The SECOND GENTLEMAN exits.
Good ancient, you are welcome.—Welcome, mistress. (kisses EMILIA) Let it not gall your patience, good Iago, That I extend my manners. 'Tis my breeding That gives me this bold show of courtesy.
Good flag-bearer, welcome. And welcome, ma'am. [He kisses EMILIA] Now, good Iago, don't get mad that I'm kissing your wife hello. I was brought up to show courtesy that way.
Sir, would she give you so much of her lips As of her tongue she oft bestows on me, You would have have enough.
Sir, if she gave you as much of her lips as she gives me of her talkative tongue, you'd have had enough.
Alas, she has no speech!
No, she doesn't talk that much!
In faith, too much. I find it still, when I have leave to sleep. Marry, before your ladyship, I grant, She puts her tongue a little in her heart And chides with thinking.
Really, she talks too much. She even talks when I'm trying to sleep. I admit that maybe she talks less in front of you, and thinks before she speaks.
You have little cause to say so.
You have little reason to say that.
Come on, come on. You are pictures out of door, Bells in your parlors, wild-cats in your kitchens, Saints in your injuries, devils being offended, Players in your housewifery, and hussies in your beds.
Come on, come on. You women are the picture of perfection out in public, but annoying as ringing bells in your parlors and like wild-cats in your kitchens. When you've been hurt, you act like saints, but when you're offended you act like devils. You all fool around when you should be doing your housewife duties, and you are hussies in bed.
Oh, fie upon thee, slanderer!
Oh, curses upon you, you slandering women!
Nay, it is true, or else I am a Turk. You rise to play and go to bed to work.
But it's true. I swear it's true, or else I'm a Turk . You get up in the morning to play around and only work when you go to bed.
You shall not write my praise.
You're not going to say anything good about me, are you?
What wouldst thou write of me, if thou should’st praise me?
What would you say about me, if you had to praise me?
O gentle lady, do not put me to ’t, For I am nothing, if not critical.
Oh, dear lady, don't put me on the spot. I'm nothing if not overly critical.
Come on, assay. There’s one gone to the harbor?
Come on, give it a try. Has someone gone to the harbor?
I am not merry, but I do beguile The thing I am by seeming otherwise. Come, how wouldst thou praise me?
I'm not in a good mood, but I'm putting on an act and pretending to be jovial. Tell me, Iago, how would you praise me?
I am about it, but indeed my invention Comes from my pate as birdlime does from frieze, It plucks out brains and all. But my Muse labors And thus she is delivered: If she be fair and wise, fairness and wit, The one’s for use, the other useth it.
I'm thinking. But I'm finding it hard to come up with something. Nonetheless, I've found some inspiration. Here: if she is beautiful and wise, she'll use her wisdom to make use of her beauty.
Well praised! How if she be black and witty?
Clever praise! And what if she's unattractive and smart?
If she be black, and thereto have a wit, She’ll find a white that shall her blackness fit.
If she is unattractive, but has some wits, she'll find a man suitable for her appearance.
Worse and worse!
That one's worse.
How if fair and foolish?
What if she's pretty and foolish?
She never yet was foolish that was fair, For even her folly helped her to an heir.
There's never been a woman that was foolish and pretty. For even the stupidity of such a woman would help her find a man.
These are old fond paradoxes to make fools laugh i' th' alehouse. What miserable praise hast thou for her That’s foul and foolish?
These are old sayings to make fools laugh in the bars. What saying do you have for a woman that's both ugly and foolish?
There’s none so foul and foolish thereunto, But does foul pranks which fair and wise ones do.
The ugly, foolish women play the same tricks the pretty, wise ones do.
Oh, heavy ignorance! Thou praisest the worst best. But what praise couldst thou bestow on a deserving woman indeed, one that in the authority of her merit did justly put on the vouch of very malice itself?
Oh, you're ignorant! You give the best praise to the worst women. But what would you say about a truly virtuous woman, one that even malicious people would have to admit was a good person?
She that was ever fair and never proud, Had tongue at will and yet was never loud, Never lacked gold and yet went never gay, Fled from her wish and yet said “Now I may,” She that being angered, her revenge being nigh, Bade her wrong stay and her displeasure fly, She that in wisdom never was so frail To change the cod’s head for the salmon’s tail, She that could think and ne'er disclose her mind, See suitors following and not look behind, She was a wight, if ever such wights were—
The woman who was beautiful but not too proud, who was eloquent but not too loud, who never lacked gold but never dressed too extravagantly, who held back her desires even when she could fulfill them, the woman who, when angry and able to get revenge nonetheless endured her misfortune and turned the other cheek, who was wise enough not to make foolish decisions, who could think and not share her thoughts, who could see men pursuing her but not pay them any attention . . . that's the sort of woman —
The sort of woman to do what?
To suckle fools and chronicle small beer.
To raise foolish children and tally household expenditures.
Oh, most lame and impotent conclusion! Do not learn of him, Emilia, though he be thy husband. How say you, Cassio? Is he not a most profane and liberal counselor?
Oh, what a lame, bad punchline! Emilia, don't listen to him, even though he's your husband. What do you think, Cassio? Doesn't he give profane, poor advice?
He speaks home, madam. You may relish him more in the soldier than in the scholar.
He speaks bluntly, madam. He's a better soldier than a scholar.
CASSIO takes DESDEMONA'S hand
CASSIO takes DESDEMONA'S hand.
( aside ) He takes her by the palm. Ay, well said, whisper! With as little a web as this will I ensnare as great a fly as Cassio. Ay, smile upon her, do, I will gyve thee in thine own courtship. You say true, 'Tis so, indeed. If such tricks as these strip you out of your lieutenantry, it had been better you had not kissed your three fingers so oft, which now again you are most apt to play the sir in. Very good, well kissed, and excellent courtesy! ’tis so, indeed. Yet again your fingers to your lips? Would they were clyster-pipes for your sake!
[To himself] He takes her hand. Ah, yes, whisper together. This is all I need to trap Cassio like a fly in my web. Yes, smile at her. I will use your own politeness against you. You tell her, "Yes, you're right." If these little gestures end up taking away your office of lieutenant, you'll wish you hadn't been so flirtatious and gentlemanly to her. Very good, you kissed her well—keep showing such courtesy to her! Yes, that's right. Are you kissing your fingers again? It would be better, for your sake, if those fingers were enema tubes, to get rid of your B.S.
A trumpet sounds offstage.
The Moor! I know his trumpet.
I know that trumpet! It's the Moor.
Let’s meet him and receive him.
Let's go meet and welcome him.
Lo, where he comes!
Look, he's coming!
Enter OTHELLO and attendants
OTHELLO and attendants enter.
Oh my fair warrior!
Oh, my beautiful warrior!
My dear Othello!
My dear Othello!
It gives me wonder great as my content To see you here before me. Oh, 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, 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.
I'm surprised, but happy to see that you made it here before me. Oh, my soul is overjoyed! If this is my reward for every sea-storm, then let the winds rage and blow all they can, and let my ships have to climb up mountainous waves and drop down from their crests as if falling from heaven to hell! If I were to die now, I'd die at my happiest moment. I don't think my soul will ever be as happy as this again.
The heavens forbid But that our loves and comforts should increase, Even as our days do grow.
May heaven give us even more love and comfort as we get older.
Amen to that, sweet powers! I cannot speak enough of this content. It stops me here, it is too much of joy. And this, and this, the greatest discords be (kissing her) That e'er our hearts shall make!
Amen to that, oh heavenly powers! I can't speak enough about how happy I am. It's too much joy. [H e kisses DESDEMONA] And let this, and this, be the only quarrels we have.
[aside] Oh, you are well tuned now, But I’ll set down the pegs that make this music, As honest as I am.
[To himself] You are happy now, but I'll ruin your happiness, no matter how honest you may think I am.
Come, let us 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.
Come on, let's go to the castle. I have good news, friends! The war is over, and the Turks are all drowned. How is my old friend on this island doing?
[To DESDEMONA] Honey, you will be well loved in Cyprus. They've shown nothing but love to me. Oh, my sweet lady, I keep on chattering on and going on and on about my happiness.
[To IAGO] Iago, if you don't mind, go to the bay and unload my chests from the ship. Bring the ship captain to the castle. He's a good man, and his virtue demands respect.
[To DESDEMONA] Come with me Desdemona. One more time: it's so nice to see you at Cyprus.
Exeunt OTHELLO, DESDEMONA, and attendants
OTHELLO, DESDEMONA, and attendants exit.
(to the attendant) Do thou meet me presently at the harbor. (to RODERIGO) Come hither. If thou be’st valiant, as they say base men being in love have then a nobility in their natures 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.
[To an attendant] Meet me in a minute at the harbor.
[To RODERIGO] Come here. If you are brave—for after all, they say that lousy men acquire more nobility than they naturally have when they are in love—listen to me. Tonight, the lieutenant Cassio will be on guard. First of all, I have to tell you this: Desdemona is in love with him.
With him? Why, ’tis not possible.
With him? But that's not possible.
Lay thy finger thus, and let thy soul be instructed. Mark me with what violence she first loved the Moor, but for bragging and telling her fantastical lies. To love him still for prating? Let not thy discreet heart think it. Her eye must be fed, and what delight shall she have to look on the devil? When the blood is made dull with the act of sport, there should be a game to inflame it and to give satiety a fresh appetite, loveliness in favor, sympathy in years, manners and beauties. All which the Moor is defective in. Now for want of these required conveniences, her delicate tenderness will find itself abused, begin to heave the gorge, disrelish and abhor the Moor. Very nature will instruct her in it and compel her to some second choice. Now sir, this granted—as it is a most pregnant and unforced position—who stands so eminent in the degree of this fortune as Cassio does? A knave very voluble, no further conscionable than in putting on the mere form of civil and humane seeming, for the better compassing of his salt and most hidden loose affection. Why, none, why, none! A slipper and subtle knave, a finder of occasions that has an eye, can stamp and counterfeit advantages, though true advantage never present itself. A devilish knave. Besides, the knave is handsome, young, and hath all those requisites in him that folly and green minds look after. A pestilent complete knave, and the woman hath found him already.
Quiet for a second, and listen up. Remember how quickly she fell in love with the Moor, all over some bragging and made-up fantastical stories. Do you think she still loves him now for talking? Don't think this for a second. She wants something nice to look at, and she won't get that with the devil Othello. When she gets bored with having sex, she'll need to find something to inflame her passion again—someone good-looking, closer to her age, and more like her in behavior and appearance. She'll find none of this in the Moor. Without any of these desirable things, she'll get so sick of the Moor she'll want to throw up. Her very nature will compel her to find a second man. Now, sir, given all this obvious information, who do you think she will turn to if not Cassio? He's eloquent, and puts up a facade of good manners to hide his real desires. She'll choose no one but him. He's a tricky, opportunistic villain, who takes advantage of situations. He's a devilish fool. And besides, this scoundrel is handsome, young, and has everything that foolish young women look for in a man. He's an awful and complete rascal, and Desdemona's already found him.
I cannot believe that in her. She’s full of most blessed condition.