Othello : The Moor of Venice: Large Print

RODERIGO.Tush, never tell me, I take it much unkindlyThat 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 knowsMore than a spinster, unless the bookish theoric,