The Complete Works of William Shakespeare

148

What safe and nicely I might well delay
By rule of knighthood, I disdain and spurn;
Back do I toss these treasons to thy head,
With the hell-hated lie o'erwhelm thy heart,
Which, for they yet glance by and scarcely
bruise,

This sword of mine shall give them instant way,
Where they shall rest for ever. Trumpets,
speak!
152
[Alarums. They fight. EDMUND falls.
Alb. Save him, save him!
Gon.
This is practice, Gloucester:
By the law of arms thou wast not bound to

How have you known the miseries of your father?

Edg. By nursing them, my lord. List a brief tale;

And, when 'tis told, O! that my heart would burst, 184

The bloody proclamation to escape

That follow'd me so near,-O! our lives' sweet

ness,

Whilst I was big in clamour came there a man,
Who, having seen me in my worst estate,
Shunn'd my abhorr'd society; but then, finding
Who 'twas that so endur'd, with his strong arms
He fasten'd on my neck, and bellow'd out
As he'd burst heaven; threw him on my father;
Told the most piteous tale of Lear and him 216
That ever ear receiv'd; which in recounting

The gods are just, and of our pleasant vices 172 His grief grew puissant, and the strings of life Make instruments to plague us:

Began to crack: twice then the trumpet

sounded,

And there I left him tranc'd.

Alb.
But who was this? 220
Edg. Kent, sir, the banish'd Kent; who in
disguise

Follow'd his enemy king, and did him service
Improper for a slave.

Enter a Gentleman, with a bloody knife. Gent. Help, help! O help!

Kent. To bid my king and master aye good-night; Is he not here?

236

Kent.

Is this the promis'd end? 265
Edg. Or image of that horror?
Alb.
Fall and cease?
Lear. This feather stirs; she lives! if it be so,
It is a chance which does redeem all sorrows 268
That ever I have felt.

Kent. [Kneeling.] O, my good master!
Lear. Prithee, away.

Edg.

'Tis noble Kent, your friend.

Lear. A plague upon you, murderers, traitors

all!

I might have sav'd her; now, she's gone for ever!
Cordelia, Cordelia! stay a little. Ha!
273
What is 't thou sayst? Her voice was ever soft,
Gentle and low, an excellent thing in woman.
I kill'd the slave that was a hanging thee. 276
Off. 'Tis true, my lord, he did.
Lear.

Did I not, fellow? I have seen the day, with my good biting falchion

I would have made them skip: I am old now, And these same crosses spoil me. Who are you? Mine eyes are not o' the best: I'll tell you straight.

281

Kent. If fortune brag of two she lov'd and hated, One of them we behold.

Lear. This is a dull sight. Are you not Kent? Kent. The same, 284 Your servant Kent. Where is your servant Caius?

Lear. He's a good fellow, I can tell you that; He'll strike, and quickly too. He's dead and rotten.

Kent. No, my good lord; I am the very

To hang Cordelia in the prison, and

To lay the blame upon her own despair, That she fordid herself.

256

MONTANO, Othello's predecessor in the Govern- Sailor, Officers, Gentlemen, Messengers, Music

ment of Cyprus.

ians, Heralds, Attendants.

SCENE. For the first Act, in Venice; during the rest of the Play, at a Sea-Port in Cyprus.

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, as loving his own pride and purposes, 12
Evades them, with a bombast circumstance
Horribly stuff'd with epithets of war;
And, in conclusion,

Nonsuits my mediators; for, 'Certes,' says he, 16
'I have already chose my officer.'
And what was he?

Forsooth, a great arithmetician,
One Michael Cassio, a Florentine,

A fellow almost damn'd in a fair wife;
That never set a squadron in the field,
Nor the division of a battle knows

Rod. By heaven, I rather would have been his hangman.

Iago. Why, there's no remedy: 'tis the curse of the service,

Preferment goes by letter and affection,
Not by the old gradation, where each second
Stood heir to the first. Now, sir, be judge your-
self,

Whe'r I in any just term am affin'd
To love the Moor.

Rod.
I would not follow him then. 40
Iago. O! sir, content you;

I follow him to serve my turn upon him; We cannot all be masters, nor all masters Cannot be truly follow'd. You shall mark 20 Many a duteous and knee-crooking knave, That, doting on his own obsequious bondage, Wears out his time, much like his master's ass, For nought but provender, and when he's old, cashier'd; 48 25 Whip me such honest knaves. Others there are

More than a spinster; unless the bookish theoric,
Wherein the toged consuls can propose

And such a one do I profess myself. For, sir,
It is as sure as you are Roderigo,
Were I the Moor, I would not be Iago:
In following him, I follow but myself;
Heaven is my judge, not I for love and duty,
But seeming so, for my peculiar end:
For when my outward action doth demonstrate
The native act and figure of my heart
In compliment 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.
Rod. What a full fortune does the thick-lips
owe,

If he can carry 't thus! Iago.

Call up her father; 67 Rouse him, make after him, poison his delight, Proclaim him in the streets, incense her kins

Awake the snorting citizens with the bell,
Or else the devil will make a grandsire of you.
Arise, I say.

Bra. What! have you lost your wits? 92 Rod. Most reverend signior, do you know my voice?

Bra. Not I, what are you?

Rod. My name is Roderigo.
Bra.

The worser welcome:

But thou must needs be sure

My spirit and my place have in them power
To make this bitter to thee.
Rod.

Patience, good sir. 104 Bra. What tell'st thou me of robbing? this is Venice;

My house is not a grange.
Rod.

107

Most grave Brabantio, In simple and pure soul I come to you. Iago. 'Zounds! sir, you are one of those that will not serve God if the devil bid you. Because we come to do you service and you think we are ruffians, you'll have your daughter covered with a Barbary horse; you'll have your nephews neigh to you; you'll have coursers for cousins and gennets for germans.

114

Bra. This thou shalt answer; I know thee, Roderigo.

120

Rod. Sir, I will answer any thing. But, I beseech you,

If 't be your pleasure and most wise consent,— As partly, I find, it is, that your fair daughter, At this odd-even and dull-watch o' the night, 124 Transported with no worse nor better guard But with a knave of common hire, a gondolier, To the gross clasps of a lascivious Moor,- 127 If this be known to you, and your allowance, We then have done you bold and saucy wrongs; But if you know not this, my manners tell me We have your wrong rebuke. Do not believe, That, from the sense of all civility,

132

I thus would play and trifle with your reverence: Your daughter, if you have not given her leave,

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