Oth. Keep up your bright swords, for the dew will rust them.

Good signior, you shall more command with years, Than with your weapons.

Bra. O thou foul thief, where hast thou stow'd
my daughter?

Damn'd 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 shunn'd
The wealthy curled darlings of our nation,-
Would ever have, to incur a general mock,
Run from her guardage to the sooty bosom
Of such a thing as thou: to fear, not to delight.
Judge me the world, if 'tis not gross in sense,
That thou hast practis'd on her with foul charins;
Abus'd her delicate youth with drugs, or minerals,
That waken motion :-I'll have it disputed on;
'Tis probable, and palpable to thinking.
I therefore apprehend and do attach thee,
For an abuser of the world, a practiser
Of arts inhibited and out of warrant:-
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 my cue to fight, I should have known it Without a prompter.-Where will you that I go To answer this your charge?

Bra

Of law, and course of direct session,

Call the to answer.

To prison till fit time

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?

(1) To terrify, not delight.

of The duke's in council; and noble self, I am sure, is sent for.

'Tis true, most worthy signior,

your

Bra.
How! the duke in council!
In this time of the night!-Bring him away:
Mine's not an idle cause: the duke himself,
Or any of my brothers of the state,

Cannot but feel this wrong, as 'twere their own:
For if such actions may have passage free,
Bond-slaves, and pagans,1 shall our statesmen be.

[Exeunt SCENE III.-The same. A council-chamber. The Duke, and Senators, sitting at a table; Of ficers attending.

Duke. There is no composition2 in these news, 'That gives them credit.

1 Sen.

Indeed, they are disproportion'd; My letters say, a hundred and seven galleys. Duke. And mine, a hundred and forty.

2 Sen.

And mine, two hundred But though they jump not on a just account (As in these cases, where the aim3 reports, 'Tis oft with difference,) yet do they all confirm A Turkish fleet, and bearing up to Cyprus.

Duke. Nay, it is possible enough to judgment; I do not so secure me in the error,

But the main article I do approve

In fearful sense.

Sailor. [Within.] What ho! what ho! what ho!

Enter an Officer, with a Sailor.

Off. A messenger from the galleys.

Duke.

Now? the business?

Sail. The Turkish preparation makes for Rhodes;

So was I bid report here to the state,

By signior Angelo.

Duke. How say you by this change?

(1) The pagans and bond-slaves of Africa.

(2) Consistency.

(3) Conjecture.

1 Sen.

This cannot be,

By no assay of reason; 'tis a pageant,

To keep us in false gaze: When we consider
The importancy of Cyprus to the Turk;
And let ourselves again but understand,
That, as it more concerns the Turk than Rhodes,
So may he with more facile question' bear it,
For that it stands not in such warlike brace,2
But altogether lacks the abilities

That Rhodes is dress'd in:-if we make thought

of this,

We must not think, the Turk is so unskilful,

To leave that latest which concerns him first;
Neglecting an attempt of ease and gain,
To wake, and wage,3 a danger profitless.

Duke. Nay, in all confidence, he's not for Rhodes.
Of. Here is more news.

Enter a Messenger.

Mess. The Ottomites, reverend and gracious, Steering with due course toward the isle of Rhodes, Have there injointed them with an after-fleet.

1 Sen. Ay, so I thought :-How many, as you guess?

Mess. Oi thirty sail: and now do they re-stem Their backward course, bearing with frank ap

pearance

Their purposes towards Cyprus.-Signior Montano, Your trusty and most valiant servitor,

With his free duty recommends you thus,

And prays you to believe him.

Duke. 'Tis certain then for Cyprus.

Marcus Lucchesé, is he not in town?

1 Sen. He's now in Florence.

Duke. Write from us; wish him post-post-haste: despatch.

1 Sen. Here comes Brabantio, and the valiant

Moor.

(1) Easy dispute.

(2) State of defence.

(3) Combat.

Enter Brabantio, Othello, Iago, Roderigo, and

Officers.

Duke. Valiant Othello, we must straight employ

you

Against the general enemy Ottoman.

I did not see you; welcome, gentle signior;

[To Brabantio. We lack'd your counsel and your help to-night. Bra. So did I yours: Good your grace, pardon

me;

Neither my place, nor aught I heard of business, Hath rais'd 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.

Duke.

Why, what's the matter? Bra. My daughter! O, my daughter!

Sen.

Bra.

Dead?

Ay, to me;

She is abus'd, stol'n from me and corrupted

By spells and medicines bought of mountebanks: For nature so preposterously to err,

Being not deficient, blind or lame of sense,

Sans witchcraft could not

Duke. Whoe'er he be, that, in this foul pro

ceeding,

Hath thus beguil'd 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

Bra.

your action.2

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.

(1) Without.

(2) Accusation

Duke & Sen.

We are very sorry for it.

Duke. What, in your own part, can you say to *[To Othello.

this?

Bra. Nothing but, this is so.

Oth. Most potent, grave, and reverend signiors, 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 iny offending Hath this extent, no more. Rude am I in my speech, And little bless'd with the set phrase of peace; For since these arms of mine had seven years' pith, Till now some nine moons wasted, they have us'd Their dearest action in the tented field; And little of this great world can I speak, More than pertains to feats of broil and battle; And therefore little shall I grace my cause,

In speaking for myself: Yet, by your gracious patience,

I will a round unvarnish'd tale deliver

Of my whole course of love; what drugs, what charms,

What conjuration, and what mighty magic (For such proceeding I am charg'd withal,) I won his daughter with.

Bra.

A maiden never bold;
Of spirit so still and quiet, that her motion
Blush'd at herself; And she,-in spite of nature,
Of
years, of country, credit, every thing,-
To fall in love with what she fear'd to look on?
It is a judgment maim'd, and most imperfect,
That will confess-perfection so could err
Against all rules of nature; and must be driven
To find out practices of cunning hell,

Why this should be. I therefore vouch again,
That with some mixtures powerful o'er the blood,
Or with some dram conjur'd to this effect,
He wrought upon her.

(1) Best exertion.