Othello, Act 2, Scene 1

Montano

What from the cape can you discern at sea?

What can you make out at sea from the headland?

First Gentleman

Nothing at all, it is a high-wrought flood.I cannot ’twixt the heaven and the mainDescry a sail.

Nothing at all. The sea is terribly rough. I can't make out a single sail between the sky and the sea.

Montano

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?

The wind has certainly made itself heard on land. No stronger blast has ever shaken our fortifications. If it has battered the sea as violently, what ship's oak frame could hold together when mountains of water crash down on it? What news will we hear of this?

Second Gentleman

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-fixed pole;I never did like molestation viewOn the enchafed flood.

That the Turkish fleet has been scattered. Just stand on the foaming shore: the raging waves seem to strike the clouds. The enormous, wind-whipped sea seems to throw water on the shining Bear constellation and put out the stars that guard the fixed North Star. I've never seen such turmoil on the raging sea.

Montano

If that the Turkish fleetBe not enshelter’d, and embay’d, they are drown’d.It is impossible to bear it out.

Unless the Turkish fleet has found shelter in a bay, they've drowned. It's impossible to survive this.

Third Gentleman

News, lads! Our wars are done.The desperate tempest hath so bang’d the TurksThat their designment halts. A noble ship of VeniceHath seen a grievous wreck and sufferanceOn most part of their fleet.

News, lads! Our wars are over. The savage storm has battered the Turks so badly that their plans have stalled. A fine Venetian ship has seen most of their fleet badly wrecked and damaged.

Montano

How? Is this true?

What? Is this true?

Third Gentleman

The ship is here put in,A Veronessa; Michael Cassio,Lieutenant to the warlike Moor Othello,Is come on shore; the Moor himself at sea,And is in full commission here for Cyprus.

The ship has come into port here, a ship from Verona. Michael Cassio, lieutenant to the warrior Othello, the Moor, has come ashore. The Moor himself is still at sea and has full authority to command here in Cyprus.

Montano

I am glad on’t. ’Tis a worthy governor.

I'm glad of that. He's a worthy governor.

Third Gentleman

But this same Cassio, though he speak of comfortTouching the Turkish loss, yet he looks sadly,And prays the Moor be safe; for they were partedWith foul and violent tempest.

But although this Cassio speaks encouragingly about the Turkish losses, he looks sad and prays that the Moor is safe. They were separated by the fierce and violent storm.

Montano

Pray heavens he be;For I have serv’d him, and the man commandsLike a full soldier. Let’s to the sea-side, ho!As well to see the vessel that’s come inAs to throw out our eyes for brave Othello,Even till we make the main and the aerial blueAn indistinct regard.

May heaven grant that he's safe. I've served under him, and he commands like a thoroughly experienced soldier. Come, let's go to the shore, both to see the ship that's come in and to look out for brave Othello until our eyes can no longer distinguish the sea from the blue sky.

Third Gentleman

Come, let’s do so;For every minute is expectancyOf more arrivance.

Come, let's do that. We expect more arrivals every minute.

Cassio

Thanks you, the valiant of this warlike isle,That so approve the Moor! O, let the heavensGive him defence against the elements,For I have lost him on a dangerous sea.

Thank you, brave men of this warrior island, for thinking so highly of the Moor! May heaven protect him from the storm, for I've lost sight of him on a dangerous sea.

Montano

Is he well shipp’d?

Does he have a good ship?

Cassio

His bark is stoutly timber’d, and his pilotOf very expert and approv’d allowance;Therefore my hopes, not surfeited to death,Stand in bold cure.

His ship is strongly built, and his pilot is highly skilled and has a proven reputation. So my hopes, though badly shaken, are still alive and recovering strongly.

Cassio

What noise?

What's that noise?

Messenger

The town is empty; on the brow o’ the seaStand ranks of people, and they cry “A sail!”

The town is empty. Crowds of people are standing along the shore, shouting, “A sail!”

Cassio

My hopes do shape him for the governor.

My hopes make me think it's the governor.

Second Gentleman

They do discharge their shot of courtesy.Our friends at least.

They're firing a salute. At least they're friends.

Cassio

I pray you, sir, go forth,And give us truth who ’tis that is arriv’d.

Please, sir, go and find out for certain who has arrived.

Second Gentleman

I shall.

I will.

Montano

But, good lieutenant, is your general wiv’d?

But tell me, good lieutenant, is your general married?

Cassio

Most fortunately: he hath achiev’d a maidThat paragons description and wild fame,One that excels the quirks of blazoning pens,And in the essential vesture of creationDoes tire the ingener.

Very happily. He has won a young woman who surpasses all description and the wildest praise. She outdoes the cleverest efforts of writers to praise her, and her natural beauty exhausts the imagination of anyone trying to capture it.

Second Gentleman

’Tis one Iago, ancient to the general.

A man named Iago, the general's flag bearer.

Cassio

He has had most favourable and happy speed:Tempests themselves, high seas, and howling winds,The gutter’d rocks, and congregated sands,Traitors ensteep’d to clog the guiltless keel,As having sense of beauty, do omitTheir mortal natures, letting go safely byThe divine Desdemona.

He's had an extraordinarily lucky and speedy journey. The storms themselves, the high seas and howling winds, the jagged rocks and gathered sandbanks, those hidden traitors waiting to catch an innocent ship, seem to appreciate beauty. They abandon their deadly nature and let the heavenly Desdemona pass safely.

Montano

What is she?

Who is she?

Cassio

She that I spake of, our great captain’s captain,Left in the conduct of the bold Iago;Whose footing here anticipates our thoughtsA se’nnight’s speed. Great Jove, Othello guard,And swell his sail with thine own powerful breath,That he may bless this bay with his tall ship,Make love’s quick pants in Desdemona’s arms,Give renew’d fire to our extincted spirits,And bring all Cyprus comfort!

The woman I spoke of, the commander of our great commander. She was left in the care of bold Iago, whose arrival here is a full week earlier than we expected. Great Jove, protect Othello and fill his sail with your own mighty breath, so that he may grace this bay with his tall ship, breathe quickly with love in Desdemona's arms, rekindle our dampened spirits, and bring comfort to all Cyprus!

Desdemona

I thank you, valiant Cassio.What tidings can you tell me of my lord?

Thank you, brave Cassio. What news can you give me of my husband?

Cassio

He is not yet arrived, nor know I aughtBut that he’s well, and will be shortly here.

He hasn’t arrived yet. All I know is that he’s well and will be here soon.

Desdemona

O, but I fear—How lost you company?

Oh, but I’m afraid—How did you get separated?

Cassio

The great contention of the sea and skiesParted our fellowship. But, hark! a sail.

The fierce battle between the sea and sky separated us. But listen! A ship.

Second Gentleman

They give their greeting to the citadel.This likewise is a friend.

They’re firing a salute to the fortress. This ship is friendly too.

Cassio

See for the news.

Go find out the news.

Iago

Sir, would she give you so much of her lipsAs of her tongue she oft bestows on me,You would have enough.

Sir, if she gave you as much use of her lips as she often gives me of her tongue, you’d have more than enough.

Desdemona

Alas, she has no speech.

Oh, she hardly says a word.

Iago

In faith, too much.I find it still when I have list to sleep.Marry, before your ladyship, I grant,She puts her tongue a little in her heart,And chides with thinking.

Believe me, she says too much. I always find that out when I want to sleep. Admittedly, in front of your ladyship she holds her tongue a little and does her scolding silently.

Emilia

You have little cause to say so.

You have little reason to say that.

Iago

Come on, come on; you are pictures out of doors,Bells in your parlours, wild-cats in your kitchens,Saints in your injuries, devils being offended,Players in your housewifery, and housewives in your beds.

Come on, come on. You women are pretty pictures in public, clanging bells in your living rooms, wildcats in your kitchens, saints when you do wrong, devils when you’re wronged, playacting at housework and hard at work in bed.

Desdemona

O, fie upon thee, slanderer!

Oh, shame on you, you slanderer!

Iago

Nay, it is true, or else I am a Turk.You rise to play, and go to bed to work.

No, it’s true, or I’m a Turk. You get up to play and go to bed to work.

Emilia

You shall not write my praise.

You won’t be writing any praise of me.

Iago

No, let me not.

No, don’t ask me to.

Desdemona

What wouldst thou write of me, if thou shouldst praise me?

What would you write about me if you had to praise me?

Iago

O gentle lady, do not put me to’t,For I am nothing if not critical.

Oh, kind lady, don’t put me to that test. Finding fault is what I do best.

Desdemona

Come on, assay.—There’s one gone to the harbour?

Come on, try.—Has someone gone to the harbor?

Iago

Ay, madam.

Yes, madam.

Desdemona

I am not merry, but I do beguileThe thing I am, by seeming otherwise.—Come, how wouldst thou praise me?

I’m not happy, but by acting as though I am, I distract myself from what I’m feeling.—Come on, how would you praise me?

Iago

I am about it, but indeed, my inventionComes from my pate as birdlime does from frieze,It plucks out brains and all: but my Muse labours,And thus she is deliver’d.If she be fair and wise, fairness and wit,The one’s for use, the other useth it.

I’m working on it, but getting ideas out of my head is like pulling sticky bird-trapping glue out of woolen cloth: it pulls my brains out with it. But my inspiration is in labor, and here’s what she gives birth to. If a woman is beautiful and clever, her beauty is there to be used, and her cleverness knows how to use it.

Desdemona

Well prais’d! How if she be black and witty?

Fine praise! What if she’s dark and clever?

Iago

If she be black, and thereto have a wit,She’ll find a white that shall her blackness fit.

If she’s dark and has some wit as well, she’ll find a fair-skinned man who suits her darkness.

Desdemona

Worse and worse.

Worse and worse.

Emilia

How if fair and foolish?

What if she’s beautiful and foolish?

Iago

She never yet was foolish that was fair,For even her folly help’d her to an heir.

No beautiful woman was ever truly foolish, since even her foolishness helped her get an heir.

Desdemona

These are old fond paradoxes to make fools laugh i’ the alehouse. What miserable praise hast thou for her that’s foul and foolish?

Those are tired, silly contradictions to make fools laugh in a tavern. What miserable praise do you have for a woman who’s ugly and foolish?

Iago

There’s none so foul and foolish thereunto,But does foul pranks which fair and wise ones do.

No woman is so ugly and foolish that she can’t play the same dirty games as beautiful, clever women.

Desdemona

O 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, what tiresome ignorance! You give the worst women the best praise. But what praise could you give a truly deserving woman, whose goodness was so undeniable that even spite itself would have to speak well of her?

Iago

She that was ever fair and never proud,Had tongue at will and yet was never loud,Never lack’d gold and yet went never gay,Fled from her wish, and yet said, “Now I may”;She that, being anger’d, her revenge being nigh,Bade her wrong stay and her displeasure fly;She that in wisdom never was so frailTo 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 wight were—

A woman who was always beautiful but never proud. Who could speak well but never raised her voice. Who always had money but never dressed to show it off. Who turned away from what she wanted, even when she could say, “Now I can have it.” Who, when angry and close to getting revenge, let the wrong go unpunished and let go of her anger. Who was never foolish enough to trade a cod’s head for a salmon’s tail. Who could think without speaking her mind. Who could see men chasing her and never look back. She was quite a woman, if such a woman ever existed—

Desdemona

To do what?

To do what?

Iago

To suckle fools and chronicle small beer.

To nurse fools and keep accounts of cheap beer.

Desdemona

O 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 counsellor?

Oh, what a weak, pathetic conclusion!—Don’t learn from him, Emilia, even though he’s your husband.—What do you say, Cassio? Isn’t he a thoroughly vulgar, foul-mouthed adviser?

Cassio

He speaks home, madam. You may relish him more in the soldier than in the scholar.

He speaks bluntly, madam. You may appreciate him more as a soldier than as a scholar.

Iago (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, an excellent courtesy! ’Tis so, indeed. Yet again your fingers to your lips? Would they were clyster-pipes for your sake!

He takes her hand. Yes, very good, whisper. With a web as small as this, I’ll trap a fly as big as Cassio. Yes, smile at her, go on. I’ll chain you up with your own gallantry. Yes, you’re right, that’s exactly so. If tricks like these cost you your lieutenant’s rank, you’d have been better off not kissing your three fingers so often—a gesture you’re once again eager to use to play the gentleman. Very good, nicely kissed, excellent manners! Yes, indeed. Your fingers to your lips yet again? For your own good, I wish they were enema tubes!

Cassio

’Tis truly so.

It certainly is.

Desdemona

Let’s meet him, and receive him.

Let’s go meet him and welcome him.

Cassio

Lo, where he comes!

Look, here he comes!

Othello

O my fair warrior!

Oh, my beautiful warrior!

Desdemona

My dear Othello!

My dear Othello!

Othello

It gives me wonder great as my contentTo see you here before me. O my soul’s joy!If after every tempest come such calms,May the winds blow till they have waken’d death!And let the labouring bark climb hills of seasOlympus-high, and duck again as lowAs hell’s from heaven! If it were now to die,’Twere now to be most happy, for I fearMy soul hath her content so absoluteThat not another comfort like to thisSucceeds in unknown fate.

I’m as amazed as I am delighted to find you here ahead of me. Oh, the joy of my soul! If every storm is followed by calm like this, let the winds blow until they wake death itself! Let our struggling ship climb waves as high as Olympus, then plunge down as far as hell is from heaven! If I were to die now, I would die at my happiest. I’m afraid my soul is so completely satisfied that whatever the unknown future holds, no other joy like this will follow.

Desdemona

The heavens forbidBut that our loves and comforts should increaseEven as our days do grow!

May heaven grant that our love and happiness keep growing as the days of our lives increase!

Othello

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 [They kiss.]That e’er our hearts shall make!

Amen to that, blessed powers! I can’t find enough words for this happiness. It catches in my throat; the joy is too great. Let this, and this, be the greatest clashes [They kiss.] our hearts will ever have!

Iago (aside)

O, you are well tun’d now,But I’ll set down the pegs that make this music,As honest as I am.

Oh, you're in perfect harmony now, but I'll loosen the strings that make this music, as surely as I'm an honest man.

Othello

Come, let us to the castle.—News, friends, our wars are done, the Turks are drown’d.How does my old acquaintance of this isle?Honey, you shall be well desir’d in Cyprus;I have found great love amongst them. O my sweet,I prattle out of fashion, and I doteIn 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 worthinessDoes challenge much respect.—Come, Desdemona,Once more well met at Cyprus.

Come, let's go to the castle. Friends, here's news: our war is over; the Turks have drowned. How are my old friends on this island? Darling, you'll be warmly welcomed in Cyprus. I've found great affection among these people. Oh, my sweet, I'm babbling without making sense, carried away by my own happiness. Please, good Iago, go down to the bay and unload my chests. Bring the ship's captain to the citadel. He's a good man, and his abilities deserve great respect. Come, Desdemona, once again, welcome to Cyprus.

Iago

Do thou meet me presently at the harbour. 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.

Meet me shortly at the harbor. Come here. If you have courage—as they say, even low-minded men gain an unusual nobility when they're in love—listen to me. The lieutenant commands the guard tonight. First, I must tell you this: Desdemona is completely in love with him.

Roderigo

With him? Why, ’tis not possible.

With him? Why, that's impossible.

Iago

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. And will she 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, again to inflame it and to give satiety a fresh appetite, loveliness in favour, 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 eminently 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 out 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.

Put your finger to your lips like this, and learn something. Consider how passionately she first loved the Moor, just because he bragged and told her fantastic lies. Will she keep loving him for his chatter? Don't be foolish enough to think so. Her eyes need something to enjoy. And what pleasure can she get from looking at that devil? When sex has dulled their passion, they'll need good looks and a match in age, manners, and beauty to stir it up again and renew their exhausted appetite. The Moor lacks all of these. Without these necessary attractions, her delicate feelings will feel offended. Her stomach will begin to turn; she'll dislike and hate the Moor. Nature itself will teach her this and drive her to choose another man. Now, sir, if we accept this—and it's an obvious, perfectly natural conclusion—who is better placed to benefit than Cassio? He's a smooth-talking scoundrel, with no more conscience than it takes to put on a show of courtesy and kindness so he can satisfy his lust and his deeply hidden indecent desires. Who else? No one, no one! A slippery, cunning scoundrel who hunts for opportunities, with an eye for inventing and faking an advantage even when no real opportunity presents itself. A devilish scoundrel! Besides, the scoundrel is handsome, young, and has all the qualities that foolish, inexperienced people look for. A thoroughly rotten scoundrel, and the woman has already noticed him.

Roderigo

I cannot believe that in her, she is full of most blessed condition.

I can't believe that of her. She has such a truly virtuous nature.

Iago

Blest fig’s end! the wine she drinks is made of grapes: if she had been blessed, she would never have loved the Moor. Blessed pudding! Didst thou not see her paddle with the palm of his hand? Didst not mark that?

Virtuous, my foot! The wine she drinks is made from grapes, like anyone else's. If she were so virtuous, she would never have loved the Moor. Virtuous nonsense! Didn't you see her playing with his hand? Didn't you notice that?

Roderigo

Yes, that I did. But that was but courtesy.

Yes, I did. But that was just politeness.

Iago

Lechery, by this hand. An index and obscure prologue to the history of lust and foul thoughts. They met so near with their lips that their breaths embrac’d together. Villainous thoughts, Roderigo! When these mutualities so marshal the way, hard at hand comes the master and main exercise, the incorporate conclusion. Pish! But, sir, be you ruled by me. I have brought you from Venice. Watch you tonight. For the command, I’ll lay’t upon you. Cassio knows you not. I’ll not be far from you. Do you find some occasion to anger Cassio, either by speaking too loud, or tainting his discipline, or from what other course you please, which the time shall more favourably minister.

Lust, I swear on this hand. A hint and a hidden introduction to a whole story of lust and filthy thoughts. Their lips came so close that their breaths mingled. Wicked thoughts, Roderigo! When these exchanges lead the way, the main event soon follows: the two of them joining their bodies. Bah! But, sir, let me guide you. I've brought you from Venice. Stand guard tonight. I'll arrange for you to be assigned to it. Cassio doesn't know you. I won't be far away. Find some way to anger Cassio, either by speaking too loudly, criticizing his handling of the guard, or whatever other means you like that the moment gives you the best chance to use.

Roderigo

Well.

All right.

Iago

Sir, he is rash, and very sudden in choler, and haply with his truncheon may strike at you: provoke him that he may, for even out of that will I cause these of Cyprus to mutiny, whose qualification shall come into no true taste again but by the displanting of Cassio. So shall you have a shorter journey to your desires by the means I shall then have to prefer them, and the impediment most profitably removed, without the which there were no expectation of our prosperity.

Sir, he's reckless and very quick-tempered, and he may strike you with his club. Provoke him into doing it. I'll use that very thing to stir the people of Cyprus into a revolt, and they won't settle down again until Cassio is removed. That will bring you closer to what you want, because I'll then have the means to help you get it. The obstacle will be removed to our great advantage; without removing it, we could have no hope of success.

Roderigo

I will do this, if I can bring it to any opportunity.

I'll do it if I can find an opportunity.

Iago

I warrant thee. Meet me by and by at the citadel: I must fetch his necessaries ashore. Farewell.

I'll make sure you do. Meet me shortly at the citadel. I must bring his belongings ashore. Goodbye.

Roderigo

Adieu.

Goodbye.

Iago

That Cassio loves her, I do well believe it;That she loves him, ’tis apt, and of great credit:The Moor, howbeit that I endure him not,Is of a constant, loving, noble nature;And, I dare think, he’ll prove to DesdemonaA most dear husband. Now, I do love her too,Not out of absolute lust (though peradventureI stand accountant for as great a sin)But partly led to diet my revenge,For that I do suspect the lusty MoorHath leap’d into my seat. The thought whereofDoth, like a poisonous mineral, gnaw my inwards,And nothing can or shall content my soulTill I am even’d with him, wife for wife,Or, failing so, yet that I put the MoorAt least into a jealousy so strongThat judgement cannot cure. Which thing to do,If this poor trash of Venice, whom I trashFor his quick hunting, stand the putting on,I’ll have our Michael Cassio on the hip,Abuse him to the Moor in the rank garb(For I fear Cassio with my night-cap too)Make the Moor thank me, love me, and reward meFor making him egregiously an assAnd practicing upon his peace and quietEven to madness. ’Tis here, but yet confus’d.Knavery’s plain face is never seen till us’d.

I certainly believe Cassio loves her. That she loves him is likely and very believable. Though I can't stand the Moor, he's a faithful, loving, noble man, and I believe he'll be a deeply devoted husband to Desdemona. Now, I love her too, not simply out of lust—though perhaps I'm guilty of just as great a sin—but partly to feed my revenge. I suspect the lustful Moor has taken my place in bed. The thought eats away at my insides like poison, and nothing can or will satisfy me until I've settled the score with him, wife for wife. Failing that, I'll at least make the Moor so jealous that reason can't cure him. To do this, if this worthless fellow from Venice, whom I keep on a leash to stop him running too fast after his desires, will let me urge him on, I'll have our Michael Cassio at my mercy. I'll slander him to the Moor in the crudest terms—for I suspect Cassio has been wearing my nightcap too. I'll make the Moor thank me, love me, and reward me for making a complete fool of him and destroying his peace of mind until he goes mad. The plan is here in my head, but still confused. A wicked scheme never shows its true face until it's carried out.