Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, OTHELLO THE MOOR, by JOHN GODFREY SAXE


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

OTHELLO THE MOOR, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Romances of late are so wretchedly poor
Last Line: By breeding distrust between you and your wife!
Subject(s): Marriage; Weddings; Husbands; Wives


ROMANCES of late are so wretchedly poor,
Here goes for the old one: -- Othello, the Moor;
A warrior of note, and by no means a boor,
Though the skin on his face
Was as black as the ace
Of spades: or (a simile nearer the case)
Say, black as the Deuce; or black as a brace
Of very black cats in a very dark place!
That's the German idea;
But how he could be a
Regular negro don't seem very clear;
For Horace, you know,
A great while ago,
Put a sentiment forth which we all must agree to:
"Hic niger est; hunc tu, Romane, caveto!"
(A nigger's a rascal that one ought to see to.)
I rather, in sooth,
Think it nearer the truth
To take the opinion of young Mr. Booth,
Who makes his Othello
A grim-looking fellow
Of a color compounded of lamp-black and yellow.
Now Captain Othello, a true son of Mars,
The foe being vanquished, returned from the wars,
All covered with ribbons, and garters, and stars,
Not to mention a score of magnificent scars;
And calling, one day,
In a neighborly way,
On Signor Brabantio, -- one of the men
Who figured in Venice as Senator then, --
Was invited to tell
Of all that befell
Himself and his friends while campaigning so well,
From the time of his boyhood till now he was grown
The greatest of Captains that Venice had known.
As a neighbor should do,
He ran it quite through,
(I would n't be bail it was all of it true),
Recounting, with ardor, such trophies and glories,
Among Ottoman rebels and Cyprian tories,
Not omitting a parcel of cock-and-bull stories, --
That he quite won the heart of the Senator's daughter,
Who, like most of the sex, had a passion for slaughter:
And was wondrously bold
In battles, -- as told
By brilliant romancers, who picture in gold
What, in its own hue, you'd be shocked to behold.

Now Captain Othello, who never had known a
Young lady so lovely as "Fair Desdemona,"
Not even his patroness, Madam Bellona, --
Was delighted, one day,
At hearing her say,
Of all men in the world he'd the charmingest way
Of talking to women; and if any one should,
(Tho she did n't imagine that any one would, --
For where, to be sure, was another who could?)
But if -- and suppose -- a lover came to her,
And told her his story, 't would certainly woo her.
With so lucid a hint,
The dickens were in't,
If he could n't have read her as easy as print;
And thus came of course, -- but as to the rest, --
The billing and cooing I leave to be guessed, --
And how, when their passion was fairly confessed,
They sent for a parson to render them "blest," --
Although it was done, I am sorry to say,
In what Mrs. P. -- had it happened today --
Would be likely to call a clamdestiny way!
I cannot recount
One half the amount
Of curses that burst from his cardiac fount
When Signor Brabantio learned that the Moor
Had married his daughter: "How dared he to woo her?
The sooty-skinned knave, -- thus to blight and undo her?
With what villanous potions the scoundrelly sinner
Must have poisoned her senses in order to win her!"
And more of the same, --
But my language is lame,
E'en a fishwoman's tongue were decidedly tame
A tithe of the epithets even to name,
Compounded of scorn and derision and hate,
Which Signor Brabantio poured on the pate
Of the beautiful girl's nigritudinous mate!
I cannot delay
To speak of the way
The matter was settled; suffice it to say
'T was exactly the same as you see in a play,
Where the lady persuades her affectionate sire
That the fault was her own, -- which softens his ire,
And, though for a season extremely annoyed,
At last he approves -- what he cannot avoid!
Philosophers tell us
A mind like Othello's --
Strong, manly, and brave -- is n't apt to be jealous;
But now, you must know,
The Moor had a foe,
Iago, by name, who concealed with a show
Of honest behavior the wickedest heart
That Satan e'er filled with his treacherous art,
And who, as a friend,
Was accustomed to lend
His gifts to the most diabolical end,
To wit, the destruction of Captain Othello,
Desdemona, his wife, and an excellent fellow,
One Cassio, a soldier, -- too apt to get mellow, --
But as honest a man as ever broke bread,
A bottle of wine, or an Ottoman head.

'T is a very long story,
And would certainly bore ye,
Being not very brilliant with grandeur or glory,
How the wicked Iago contrived to abuse
The gallant Othello respecting his views
Of his fair lady's honor;
Reflecting upon her
In damnable hints, and by fragments of news
About palming and presents, himself had invented,
Until the poor husband was fairly demented,
And railed at his wife, like a cowardly varlet,
And gave her an epithet, -- rhyming with scarlet,
And prated of Cassio with virulent spleen,
And called for a handkerchief some one had seen,
And wanted to know what the deuce it could mean?
And -- to state the case honestly -- really acted
In the manner that women call "raving-distracted!"

It is sad to record
How her lunatic lord
Spurned all explanation the dame could afford,
And still kept repeating the odious word,
So false, and so foul to a virtuous ear,
That I could n't be tempted to mention it here.
'T is sadder to tell
Of the crime that befell,
When, moved, it would seem, by the demons of hell,
He seized a knife,
And, kissing his wife,
Extinguished the light of her innocent life;
And how, also, before the poor body was cool,
He found he had acted as villany's tool,
And died exclaiming, "O fool! fool! FOOL!"

MORAL.

Young ladies! -- beware of hasty connections;
And don't marry suitors with swarthy complexions;
For though they may chance to be capital fellows,
Depend upon it, they're apt to be jealous!

Young gentlemen! pray recollect, if you can,
To give a wide birth to a meddlesome man;
And horsewhip the knave who would poison your life
By breeding distrust between you and your wife!





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