These honest fools deserve to be whipped! There are others who take the appearance of duty and loyalty, but stay focused on their own interests. All the time you see dutiful servants kneeling to their masters and working like mules for nothing but food. ![]() Maybe we can't all be leaders, but not all leaders can have loyal followers. ![]() I'm following him only so I can turn on him later. For when my outward action doth demonstrate The native act and figure of my heart In compliment extern, ’tis not long after But I will wear my heart upon my sleeve For daws to peck at. Heaven is my judge, not I for love and duty, But seeming so, for my peculiar end. For, sir, It is as sure as you are Roderigo, Were I the Moor, I would not be Iago. These fellows have some soul, And such a one do I profess myself. And when they have lined their coats, Do themselves homage. Others there are Who, trimmed 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. 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 naught but provender, and when he’s old, cashiered. We cannot all be masters, nor all masters Cannot be truly followed. Now, my career's stalled and I'm overtaken by some number cruncher-an accountant! That bean-counter will be his lieutenant before too long, and meanwhile I'll be carrying around his Moorship's flag, thank you very much. His military experience is all ideas, with no real action! But, sir, Othello chose this Cassio for lieutenant, not me-even though he's seen proof of my military prowess with his own eyes at Rhodes, at Cyprus, and on all sorts of battlefields in Christian and Pagan lands. He knows only theory from books, full of the talk of old geezers in togas. A man who has never commanded a squadron on the battlefield, who knows no more about battle than an old lady. A man practically cursed with a wife too beautiful (whom he can't control). And in the end he declines their proposal and says, "Certainly, I have already chosen my lieutenant." And who did he choose? A guy who's basically a mathematician, some Michael Cassio, from Florence. But of course Othello is too proud to listen and wants to do things his own way, so he speaks in circles with empty talk about war-related titles. And, truly, I know my value, and I'm worthy of that position. Three noblemen of the city tipped their hats to him, making a personal plea for him to make me his lieutenant. This counter-caster He (in good time) must his lieutenant be And I, bless the mark, his Moorship’s ancient. ![]() But he, sir, had th' 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 calmed By debitor and creditor. Mere prattle without practice Is all his soldiership. 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 damned 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. ![]() But he (as loving his own pride and purposes) Evades them with a bombast circumstance Horribly stuffed with epithets of war, And in conclusion Nonsuits my mediators. Three great ones of the city (In personal suit to make me his lieutenant) Off-capped to him, and by the faith of man I know my price, I am worth no worse a place.
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