オセロ — ウィリアム・シェイクスピア
You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org . If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook. Title : Othello Author : William Shakespeare Release date : November 1, 1998 [eBook #1531] Most recently updated: September 19, 2025 Language : English Other information and formats : www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/1531 Credits : the PG Shakespeare Team, a team of about twenty Project Gutenberg volunteers *** START OF Venice. A street Scene II. Venice. Another street Scene III. Venice. A council chamber ACT II Scene I. A seaport in Cyprus. A Platform Scene II. A street Scene III. A Hall in the Castle ACT III Scene I. Cyprus. Before the Castle Scene II. Cyprus. A Room in the Castle Scene III. Cyprus. The Garden of the Castle Scene IV. Cyprus. Before the Castle ACT IV Scene I. Cyprus. Before the Castle Scene II. Cyprus. A Room in the Castle Scene III. Cyprus. Another Room in the Castle ACT V Scene I. Cyprus. A Street Scene II. Cyprus. A Bedchamber in the castle Dramatis Personæ DUKE OF VENICE BRABANTIO, a Senator of Venice and Desdemona’s father Other Senators GRATIANO, Brother to Brabantio LODOVICO, Kinsman to Brabantio OTHELLO, a noble Moor in the service of Venice CASSIO, his Lieutenant IAGO, his Ancient MONTANO, Othello’s predecessor in the government of Cyprus RODERIGO, a Venetian Gentleman CLOWN, Servant to Othello DESDEMONA, Daughter to Brabantio and Wife to Othello EMILIA, Wife to Iago BIANCA, Mistress to Cassio Officers, Gentlemen, Messenger, Musicians, Herald, Sailor, Attendants, &c. SCENE: The First Act in Venice; during the rest of the Play at a Seaport in Cyprus. ACT I SCENE I. Venice. A street. Enter Roderigo and Iago . RODERIGO. Tush, never tell me, I take it much unkindly That thou, Iago, who hast had my purse, As 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 circumstance, Horribly 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 knows More than a spinster, unless the bookish theoric, Wherein the toged consuls can propose As masterly as he: mere prattle without practice Is all his soldiership. But he, sir, had the election, And I, of whom his eyes had seen the proof At Rhodes, at Cyprus, and on other grounds, Christian and heathen, must be belee’d and calm’d By 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 second Stood heir to the first. Now sir, be judge yourself Whether I in any just term am affin’d To 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 masters Cannot be truly follow’d. You shall mark Many 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 are Who, 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 lin’d their coats, Do 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 demonstrate The native act and figure of my heart In complement extern, ’tis not long after But I will wear my heart upon my sleeve For daws to peck at: I am not what I am. RODERIGO. What a full fortune does the thick-lips owe, If 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 color. RODERIGO. Here is her father’s house, I’ll call aloud. IAGO. Do, with like timorous accent and dire yell As when, by night and negligence, the fire Is spied in populous cities. RODERIGO. What ho, Brabantio! Signior Brabantio, ho! IAGO. Awake! what ho, Brabantio! 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 locked? 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 ram Is tupping 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. BRABANTIO. What, have you lost your wits? RODERIGO. Most reverend signior, do you know my voice? B