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I follow him to serve my turn upon him: We cannot all be masters, nor all masters 45 Cannot be truly follow’d. You
In following him, I follow but myself; Heaven is my judge, not I for love and duty, But seeming so for my peculiar end:
an old black ram Is tupping your white ewe.
your daughter and the 125 Moor are now making the beast with two backs.
She lov’d me for the dangers I had pass’d; And I lov’d her that she did pity them.
If virtue no delighted beauty lack, Your son-in-law is far more fair than black.
Look to her, Moor, if thou hast eyes to see: She has deceiv’d her father, and may thee.
Come on, come on; you are pictures out of doors, Bells in your parlours, wild cats in your kitchens, 125 Saints in your injuries, devils being offended, Players in your housewifery, and housewives in your beds.
Reputation, reputation, reputation! O, I have lost my reputation! I have lost the immortal part of myself, and what remains is bestial.—My reputation, Iago, my reputation!
Reputation is an idle and most false imposition; oft got without merit and lost without deserving:
