Rod.

I do follow here in the chace, not like a hound that hunts, but one that fills up the cry. My mony is almost spent; I have been to night exceedingly well cudgelled; and, I think, the issue will be, I shall have so much experience for my pains; and so with no mony at all, and a little more wit, return again to Venice.

Iago.
How poor are they, that have not patience?
What wound did ever heal but by degrees;
Thou know'st, we work by wit, and not by witch-craft;
And wit depends on dilatory time:
Does't not go well? Cassio hath beaten thee,
And thou by that small hurt hast cashier'd Cassio.
Tho' other things grow fair against the Sun,
Yet fruits, that blossom first, will first be ripe:
Content thy self a-while. In troth, 'tis morning:
Pleasure and action make the hours seem short.
Retire thee; go where thou art billeted:
Away, I say; thou shalt know more hereafter:
Nay, get thee gone. [Exit Rodorigo.
Two things are to be done;

My Wife must move for Cassio to her mistress:
I'll set her on:—
My self, the while, to draw the Moor apart,
And bring him jump, when he may Cassio find
Solliciting his Wife,—ay, that's the way:
Dull not, Device, by coldness and delay. [Exit.

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