tis certain then. For Cyprus.

Valiant Othello, we
must straight employ you

against the general
enemy, Ottoman.

I did not see you.

Welcome, gentle signor,

we lacked your counsel
and your help tonight.

So did I yours.

Good, your Grace, pardon me.

Neither my place,
nor aught I heard of business

hath raised me from my bed,

nor doth the general
care take hold on me.

For my particular grief is of so

flood-gate and
o'erbearing nature

that it engluts
and swallows other

sorrows, and it is still itself!

- Why, what's the matter?
- My daughter!

My daughter.

- Dead?
- Ay.

To me.

She is abused, stolen
from me, and corrupted!

By spells and medicines
bought of mountebanks.

Whoe'er he be, that
in this foul proceeding,

hath thus beguiled your daughter
of herself and you of her,

the bloody book of law

you shall yourself
read in the bitter letter,

after your own sense, yea,

though our proper son
stood in your action.

Humbly, I thank your Grace.

Here is the man! This Moor!

Whom now, it seems
your special mandate

for the state affairs
hath hither brought.

What, in your own
part, can you say to this?

Nothing! But it is so.

Most potent, grave,
and reverend signors,

my very noble and
approved good masters,

that I have ta'en away this old
man's daughter, it is most true,

true I have married her.

The very head and front of my

offending hath this
extent, no more.

But, Othello...

did you by indirect
and forced courses

subdue and poison
this young maid's affections?

Or came it by request,

and such fair question
as soul to soul affordeth?

I do beseech you, send
for the lady to the Sagittary.

Let her speak of
me before her father.

If you do find me
foul in her report,

the trust, the office I do hold
of you, not only take away,

but let your sentence
even fall upon my life.

Fetch Desdemona hither.

Ancient, conduct them,
you best know the place.

And till she come,

as truly as to heaven, I do
confess the vices of my blood.

So justly to your
grave ears, I'll present

how I did thrive in
this fair lady's love,

and she in mine.

Say it, Othello.

Her father loved
me, oft invited me,

still questioned me the story
of my life, from year to year...

the battles, sieges, fortunes
that I had passed.

I ran it through,

even from my boyish days to the

very moment that
he bade me tell it,

wherein I spake of
most disastrous chances.

Of moving accidents
by flood and field,

of hair-breadth scapes
in the imminent deadly breach,

of being taken by the insolent
foe and sold to slavery,

of my redemption thence

and portance in
my travel's history,

wherein of caverns
vast and deserts idle,

rough quarries, rocks, and
hills whose heads touch heaven,

it was my hint to speak.

Such was the process.

And of the Cannibals
that each other eat,

the Anthropophagi,

and men whose heads do grow
beneath their shoulders.

This to hear...

would Desdemona
seriously incline.

But still, the house affairs
would draw her thence,

which ever as she
could with haste dispatch,

she'd come again, and with a

greedy ear devour
up my discourse.

Which I, observing,

took once a pliant hour,
and found good means

to draw from her a
prayer of earnest heart,

that I would all my
pilgrimage dilate,

whereof by parcels
she had something

heard, but not intentively.

I did consent, and often
did beguile her of her tears,

when I did...

speak of some distressful stroke
that my youth suffered.

My story being done,
she gave me for my pains...

a world of kisses.

She swore, in
faith, 'twas strange,

'twas passing strange, 'twas...

pitiful.

'Twas wondrous pitiful.

She wished she had not heard it,
yet she wished

that heaven had
made her such a man.

She thanked me and bade me,

that if I had a
friend that loved her,

I should but teach
him how to tell

my story, and
that would woo her.

Upon this hint, I spake.

She loved me for the
dangers I had passed,

and I loved her that
she did pity them.

This only is the
witchcraft I have used.

Here comes the lady.

Let her witness it.

I think this tale would
win my daughter, too.

Good Brabantio...

I pray you hear her speak!

If she confess that
she was half the wooer,

destruction on my head, if
my bad blame light on the man.

Come hither, gentle mistress.

Do you... Do you perceive
in all this noble company

where most you owe obedience?

My noble father,

I do perceive
here a divided duty.

To you, I am bound
for life and education.

My life and education both
do learn me how to respect you.

You are the lord of duty,
I am hitherto your daughter.

But here's my husband.

And so much duty as
my mother showed to

you, preferring you
before her father,

so much, I challenge
that I may profess

due to the Moor, my lord.

God be with you!

I've done.

Please it, your Grace,
on to the state affairs.

I had rather to adopt
a child than get it.

Come hither, Moor.

I here do give thee
that with all my heart

which... but thou hast already,

with all my heart I
would keep from thee.

For your sake, jewel,

I am glad at soul I
have no other child,

for thy escape would teach me
tyranny, to hang clogs on them.

I've done, my lord.

Let me lay a sentence which may

help these lovers
into your favour.

The robbed that smiles
steals something from the thief.

He robs himself that
spends a bootless grief.

So let the Turk of
Cyprus us beguile.

We lose it not so
long as we can smile.

I humbly beseech you,
proceed to the affairs of state.

The Turk with a most
mighty preparation

makes for Cyprus.

Othello, the fortitude of the
place is best known to you.

You must be content therefore to

slubber the gloss
of your new fortunes

with this more stubborn
and boisterous expedition.

The tyrant custom,
most grave senators,

hath made the flinty
and steel couch of war

my thrice-driven bed of down.

I do undertake this present war
against the Ottomites.

Most humbly, therefore,
bending to your state,

I crave fit disposition
for my wife,

due reference of
place and exhibition,

with such
accommodation and besort

as levels with her breeding.

If you please,
be it her father's.

I'll not have it so.

- Nor I.
- Nor I!

I would not there reside, to put
my father in impatient thoughts

by being in his eye.

Most gracious Duke, to my

unfolding, lend
your prosperous ear,

and let me find
a charter in your

voice to assist my simpleness.

What would you, Desdemona?

That I did love the
Moor to live with him.

My downright
violence and storm of

fortunes may
trumpet to the world,

my heart's subdued, even
to the very quality of my lord.

I saw Othello's
visage in his mind,

and to his honours
and his valiant parts

did I my soul and
fortunes consecrate.

So that, dear lords,
if I be left behind,

a moth of peace,
and he go to the war,

the rites for which I
love him are bereft me,

and I a heavy interim shall
support by his dear absence.

- Let me go with him.
- Let her have your voice.

Vouch with me,
heaven, I therefore beg it

not to please the
palate of my appetite,

but to be free and
bounteous to her mind.

Be it as you shall
privately determine.

Either for her stay or going,

the affair cries haste
and speed must answer it.

You must away tonight.

- Tonight, my lord?
- This night.

With all my heart, sir.

At nine of the morning,
here we'll meet again.

Othello, leave
some officer behind.

He shall our
commission bring to you,

with such things else of quality
and respect as doth import you.

So please your
Grace, my ancient,

a man he is of
honesty and trust.

To his conveyance,
I assign my wife.

With what else
needful, your good

Grace shall think
to be sent after me.

Let it be so.

Good night to everyone.

And, noble signor...

if virtue no delighted
beauty lack,

your son-in-law is far
more fair than Black.

Adieu, brave Moor.

Use Desdemona well.

Look to her, Moor, if
thou hast eyes to see.

She has deceived her father,

- and may thee.
- My life upon her faith.

Honest Iago, my Desdemona
must I leave to thee.

I prithee, let thy wife
attend on her, and

bring them after in
the best advantage.

Come, Desdemona,

I have but an hour of love, of
worldly matters, and direction

to spend with thee.

We must obey the time. Come.

Iago.

Iago.

What sayst thou, noble heart?

- What will I do, thinkest thou?
- Why, go to bed and sleep.

I will incontinently
drown myself.

If thou dost, I shall
never love thee after.

Why, thou silly gentleman!

It is silliness to live

when to live is torment.

What should I do?

I confess it is my shame
to be so fond of Desdemona.

It's not in my
virtue to amend it.

Virtue? A fig!

It is in ourselves that
we are thus or thus.

If the balance of our lives
had not one scale of reason

to poise another of sensuality,

the blood and
baseness of our natures

would conduct us to most
preposterous conclusions.

But we have reason.

Come, sir, be a man.

Drown thyself?

Drown cats and blind puppies.

I have professed me
thy friend, and I say,

follow thou the wars.

Defeat thy favours
with a usurped beard.

I say, put money in thy purse.

What do you mean?

Turn everything you own to cash.

It cannot be that
Desdemona shall

long continue her
love to the Moor.

Put money in thy purse.

Nor, he his to her.

She must change for youth.

If thou wilt needs
damn thyself, do it

in a more delicate
way than drowning.

Thou shalt enjoy her.

Therefore, fetch your money.

If thou canst cuckold him,
thou dost thyself a pleasure,

me a sport.

There are many
events in the womb

of time which will be delivered.

Traverse, go,
provide your money.

We'll have more of
this tomorrow. Adieu.

Where shall I meet
thee in the morning?

At my lodging.

- I'll be with thee betimes.
- Go to, farewell.

- Do you hear, Roderigo?
- What say you?

No more of drowning,
do you hear?

I'm changed. I'll
sell all my land.

Thus, do I ever make
my fool my purse.

For I mine own gained knowledge
should profane

if I would time expend
with such a snipe,

but for my sport and profit.

I hate the Moor.

I hate him.

And yet, he holds me well.

The better shall my
purpose work on him.

Cassio's a proper man.

Let me see now.

To get his place

and to plume up my will
and double knavery,

how?

How?

Let's see.

After some time, to
abuse Othello's ear

that Cassio's too
familiar with his wife.

He hath a person
and a smooth dispose,

to be suspected, framed,
to make women false.

And the Moor is of a
free and open nature

that thinks men honest
that but seem to be so,

and will as tenderly be led
by the nose as asses are.

I have it.

It is engendered.

Hell

and night

must bring this monstrous birth

to the world's light!

Desdemona!

Othello!

What from the cape
can you discern at sea?

Nothing at all! It is
a high-wrought flood!

I cannot 'twixt the heaven
and the main descry a sail.

Methinks the wind
hath spoke aloud at land.

A fuller blast never
shook our battlements.

If that the Turkish fleet
be not ensheltered and embayed,

they are drowned.

It is impossible to bear it out.

News, lads!

Our wars are done.

The desperate tempest
hath so banged the Turks

that their designment halts.

A noble ship of Venice hath seen
a grievous wreck and sufferance

- on most part of their fleet.
- How? Is this true?

The ship is here, put in!

One Michael Cassio,

Lieutenant to the
warlike Moor Othello,

is come on shore!

Thanks you, the valiant
of this warlike isle,

that so approve the Moor!

O, let the heavens give him
defence against the elements,

for I have lost him
on a dangerous sea.

- Is he well shipped?
- Signor Montano.

His bark is stoutly timbered

and his pilot of very expert
and approved allowance.

Therefore, my
hopes, not surfeited

to death, stand in bold cure.

I am glad on it. 'Tis
a worthy governor.

But, good Lieutenant,
is your general wived?

Most fortunately. He
hath achieved a maid

that paragons
description and wild fame!

- A sail! A sail, a sail!
- How now? Who has put in?

'Tis one Iago,
ancient to the General.

He has had most
favourable and happy speed.

Tempests themselves,
high seas, and howling winds,

as having sense of beauty,
do omit their mortal natures,

letting go safely by
the divine Desdemona.

What is she?

She that I spake of,
our great captain's captain,

left in the conduct
of the bold Iago.

Great Jove, Othello guard,

and swell his sail
with thine own powerful breath,

that he may bless this bay
with his tall ship,

make love's quick breaths
in Desdemona's arms,

give renewed fire to
our extincted spirits,

and bring all Cyprus comfort!

O, behold!

The riches of the
ship is come on shore!

Ye men of Cyprus, let
her have your knees.

Hail to thee, lady,
and by the grace of heaven,

before, behind thee,
and on every hand,

enwheel thee round!

I thank you, valiant Cassio.

What tidings can
you tell me of my lord?

He is not yet arrived,
nor know I aught, but

that he's well, and
will be shortly here.

But I fear. How
lost you company?

The great contention of the sea
and skies parted our fellowship.

- A sail! A sail!
- But, hark, a sail!

They give their
greeting to the citadel.

- This likewise is a friend.
- See for the news.

Good flagman, you are welcome.

Welcome, mistress.

Let it not gall your
patience, good

Iago, that I extend my manners.

Sir, would she give you so
much of her lip as of her tongue

she oft bestows on me,
you would have enough.

You have little cause to say so.

Nay, it is true, or
else I am a Turk.

You rise to play,
and go to bed to work.

Fie upon thee, slanderer!

Do not learn of him, Emilia,
though he be thy husband.

What say you,
Cassio? Is he not a

most profane and
liberal counsellor?

You may relish him more in
the soldier than in the scholar.

There's one gone
to the harbour?

Ay, madam.

I'm not merry, but
I do beguile the

thing I am, by
seeming otherwise.

He takes her by the palm.

Well said, whisper.

With as little a
web as this, will

I ensnare as great
a fly as Cassio.

Ay, smile upon her, do.

Well kissed, very good.

An excellent courtesy!

'Tis so, indeed.

Yet again, your
fingers to your lips?

Would they were
enema-pipes for your sake!

The Moor! I know his trumpet.

'Tis truly so.

Let's meet him,
and receive him.

Lo, where he comes!

O, my fair warrior!

My dear Othello!

It gives me wonder,

great as my content
to see you here before me.

O, my soul's joy.

If after every tempest
come such calms,

winds blow till they
have wakened death,

and let the labouring bark climb
hills of seas Olympus-high,

and duck again as low
as hell's from heaven.

If it were now to die,
'twere now to be most happy,

for I fear my soul hath
her content so absolute

that not another comfort like to
this succeeds in unknown fate.

The heavens forbid but that our

loves and comforts
should increase!

Even as our days do grow!

Amen to that, sweet powers!

I cannot speak enough of
this content. It stops me here.

It is too much joy.

And this...

And this...

The greatest discords be,
that e'er our hearts shall make.

O, you are well tuned now,

but I'll set down the pegs
that make this music,

as honest as I am.

Come. Back to the castle.

News, friends!

Our wars are done,
the Turks are drowned!

How does my old
acquaintance of this isle?

Honey, you shall be
well desired in Cyprus.

I have found great
love amongst them.

O, my sweet, I
prattle out of fashion,

and I dote in mine own comforts.

I prithee, good Iago, go to the
bay and disembark my coffers.

Bring thou the
master to the citadel.

He is a good one,
and his worthiness

does challenge much respect.

Come, Desdemona.
Once more, well met at Cyprus.

Do thou meet me
presently at the harbour.

Come hither.

If thou be'st valiant, as they
say base men being in love

have then a nobility
in their nature

more than is native
to them, list me.

The Lieutenant, tonight,
watches on the court of guard.

First, I must tell thee this.

Desdemona is
directly in love with him.

I cannot believe that in her.

She is full of the most
blessed condition.

Blessed? Fig's end!

The wine she drinks
is made of grapes.

If she had been blessed, she
would never have loved the Moor.

Blessed? Pudding!

Didst thou not see her paddle
with the palm of his hand?

- Didst not mark that?
- Yes.

Yes, that I did. That
was but courtesy.

Lechery, by this hand.

An index and obscure
prologue to the

history of lust
and foul thoughts.

They met so near with their lips

that their breaths
embraced together.

Villainous thoughts, Roderigo!

But, sir, be you ruled by me.

Cassio knows you not.

I'll not be far from you.

Do you find some
occasion to anger Cassio,

either by speaking too loudly,
or tainting his discipline,

or from what other
course you please,

that the time shall
more favourably minister.

- Well...
- Sir,

he is rash, and very
sudden in choler,

and haply with his truncheon
may strike at you.

Provoke him that he may,

for even out of that will I
cause the displanting of Cassio.

And so shall you have a
shorter journey to your desires!

I will do this, if I can bring
this to any opportunity.

I warrant thee.

Meet me by and
by at the citadel.

I must fetch his
necessaries ashore.

- Farewell.
- Adieu.

It is Othello's pleasure,
our noble and valiant general,

that upon certain
tidings now arrived,

importing the mere perdition
of the Turkish fleet,

that every man put
himself into triumph,

some to dance,
some to make bonfires,

each man to what sport and revel
his addition leads him.

For besides this
beneficial news,

it is a celebration
of his nuptial.

Good Michael, look
you to the guard tonight.

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 it.

Iago is most honest.

Michael, good night.
Tomorrow, with your earliest,

let me have speech with you.

Come, my dear love.

The purchase made,
the fruits are to ensue.

That profit's yet to
come 'tween me and you.

Welcome, Iago. We
must to the watch.

Not this hour, Lieutenant.
'Tis not yet ten of the clock.

Our general cast us thus early
for love of his Desdemona,

who let us not therefore blame.

He hath not yet made wanton
the night with her.

And she is sport for Jove.

She is a most exquisite lady.

And, I'll warrant
her, full of game.

Indeed, she is a most fresh
and delicate creature.

Well, happiness to their sheets.

Come, Lieutenant, I
have a stoup of wine,

and here within,
are a brace of Cyprus gallants

that would fain have a measure
to the health of Black Othello.

Not tonight, good
Iago. I have very

poor and unhappy
brains for drinking.

I could well wish
courtesy would invent

some other custom
of entertainment.

But they are our friends.

But one cup!

I'll drink for you.

I have drunk but
one cup tonight,

and that was craftily
qualified too, and

behold, what
innovation it makes here.

I am unfortunate
in the infirmity, and

dare not task my
weakness with any more.

What, man! It is
a night of revels.

The gallants desire it.

- Where are they?
- Here within.

I pray you.

I'll do it, but it dislikes me.

And let me the canakin clink

If I can fasten but
one cup on him,

with that which
he hath drunk tonight already,

he'll be as full of quarrel and

offence as my
young mistress' dog.

Let me the canakin clink

Now, my sick fool Roderigo,

whom love hath turned almost
the wrong side out,

to Desdemona hath tonight
caroused potations pottle-deep,

and he's to watch.

Let me the canakin clink

Three lads of Cyprus,
noble swelling spirits,

that hold their honours
in a wary distance,

the very elements
of this warlike isle,

have I tonight flustered
with flowing cups.

And they watch, too.

A soldier's a man,
a life's but a span

Now, amongst this
flock of drunkards,

am I to put our
Cassio in some action

that may offend the isle.

Why then let a soldier drink

If consequence do
but approve my dream,

my boat sails swiftly,
both with wind and stream.

Let's have no more of this.
Let's to our affairs.

Forgive us our sins. Gentlemen,
let's look to our business.

You must not think, gentlemen,
that I am drunk.

This is my flagman, this is
my right hand, this is my left.

This... Don't
know whose this is.

I'm not drunk now.
I can stand well

enough, I can speak well enough.

Excellent well.

Very well, then. You must not
think, then, that I am drunk.

To the platform, masters.

Come, let's set the watch.

Hey!

You...

You see this fellow
that is gone before?

He is a soldier fit to stand
by Caesar and give direction.

And do but see his vice.

'Tis to his virtue
a just equinox,

the one as long as t'other.
'Tis pity of him.

I do fear the trust
Othello puts him in,

on some odd time of his
infirmity will shake this isle.

But, is he often thus?

'Tis evermore the
prologue to his sleep.

He'll watch the
horologe a double

set if drink rock
not his cradle.

It were well the general
were put in mind of it.

It is great pity the
noble Moor should

hazard such a place
as his own second

with one of an
ingraft infirmity.

It were an honest action
to say so to the Moor.

Not I, for this fair isle.

I do love Cassio well

and would do much
to cure him of this evil.

- But, hark! What noise is this?
- Zounds, you rogue, you rascal!

- What's the matter, Lieutenant?
- A knave teach me my duty!

I'll beat the knave
into a twiggen bottle!

Beat me?

- Dost thou prate, rogue?
- Cassio! Cassio!

Sorry, sorry.

Nay, good Lieutenant,
I pray you, sir, hold your hand!

Take your hands off me, sir, or
I'll knock you over the mazard!

Away! Go out and
cry a mutiny. Go!

- Come, come, you're drunk!
- Drunk?

You will be shamed forever.

Zounds, I bleed! He dies!

For Christian shame,
put by this barbarous brawl!

Silence that dreadful bell!

Silence that dreadful bell!

It frights the isle
from her propriety.

What is the matter, masters?

Honest Iago, that
looks dead with

grieving, speak! Who began this?

- On thy love, I charge thee.
- I...

I do not know.

Friends all but now, even now,

in quarter, and
in terms as bride

and groom devesting
them for bed.

And then... but now, as if
some planet had unwitted men,

swords out, and tilting one
at other's breast,

in opposition bloody.

I cannot speak any beginning
to this peevish odds.

And would in action glorious,
I had lost those legs

that brought me to a part of it!

How comes it, Michael,
you are thus forgot?

I pray you, pardon me.

I cannot speak.

Worthy Montano,
you were wont be civil.

What's the matter that you
unlace your reputation thus

and spend your rich opinion
for the name of a night-brawler?

Give me answer to it.

Worthy Othello, I
am hurt to danger.

Your ancient, Iago, can inform
you, while I spare speech,

which something now offends me
of all that I do know.

Nor know I aught by me that's
said or done amiss this night,

unless self-charity
be sometimes a vice.

And to defend ourselves it be
a sin when violence assails us.

O, by heaven, my blood
begins my safer guides to rule!

Give me to know how
this foul rout began!

Who set it on?

And he that is
approved in this offence,

though he had twinned with me,
both at a birth, shall lose me.

What? In a town
of war, yet wild,

the people's hearts
brimful of fear,

to manage private
and domestic quarrel in night,

and on the court
and guard of safety?

It is monstrous!

Iago, who began't?

If thou dost
deliver more or less

than truth, thou art no soldier.

Touch me not so near.

I had rather have this tongue
cut from my mouth

than it should do
offence to Michael Cassio.

Yet, I persuade myself
to speak the truth,

shall nothing wrong him.

Thus it is, General,

Montano and myself
being in speech,

there comes a fellow
crying out for help,

and Cassio following him

with determined sword
to execute upon him.

Sir, this fellow steps in to
Cassio and entreats his pause.

Myself the crying
fellow did pursue.

When I came back,
for this was brief, I...

I found them close together
at blow and thrust,

even as again they were
when you yourself did part them.

More of this matter
cannot I report.

But men are men.

The best sometimes forget.

Though Cassio did
some little wrong to him,

as men in rage strike those
that wish them best.

Yet surely, Cassio, I believe,

received from him that fled
some strange indignity,

- which patience could not pass.
- I know, Iago,

thy honesty and
love doth mince this

matter, making
it light to Cassio.

Cassio, I love thee.

But never more
be officer of mine.

Look, if my gentle love be not

raised up. I'll make
thee an example!

What's the matter?

All's well now, sweeting.
Come away to bed.

Sir, for your hurts, myself will
be your surgeon. Lead him off.

Iago, look you with
care about the town,

and silence those
whom this vile brawl distracted.

Come, my dear love.

'Tis a soldier's
life to have their

balmy slumbers
waked with strife.

What, are you
hurt, Lieutenant?

Ay.

- Past all surgery.
- Marry, Heaven forbid!

Reputation...

Reputation... reputation...

I have lost my reputation.

I have lost the immortal part of

myself, and what
remains is bestial.

Reputation, Iago, my reputation.

As I am an honest man, I thought

you had received
some bodily wound.

There is more sense in that
than in reputation.

Reputation is an idle
and most false imposition,

oft got without merit
and lost without deserving.

You have lost no
reputation at all,

unless you repute
yourself such a loser.

What, man, there are ways
to recover the General again.

You are but now
cast in his mood,

a punishment more
in policy than in malice.

Sue to him again,
and he's yours.

I will rather sue to be despised

than to deceive so good a
commander with so slight,

so drunken, so indiscreet
an officer. Drunk!

And speak parrot,
squabble, swagger, swear,

discourse fustian with
one's own shadow.

I will ask him for
my place again,

he will tell me I am a drunkard.

Had I as many mouths as Hydra,

such an answer
would stop them all.

O thou invisible spirit of wine,

if thou hast no name to be known
by, let us call thee devil!

Come, come, good Lieutenant,

good wine is a good familiar
creature, if it be well used.

And, good Lieutenant, I...

I think you think I love you.

I have well approved it, sir.

I, drunk?

You, or any man living,
may be drunk at some time, man.

I'll tell you what you shall do.

Our general's wife
is now the general.

I may say so in this respect,

for that he hath devoted
and given up himself

to the contemplation, mark, and

denotement of her
parts and graces.

Confess yourself freely to her.

Importune her help
to put you in your place again.

She is of so free,
so kind, so... apt,

so blessed a disposition,

she holds it a vice
in her goodness

to do no more than
she is requested.

This broken joint between
you and her husband

entreat her to splint,

and my fortune against
any lay worth naming,

this crack of your love will

grow stronger
than it was before.

- You advise me well.
- I protest,

in the spirit of love
and honest kindness.

I think it freely,
and betimes in the morning,

I will beseech the virtuous
Desdemona to undertake for me.

I am desperate of my fortunes
if they check me here.

You are in the right.

Good night, Lieutenant, I...

- I must to the watch.
- Good night, honest Iago.

And what's he, then,
that says I play the villain?

When this advice is
free, I give, and honest,

probal to thinking,
and is indeed

the course to win
the Moor again,

for it is most easy,

the inclining Desdemona
to subdue in any honest suit.

She is framed as fruitful
as the free elements.

And then for her
to win the Moor,

were't to renounce his baptism,

all seals and symbols
of redeemèd sin.

His soul is so
enfettered to her love

that she may make,
unmake, do what she list,

even as her appetite
shall play the god

with his weak function.

How am I, then, a villain?

To counsel Cassio
to this parallel

course, directly to his good?

For whiles this honest fool

plies Desdemona
to repair his fortune,

and she, for him,
pleads strongly to the Moor,

I'll pour this
pestilence into his ear,

that she repeals him
for her body's lust.

And by how much she
strives to do him good,

she will undo her
credit with the Moor.

And so will I turn
her virtue into pitch,

and out of her own
goodness, make

the net that shall
enmesh them all.

In happy time, Iago.

You have not been a-bed, then?

Why, no, the day had
broke before we parted.

I have made bold, Iago,
to send in to your wife.

My suit to her is that she
will to the virtuous Desdemona

procure me some access.

I'll send her to you presently.

And I'll devise a mean to
draw the Moor out of the way,

that your converse and business
may be more free.

I humbly thank you for it.

I never met a soldier
more kind and honest.

Good morrow, good Lieutenant.

I am sorry for your displeasure,
but all will sure be well.

The General and
his wife are talking

of it, and she
speaks for you stoutly.

The Moor replies

that he you hurt is of
great fame in Cyprus

and great affinity,

and that in wholesome wisdom,
he might not but refuse you.

But, he protests he loves you,

and needs no other
suitor but his likings

to take the safest occasion by
the front to bring you in again.

Yet, I beseech you, if you think
fit, or that it may be done,

give me advantage of some brief
discourse with Desdemona alone.

I pray you, come in.

I will bestow you where
you shall have time

- to speak your bosom freely.
- I am much bound to you.

These letters, Iago,
give to the pilot,

and by him do my
duties to the senate.

That being done,
I will be walking

on the works,
repair there to me.

Well, good, my lord, I'll do it.

This fortification,
signor, shall we see it?

We wait upon your lordship.

Be thou assured,
good Cassio, I will

do all my abilities
in thy behalf.

Good madam, do.
I warrant it grieves

my husband as if
the cause were his.

That's an honest fellow.

Do not doubt, Cassio,

but I will have my lord and you
again as friendly as you were.

Bounteous madam, whatever
shall become of Michael Cassio,

he's never anything
but your true servant.

I know it.

I thank you.

You do love my lord.
You have known him long.

Be you well assured, he shall in
strangeness stand no farther off

than in a politic distance.

Ay, but, madam, that
policy may either last so long,

or breed itself so
out of circumstance

that I being gone
and my place supplied,

my general will forget
my love and service.

Do not doubt that.

Before Emilia here, I give
thee warrant of thy place.

Assure thee, if I
do vow a friendship,

I'll perform it to
the last article.

My lord shall never rest.

I'll watch him tame,
and talk him out of patience.

His bed shall seem a school,
his board a shrift.

I'll intermingle everything
he does with Cassio's suit.

Therefore, be merry, Cassio,

for thy solicitor shall rather
die than give thy cause away.

Madam, here comes my lord.

Madam, I'll take my leave.

Why, stay, hear me speak.

Madam, not now.
I'm very ill at ease.

Unfit for mine own purposes.

Well, do your discretion.

Ha, I like not that.

What dost thou say, Iago?

Nothing, my lord. Or if...

I know not what.

Was not that Cassio
parted from my wife?

Cassio, my lord?

No, sure, I cannot think it,

that he would steal away so
guilty-like, seeing you coming.

I do believe it was he.

How now, my lord?

I have been talking
with a suitor here, a

man that languishes
in your displeasure.

Who is't you mean?

Why, your lieutenant, Cassio.

Good my lord, if I have any
grace or power to move you,

his present reconciliation take.

For if he be not one
that truly loves you,

that errs in ignorance,
not in cunning,

I have no judgement
in an honest face.

- I prithee, call him back.
- Went he hence now?

Ay, sooth.

So humbled that
he hath left part of

his grief with me
to suffer with him.

Good love, call him back.

Not now, sweeting,
some other time.

But shall it be shortly?

The sooner, sweet, for you.

Shall't be tonight? Supper?

No, not tonight.

Tomorrow dinner, then?

I shall not dine
at home tomorrow.

I meet the captains
at the citadel.

Why, then, tomorrow night.

Or Tuesday morn.

Tuesday noon, or night!

Wednesday morn!

I prithee, name the time.

Let it not exceed three days.
In faith, he's penitent.

And yet his trespass,
in our common reason,

save that, they
say, the wars must

make examples out of their best,

is not almost a fault to incur
a private check!

When shall he come?

Tell me, Othello.

I wonder, in my soul,

what you would ask
me, that I should deny,

or stand so mammering on.

What?

Michael Cassio,

that came a-wooing with you.

And so many a time, when I
have spoke of you dispraisingly,

hath ta'en your part,

to have so much
to do to bring him in.

- Trust me, I could do much.
- Prithee no more.

Let him come when he will.

I will deny thee nothing.

Why, this is not a boon.

'Tis as I should entreat you
wear your gloves,

or feed on nourishing dishes,
or keep you warm,

or sue to you to do a peculiar
profit to your own person.

Nay.

When I have a suit,

wherein I mean to
touch your love indeed...

it shall be full of poise...

and difficult weight,

and fearful to be granted.

I will deny thee nothing.

Whereupon, I... I
do beseech you,

grant me this, to leave
me but a little to myself.

Shall I deny you?

No. Farewell, my lord.

Farewell, Desdemona.

- I'll come to thee straight.
- Emilia, come.

Be as your fancies teach you.

Whate'er you be, I am obedient.

Excellent wretch!

Perdition catch my
soul, but I do love thee!

And when I love thee not,
chaos is come again.

- My noble lord.
- What dost thou say, Iago?

Did Michael Cassio, when you

wooed my lady,
know of your love?

He did, from first to last.
Why dost thou ask?

But for a satisfaction
of my thought.

- No further harm.
- Why of thy thought, Iago?

I didn't think he'd been
acquainted with her.

O, yes, and went
between us very oft.

Indeed.

"Indeed"?
Ay, indeed. Discern'st

thou aught in that?
Is he not honest?

- Honest, my lord?
- Ay, honest.

My lord, for aught I know.

Well, what dost thou think?

- Think, my lord?
- "Think, my lord?"

By heaven, he echoes me!

As if there were some monster in

his thought too
hideous to be shown.

Thou must mean something.

I heard thee say even now,
thou lik'st not that,

when Cassio left my wife.

What didst not like?

And when I told
thee he was of my

counsel in my whole
course of wooing,

thou criedst,
"Indeed."

And did contract
and purse thy brow together,

as if thou then had shut up in
thy brain some horrible conceit.

If thou dost love me,
show me thy thought.

- My lord, you know I love you.
- I think thou dost.

And for I know thou art full
of love and honesty

and weigh'st thy words
before thou giv'st them breath,

therefore these stops of thine
fright me the more.

For such things
in a... in a false

disloyal knave are
tricks of custom.

But in a man that's just,

they're close dilations,
working from the heart

that passion cannot rule.

For Michael Cassio, I dare be
sworn I think that he is honest.

I think so, too.

Men should be what they seem,

or those that be not,
would they might seem none.

Certain, men should
be what they seem.

Why then, I think
Cassio's an honest man.

Nay, yet but
there's more in this.

I prithee, speak to
me as to thy thinkings,

as thou dost ruminate,

and give thy worst of thoughts
the worst of words.

Good my lord, pardon me.

Though I am bound
to every act of duty,

I am not bound
to that all slaves are free to.

Utter my thoughts?

Say they be false and vile,

as where's that palace
whereinto foul things

sometimes intrude not?

Thou dost conspire
against thy friend,

Iago, if thou but
think'st him wronged

and mak'st his ear
a stranger to thy thoughts.

I do beseech you.

Though I perchance
am vicious in my guess,

as, I confess, it is my nature's
plague to spy into abuses,

and oft my jealousy
shapes faults that are not...

It were not for your
quiet nor your good,

nor for my manhood,
honesty, or wisdom,

- to let you know my thoughts.
- What... What dost thou mean?

Good name, dear my lord,

in man or woman

is the immediate
jewel of their souls.

Who steals my
purse steals trash.

'Tis something, nothing.
'Twas mine, 'tis his,

and has been slave to thousands.

But he that filches
from me my good name,

robs me of that
which not enriches him

and makes me poor indeed.

By heaven, I'll
know thy thoughts.

You cannot. If my
heart were in thy hands,

nor shall not, whilst
it is in my custody.

O, beware, my lord, of jealousy.

It is the green-eyed
monster which

doth mock the meat it feeds on.

That cuckold lives
in bliss, who, certain

of his fate, loves
not his wronger.

But, O,

what damnèd minutes tells
he o'er who dotes, yet doubts,

suspects, yet strongly loves.

O, good heavens.

The souls of all my tribe defend
from jealousy.

Why? Why is this?

Think'st thou I'd
make a life of jealousy?

To follow still the changes of
the moon with a fresh suspicion?

No.

To be once in doubt
is once to be resolved.

Exchange me for a goat,

when I shall turn the
business of my soul

to such exsufflicate
and blown surmises,

matching thy inference.

'Tis not to make me jealous,

to say my wife is fair,
feeds well, loves company,

is free of speech, sings, plays,
and dances well.

Where virtue is, these
are more virtuous.

Nor from mine own weak merits

will I draw the smallest fear
or doubt of her revolt,

for she had eyes, and chose me.

No, Iago, I'll see
before I doubt.

And when I doubt, prove.

And on the proof,
there is no more but this,

away at once with
love or jealousy.

I am glad of it,

for now I shall have reason
to show the love and duty

that I bear you
with franker spirit.

Therefore, as I am
bound, receive it from me.

I speak not yet of proof.

Look to your wife.

Observe her well with Cassio.

Wear your eye thus,
not jealous nor secure.

I would not have your
free and noble nature,

out of self-bounty, be abused.

Look to it.

I know our country
disposition well.

In Venice, they do
let heaven see the

pranks they dare not
show their husbands.

Their best conscience
is not to leave undone,

but keep unknown.

Dost thou say so?

She did deceive her
father, marrying you.

And when she seemed
to shake and fear thy looks,

she loved them most.

- And so she did.
- Why...

go to, then.

She, that so young could
give out such a seeming,

to seal her father's
eyes up close as oak,

he thought 'twas witchcraft.

I am much to blame.

I humbly do beseech you of your
pardon for too much loving you.

I am... I am bound
to thee forever.

I see this hath a little
dashed your spirits.

Not a jot, not a jot.

Trust me, I... I fear it has.

I hope you will consider what
is spoke comes from my love.

But I... I see you're moved.

I am to pray you, sir, not to

strain my speech
to grosser issues.

Nor to larger reach
than to suspicion.

I will not.

Should you do so, my lord,

my speech should fall
into such vile success,

which my thoughts aimed not.

Cassio is my worthy friend.

But, my lord, I... I
see you're moved.

No, not much moved.

I do not but think that
Desdemona's honest.

Long live she so!

And long live you to think so!

And yet, how nature
erring from itself.

Ay.

Ay, there's the point.

As...

to be bold with you,

not to affect many
proposèd

matches, of her own clime,

complexion, and degree,

whereto we see in
all things nature tends.

One may smell in
such a will most rank,

foul disproportion,
thoughts unnatural.

Pardon me, I do not in position
distinctly speak of her,

though I may fear her will,

recoiling to her
better judgement,

may fall to match you with her

country forms,
and happily repent.

Farewell. Farewell.

If...

If more thou dost
perceive, let me know more.

Set on thy wife to observe.

Leave me, Iago.

My lord, I take my leave.

Why did I marry?

This honest creature doubtless
sees and knows more,

much more than he unfolds.

My lord,

I would I might
entreat your honour

to scan this thing no further.

Leave it to time.

Though it be fit that
Cassio have his place,

for sure he... he fills
it up with great ability,

yet if you please to
hold him off awhile,

you shall by that perceive
him and his means.

Note if your wife
strain his entertainment

with any strong or
vehement importunity.

Much will be seen in that.

In the meantime, let me be
thought too busy in my fears.

As worthy cause I
have to fear I am.

And hold her free,

- I do beseech you.
- Fear not my government.

I once more take my leave.

This fellow's of
exceeding honesty.

Knows all qualities...

with a learned spirit
of human dealings.

If I do prove her...

haggard...

Though that her
jesses were my dear

heartstrings, I'd
whistle her off,

and let her down the
wind to prey at fortune.

Haply, for I am Black.

And have not those soft parts of

conversation that
chamberers have.

For I am declined into the vale
of years, yet that's not much.

She's gone.

I am abused, and my relief
must be to loathe her.

O curse of marriage!

That we can call
these delicate creatures ours,

yet not their appetites!

I had rather be a toad...

and live upon the
vapour in a dungeon,

than keep a corner in the
thing I love for others' uses!

Desdemona comes.

If she be false, O,
heaven mocks itself!

I'll not believe it.

How now, my lord?

Your dinner, and the
generous islanders

by you invited, do
attend your presence.

I... I am to blame.

Why do you speak so faintly?

Are you not well?

I have a pain on
my forehead here.

Faith, that's with watching.
'Twill away again.

Let me but bind it hard, within
this hour, it will be well.

Your napkin is too
little. Let it alone.

I'm very sorry you are not well.

Come, I'll... I'll
go in with you.

I am glad I have
found this napkin.

This was her first
remembrance from the Moor.

My wayward husband
hath a hundred times

wooed me to steal it.

But she so loves the token,

for he conjured her
she should ever keep it,

that she reserves it evermore
about her to kiss and...

talk to.

I'll have a copy
made and give to Iago.

What he will do with
it, heaven knows, not I.

I nothing but to
please his fantasy.

How now?

What dost thou here alone?

Do not you chide. I
have a thing for you.

A thing for me?

Why, it is a common thing...

- to have a foolish wife.
- O, is that all?

What would you give me now
for that same handkerchief?

- What handkerchief?
- "What handkerchief?"

Why, that the Moor
first gave to Desdemona,

that which so often
you did bid me steal.

Hast stolen it from her?

No, faith, she let it
drop by negligence,

and, to the advantage,
I being here, took it up.

Look, here it is.

Good wench.

- Give it me.
- What will you do with it,

that you have been so earnest
to have me filch it?

Why, what's that to you?

If it be not for some
purpose of import,

give it me again!

Poor lady, she'll run mad
when she shall lack it.

Tell no one of this.

I have use for it.

Go, leave me.

I will, in Cassio's lodging,
lose this napkin,

and let him find it.

Trifles light as air

are to the jealous confirmations
strong as proofs of holy writ.

This may do something.

The Moor already
changes with my poisons.

Dangerous conceits
are in their natures poisons,

which at the first,
are scarce found to distaste,

but with a little
act on the blood

burn like the mines of sulphur.

I did say so.

Look, where he comes.

Not poppy, nor
mandragora, nor all

the drowsy syrups of the world,

shall ever medicine
thee to that sweet sleep

which thou owndest yesterday.

False to me!

Why, how now,
General? No more of that.

Avaunt!

Be gone! Thou hast
set me on the rack.

I swear 'tis better to be much

abused than but
to know it a little.

How now, my lord?

What sense had I of
her stolen hours of lust?

I saw it not, I thought it not,
it harmed not me.

I slept the next night well,
was free and merry.

I found not Cassio's
kisses on her lips.

He that is robbed,
not wanting what is stolen,

let him not know it,
and he's not robbed at all.

I am sorry to hear this.

I had been happy
if the general camp,

pioneers and all, had
tasted her sweet body,

so I had nothing known.

O, now, forever
farewell the tranquil mind.

Farewell content.

Farewell the
plumèd troop and

the big wars that
make ambition virtue!

O, farewell.

Farewell the neighing steed
and the shrill trump,

the spirit-stirring drum,
the ear-piercing fife,

the royal banner, and
all the quality, pride,

pomp, and circumstance
of glorious war!

O, farewell!

Othello's occupation's gone!

Is't possible, my lord?

Villain, be sure thou
prove my love a whore.

Be sure of it.

Give me the ocular proof!

Or, by the worth of
man's eternal soul,

thou hadst been better
had been born a dog

- than answer my waked wrath!
- Is't come to this?

Make me to see it,
or at least so prove it,

that the probation bear no hinge
nor loop to hang a doubt on,

- or woe upon thy life!
- My noble lord...

If thou dost slander
her and torture me,

never pray more,
abandon all remorse!

On horror's head
horrors accumulate,

do deeds to make heaven weep,
all earth amazed!

For nothing canst thou to
damnation add greater than that!

O, grace! O heaven defend me!

Are you a man? Have
you a soul or sense?

God be with you,
then. Take mine office!

O, wretched fool, that liv'st to
see thine honesty made a vice!

O, monstrous world!
Take note, take note, O world,

to be direct and
honest is not safe.

Well, I thank
thee for this profit,

and from hence,
I'll love no friend,

since love breeds such offence.

Nay, stay! Thou
shouldst be honest!

I should be wise!
Since honesty's a

fool, and loses
that it works for.

By the world, I think my wife
be honest, and think she is not!

I think that thou art just,
and think thou art not!

I'll have some proof!

Her name, that was as
fresh as Dian's visage,

is now begrimed and
black as mine own face!

Would there were
cords or knives,

poison or fire, or
suffocating streams,

I'll not endure it!

Would I were satisfied!

I see, sir, you are
eaten up with passion.

I do repent me
that I put it to you.

You would be satisfied...

"Would"?
Nay, I will!

And may, but how? How satisfied?

Would you, the
supervisor, grossly

gape on, behold her topped?

- Death and damnation!
- Where is satisfaction?

It is impossible
you should see this.

Were they as prime as goats,
as hot as monkeys,

as salt as wolves in pride,

and fools as gross as
ignorance made drunk!

But yet...

I say if imputation
and strong circumstance,

which lead directly
to the door of truth

will give you satisfaction,
you may have it.

Give me a living
reason she's disloyal.

I do not like the office.

But sith I'm entered
in this cause so far,

pricked to it by foolish honesty
and love, I will go on.

I lay with Cassio lately,

and being troubled with a
raging tooth, I could not sleep.

There are a kind of
men so loose of soul,

that in their sleeps
do mutter their affairs.

One of this kind is Cassio.

In sleep I heard him say,

"Sweet Desdemona,

"let us be wary, let
us hide our loves."

And then, sir, would he grip
and wring my hand,

and cry, "O,
fair creature!"

and kissed me hard,

as if he plucked
up kisses by the

roots, that grew upon my lips.

And laid his leg over my thigh,

and sighed and
kissed, and then cried,

"Cursed fate
that gave thee to

- the Moor!"
- Monstrous! Monstrous!

Nay. Nay, this
was but a dream.

But this denoted a
foregone conclusion.

'Tis a shrewd doubt,
though it be but a dream.

And it may help to thicken other

proofs that do
demonstrate thinly.

- I'll tear her all to pieces!
- Nay!

But be wise.

Yet we see nothing done.
She may be honest yet.

Tell me but this.

Have you not sometimes
seen a handkerchief

spotted with strawberries
in your wife's hand?

I gave her such a
one. It was my first gift.

I know not that, but
such a handkerchief,

I'm sure it was your wife's,

did I today see Cassio
wipe his beard with.

- If it be that...
- If it be that...

or any that was hers,

it speaks against her
with the other proofs.

O that the slave
had 40,000 lives!

One is too poor, is too
weak for my revenge!

Now do I see it is true.

Look here, Iago.

All my fond love thus
do I blow to heaven.

It is gone.

Arise, black vengeance,
from thy hollow cell!

Yield up, O love, thy crown and

hearted throne
to tyrannous hate!

- Yet be content.
- O, blood, Iago!

- Blood!
- Patience, I say.

- Your mind perhaps may change.
- Never, Iago!

Like to the Pontic Sea,

whose icy current and compulsive
course ne'er feels retiring ebb,

but keeps due on to the
Propontic and the Hellespont.

Even so, my bloody
thoughts with violent pace

shall ne'er look back,
ne'er ebb to humble love,

till that capable and wide
revenge swallow them up!

Now by yond marble heaven,

in due reverence
of a sacred vow,

I here engage my words.

Do not rise yet.

Witness, you
ever-burning lights above,

you elements that
clip us round about,

witness that here
Iago doth give up

all execution of
his wit, hand, heart,

to wronged Othello's service.

Let him command.

And to obey shall
be in me remorse,

what bloody business ever.

I greet thy love.

Not with vain thanks,
but with acceptance bounteous,

and will upon the
instant put thee to it.

Within these three
days, let me hear

thee say that
Cassio's not alive.

My friend is dead.

'Tis done at your request.

- But let her live.
- Damn her!

Lewd minx, damn her!

Damn her!

Come. Go with me apart.

I will withdraw to furnish me
with some swift means of death

for the fair devil.

Now...

art thou my lieutenant?

I am your own forever.

Where should I lose
that handkerchief, Emilia?

I know not, madam.

Believe me, I had rather have
lost my purse full of crusadoes.

But my noble Moor is
true of mind and made

of no such baseness
as jealous creatures are,

it were enough to
put him to ill thinking.

Is he not jealous?

Who, he?

I think the sun
where he was born

drew all such humours from him.

Look, where he comes.

I will not leave him now
till Cassio be called to him.

How is't with you, my lord?

Well, my good lady.

O, hardness to dissemble!

How do you, Desdemona?

Well, my good lord.

Let me see your hand.

This hand is moist, my lady.

It yet hath felt no age
nor known no sorrow.

This argues fruitfulness
and liberal heart.

Hot.

Hot and moist.

This hand of yours requires
a sequester from liberty,

fasting, prayer, much
castigation, exercise devout.

For there's a young and sweating
devil here that commonly rebels.

'Tis a good hand, a frank one.

You may indeed say so,

for 'twas that hand that
gave away my heart.

Come now, your promise.

What promise, chuck?

I have sent to bid Cassio
come speak with you.

I... I have a salt
and sorry rheum offends me.

Lend me thy handkerchief.

Here, my lord.

That which I gave you.

I have it not about me.

- Not?
- No, faith, my lord.

That is a fault.

That handkerchief did an
Egyptian to my mother give.

She was a charmer, could almost
read the thoughts of people.

She told her, while she kept it,

it would make her
amiable and subdue

my father entirely to her love.

But if she lost it,
or made a gift of it,

my father's eye
should hold her loathed,

and his spirits should hunt
after new fancies.

She, dying, gave it me,

and bid me, when my fate would
have me wive, to give it you.

I did so.

And take heed on it.

Make it a darling
like your precious eye.

To lose it or give it away
were such perdition

as nothing else could match.

- Indeed?
- Most veritable.

Therefore, look to it well.

Then would to God
that I had never seen it!

Wherefore?

Why do you speak
so startingly and rash?

Is't lost?

Is't gone? Speak,
is't out of the way?

Heaven bless us!

Say you?

It is not lost, but
what and if it were?

- How?
- I say it is not lost.

Well, fetch it, let me see it.

Why, so I can,
sir, but I will not now.

This is a trick to
put me from my suit.

Pray you, let Cassio
be received again.

Fetch me the handkerchief!

- My mind misgives.
- Come, come.

You'll never meet a
more sufficient man.

- The handkerchief!
- I pray, talk me of Cassio.

The handkerchief!

A man that all his
time hath founded

his good fortunes on your love,

- shared dangers with you...
- The handkerchief!

In sooth, you are to blame.

Zounds.

Zounds.

Zounds.

Is not this man jealous?

I ne'er saw this before.

Sure there's some wonder
in this handkerchief,

I am most unhappy
in the loss of it.

'Tis not a year or
two shows us a man.

They are all but stomachs
and we are all but food.

They eat us hungrily, and when
they are done, they belch us.

Look you, Cassio and my husband.

There is no other
way. 'Tis she must do it.

And, lo, the happiness.
Go and importune her.

How now, good Cassio,
what's the news with you?

Madam, my former suit,

I do beseech you that by your

virtuous means,
I may again exist,

and be a member of his love,

whom I, with all the office
of my heart, entirely honour.

I would not be delayed.

If my offence be of such mortal
kind that nor my service past,

nor present sorrows,
nor purposed merit in futurity,

can ransom me
into his love again,

but to know so
must be my benefit.

So will I clothe me
in a forced content,

and shut myself up in some
other course to fortune's alms.

Alas, thrice-gentle Cassio,

my advocation
is not now in tune.

My lord is... not my lord.

Nor should I know him were he
in favour as in humour altered.

So help me every
spirit sanctified,

as I have spoken
for you all my best,

and stood within
the blank of his

displeasure for my free speech.

You must awhile be patient.

What I can do, I will, and more
I will than for myself I dare.

Let that suffice you.

Is my lord angry?

He went hence but now.

And certainly in
strange unquietness.

Can he be angry?

I have seen him when
the cannon hath blown

his ranks into the
air and was he angry?

Something of moment, then.

I will go meet him.

There's matter in it
indeed, if he be angry.

I prithee, do so.

Something sure of state,

either from Venice,
or some unhatched practice

made demonstrable
here in Cyprus to

him, hath puddled
his clear spirit.

And in such cases, men's natures
wrangle with inferior things,

though great ones are
their object. 'Tis even so.

Nay, we must think
men are not gods.

Nor of them look for such
observancy as fits the bridal.

Beshrew me much, Emilia, I
was, unhandsome warrior as I am,

arraigning his
unkindness with my soul.

But now I find I had
suborned the witness,

and he's indicted falsely.

Pray heaven it be state matters,
as you think,

and no conception nor no
jealous toy concerning you.

Alas the day, I never
gave him cause!

But jealous souls will
not be answered so.

They are not ever
jealous for the cause.

But jealous for
they are jealous.

'Tis a monster begot
upon itself, born on itself.

Heaven keep that
monster from Othello's mind.

Lady, amen.

I will go seek him.

Cassio, walk hereabout,

if I do find him fit,
I'll move your suit,

and seek to effect
it to my uttermost.

I humbly thank your ladyship.

Save you, friend Cassio.

What make you from home?

How is it with you,
my most fair Bianca?

In faith, sweet love,
I was coming to your house.

And I was going to
your lodging, Cassio.

What, keep a week away?

Seven days and nights?

Eight score eight hours,
and lovers' absent hours,

are more tedious
than the dial eight score times?

O, weary reckoning!

Pardon me, Bianca.
I have this while

with leaden thoughts
been pressed,

but I shall in a
more continuate time

strike off this
score of absence.

Sweet Bianca, make me
a copy of this handkerchief.

O, Cassio, whence came this?

This is some token
from a newer friend.

To the felt absence
now I feel a cause.

- Is't come to this? Well, well.
- Go to, woman.

Throw your vile
guesses in the devil's

teeth from whence you have them.

You are jealous now this is from
some mistress, some remembrance?

No, in good troth, Bianca.

- Why, whose is it?
- I know not neither.

I found it in my chamber.
I like the work well.

Ere it be demanded,
as like enough

it will, I'd have it copied.

Take it, and do it,
and leave me for this time.

Leave you? Wherefore?

I do attend here
on the General,

and think it no addition, nor my

wish, to have him
see me womaned.

- Why, I pray you?
- Not that I love you not.

But that you do not love me.

I pray you...

bring me on the way a little,

and say if I shall
see you soon at night.

'Tis a little way I can
bring you, for I attend here.

- Will you think so?
- "Think so, " Iago?

- What, to kiss in private?
- An unauthorised kiss!

Or to be naked with
her friend in bed for

an hour or more, not
meaning any harm?

Naked in bed, Iago,
and not mean harm?

It is hypocrisy
against the devil.

They that mean
virtuously and yet do so,

the devil their virtue tempts,
and they tempt heaven.

So, they do nothing,
'tis a venial slip.

But if I give my
wife a handkerchief...

What then?

Why then, 'tis hers, my lord,

and being hers, she may,
I think, bestow it on any man.

She is protectress of her
honour too. May she give that?

Her honour is but an
essence that's not seen.

They have it very
oft that have it not.

But for the handkerchief...

By heaven, I would
most gladly have forgot it.

Thou said'st... O, it comes o'er
my memory, as doth the raven

o'er the infected
house, boding to all.

- He had my handkerchief.
- Ay, what of that?

Well, that's not so good now.

What If I had said
I had seen him do you wrong?

- Or heard him say...
- Hath he said anything?

Well, he hath, my lord,
but be you well assured

- no more than he'll unswear.
- What hath he said?

Faith, that he did...

- I know not what he did.
- What? What?

Lie.

With her?

With her, on her, what you will.

Lie with her.

Lie on her?

Work on, my medicine.

Work.

Thus credulous fools are caught.

And many worthy and
chaste dames even thus,

all guiltless, meet reproach.

I say, my lord.

- My lord, Othello.
- What's the matter?

How now, Cassio?

My lord is fallen
into an epilepsy!

This is his second fit.
He had one yesterday.

- Rub him about the temples.
- No, forbear.

The lethargy must
have his quiet course.

If not, he foams at mouth,

and by and by, breaks
out to savage madness.

He stirs.

Do you withdraw
yourself a little

while. He will recover straight.

And when he is gone, I would on
great occasion speak with you.

- Did he lie on her?
- Good sir, be a man.

There are millions
now alive that

nightly lie in those
unproper beds,

with wives they
swear are faithful.

Your case is better.

O, it is the spite of hell,

the fiend's arch-mock,

to lip a wanton
in a secure couch,

and suppose her chaste.

No!

No, let me know,
and knowing what

I am, I know what she shall be.

O, thou art wise, it is certain.

Stand you awhile apart,

confine yourself
but in a patient list.

While you were here
o'erwhelmed with your grief,

a passion most
unsuiting such a man,

- Cassio came hither.
- What?

I shifted him away and laid
good 'scuse upon your ecstasy,

bade him anon
return, and here speak

with me, the which he promised.

Do but encave yourself.

And you shall mark the sneers,

the gibes, and notable scorns,

that dwell in every
region of his face.

For I shall make
him tell the tale anew,

of where, how, how oft,
how long ago and when

he hath, and is again
to cope your wife.

No!

I say, mark but his gesture.

Marry, patience,

or I shall say
you are all in all

in spleen, and nothing of a man.

Dost thou hear, Iago?

I will be found most
cunning in my patience.

But, dost thou hear?

- Most bloody.
- That's not amiss.

But yet keep time in
all. Will you withdraw?

Ay.

Now will I question Cassio
of Bianca, a hussy,

that by selling her desires,
buys herself bread and clothing.

It is a creature that
dotes on Cassio,

as 'tis the strumpet's plague to

beguile many and
be beguiled by one.

He, when he hears of her, cannot

refrain from the
excess of laughter.

Look, where he comes.

As he shall smile,
Othello shall go mad.

How do you now, Lieutenant?

The worser that you
call me your lieutenant.

Ply Desdemona well,
and you are sure on it.

Now, if this suit
lay in Bianca's

power, how quickly
should you speed.

Alas, poor caitiff.

Look how he laughs already.

I never knew a
woman love man so.

Alas, poor rogue.
I think, i' faith, she loves me.

She gives it out that
you shall marry her.

- Do you intend it?
- Marry her? What? A customer?

I prithee, bear
some charity to my

wit, do not think it
so unwholesome.

Marry her!

Faith, the cry goes
that you shall marry her.

This is the monkey's
own giving out.

She is persuaded I'll marry her,

out of her own love and
flattery, not out of my promise.

Iago beckons. Now
he begins the story.

She was here even now.
She haunts me in every place.

I was, the other day, talking on

the sea-bank with
certain Venetians,

and thither comes the bauble,
and falls thus about my neck.

- So hangs, and lolls and...
- Cassio. Cassio!

- Before me, here she come.
- Cassio!

What do you mean
by this haunting of me?

Let the devil and
his dam haunt you!

What did you mean by that same

handkerchief you
gave me even now?

I was a fine fool to take it.

I must make a copy of it?

A likely piece of work, that you
should find it in your chamber

and not know who left it there.

This...

is some minx's token,
and I must make a copy of it?

By heaven, that should
be my handkerchief!

There, give it your hobby-horse,
wheresoever you had it.

I'll make no copy of it!

How now, my sweet
Bianca? How now...

If you'll come to
supper tonight, you may.

If you will not, come when
you are next prepared for!

After her, after her.

Faith, I must,
she'll rail in the street else.

- Will you sup there?
- Faith, I intend so.

Go to, say no more.

How shall I murder him, Iago?

Did you perceive how
he laughed at his vice?

O, Iago.

And did you see
the handkerchief?

Was that mine?

Yours, by this hand.

And to see how he prizes
the foolish woman your wife!

She gave it him,
and he hath given it his whore.

I would have him
nine years a-killing!

A fine woman, a fair
woman, a sweet woman.

Nay, you must forget that.

Ay, let her rot, and perish,
and be damned tonight!

For she shall not live, no.

My heart is turned to stone.
I strike it, it hurts my hand.

O, the world hath not
so sweet a creature.

She might lie by an emperor's
side, and command him tasks.

Nay, that's not your way.

Hang her! I do but
say what she is.

So delicate with her needle,

an admirable musician.

O she will sing the
savageness out of a bear.

Of so high and
plenteous wit and invention.

She's the worse for all this.

O, yes, a thousand,
a thousand times!

But then of so
gentle a condition.

Too gentle.

Nay, that's certain.

But yet the pity of it, Iago.

O, Iago.

The pity of it, Iago.

If you are so fond
over her iniquity,

give her patent to offend,

for if it touch not you,
it comes near nobody.

I will chop her into messes!

- Cuckold me!
- 'Tis foul in her!

- With mine officer!
- That's fouler!

Get me some
poison, Iago, this night.

I'll not expostulate
with her, lest her

body and beauty
unprovide my mind again.

This night, Iago!

Do it not with poison.

Strangle her in her bed.

Even the bed she
hath contaminated.

Good.

Good. The justice of
it pleases. Very good.

And for Cassio, let
me be his undertaker.

You shall hear
more by midnight.

Excellent good.

- What trumpet is that same?
- Something from Venice, sure.

'Tis Signor Lodovico and Signor
Gratiano come from the Duke.

And see, your wife is with them.

Save you, worthy general!

With all my heart, sir.

The Duke and senators
of Venice greet you.

I kiss the instrument
of their pleasures.

And what's the news,
good cousin Lodovico?

I am very glad to
see you, signor.

- Welcome to Cyprus.
- I thank you.

- How does Lieutenant Cassio?
- Lives, sir.

Cousin, there's fallen between

him and my lord
an unkind breach,

- but you shall make all well.
- Are you sure of that?

My lord?

"This fail
you not to do..."

He did not call, he's
busy in the paper.

Is there division 'twixt
my lord and Cassio?

A most unhappy one.

I would do much to atone them,
for the love I bear to Cassio.

Fire and brimstone!

- My lord?
- Are you wise?

What, is he angry?

May be the letter moved him.

For, as I think, they
do command him home,

deputing Cassio
in his government.

- Trust me, I am glad on it.
- Indeed!

- My lord!
- I am glad to see you mad!

Why?

Sweet Othello.

Devil!

I have not deserved this.

My lord, this would not
be believed in Venice,

though I should swear I saw it.

'Tis very much. Make her amends.

- She weeps.
- Devil. Devil!

If that the earth could teem
with woman's tears,

each drop she falls
would prove a crocodile!

Out of my sight!

I will not stay to offend you.

Truly, an obedient lady.

I do beseech your
lordship, call her back.

Mistress!

- My lord?
- What would you with her, sir?

Who, I, my lord?

Ay, you did wish I
would make her turn!

Sir, she can turn, and turn,
and yet go on, and turn again!

And she can weep, sir, weep.

And she's obedient.
As you say, obedient.

Very obedient!

Proceed you in your tears!

Concerning this, sir...

O, well-painted passion!

I am commanded home.

Get you away! I'll
send for you anon.

Sir, I obey the mandate,
and will return to Venice.

Hence, avaunt!

Cassio shall have...

my place.

And, sir, tonight, I do entreat
that we may sup together.

You are welcome, sir,

to Cyprus!

Goats and monkeys!

Is this the noble
Moor, whom our full

senate call all
in all sufficient?

This? The nature whom passion
could not shake?

Whose solid virtue, the shot
of accident nor dart of chance

could neither graze nor pierce?

He is much changed.

Are his wits safe? Is
he not light of brain?

He's that he is.

I may not breathe my censure
what he might be.

If what he might he is not,
I would to heaven that he were!

What, strike his wife?

Faith, that was not so well,

yet would I knew that stroke
would prove the worst!

Is it his use?

Or did the letters work upon his
blood and new-create this fault?

Alas.

It is not honesty in me to speak
what I have seen and known.

You shall observe him, and his
own courses shall denote him,

so that I may save my speech.

Do but go after, and
mark how he continues.

So... So you have
seen nothing, then?

Nor ever heard,
nor ever did suspect.

Yes...

You have seen she
and Cassio together?

But then I saw no harm.

And then I heard each syllable

that breath made
up between them.

What, did they never whisper?

- Never, my lord.
- Nor send you out of the way?

- Never.
- To fetch her fan, her gloves,

- her mask, nor nothing?
- Never, my lord.

That's strange.

I durst, my lord, to
wager she is honest.

Lay down my soul at stake.

If you think other, remove your

thought, it doth
abuse your bosom.

If any wretch have
put this in your head,

let heaven requite it
with the serpent's curse,

for if she be not
honest, chaste,

and true, there's no man happy,

the purest of their
wives is foul as slander.

Bid her come hither. Go.

She says enough,
yet she's a simple

bawd that cannot say as much.

This is a subtle whore.

A closet lock and key
of villainous secrets.

And yet she'll kneel and pray.

I've seen her do it.

My lord.

What is your will?

Pray, chuck, come hither.

What is your pleasure?

Let me see your
eyes. Look in my face.

What horrible fancy is this?

Some of your
function, mistress!

Leave procreants
alone, and shut the door.

Nay, dispatch.

Upon my knees, what
doth your speech import?

I understand a fury in your
words, but not the words.

Why, what art thou?

Your wife, my lord.

Your true and loyal wife!

Come, swear it. Damn thyself.

Lest, like being one
of heaven, the devils

themselves should
fear to seize thee.

Therefore, be double-damned.

- Swear thou art honest!
- Heaven doth truly know it.

Heaven truly knows
thou art false as hell.

To whom, my lord? With
whom? How am I false?

O, Desdemona, away!

Alas the heavy day,
why do you weep?

Am I the motive of
these tears, my lord?

Had it pleased heaven
to try me with affliction,

had they rained all kinds of

sores and shames
on my bare head,

steeped me in
poverty to the very lips,

given to captivity me
and my utmost hopes,

I should have found in some part
of my soul a drop of patience.

But there, where I have
garnered up my heart...

where either I must
live or bear no life,

the fountain from which my
current runs or else dries up...

to be discarded thence.

Or keep as a cistern for foul
toads to knot and gender in!

I hope my noble lord
esteems me honest.

O, ay, as summer
flies are in the

shambles that quicken
even with blowing.

O, thou weed,

who art so lovely fair,
and smells so sweet,

that the sense aches at thee!

I would thou hadst
ne'er been born!

Alas, what ignorant
sin have I committed?

Was this fair paper,
this most goodly book,

made to write
"whore" upon?

What committed?

- Impudent strumpet!
- By heaven, you do me wrong!

- Are not you a strumpet?
- No!

As I am a Christian!

If to preserve this
vessel for my lord

from any other
foul unlawful touch

be not to be a
strumpet, I am none!

- Not a whore?
- No!

As I shall be saved!

Is't possible?

O heaven forgive us!

I cry you mercy, then.

I took you for that
cunning whore

of Venice that
married with Othello.

You, mistress!

That have the
office opposite Saint

Peter and keep
the gates of hell!

You! You!

Ay, you.

We have done our course,
there's money for your pains.

Turn the key, and
keep our counsel!

Alas.

What does this
gentleman conceive?

How do you, madam?

- How do you, my good lady?
- Faith...

Half asleep.

Good madam, what's
the matter with my lord?

With who?

Why, with my lord, madam.

- Who is thy lord?
- He that is yours, sweet lady.

I have none.

Do not talk to me, Emilia.

I cannot weep, nor answer have I

none, but what
should go by water.

Prithee, tonight,
lay on my bed my wedding sheets.

Remember. And call
thy husband hither.

Here's a change indeed!

'Tis meet I should be
used so, very meet.

How have I been
behaved that he might stick

the smallest opinion
on my least misuse?

What is your pleasure, madam?

How is't with you?

I cannot tell.

Those that do teach
young babes do

so with gentle
means and easy tasks.

He might have
chid me so, for, in

good faith, I am
a child to chiding.

- What's the matter, lady?
- Alas, Iago,

my lord hath so bewhored her,

thrown such despite
and heavy terms

upon her as true
hearts cannot bear.

- Am I that name, Iago?
- What name, fair lady?

Such as she says
my lord did say I was.

He called her
"whore".

A beggar in his
drink could not have

laid such terms upon his callet.

- Why did he so?
- I do not know.

I am sure I am none such.

Do not weep.

Do not weep, alas...

Hath she forsook so
many noble matches,

her father, and her country, and
her friends, to be called whore?

- Would it not make one weep?
- It is my wretched fortune.

Beshrew him for it!

How comes this trick upon him?

Nay, heaven doth know.

I'll be hanged...

if some eternal villain,

some busy and insinuating rogue,
some cogging, cozening slave,

to get some office,

have not devised this slander.
I'll be hanged else.

Fie, there is no such
man. It is impossible.

If any such there be,
heaven pardon him!

A halter pardon him,
and hell gnaw his bones!

Why should he call her

"whore"?
Who keeps her company?

What place? What time?
What form? What likelihood?

The Moor's abused
by some most villainous knave,

some base notorious knave,

- some scurvy fellow!
- Speak within door!

Alas, Iago.

What shall I do to
win my lord again?

Good friend, go to him.

For by this light of heaven,
I know not how I lost him.

Here I kneel.

If e'er my will did trespass
against his love,

either in discourse of thought
or actual deed,

or that mine eyes,
mine ears, or any

sense, delighted
them in any other form,

or that I do not
yet, and ever did,

and ever will,
though he do shake

me off to beggarly divorcement,

love him dearly,
comfort forswear me!

Unkindness may do much.

And his unkindness
may defeat my life,

but never taint my love.

I cannot say "whore".

It does abhor me
now I speak the word.

To do the act that
might the addition earn,

not the world's mass
of vanity could make me.

Yet be content.

'Tis but the business of
the state does him offence,

and he does chide with you.

- If it were no other...
- 'Tis but so, I warrant.

Hark, how these instruments
summon to supper.

The messengers of
Venice stay the meat.

Go in, and weep not.

All things shall be well.

How now, Roderigo?

I do not find that
thou dealest justly with me.

What, in the contrary?

Every day, thou daffest me
with some device, Iago,

and rather, as it
seems to me now,

keepest from me all conveniency

rather than suppliest me with
the least advantage of hope.

I will indeed no
longer endure it.

Nor am I yet persuaded
to put up in peace

what I've already
foolishly suffered.

Will you hear me, Roderigo?

Faith, faith! I've
heard too much.

Your words and performances
are no kin together.

- You charge me most unjustly.
- With naught but truth.

I've wasted myself
out of my means.

The jewels that you've had
from me to give to Desdemona

would have
half-corrupted a saint!

You've told me she
hath received them,

and returned me
expectations and comforts

of sudden respect and
acquaintance. I find none.

Well, go to, very well.

"Very well, go
to"? I cannot go to, man.

Nor 'tis not very well. Nay.

Nay, I say 'tis very scurvy.

I begin to find
myself fopped in it.

Very well.

I tell you 'tis not very well. I

will make myself
known to Desdemona.

If she will return me my jewels,
I will give over my suit

and repent my unlawful
solicitation. If not...

assure yourself
I will seek satisfaction of you.

- You have said now.
- Ay.

And said nothing but what I
protest intendment of doing.

Now, do I see
there's mettle in thee!

And even from this
instant do build on

thee a better opinion
than ever before.

Give me thy hand, Roderigo.

Give me thy hand!

Give me thy hand.

Thou hast taken against me
a most just exception,

and yet, I protest, I have dealt
most directly in thy affair.

It hath not appeared.

I grant indeed it
hath not appeared,

and your suspicion is not
without wit and judgement.

But, if thou hast
that in thee indeed,

which I have greater reason
to believe now than ever,

I mean purpose, courage, valour,

this night show it.

If thou the next night following
enjoy not Desdemona,

let me be taken from this world
with treachery

and devise engines for my life.

Well, what is it?

Sir, there is an especial
commission come from Venice

to depute Cassio
in Othello's place.

- Is that true?
- Yes!

Why, then, Othello and Desdemona
return again to Venice?

No. He goes into
Mauritania, and takes

away with him the
fair Desdemona.

Unless...

Unless his abode be lingered
here by some accident,

wherein none can
be so determinate

as the removing of Cassio.

How do you mean
"removing" of him?

By making him uncapable
of Othello's place.

Knocking out his brains.

That you would have me to do?

Ay.

If thou dare'st do
thyself a profit and a right.

Come.

Stand not amazed at it.

And... And go along with me.

I will hear further
reason for this.

And you shall be satisfied.

I do beseech you, sir,
trouble yourself no further.

O, pardon me, sir,
it will do me good to walk.

Madam, good night.

I humbly thank your ladyship.

Your honour is most welcome.

Will you walk, sir?

O, Desdemona.

My lord.

Get you to bed on the instant.

I will be returned forthwith.

Dismiss your attendant there.

Look it be done.

I will, my lord.

How goes it now?
He looks gentler than he did.

He says he will
return incontinent.

He hath commanded me to go to
bed, and bade me to dismiss you.

- Dismiss me?
- It's his bidding.

Therefore, good Emilia,

give me my nightly
wearing, and adieu.

We must not now displease him.

I would you had
never seen him!

So would not I.

My love doth so
approve him, that even his

stubbornness, his
checks, his frowns...

Prithee, unpin me.

have grace and
favour in them.

I have laid those sheets
you bade me on the bed.

All's one.

Good faith, how
foolish are our minds.

If I do die before
thee, prithee,

shroud me in one of
these same sheets.

Come, come, you talk.

My mother had a
maid called Barbary.

She was in love.

And he she loved
proved mad and did forsake her.

She had a song of
"Willow".

An old thing it was,
but it expressed her fortune,

and she died singing it.

That song, tonight, will
not go from my mind.

I have much to do but to go
hang my head all at one side

and sing it like poor Barbary.

Prithee dispatch.

Shall I go fetch
your night gown?

No.

Unpin me here.

This Lodovico is a proper man.

He's a very handsome man.

He speaks well.

I know a lady from Venice

who would have walked
barefoot to Palestine

for a touch of his nether lip.

The poor soul sat sighing

By a sycamore tree

Sing all a green willow

Her hand on her bosom

Her head on her knee

Sing willow, willow, willow

The fresh streams ran by her

And murmured her moans

Sing willow, willow

Willow

Her salt tears fell from her

And softened the stones

Lay by these.

Sing willow, willow, willow

Prithee, hie thee.
He'll come anon.

Sing all a green willow

Must be my garland

Let nobody blame him

His scorn I approve

Nay, that's not next.
Hark! Who is it that knocks?

It's the wind.

I called my love false love

What said he then?

Sing willow, willow, willow

If I court more women
You'll couch with more men

So...

get thee gone.

Good night.

Mine eyes do itch.

- Doth that bode weeping?
- 'Tis neither here nor there.

I have heard it said so.

O these men!

These men!

Dost thou in
conscience think, tell

me, Emilia, that there be women

do abuse their husbands
in such gross kind?

There be some such, no question.

Wouldst thou do such a deed
for all the world?

- Why, would not you?
- No.

No, by this heavenly light!

Nor I neither by
this heavenly light.

I might do't as
well in the dark.

Wouldst thou do such a deed
for all the world?

The world's a huge thing.

It's a great price
for a small vice.

In troth, I think
thou wouldst not.

In troth, I think I should.

And undo it when I had done it.

Marry, I would not
do such a thing for...

gowns, nor petticoats, nor caps,
nor any petty exhibition,

but, for the whole world, why...

who would not make her husband
a cuckold to make him a monarch?

I should venture
purgatory for it.

Beshrew me, if I should do such
a wrong for the whole world.

Why, the wrong is but
a wrong in the world,

and having the
world for your labour,

'tis but a wrong
in your own world,

and you might
quickly make it right.

I do not think there
is any such woman.

Yes!

A dozen.

And as many to the
vantage as would

store the worlds
they played for.

But I do think it is their

husbands' faults
If wives do fall.

Say that they slack
their duties, and

pour our treasures
into foreign laps.

Or else break out in peevish

jealousies, throwing
restraint upon us.

Or say they strike us.

Or scant our former
having in despite.

Why, we have galls!

And though we have some grace,
yet have we some revenge.

Let husbands know their
wives have sense like them.

They see and smell,

and have their
palates, both, for

sweet and sour,
as husbands have.

What is it that they
do when they change

us for others? Is it
sport? I think it is.

And doth affection
breed it? I think it doth.

And is't frailty that thus errs?
It is so too!

And have not we affections...

desires for sports and
frailties, as men have?

Then let them use us well.

Else let them know,

the ills we do,

their ills instruct us so.

Good night. Good night.

Heaven me such usage send,
not to pick bad from bad,

nor by bad mend!

Here.

Hide behind this bunk.

Straight will he come.

Wear thy good rapier bare,

- and put it home.
- Be near at hand.

I may miscarry in it.

Here, at thy hand.

Be bold, and take thy stand.

I have no great
devotion to the deed.

And yet, he hath given
me satisfying reasons.

'Tis but a man gone.

Forth, my sword, he dies.

I have rubbed this young quat
almost to the sense,

and he grows angry.

Now, whether he kill
Cassio, or Cassio him,

or each do kill the other,

every way makes my gain.

Live Roderigo, he calls me to a

restitution large
of gold and jewels

that I bobbed from him,
as gifts to Desdemona.

It must not be.

And if Cassio do remain,

he hath a daily beauty in
his life which makes me ugly.

And besides, the Moor
may unfold me to him.

There... stand I much in peril.

No, he must die, too.

But so, I hear him coming.

I know his laugh, 'tis he.

Villain, thou diest!

O, I'm slain!

Help! Ho!

Murder!

What, no watch?
No passage? Murder!

What, nobody come?
Then I shall bleed to death!

Who's there?

Whose noise is this
that cries on murder?

Here, here! For
heaven's sake, help me!

- What's the matter?
- Iago?

I'm spoiled, undone by villains!
Give me some help!

O, me, Lieutenant!
What villains have done this?

One of them is hereabout,
and cannot make away.

Help me here!

O, murderous slave! O, villain!

Damned Iago! O, inhuman dog!

Kill men in the dark.
Where be these bloody thieves?

How silent is the town.

What, ho.

Murder. Murder.

This is Othello's ancient.

What may be you, good or evil?

As you shall
prove us, praise us.

- Signor Lodovico.
- He, sir.

I cry you mercy. Here
is Cassio, hurt by villains.

Cassio!

Light. How is it, brother?

My leg is cut in two.

Marry, heaven forbid.

Light, gentlemen, I'll
bind it with my shirt.

- O, sweet Cassio!
- Gentlemen all,

I do suspect this trash
to be a party in this injury.

I am no trash.

Lend me your light.
Know we this face or no?

No, alas, it is my friend
and my dear countryman.

No... Yes. Roderigo.

- What, of Venice?
- Ay.

Signor Gratiano, I
cry your gentle pardon.

These bloody accidents
must excuse my manners,

for so neglecting you.

Cassio, how is it?

Montano, bear
him carefully away.

- Cassio?
- Away.

- Careful.
- Alas, what's the matter?

What's the matter, husband?

Cassio hath here been
set upon by Roderigo

and some fellows
that are escaped.

He is almost slain,
and Roderigo dead.

Emilia, run you to the citadel,

and tell my lord and
lady what hath happ'd.

Will you go on afore?

This is the night

that either makes me
or fordoes me quite.

It is the cause.

It is the cause,
my soul, let me not

name it to you,
you chaste stars!

It is the cause.

Yet I'll not shed her blood.

Nor scar that whiter
skin of hers than snow,

as smooth as
monumental alabaster.

Yet she must die...

else she'll betray more men.

Put out the light.

And then put out the light.

If I quench thee,
thou flaming minister,

I can again thy former light
restore, should I repent me.

But once put out thy light...

thou cunning'st pattern
of excelling nature...

I know not where
is that Promethean

heat that can thy light relume.

Once I have pluck'd thy rose,

I cannot give it
vital growth again.

It needs must wither.

I'll smell it on the tree.

O, balmy breath,
that dost almost

persuade justice
to break her sword.

One more.

One more.

Be thus when
thou art dead, and I

will kill thee and
love thee after.

One more, and this the last.

So sweet was ne'er so fatal.

I must weep.

But they are cruel tears.

This sorrow's heavenly,
it strikes where it doth love.

- She wakes.
- Who's there?

Othello.

Ay, Desdemona.

Will you come to bed, my lord?

Have you prayed
tonight, Desdemona?

Ay, my lord.

If you bethink
yourself of any crime

unreconciled as
yet to heaven and

grace, solicit for it straight.

Alack, my lord, what
may you mean by that?

Do it, and be brief.

I will sit here.

I would not kill thy
unprepared spirit, no.

Heaven forfend, I
would not kill thy soul.

Talk you of killing?

Ay, I do.

Then heaven have mercy on me!

Amen, with all my heart.

If you say so, I hope
you will not kill me!

And yet I fear you.

Why I should fear, I know not,
since guiltiness I know not!

- But yet I feel I fear.
- Think on thy sins.

They are loves I bear to you!

Ay, and for that thou diest.

That death is unnatural
that kills for loving.

Some bloody passion
shakes your very frame.

These are portents,
but yet I hope,

I hope they do not point on me!

Peace! Peace, and be still!

I will. So...

what's the matter?

That handkerchief
that I so loved and gave thee,

thou gav'st to Cassio.

No, by my life and soul!

- Send for the man and ask him.
- Sweet soul, take heed!

Take heed of perjury,
thou art on thy death-bed.

- Ay, but not yet to die.
- Yes, presently.

Therefore, confess
thee freely of thy sin!

For to deny each
article with oath

cannot remove
nor choke the strong

conception I do groan withal.

Thou art to die.

- Then, Lord have mercy on me!
- I say, amen.

And have you mercy, too!

I never did offend you in
my life, never loved Cassio,

but with such general warranty
of heaven as I might love.

I never gave him token!

By heaven, I saw the
handkerchief in his hand!

O perjured woman,
thou dost stone my heart,

and mak'st me call a murder,
which I thought a sacrifice.

I saw the handkerchief!

He found it, then.

I never gave it him.

Send for him hither.
Let him confess a truth!

He hath confessed.

What, my lord?

That he hath used thee.

- How? Unlawfully?
- Ay.

- He will not say so.
- No.

His mouth is stopped.

Honest Iago hath
ta'en order for it.

O, my fear interprets.

What, is he dead?

Had all his hairs
been lives, my great

revenge had
stomach for them all.

Alas, he is betrayed.

And I undone.

Out, strumpet!

Weep'st thou for him to my face?

Emilia!

Banish me, my
lord, but kill me not!

Down, strumpet!

Kill me tomorrow,
let me live tonight!

Nay, if you strive...

- But half an hour!
- Being done, there is no pause.

But while I say one prayer!

It is too late.

My lord!

My lord! What, ho!

My lord!

My lord!

Not dead. Not yet quite dead.

I that am cruel am yet merciful.

I would not have
thee linger in thy pain.

So, so...

What, ho! My lord!

- My lord!
- Who's there?

O, good my lord,
I would speak a word with you!

Yes?

'Tis Emilia. By and by.

She's dead.

'Tis like she comes to speak
of Cassio's death.

The noise was high.

No more moving.

Still as the grave.

Shall she come in? Were it good?

I think she stirs again.

No.

What's best to do?

If she come in, she'll
sure speak to my wife.

My wife.

My wife!

What wife?

I have no wife.

I do beseech you,

that I may speak with
you, O, good my lord!

I had forgot thee.

Come in... Come
in, Emilia. Soft! Soft!

By and by.

Let me the curtains draw.

Come in. Come, Emilia.

Where art thou?
What's the matter with thee now?

O, good, my lord.

Yonder's foul murder done!

- What, now?
- But now, my lord.

It is the very
error of the moon.

She comes more nearer Earth than
she was wont and makes men mad.

Cassio, my lord, hath killed a
young Venetian called Roderigo.

Roderigo killed?
And Cassio killed?

No, Cassio is not killed.

Not Cassio killed?

Then murder's out of tune,
and sweet revenge grows harsh.

My lady?

Help!

Help!

Ho, help!

O, lady, speak.

Sweet mistress.

O, sweet Desdemona, speak.

Who hath done this deed?

Why... How should
she be murdered?

Alas...

who knows?

It was I that killed her.

O, the more angel she,
and you the blacker devil!

She turned to folly,
and she was a whore.

Thou dost belie her,
and thou art a devil.

She was false as water!

Thou art rash as fire,
to say that she was false!

O, she was heavenly true!

Cassio did top her!
Ask thy husband else!

O, I were damned
beneath all depth in hell,

but that I did proceed upon
just grounds of this extremity.

Thy husband knew it all!

- My husband?
- Thy husband!

- That she was false to wedlock?
- Ay! With Cassio.

Nay, had she been true,

if heaven would make
me such another world

of one entire and
perfect chrysolite,

- I'd not have sold her for it.
- My husband?

Ay, 'twas he that told me first.

An honest man
he is, and hates the

slime that sticks
on filthy deeds.

My husband?

What needs this iterance, woman?
I say thy husband!

O mistress, villainy hath
made mocks with love!

My husband say
that she was false?

He, woman! I say thy husband!
Dost understand the word?

My friend, thy husband,
honest, honest Iago.

If he say so, may his pernicious
soul rot half a grain a day!

He lies to the heart.

She was too fond of
her most filthy bargain.

Do thy worst.

This deed of thine was
no more worthy heaven

than thou was worthy her!

Peace, you were best.

Thou hast not half the power to
do me harm as I have to be hurt!

O, gull!

O, dolt!

As ignorant as dirt!

Thou hast done a deed...
I care not for thy sword.

I'll make thee known,
though I lost twenty lives!

Help!

Help!

Ho, help!

The Moor hath
killed my mistress!

Murder!

Murder!

What's the matter?
How now, General?

O, are you come, Iago?

You have done well that men must
lay their murders on your neck.

What is the matter?

Disprove this villain,
if thou be'st a man.

He says thou told'st him
his wife was false.

I know thou didst not,
thou art not such a villain.

Speak, for my heart is full.

I told him what I
thought, and told

no more than what
he found himself

was apt and true.

But did you ever
tell him she was false?

I did.

You told a lie.

An odious, damnèd lie!

Upon my soul, a
lie! A wicked lie!

She, false with Cassio?
Did you say with Cassio?

With Cassio, mistress.
Go to, charm your tongue.

I will not charm my tongue!

I am bound to speak!

My mistress here lies
murdered in her bed!

Heaven forfend!

And your reports
have set the murder on.

Nay, stare not,
masters, it is true indeed.

- 'Tis a strange truth.
- A monstrous act!

Villainy.

Villainy.

Villainy. I think upon it,
I think I smell it.

O, villainy!

I thought so then.
I'll kill myself for grief.

Villainy!

- Villainy!
- What, are you mad?

- I charge you, get you home.
- I will not.

Good gentlemen,
give me leave to speak.

'Tis proper I obey
him, but not now!

Perchance, Iago, I
will ne'er go home!

Nay.

Lay thee down and roar, for thou

hast killed the
sweetest innocent

that e'er did lift up eye.

She was foul!

Her breath, indeed, these hands
of mine have newly stopped.

I know this act shows
horrible and grim.

But yet Iago knows that she with
Cassio hath the act of shame

a thousand times committed!

Cassio confessed it.

And she did gratify
his amorous works

with that recognisance
and pledge

of love which I first gave her.

I saw it in his hand!
It was a handkerchief,

an antique token my
father gave my mother.

O, heaven!

- O, heavenly powers!
- Come, hold thy peace.

'Twill out, 'twill out. I peace?

No, I will speak as
liberal as the north.

Let heaven and men and devils,

let them all, all, all cry shame
against me, yet I'll speak!

- Be wise, and get you home.
- I will not!

O, thou dull Moor, that
handkerchief thou speak'st of,

I found by fortune and
did give to my husband

for often with a
solemn earnestness,

more than indeed
belonged to such a trifle.

He begged me to steal it!

Villainous whore!

She give it Cassio? No! Alas, I

found it, and did
give to my husband.

Filth, thou liest!

By heaven, I do not,
I do not, gentlemen.

O, thou murderous coxcomb!

What should such a fool do
with so good a wife?

Are there not stones in heaven
but what serve for thunder?

Precious villain!

The woman falls.
Sure, he hath killed his wife.

Ay.

Ay.

Lay me by my mistress' side.

Come, guard the
door without. Let

him not pass,
but kill him rather.

I'll after that same villain,
for 'tis a damned slave!

What did thy song bode, lady?

Hark...

canst thou hear me?

I'll play the swan...

and die in music.

Willow

Willow

Willow

Moor, she was chaste.

She loved thee... cruel Moor.

So come my soul to bliss,

as I speak true.

So speaking as I think...

I die.

I...

die.

When we shall meet at compt,

this look of thine
will hurl my soul from heaven.

Desdemona's dead.

Desdemona's dead!

Where is this rash and
most unfortunate man?

That's he that was Othello.

Here I am.

Where is that viper?

Bring the villain forth.

If that thou be'st a devil,

I cannot kill thee.

Restrain him!

I... bleed, sir, but not...

not killed.

I am not sorry neither.
I'd have thee live,

for in my sense,
'tis happiness to die.

Did you and he consent
in Cassio's death?

Ay.

Dear General, I
never gave you cause.

I... I do believe it,
and I ask your pardon.

Will you, I pray,
demand that demi-devil

why he hath thus
ensnared my soul and body?

Demand me nothing.

What you know, you know.

From this time forth,
I never will speak word.

What, not to pray?

Torments will ope your lips.

How came you, Cassio, by that
handkerchief that was my wife's?

I found it in my
chamber, where he

had dropped it for
a special reason

- which wrought to his desire.
- O, fool!

You must forsake this
room and go with us.

Your power and your
command is taken

off, and Cassio rules in Cyprus.

For this slave...

more fell than anguish,
hunger, or the sea.

This is thy work!

To you, Lord
Governor, remains the

censure of this hellish villain.

The time, the place,
the torture, O, enforce it!

You shall close prisoner rest,

till that the
nature of your fault

be known to the Venetian state.

- Come, bring away.
- Soft you.

A word or two before you go.

I have done the state some
service, and they know it.

No more of that.

I pray you, in your letters,

when you these unlucky deeds
relate, speak of me as I am.

Nothing extenuate,
or set down aught in malice.

Then must you speak of one
who loved not wisely,

but too well.

Of one not easily
jealous, but being

wrought, perplexed
in the extreme.

Of one whose eyes...

albeit unusèd
to the melting mood,

drop tears as
fast as the Arabian

trees their medicinal gum.

Set you down this.

And say besides,
that in Aleppo once,

where a malignant
and turbaned Turk beat

a Venetian and
traduced the state...

I took by the throat, the
circumcisèd dog...

and smote him, thus.

Willow, willow

The poor soul sat sighing

By a sycamore tree

Sing willow, willow, willow

Her hand on her bosom

Her head on her knee

Sing willow, willow, willow

The fresh streams ran by her

And murmured her moans

Sing willow, willow, willow

Her salt tears fell from her

And softened the stones

Sing willow, willow, willow

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