Iago

I follow him to serve my turn upon him. We cannot all

I follow him to serve my turn upon him. We cannot all

be masters, nor all masters cannot be truly followed

Tis the curse of service preferment goes by

letter and affection, not by the old graduation

Even now, now, very now, an old

black ram is tupping your white ewe

It is thought abroad that ‘twixt

my sheets he’s done my office

I know not if’t be true but I for mere

suspicion in that kind, will do as if for surety

the lusty Moor hath

leaped into my seat

When devils will the blackest sins put on

they do suggest at first with heavenly shows

I will turn her virtue into pitch, and out of her own

goodness make the net that shall enmesh them all

I am your

own forever

Witness that here Iago doth give up the execution of his

wit, hands, heart, to wronged Othello’s service

Fruits

of whorring