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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 , “ 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 practice 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 belee’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 . RODERIGO . By heaven , I rather would have been his hangman . IAGO . 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 affin’d To love the Moor . RODERIGO . I would not follow him , then . IAGO . 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 , cashier’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 , Do well thrive by them , and when they have lin’d their coats , Do themselves homage . These fellows have some soul , And such a one do I profess myself . For , sir , It is as sure as you are Roderigo , Were I the Moor , I would not be Iago : In following him , I follow but myself . Heaven 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 complement extern , ’ tis not long after But I will wear my heart upon my sleeve For daws to peck at : I am not what I am .
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