Lodovico
Is this the noble Moor whom our full senate
Call all in all sufficient? Is this the nature
Whom passion could not shake? whose solid virtue
The shot of accident, nor dart of chance,
Could neither graze nor pierce?
Iago
He is much changed.
Lodovico
Are his wits safe? is he not light of brain?
Iago
He’s that he is: I may not breathe my censure
What he might be: if what he might he is not,
I would to heaven he were!
Lodovico
What, strike his wife!
Iago
’Faith, that was not so well; yet would I knew
That stroke would prove the worst!