Othello

Othello
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 my offending
Hath this extent, no more. Rude am I in my speech,
And little blessed with the soft phrase of peace;
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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 have passed.

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.

I ran it through,
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Desdemona
Most gracious duke,
To my unfolding lend your prosperous ear
And let me find a charter in your voice
T’ assist my simpleness.
Duke
What would you, Desdemona?
Desdemona
That I love the Moor to live with him
My downright violence and storm of fortunes
May trumpet to the world.
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Duke
At nine i’ th’ morning here we’ll meet again.
Othello, leave some officer behind
And he shall our commission bring to you,
With such things else of quality and respect
As doth import you.
Othello
So please your Grace, my ancient.
A man he is of honesty and trust.
To his conveyance I assign my wife,
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Othello
O, my fair warrior!
Desdemona
My dear Othello!
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,
May the winds blow till they have wakened death,
And let the laboring bark climb hills of seas
Olympus high,
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Desdemona
Tell me, Othello. I wonder in my soul
What you would ask me that I should deny,
Or stand so mamm’ring 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!
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Iago
My lord, you know I love you.
Othello
I think thou dost;
And for I know thou ‘rt 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 false, disloyal knave
Are tricks of custom;
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Iago
Good name in man and woman, dear my lord,
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.
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Iago
My lord, I see you’re moved.
Othello
No, not much moved.
I do not think but Desdemona’s honest.
Iago
Long live she so! And long live you to think so!
Othello
And yet, how nature erring from itself—
Iago
Ay, there’s the point. As,
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Othello
Avaunt! Begone! Thou hast set me on the rack.
I swear ’tis better to be much abused
Than but to know ‘t a little.
Iago
How now, my lord?

He that is robbed, not wanting what is stol’n,
Let him not know ‘t, and he’s not robbed at all.

Othello
What sense had I of her stol’n hours of lust?
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