Scene III. A council-chamber. The Duke and Senators sitting at a table; Officers Duke. There is no composition in these news First Sen. Indeed they are disproportion'd; My letters say a hundred and seven galleys. And mine, two hundred : 'Tis oft with difference,-yet do they all confirm 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! ΙΟ Duke. Enter Sailor. Now, what's the business? Sail. 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? This cannot be, By no assay of reason: 'tis a pageant 20 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, To leave that latest which concerns him first, To wake and wage a danger profitless. Duke. Nay, in all confidence, he's not for Rhodes. Enter a Messenger. Mess. The Ottomites, reverend and gracious, 30 Steering with due course toward the isle of Rhodes, First Sen. Ay, so I thought. How many, as you guess? Their backward course, bearing with frank appearance 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 Sen. He's now in Florence. Duke. Write from us to him; post-post-haste dispatch. Enter Brabantio, Othello, Iago, Roderigo, and Officers. 40 [To Brabantio] I did not see you; welcome, gentle signior; We lack'd your counsel and your help to-night. Bra. So did I yours. Good your grace, pardon me; 50 Neither my place nor aught I heard of business Duke. All. Bra. Dead? Ay, to me; 60 She is abused, stol'n from me and corrupted Being not deficient, blind, or lame of sense, Duke. Whoe'er he be that in this foul proceeding Bra. All. You shall yourself read in the bitter letter After your own sense, yea, though our proper son Humbly I thank your grace. 70 Hath hither brought. We are very sorry for 't. Duke. [To Othello] What in your own part can you say to this? Bra. Nothing, but this is so. 80 Oth. Most potent, grave, and reverend signiors, Bra. And little of this great world can I speak, More than pertains to feats of broil and battle; In speaking for myself. Yet, by your gracious patience, 90 Of my whole course of love; what drugs, what charms, A maiden never bold; 100 Duke. He wrought upon her. To vouch this, is no proof, Oth. Duke. Did you by indirect and forced courses I do beseech you, 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 Fetch Desdemona hither, ΙΙΟ 120 Oth. Ancient, conduct them; you best know the place. And till she come, as truly as to heaven Duke. Say it, Othello. Oth. Her father loved me, oft invited me, Still questioned me the story of my life From year to year, the battles, sieges, fortunes, 130 I ran it through, even from my boyish days To the very moment that he bade me tell it : |