Rodorigo.
Never tell me, I take it much unkindly,^{a note}
That thou, Jago, who hast had my purse,
As if the strings were thine, shouldst know of this.

Jago.
But you'll not hear me.
If ever I did dream of such a matter, abhor me.

Rod.
Thou told'st me, thou didst hold him in thy hate.

Jago.
Despise me
If I do not. Three great ones of the city,
In personal suit to make me his lieutenant,
Oft' capt to him: and by the faith of man
I know my price, I'm worth no worse a place.
But he, as loving his own pride and purposes,
Evades them with a bumbast circumstance,
Horribly stuft with epithets of war;
And in conclusion,
Non-suits my mediators; Certes says he,

I have already chose my officer.
And what was he?
Forsooth a great arithmetician,
One Michael Cassio, a Florentine,
A fellow almost damn'd in a fair wife;
That never set a squadron in the field,
Nor the division of a battel knows
More than a spinster; but the bookish theorick,
Wherein the tongued consuls can propose
As masterly as he; meer prattle, without practice,
Is all his soldiership—he had th' election;
And I, of whom his eyes had seen the proof
At Rhodes, at Cyprus, and on other grounds
Christian and heathen, must be led and calm'd
By Debitor, and Creditor, this Counter-caster.
He, in good time, must his lieutenant be,
And I, God bless the mark! his Moor-ship's Ancient.

Rod.
By heav'n, I rather would have been his hangman.

Jago.
But 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 th' first. Now, Sir, be judge your self,
If I in any just term am assign'd
To love the Moor?

Rod.
I would not follow him then.

Jago.
O Sir, content you;
I follow him to serve my turn upon him.
We cannot all be masters, nor all masters
Cannot be truly follow'd. You shall mark
Many a duteous and knee-crooking knave,
That, doting on his own obsequious bondage,
Wears out his time, much like his master's ass,
For nought but provender, and when he's old, casheir'd;

Whip me such honest knaves—Others there are
Who trimm'd in forms and visages of duty,
Keep yet their hearts attending on themselves;
And throwing but shows of service on their lords,
Well thrive by them; and when they've lin'd their coats,
Do themselves homage. These folks have some soul,
And such a one do I profess my self.
It is as sure as you are Rodorigo,
Were I the Moor, I would not be Jago:
In following him, I follow but my self.
Heav'n is my judge, not I, for love and duty,
But seeming so, for my peculiar end:
For when my outward action doth demonstrate
The native act and figure of my heart
In compliment extern, 'tis not long after
But I will wear my heart upon my sleeve,
For daws to peck at; I'm not what I ^{b note}seem.

Rod.
What a full fortune does the thick-lips owe,
If he can carry her thus?

Jago.
Call up her father,
Rouse him, make after him, poison his delight.
Proclaim him in the streets, incense her kinsmen.
And tho' he in a fertile climate dwell,
Plague him with flies: tho' that his joy be joy,
Yet throw such ^{c note}changes of vexation on't,
As it may lose some colour.

Rod.
Here is her father's house, I'll call aloud.

Jago.
Do, with like timorous accent, and dire yell,
As when, by night and negligence, the fire
Is spied in populous cities.

Rod.
What ho! Brabantio! Signior Brabantio! ho!

Jago.
Awake! what ho! Brabantio! ho! thieves, thieves!
Look to your house, your daughter, and your bags:
Thieves! thieves!

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