'Sbood, but you will not hear me: If ever I did dream of such a matter, Abhor me.
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.
Despise me, if I do not. Three great ones of the city, I know my price, I am worth no worse a place: And in conclusion, Nonsuits my mediators; for, 'Certes,' say he, 'I have already chose my officer.' Forsooth, a great arithmetician One Michael Cassio a Florentine, A fellow almost damn'd in a fair wife;
Thou told'st me thou didst hold him in thy hate
By heaven, I rather would have been his hangman
Wherein the toged consuls can propose. As masterly as he: mere prattle, without practise, Is all his soldiership. But he, sir had the election: And I, of whom his eyes had seen the proof
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 affined To love the Moor.
I would not follow him then
O, sir, content you; We cannot all be masters, nor all masters. You shall mark Many a duteous and knee-crooking knave, For nought but provender, and when he's old, cashier'd: Others there are Keep yet their hearts attending on themselves, these fellows have some soul;
And such a one do I profess myself. For, sir,It is as sure as you are Roderigo, In following him, I follow but myself; Heaven is my judge, not I for love and duty, For when my outward action doth demonstrate The native act and figure of my heart For daws to peck at: I am not what I am.
What a full fortune does the thicklips owe If he can carry't thus!