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ACT I
SCENE I. Venice. A street.
Enter Roderigo and Iago.
RODERIGO.
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.
IAGO.
’Sblood, but you will not hear me.
If ever I did dream of such a matter,
Abhor me.
RODERIGO.
Thou told’st me, thou didst hold him in thy hate.
IAGO.
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,