Othello, the Moore of Venice E-Book

William Shakespeare

• Herausgeber: BertaBooks
• Kategorie: Poesie und Drama
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2017

Beschreibung

Othello, the Moore of Venice is a tragedy by William Shakespeare, written in 1603. Also known as "The Tragedy of Othello, the Moor of Venice".Powerful drama from a marriage between the exotic Moor Othello and the Venetian lady Desdemona that begins with elopement and mutual devotion and ends with jealous rage and death. Shakespeare builds many differences into his hero and heroine, including race, age, and cultural background. Yet most readers and audiences believe the couple's strong love would overcome these differences were it not for Iago, who sets out to destroy Othello. Iago's false insinuations about Desdemona's infidelity draw Othello into his schemes, and Desdemona is subjected to Othello's horrifying verbal and physical assaults.The story revolves around four central characters: Othello, a Moorish general in the Venetian army; his beloved wife, Desdemona; his loyal lieutenant, Cassio; and his trusted but ultimately unfaithful ensign, Iago. Given its varied and enduring themes of racism, love, jealousy, betrayal, revenge and repentance, Othello is still often performed in professional and community theatre alike, and has been the source for numerous operatic, film, and literary adaptations.William Shakespeare (1564-1616) was an English poet, playwright, and actor, widely regarded as the greatest writer in the English language and the world's pre-eminent dramatist. He is often called England's national poet, and the "Bard of Avon". His extant works, including collaborations, consist of approximately 38 plays, 154 sonnets, two long narrative poems, and a few other verses, some of uncertain authorship. His plays have been translated into every major living language and are performed more often than those of any other playwright.

Leseprobe

OTHELLO, THE MOORE OF VENICE

WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE

Copyright © 2017William Shakespeare

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OTHELLO, THE MOORE OF VENICE

Characters of the Play

Othello, the Moor, general of the Venetian forces.Desdemona, his wife.Iago, ensign to Othello.Emilia, his wife, lady-in-waiting to Desdemona.Cassio, lieutenant to Othello.The Duke Of Venice.Brabantio, Venetian Senator, father of Desdemona.Gratiano, nobleman of Venice, brother of Brabantio.Lodovico, nobleman of Venice, kinsman of Brabantio.Roderigo, rejected suitor of Desdemona.Bianca, mistress of Cassio.Montano, a Cypriot official.A Clown in service to Othello.Senators, Sailors, Messengers, Officers, Gentlemen, Musicians, and Attendants.

Scene: Venice and Cyprus.

Act I

Scene I. Venice. A street.

Enter Roderigo and Iago

Roderigo Tush! never tell me; I take it much unkindlyThat thou, Iago, who hast had my purseAs if the strings were thine, shouldst know of this.

Iago ’Sblood, but you will not hear me:If ever I did dream of such a matter, Abhor me.

Roderigo Thou told’st me thou didst hold him in thy hate.

Iago Despise me, if I do not. Three great ones of the city,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,Evades them, with a bombast circumstanceHorribly stuff’d with epithets of war;And, in conclusion,Nonsuits my mediators; for, ‘Certes,’ says he,‘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 knowsMore than a spinster; unless the bookish theoric,Wherein the toged consuls can proposeAs masterly as he: mere prattle, without practise,Is all his soldiership. But he, sir, had the election:And I, of whom his eyes had seen the proofAt Rhodes, at Cyprus and on other groundsChristian and heathen, must be be-lee’d and calm’dBy debitor and creditor: this counter-caster,He, in good time, must his lieutenant be,And I— God bless the mark! — his Moorship’s ancient.

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

Iago Why, there’s no remedy; ’tis the curse of service,Preferment goes by letter and affection,And not by old gradation, where each secondStood heir to the first. Now, sir, be judge yourself,Whether I in any just term am affinedTo love the Moor.

Roderigo I would not follow him then.

Iago O, sir, content you;I follow him to serve my turn upon him:We cannot all be masters, nor all mastersCannot be truly follow’d. You shall markMany 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:Whip me such honest knaves. Others there areWho, trimm’d in forms and visages of duty,Keep yet their hearts attending on themselves,And, throwing but shows of service on their lords,Do well thrive by them and when they have lined their coatsDo themselves homage: these fellows have some soul;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 demonstrateThe native act and figure of my heartIn compliment extern, ’tis not long afterBut I will wear my heart upon my sleeveFor daws to peck at: I am not what I am.

Roderigo What a full fortune does the thicklips oweIf he can carry’t thus!

Iago Call up her father,Rouse him: make after him, poison his delight,Proclaim him in the streets; incense her kinsmen,And, though he in a fertile climate dwell,Plague him with flies: though that his joy be joy,Yet throw such changes of vexation on’t,As it may lose some colour.

Roderigo Here is her father’s house; I’ll call aloud.

Iago Do, with like timorous accent and dire yellAs when, by night and negligence, the fireIs spied in populous cities.

Roderigo What, ho, Brabantio! Signior Brabantio, ho!

Iago Awake! what, ho, Brabantio! thieves! thieves! thieves!Look to your house, your daughter and your bags!Thieves! thieves!

Brabantio appears above, at a window

Brabantio What is the reason of this terrible summons?What is the matter there?

Roderigo Signior, is all your family within?

Iago Are your doors lock’d?

Brabantio Why, wherefore ask you this?

Iago ’Zounds, sir, you’re robb’d; for shame, put on your gown;Your heart is burst, you have lost half your soul;Even now, now, very now, an old black ramIs topping your white ewe. Arise, arise;Awake the snorting citizens with the bell,Or else the devil will make a grandsire of you:Arise, I say.

BrabantioWhat, have you lost your wits?

Roderigo Most reverend signior, do you know my voice?

Brabantio Not I what are you?

Roderigo My name is Roderigo.

Brabantio The worser welcome:I have charged thee not to haunt about my doors:In honest plainness thou hast heard me sayMy daughter is not for thee; and now, in madness,Being full of supper and distempering draughts,Upon malicious bravery, dost thou comeTo start my quiet.

Roderigo Sir, sir, sir —

BrabantioBut thou must needs be sureMy spirit and my place have in them powerTo make this bitter to thee.

Roderigo Patience, good sir.

Brabantio What tell’st thou me of robbing? this is Venice;My house is not a grange.

Roderigo 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.

Brabantio What profane wretch art thou?

Iago I am one, sir, that comes to tell you your daughter and the Moor are now making the beast with two backs.

Brabantio Thou art a villain.

Iago You are — a senator.

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

Roderigo 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,Transported, with no worse nor better guardBut with a knave of common hire, a gondolier,To the gross clasps of a lascivious Moor —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 meWe have your wrong rebuke. Do not believeThat, from the sense of all civility,I thus would play and trifle with your reverence:Your daughter, if you have not given her leave,I say again, hath made a gross revolt;Tying her duty, beauty, wit and fortunesIn an extravagant and wheeling strangerOf here and every where. Straight satisfy yourself:If she be in her chamber or your house,Let loose on me the justice of the stateFor thus deluding you.

Brabantio Strike on the tinder, ho!Give me a taper! call up all my people!This accident is not unlike my dream:Belief of it oppresses me already.Light, I say! light!

Exit above

Iago Farewell; for I must leave you:It seems not meet, nor wholesome to my place,To be produced — as, if I stay, I shall —Against the Moor: for, I do know, the state,However this may gall him with some cheque,Cannot with safety cast him, for he’s embark’dWith such loud reason to the Cyprus wars,Which even now stand in act, that, for their souls,Another of his fathom they have none,To lead their business: in which regard,Though I do hate him as I do hell-pains.Yet, for necessity of present life,I must show out a flag and sign of love,Which is indeed but sign. That you shall surely find him,Lead to the Sagittary the raised search;And there will I be with him. So, farewell.

Exit

Enter, below, Brabantio, and Servants with torches

Brabantio It is too true an evil: gone she is;And what’s to come of my despised timeIs nought but bitterness. Now, Roderigo,Where didst thou see her? O unhappy girl!With the Moor, say’st thou? Who would be a father!How didst thou know ’twas she? O she deceives mePast thought! What said she to you? Get more tapers:Raise all my kindred. Are they married, think you?

Roderigo Truly, I think they are.

Brabantio O heaven! How got she out? O treason of the blood!Fathers, from hence trust not your daughters’ mindsBy what you see them act. Is there not charmsBy which the property of youth and maidhoodMay be abused? Have you not read, Roderigo,Of some such thing?

Roderigo Yes, sir, I have indeed.

Brabantio Call up my brother. O, would you had had her!Some one way, some another. Do you knowWhere we may apprehend her and the Moor?

Roderigo I think I can discover him, if you please,To get good guard and go along with me.

Brabantio Pray you, lead on. At every house I’ll call;I may command at most. Get weapons, ho!And raise some special officers of night.On, good Roderigo: I’ll deserve your pains.

Exeunt

Scene II. Another street.

Enter Othello, Iago, and Attendants with torches

Iago Though in the trade of war I have slain men,Yet do I hold it very stuff o’ the conscienceTo do no contrived murder: I lack iniquitySometimes to do me service: nine or ten timesI had thought to have yerk’d him here under the ribs.

Othello ’Tis better as it is.

Iago Nay, but he prated,And spoke such scurvy and provoking termsAgainst your honourThat, with the little godliness I have,I did full hard forbear him. But, I pray you, sir,Are you fast married? Be assured of this,That the magnifico is much beloved,And hath in his effect a voice potentialAs double as the duke’s: he will divorce you;Or put upon you what restraint and grievanceThe law, with all his might to enforce it on,Will give him cable.

Othello Let him do his spite:My services which I have done the signioryShall out-tongue his complaints. ’Tis yet to know —Which, when I know that boasting is an honour,I shall promulgate — I fetch my life and beingFrom men of royal siege, and my demeritsMay speak unbonneted to as proud a fortuneAs this that I have reach’d: for know, Iago,But that I love the gentle Desdemona,I would not my unhoused free conditionPut into circumscription and confineFor the sea’s worth. But, look! what lights come yond?

Iago Those are the raised father and his friends:You were best go in.

Othello Not I I must be found:My parts, my title and my perfect soulShall manifest me rightly. Is it they?

Iago By Janus, I think no.

Enter Cassio, and certain Officers with torches

Othello The servants of the duke, and my lieutenant.The goodness of the night upon you, friends!What is the news?

CassioThe duke does greet you, general,And he requires your haste-post-haste appearance,Even on the instant.

Othello What is the matter, think you?

Cassio Something from Cyprus as I may divine:It is a business of some heat: the galleysHave sent a dozen sequent messengersThis very night at one another’s heels,And many of the consuls, raised and met,Are at the duke’s already: you have been hotly call’d for;When, being not at your lodging to be found,The senate hath sent about three several guestsTo search you out.

Othello ’Tis well I am found by you.I will but spend a word here in the house,And go with you.

Exit

CassioAncient, what makes he here?

Iago ’Faith, he to-night hath boarded a land carack:If it prove lawful prize, he’s made for ever.

Cassio I do not understand.

Iago He’s married.

Cassio To who?

Re-enter Othello

Iago Marry, to — Come, captain, will you go?

Othello Have with you.

Cassio Here comes another troop to seek for you.

Iago It is Brabantio. General, be advised;He comes to bad intent.

Enter Brabantio, Roderigo, and Officers with torches and weapons

Othello Holla! stand there!

Roderigo Signior, it is the Moor.

Brabantio Down with him, thief!

They draw on both sides

Iago You, Roderigo! come, sir, I am for you.

Othello Keep up your bright swords, for the dew will rust them.Good signior, you shall more command with yearsThan with your weapons.

Brabantio 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 shunnedThe wealthy curled darlings of our nation,Would ever have, to incur a general mock,Run from her guardage to the sooty bosomOf such a thing as thou, to fear, not to delight.Judge me the world, if ’tis not gross in senseThat thou hast practised on her with foul charms,Abused her delicate youth with drugs or mineralsThat weaken motion: I’ll have’t disputed on;’Tis probable and palpable to thinking.I therefore apprehend and do attach theeFor an abuser of the world, a practiserOf arts inhibited and out of warrant.Lay hold upon him: if he do resist,Subdue him at his peril.

Othello Hold your hands,Both you of my inclining, and the rest:Were it my cue to fight, I should have known itWithout a prompter. Where will you that I goTo answer this your charge?

Brabantio To prison, till fit timeOf law and course of direct sessionCall thee to answer.

Othello 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 stateTo bring me to him?

First Officer ’Tis true, most worthy signior;The duke’s in council and your noble self,I am sure, is sent for.

Brabantio 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 shall our statesmen be.

Exeunt

Scene III. A council-chamber.

The Duke and Senators sitting at a table; Officers attending