Othello

TRAMA

Othello - William ShakespeareACT ISCENE I. Venice. A street.Enter RODERIGO and IAGORODERIGOTush! 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.RODERIGOThou told'st me thou didst hold him in thy hate.IAGODespise 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.RODERIGOBy heaven, I rather would have been his hangman.IAGOWhy, 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.RODERIGOI would not follow him then.IAGOO, 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 linedtheir 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.RODERIGOWhat a full fortune does the thicklips oweIf he can carry't thus!IAGOCall 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 wi 

ALTRE INFORMAZIONI

• Condizione: Nuovo
• ISBN: 9791220852319
• Formato: PDF