Othello, the Moor of Venice. Уильям Шекспир

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      What noise?

      The town is empty; on the brow o' the sea

      Stand ranks of people, and they cry, "A sail!"

      My hopes do shape him for the governor.

      They do discharge their shot of courtesy:

      Our friends at least.

                                       I pray you, sir, go forth,

      And give us truth who 'tis that is arriv'd.

      I shall.

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

      Most fortunately: he hath achiev'd a maid

      That paragons description and wild fame,

      One that excels the quirks of blazoning pens,

      And in the essential vesture of creation

      Does tire the ingener. —

      How now! who has put in?

      'Tis one Iago, ancient to the general.

      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 omit

      Their mortal natures, letting go safely by

      The divine Desdemona.

                                            What is she?

      She that I spake of, our great captain's captain,

      Left in the conduct of the bold Iago;

      Whose footing here anticipates our thoughts

      A 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!

                                                       O, behold,

      The riches of the ship is come on shore!

      Ye men of Cyprus, let her have your knees. —

      Hall to thee, lady! and the grace of heaven,

      Before, behind thee, and on every hand,

      Enwheel thee round!

                                        I thank you, valiant Cassio.

      What tidings can you tell me of my lord?

      He is not yet arrived nor know I aught

      But that he's well, and will be shortly here.

      O, but I fear – How lost you company?

      The great contention of the sea and skies

      Parted our fellowship: – but, hark! a sail.

      They give their greeting to the citadel:

      This likewise is a friend.

                                             See for the news.

      Good ancient, you are welcome: – [To Emilia.]  Welcome, mistress: —

      Let it not gall your patience, good Iago,

      That I extend my manners; 'tis my breeding

      That gives me this bold show of courtesy.

      Sir, would she give you so much of her lips

      As of her tongue she oft bestows on me,

      You'd have enough.

                                       Alas, she has no speech.

      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.

      You have little cause to say so.

      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.

      O, СКАЧАТЬ