Chapter: SCENE III.
A council chamber. The Duke and Senators sitting at a table;
Officers attending.

  DUKE. There is no composition in these news
    That gives them credit.
  FIRST SENATOR.            Indeed they are disproportion'd;
    My letters say a hundred and seven galleys.
  DUKE. And mine, a hundred and forty.
  SECOND SENATOR.                      And mine, two hundred.
    But though they jump not on a just account--
    As in these cases, where the aim 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 judgement.
    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!
  FIRST OFFICER. A messenger from the galleys.

                            Enter Sailor.

  DUKE.                                Now, what's the business?
  SAILOR. 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?
  FIRST SENATOR.                    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,
    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 unskillful
    To leave that latest which concerns him first,
    Neglecting an attempt of ease and gain,
    To wake and wage a danger profitless.
  DUKE. Nay, in all confidence, he's not for Rhodes.
  FIRST OFFICER. Here is more news.

                          Enter a Messenger.

  MESSENGER. The Ottomites, reverend and gracious,
    Steering with due course toward the isle of Rhodes,
    Have there injointed them with an after fleet.
  FIRST SENATOR. Ay, so I thought. How many, as you guess?
  MESSENGER. Of thirty sail; and now they do re-stem
    Their backward course, bearing with frank appearance
    Their purposes toward 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 Luccicos, is not he in town?
  FIRST SENATOR. He's now in Florence.
  DUKE. Write from us to him, post-post-haste dispatch.
  FIRST SENATOR. Here comes Brabantio and the valiant Moor.

       Enter Brabantio, Othello, Iago, Roderigo, and Officers.

  DUKE. Valiant Othello, we must straight employ you
    Against the general enemy Ottoman.
    [To Brabantio.] I did not see you; welcome, gentle signior;
    We lack'd your counsel and your help tonight.
  BRABANTIO. So did I yours. Good your Grace, pardon me:
    Neither my place nor aught I heard of business
    Hath raised 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?
  BRABANTIO. My daughter! O, my daughter!
  ALL.                                    Dead?
  BRABANTIO.                                    Ay, to me.
    She is abused, 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 proceeding
    Hath thus beguiled 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 your action.
  BRABANTIO.              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.
  ALL.                   We are very sorry for't.
  DUKE. [To Othello.] What in your own part can you say to this?
  BRABANTIO. Nothing, but this is so.
  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 blest with the soft phrase of peace;
    For since these arms of mine had seven years' pith,
    Till now some nine moons wasted, they have used
    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 charged withal--
    I won his daughter.
  BRABANTIO.            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, everything--
    To fall in love with what she fear'd to look on!
    It is judgement 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 conjured to this effect,
    He wrought upon her.
  DUKE.                  To vouch this is no proof,
    Without more certain and more overt test
    Than these thin habits and poor likelihoods
    Of modern seeming do prefer against him.
  FIRST SENATOR. But, Othello, speak.
    Did you by indirect and forced courses
    Subdue and poison this young maid's affections?
    Or came it by request, and such fair question
    As soul to soul affordeth?
  OTHELLO.                     I do beseech you,
    Send for the lady to the Sagittary,
    And let her speak of me before her father.
    If you do find me foul in her report,
    The trust, the office I do hold of you,
    Not only take away, but let your sentence
    Even fall upon my life.
  DUKE.                     Fetch Desdemona hither.
  OTHELLO. Ancient, conduct them; you best know the place.
                                          Exeunt Iago and
Attendants.
    And till she come, as truly as to heaven
    I do confess the vices of my blood,
    So justly to your grave ears I'll present
    How I did thrive in this fair lady's love
    And she in mine.
  DUKE. Say it, Othello.
  OTHELLO. Her father loved me, oft invited me,
    Still question'd me the story of my life
    From year to year, the battles, sieges, fortunes,
    That I have pass'd.
    I ran it through, even from my boyish days
    To the very moment that he bade me tell it:
    Wherein I spake of most disastrous chances,
    Of moving accidents by flood and field,
    Of hair-breadth 'scapes i' the imminent deadly breach,
    Of being taken by the insolent foe
    And sold to slavery, of my redemption thence
    And portance in my travels' history;
    Wherein of antres vast and deserts idle,
    Rough quarries, rocks, and hills whose heads touch heaven,
    It was my hint to speak--such was the process--
    And of the Cannibals that each other eat,
    The Anthropophagi, and men whose heads
    Do grow beneath their shoulders. This to hear
    Would Desdemona seriously incline;
    But still the house affairs would draw her thence,
    Which ever as she could with haste dispatch,
    She'ld come again, and with a greedy ear
    Devour up my discourse; which I observing,
    Took once a pliant hour, and found good means
    To draw from her a prayer of earnest heart
    That I would all my pilgrimage dilate,
    Whereof by parcels she had something heard,
    But not intentively. I did consent,
    And often did beguile her of her tears
    When I did speak of some distressful stroke
    That my youth suffer'd. My story being done,
    She gave me for my pains a world of sighs;
    She swore, in faith, 'twas strange, 'twas passing strange;
    'Twas pitiful, 'twas wondrous pitiful.
    She wish'd she had not heard it, yet she wish'd
    That heaven had made her such a man; she thank'd me,
    And bade me, if I had a friend that loved her,
    I should but teach him how to tell my story,
    And that would woo her. Upon this hint I spake:
    She loved me for the dangers I had pass'd,
    And I loved her that she did pity them.
    This only is the witchcraft I have used.
    Here comes the lady; let her witness it.

                Enter Desdemona, Iago, and Attendants.

  DUKE. I think this tale would win my daughter too.
    Good Brabantio,
    Take up this mangled matter at the best:
    Men do their broken weapons rather use
    Than their bare hands.
  BRABANTIO.               I pray you, hear her speak.
    If she confess that she was half the wooer,
    Destruction on my head, if my bad blame
    Light on the man! Come hither, gentle mistress.
    Do you perceive in all this noble company
    Where most you owe obedience?
  DESDEMONA.                      My noble father,
    I do perceive here a divided duty.
    To you I am bound for life and education;
    My life and education both do learn me
    How to respect you; you are the lord of duty,
    I am hitherto your daughter. But here's my husband,
    And so much duty as my mother show'd
    To you, preferring you before her father,
    So much I challenge that I may profess
    Due to the Moor, my lord.
  BRABANTIO.                  God be with you! I have done.
    Please it your Grace, on to the state affairs;
    I had rather to adopt a child than get it.
    Come hither, Moor.
    I here do give thee that with all my heart
    Which, but thou hast already, with all my heart
    I would keep from thee. For your sake, jewel,
    I am glad at soul I have no other child;
    For thy escape would teach me tyranny,
    To hang clogs on them. I have done, my lord.
  DUKE. Let me speak like yourself, and lay a sentence
    Which, as a grise or step, may help these lovers
    Into your favor.
    When remedies are past, the griefs are ended
    By seeing the worst, which late on hopes depended.
    To mourn a mischief that is past and gone
    Is the next way to draw new mischief on.
    What cannot be preserved when Fortune takes,
    Patience her injury a mockery makes.
    The robb'd that smiles steals something from the thief;
    He robs himself that spends a bootless grief.
  BRABANTIO. So let the Turk of Cyprus us beguile;
    We lose it not so long as we can smile.
    He bears the sentence well, that nothing bears
    But the free comfort which from thence he hears;
    But he bears both the sentence and the sorrow
    That, to pay grief, must of poor patience borrow.
    These sentences, to sugar or to gall,
    Being strong on both sides, are equivocal.
    But words are words; I never yet did hear
    That the bruised heart was pierced through the ear.
    I humbly beseech you, proceed to the affairs of state.
  DUKE. The Turk with a most mighty preparation makes for Cyprus.
    Othello, the fortitude of the place is best known to you; and
    though we have there a substitute of most allowed
sufficiency,
    yet opinion, a sovereign mistress of effects, throws a more
safer
    voice on you. You must therefore be content to slubber the
gloss
    of your new fortunes with this more stubborn and boisterous
    expedition.
  OTHELLO. The tyrant custom, most grave senators,
    Hath made the flinty and steel couch of war
    My thrice-driven bed of down. I do agnize
    A natural and prompt alacrity
    I find in hardness and do undertake
    These present wars against the Ottomites.
    Most humbly therefore bending to your state,
    I crave fit disposition for my wife,
    Due reference of place and exhibition,
    With such accommodation and besort
    As levels with her breeding.
  DUKE.                          If you please,
    Be't at her father's.
  BRABANTIO.              I'll not have it so.
  OTHELLO. Nor I.
  DESDEMONA.      Nor I. I would not there reside
    To put my father in impatient thoughts
    By being in his eye. Most gracious Duke,
    To my unfolding lend your prosperous ear,
    And let me find a charter in your voice
    To assist my simpleness.
  DUKE. What would you, Desdemona?
  DESDEMONA. That I did love the Moor to live with him,
    My downright violence and storm of fortunes
    May trumpet to the world. My heart's subdued
    Even to the very quality of my lord.
    I saw Othello's visage in his mind,
    And to his honors and his valiant parts
    Did I my soul and fortunes consecrate.
    So that, dear lords, if I be left behind,
    A moth of peace, and he go to the war,
    The rites for which I love him are bereft me,
    And I a heavy interim shall support
    By his dear absence. Let me go with him.
  OTHELLO. Let her have your voices.
    Vouch with me, heaven, I therefore beg it not
    To please the palate of my appetite,
    Nor to comply with heat--the young affects
    In me defunct--and proper satisfaction;
    But to be free and bounteous to her mind.
    And heaven defend your good souls, that you think
    I will your serious and great business scant
    For she is with me. No, when light-wing'd toys
    Of feather'd Cupid seal with wanton dullness
    My speculative and officed instruments,
    That my disports corrupt and taint my business,
    Let housewives make a skillet of my helm,
    And all indign and base adversities
    Make head against my estimation!
  DUKE. Be it as you shall privately determine,
    Either for her stay or going. The affair cries haste,
    And speed must answer't: you must hence tonight.
  DESDEMONA. Tonight, my lord?
  DUKE.                        This night.
  OTHELLO.                                 With all my heart.
  DUKE. At nine i' the 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,
    With what else needful your good Grace shall think
    To be sent after me.
  DUKE.                  Let it be so.
    Good night to everyone. [To Brabantio.] And, noble signior,
    If virtue no delighted beauty lack,
    Your son-in-law is far more fair than black.
  FIRST SENATOR. Adieu, brave Moor, use Desdemona well.
  BRABANTIO. Look to her, Moor, if thou hast eyes to see;
    She has deceived her father, and may thee.
                                 Exeunt Duke, Senators, and
Officers.
  OTHELLO. My life upon her faith! Honest Iago,
    My Desdemona must I leave to thee.
    I prithee, let thy wife attend on her,
    And bring them after in the best advantage.
    Come, Desdemona, I have but an hour
    Of love, of worldly matters and direction,
    To spend with thee. We must obey the time.
                                        Exeunt Othello and
Desdemona.
  RODERIGO. Iago!
  IAGO. What say'st thou, noble heart?
  RODERIGO. What will I do, thinkest thou?
  IAGO. Why, go to bed and sleep.
  RODERIGO. I will incontinently drown myself.
  IAGO. If thou dost, I shall never love thee after.
    Why, thou silly gentleman!
  RODERIGO. It is silliness to live when to live is torment, and
then
    have we a prescription to die when death is our physician.
  IAGO. O villainous! I have looked upon the world for four times
    seven years, and since I could distinguish betwixt a benefit
and
    an injury, I never found man that knew how to love himself.
Ere I
    would say I would drown myself for the love of a guinea hen,
I
    would change my humanity with a baboon.
  RODERIGO. What should I do? I confess it is my shame to be so
fond,
    but it is not in my virtue to amend it.
  IAGO. Virtue? a fig! 'Tis in ourselves that we are thus or
thus.
    Our bodies are gardens, to the which our wills are gardeners;
so
    that if we will plant nettles or sow lettuce, set hyssop and
weed
    up thyme, supply it with one gender of herbs or distract it
with
    many, either to have it sterile with idleness or manured with

    industry, why, the power and corrigible authority of this
lies in
    our wills. If the balance of our lives had not one scale of
    reason to poise another of sensuality, the blood and baseness
of
    our natures would conduct us to most preposterous
conclusions.
    But we have reason to cool our raging motions, our carnal
stings,
    our unbitted lusts; whereof I take this, that you call love,
to
    be a sect or scion.
  RODERIGO. It cannot be.
  IAGO. It is merely a lust of the blood and a permission of the
    will. Come, be a man! Drown thyself? Drown cats and blind
    puppies. I have professed me thy friend, and I confess me
knit to
    thy deserving with cables of perdurable toughness; I could
never
    better stead thee than now. Put money in thy purse; follow
thou
    the wars; defeat thy favor with an usurped beard. I say, put
    money in thy purse. It cannot be that Desdemona should long
    continue her love to the Moor--put money in thy purse--nor he
his
    to her. It was a violent commencement, and thou shalt see an
    answerable sequestration--put but money in thy purse. These
Moors
    are changeable in their wills--fill thy purse with money. The
    food that to him now is as luscious as locusts, shall be to
him
    shortly as acerb as the coloquintida. She must change for
youth;
    when she is sated with his body, she will find the error of
her
    choice. She must have change, she must; therefore put money
in
    thy purse. If thou wilt needs damn thyself, do it a more
delicate
    way than drowning. Make all the money thou canst. If
sanctimony
    and a frail vow betwixt an erring barbarian and a supersubtle
    Venetian be not too hard for my wits and all the tribe of
hell,
    thou shalt enjoy her--therefore make money. A pox of drowning
    thyself! It is clean out of the way. Seek thou rather to be
    hanged in compassing thy joy than to be drowned and go
without
    her.
  RODERIGO. Wilt thou be fast to my hopes, if I depend on the
issue?
  IAGO. Thou art sure of me--go, make money. I have told thee
often,
    and I retell thee again and again, I hate the Moor. My cause
is
    hearted; thine hath no less reason. Let us be conjunctive in
our
    revenge against him. If thou canst cuckold him, thou dost
thyself
    a pleasure, me a sport. There are many events in the womb of
time
    which will be delivered. Traverse, go, provide thy money. We
will
    have more of this tomorrow. Adieu.
  RODERIGO. Where shall we meet i' the morning?
  IAGO. At my lodging.
  RODERIGO. I'll be with thee betimes.
  IAGO. Go to, farewell. Do you hear, Roderigo?
  RODERIGO. What say you?
  IAGO. No more of drowning, do you hear?
  RODERIGO. I am changed; I'll go sell all my land.
Exit.
  IAGO. Thus do I ever make my fool my purse;
    For I mine own gain'd knowledge should profane
    If I would time expend with such a snipe
    But for my sport and profit. I hate the Moor,
    And it is thought abroad that 'twixt my sheets
    He has done my office. I know not if't be true,
    But I for mere suspicion in that kind
    Will do as if for surety. He holds me well,
    The better shall my purpose work on him.
    Cassio's a proper man. Let me see now--
    To get his place, and to plume up my will
    In double knavery--How, how?--Let's see--
    After some time, to abuse Othello's ear
    That he is too familiar with his wife.
    He hath a person and a smooth dispose
    To be suspected--framed to make women false.
    The Moor is of a free and open nature,
    That thinks men honest that but seem to be so,
    And will as tenderly be led by the nose
    As asses are.
    I have't. It is engender'd. Hell and night
    Must bring this monstrous birth to the world's light.
     Exit.

 The Duke and assorted senators of Venice are dealing with the impending war with the Turks over Cyprus, an island in the Mediterranean. The men compare conflicting reports of a Turkish fleet approaching the island, but are interrupted by a messenger, who says that, actually, the Turkish fleet is headed to Rhodes . After much quibbling, the men realize that the Turkish fleet sent to Rhodes was only a decoy, as Cyprus is more strategically important to the enemy. The governor of Cyprus, Montano, has sent a message from his location in Florence to confirm that his city is soon to be under siege: the Turks, with a fleet of thirty ships, really are headed for Cyprus, and he needs help from Venice--right now. Brabantio enters the scene with Othello, Cassio, Iago, Roderigo, and a bevy of other officers. The Duke is quick to dispatch Othello to fight the Ottomans, but Brabantio pipes up. He says he hasn't come about matters of state, but rather because his daughter's been stolen. The Duke says this is awful news, ignoring that this is probably not as awful as the fact that Cyprus is about to be pulverized by the Turks. Still, the Duke promises that whoever the man is that has enchanted Brabantio's daughter, even if it's the Duke's own son, he will get what's coming to him. Brabantio's quick to point out that the man is actually the Duke's current hero, the Moor Othello. The Duke asks Othello what he has to say for himself. Actually, Othello has quite a bit to say: his only offense is to have married Brabantio's daughter. Othello says he's a man of action, so his speech will be a poor defense, but he'll give them the whole story of how he won Brabantio's daughter, and they can then judge whether he's guilty or not. Brabantio pipes up and insists that his daughter is as pure as the snow, so there's no way she could come to love the Moor except via his trickery. Othello begs to differ. In fact, he says, they can bring Brabantio's daughter, his new wife, to confirm the story right here and now, if they wish. If Othello is in the wrong, the senators may take away his title and order him to be killed. Othello sends Iago, in whom he trusts, to fetch the girl while he tells the story of his courtship. Othello explains that Brabantio himself used to invite him over all the time so he could listen to the fantastic tales of Othello's life, including, but not limited to: daring escapes within a hair's breadth of death; being sold into slavery and getting his freedom back; and traveling over the world's caves, deserts, quarries, and hills. Also, there were cannibals. When Othello shared his stories, he noticed that Brabantio's daughter, Desdemona, was always eager to listen in. When she had housework to do, she'd take care of it quickly and sneak back to eavesdrop. So...one day Othello made a point of relaxing around Brabantio's house, making himself available for Desdemona to approach. When she did, she asked him to tell her all of his tales in full because she'd only heard bits and pieces. Othello consented and, upon hearing them, Desdemona swooned over Othello's daring. She then flirted with Othello, saying if he had a friend who could tell his stories , she'd love that guy. Othello takes the hint and says something like, "Well, I tell my stories pretty well, so maybe we should be friends." Othello claims Desdemona loves him for the dangers he had escaped, and he loves her for the pity with which she appreciates his dangerous escapes. Just then Iago enters with Desdemona, the lady in question. Brabantio says he'd like to hear from his daughter whether she was willingly part of the courtship. He asks her where she thinks her loyalty should lie. Desdemona says she loves her father, but just like her mother, she must love her husband more than her father. Brabantio is not pleased. He says he'll give Desdemona over to Othello, but still, Brabantio is an unhappy man. The Duke says Brabantio would only waste his time being sad about what's already over. Besides, his bitterness would likely only bring more trouble. Instead, he should just be happy because he doesn't have a choice but to be happy; he doesn't have a say in the affairs of his daughter anymore. After Brabantio laments some more, the Duke gets back to the situation in Cyprus. Though they've already got some guys on the ground there, everyone would feel better if Othello went, as he's competent and knowledgeable about the area. The Duke says he's sorry, but Othello will have to spend his wedding night preparing for battle not knowing he's speaking metaphorically and prophetically). Othello says he's happy to go--he's used to military life and rushing off to fight at short notice. But someone needs to provide Desdemona with a suitable place to sleep while he's gone, something worthy of her. His hard army cot won't do, and he hasn't had time to set up a nice home with her. The Duke suggests that perhaps Desdemona should stay at her father's house, but everyone agrees this is a bad idea. Instead, Desdemona suggests she'd like to go with her new husband. She suggests that her love is only complete if she can live with him. Desdemona says she fell in love with Othello's character and profession, and if she's left behind while he's in war, the very qualities she loves will be absent from her. The Duke thinks they can settle these domestic disputes on their own. Whether Desdemona is to stay or go, Othello needs to leave for battle now. Othello agrees to this, and leaves his trusted friend Iago to follow, bringing Desdemona and anything else Othello might need. As everyone is parting, the Duke tries to cheer Brabantio, saying Othello is "more fair than black." Brabantio won't have any of it, and warns Othello that he should watch the girl: she's likely to deceive him the way she deceived her own father. Othello, in a moment of foreshadowing, responds that his life rests upon Desdemona's faithfulness. Othello instructs Iago to take Desdemona along with Iago's wife, Emilia, on the journey to the battle area. After Othello and Desdemona have left, Iago remains with Roderigo. Roderigo announces he will drown himself out of lovesickness , and Iago chides him for his foolishness. If he's going to be damned for some sin , it would be better to be damned for a more practical one, like making money. Iago instructs Roderigo to cool his passion with his reason. He then literally tells him nine times that he'd be better off focusing on making money than having true love. Iago promises that Desdemona's passions for Othello will eventually cool. Othello will soon surely find he's had enough of Desdemona too, as Moors are known for their changing tastes. Then Roderigo will have a chance to win Desdemona for himself. Iago promises he'll join with the tribes of Hell to make trouble for the marriage of Othello and Desdemona, if Roderigo will only keep making money. Iago reminds Roderigo again that he hates the Moor, and promises to meet Roderigo in the morning if he hasn't killed himself. Roderigo promises to sell all his land for money instead of killing himself. He then exits. Once Roderigo's gone, Iago fills us in on his nasty plan. He's only sporting with Roderigo for fun and profit, but has a bone to pick with Othello, as it's rumored that Othello was sleeping with Iago's wife. Iago then figures he'll take Cassio out, too. He hatches a plan to suggest to Othello that Cassio, who has the making of a ladies' man, is having an affair with Desdemona. Iago thinks the Moor is easily influenced, and his suspicion of Cassio will ruin both the great arithmetician's military career and Othello's marriage. Iago declares that Hell and night will be his companions in this mischief, and he exits.

