The Tragedy of Othello, Moor of Venice

shortly as acerb as the coloquintida. She must change for
youth;
when she is sated with his body, she will find the error of
her
choice. She must have change, she must; therefore put money
in
thy purse. If thou wilt needs damn thyself, do it a more
delicate
way than drowning. Make all the money thou canst. If
sanctimony
and a frail vow betwixt an erring barbarian and a supersubtle
Venetian be not too hard for my wits and all the tribe of
hell,
thou shalt enjoy her- therefore make money. A pox of drowning
thyself! It is clean out of the way. Seek thou rather to be
hanged in compassing thy joy than to be drowned and go
without
her.
RODERIGO. Wilt thou be fast to my hopes, if I depend on the
issue?
IAGO. Thou art sure of me- go, make money. I have told thee
often,
and I retell thee again and again, I hate the Moor. My cause
is
hearted; thine hath no less reason. Let us be conjunctive in
our
revenge against him. 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 thy money. We
will
have more of this tomorrow. Adieu.
RODERIGO. Where shall we meet i' the morning?
IAGO. At my lodging.
RODERIGO. I'll be with thee betimes.
IAGO. Go to, farewell. Do you hear, Roderigo?
RODERIGO. What say you?
IAGO. No more of drowning, do you hear?
RODERIGO. I am changed; I'll go sell all my land.
Exit.
IAGO. Thus do I ever make my fool my purse;
For I mine own gain'd knowledge should profane
If I would time expend with such a snipe
But for my sport and profit. I hate the Moor,
And it is thought abroad that 'twixt my sheets
He has done my office. I know not if't be true,
But I for mere suspicion in that kind
Will do as if for surety. 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
In double knavery- How, how? – Let's see-
After some time, to abuse Othello's ear
That he is too familiar with his wife.
He hath a person and a smooth dispose
To be suspected- framed to make women false.
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't. It is engender'd. Hell and night
Must bring this monstrous birth to the world's light.

Exit.

ACT II. SCENE I. A seaport in Cyprus. An open place near the quay

Enter Montano and two Gentlemen.

MONTANO. What from the cape can you discern at sea?
FIRST GENTLEMAN. Nothing at all. It is a high-wrought flood;
I cannot, 'twixt the heaven and the main,
Descry a sail.
MONTANO. Methinks the wind hath spoke aloud at land;
A fuller blast ne'er shook our battlements.
If it hath ruffian'd so upon the sea,
What ribs of oak, when mountains melt on them,
Can hold the mortise? What shall we hear of this?
SECOND GENTLEMAN. A segregation of the Turkish fleet.
For do but stand upon the foaming shore,
The chidden billow seems to pelt the clouds;
The wind-shaked surge, with high and monstrous mane,
Seems to cast water on the burning bear,
And quench the guards of the ever-fixed pole.
I never did like molestation view
On the enchafed flood.
MONTANO. If that the Turkish fleet
Be not enshelter'd and embay'd, they are drown'd;
It is impossible to bear it out.

Enter a third Gentleman.

THIRD GENTLEMAN. News, lads! Our wars are done.
The desperate tempest hath so bang'd the Turks,
That their designment halts. A noble ship of Venice
Hath seen a grievous wreck and sufferance
On most part of their fleet.
MONTANO. How? Is this true?
THIRD GENTLEMAN. The ship is here put in,