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.

'Sblood, but you will not hear me:
If ever I did dream of such a matter, abhor me.

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

Despise me, if I do not. Three great ones of the city
In personal suit to make me his lieutenant
Off-capp'd to him: and, by the faith of man
I know my price, I am worth no worse a place:
But he; as loving his own pride and purposes
Evades them, with a bombast circumstance
Horribly stuff'd with epithets of war;
And, in conclusion
Nonsuits my mediators; for, '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 battle knows
More than a spinster; unless the bookish theoric
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
At Rhodes, at Cyprus and on other grounds
Christian and heathen, must be be-lee'd 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 Moorship's ancient!