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My noble lord—
What dost thou say, Iago?
Did Michael Cassio, when you woo'd my lady, know of your love?
He did, from first to last. Why dost thou ask?
But for a satisfaction of my thought; no further harm.
Why of thy thought, Iago?
I did not think he had been acquainted with her.
O, yes; and went between us very oft.
Indeed!
Indeed! ay, indeed. Discern'st thou aught in that? Is he not honest?
Honest, my lord?
Honest! ay, honest.
My lord, for aught I know.
What dost thou think?
Think, my lord?
Think, my lord! By heaven, he echoes me, as if there were some monster in his thought too hideous to be shown.
My lord, you know I love you.
I think thou dost; and, for I know thou'rt full of love and honesty.
For Michael Cassio, I dare be sworn I think that he is honest.
I think so too.
Men should be what they seem; or those that be not, would they might seem none!
Certain, men should be what they seem.
Why, then, I think Cassio's an honest man.
Nay, yet there's more in this. I prithee, speak to me as to thy thinkings.
O, beware, my lord, of jealousy; it is the green-eyed monster which doth mock the meat it feeds on.
O misery!
Poor and content is rich and rich enough, but riches fineless is as poor as winter to him that ever fears he shall be poor.