Othello, the Moor of Venice. Уильям Шекспир

      Where shall we meet i' the morning?

      At my lodging.

      I'll be with thee betimes.

      Go to; farewell. Do you hear, Roderigo?

      What say you?

      No more of drowning, do you hear?

      I am changed: I'll go sell all my land.

      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; fram'd 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.

      What from the cape can you discern at sea?

      Nothing at all: it is a high-wrought flood;

      I cannot, 'twixt the heaven and the main,

      Descry a sail.

      Methinks the wind hath spoke aloud at land;

      A fuller blast ne'er shook our battlements:

      If it hath ruffian'd so upon the sea,

      What ribs of oak, when mountains melt on them,

      Can hold the mortise? What shall we hear of this?

      A segregation of the Turkish fleet:

      For do but stand upon the foaming shore,

      The chidden billow seems to pelt the clouds;

      The wind-shak'd surge, with high and monstrous main,

      Seems to cast water on the burning Bear,

      And quench the guards of the ever-fixèd pole;

      I never did like molestation view

      On the enchafèd flood.

                                            If that the Turkish fleet

      Be not enshelter'd and embay'd, they are drown'd;

      It is impossible to bear it out.

      News, lads! our wars are done.

      The desperate tempest hath so bang'd the Turks

      That their designment halts; a noble ship of Venice

      Hath seen a grievous wreck and sufferance

      On most part of their fleet.

      How! is this true?

                                  The ship is here put in,

      A Veronessa; Michael Cassio,

      Lieutenant to the warlike Moor Othello,

      Is come on shore: the Moor himself's at sea,

      And is in full commission here for Cyprus.

      I am glad on't; 'tis a worthy governor.

      But this same Cassio, – though he speak of comfort

      Touching the Turkish loss, – yet he looks sadly,

      And prays the Moor be safe; for they were parted

      With foul and violent tempest.

                                                       Pray heavens he be;

      For I have serv'd him, and the man commands

      Like a full soldier. Let's to the sea-side, ho!

      As well to see the vessel that's come in

      As to throw out our eyes for brave Othello,

      Even till we make the main and the aerial blue

      An indistinct regard.

                                       Come, let's do so;

      For every minute is expectancy

      Of more arrivance.

      Thanks you, the valiant of this warlike isle,

      That so approve the Moor! O, let the heavens

      Give him defence against the elements,

      For I have lost him on a dangerous sea!

      Is he well shipp'd?

      His

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