Let him do his spite: My services which I have done the signiory Shall out-tongue his complaints. ’Tis yet to know⁠— Which, when I know that boasting is an honour, I shall promulgate⁠—I fetch my life and being From men of royal siege, and my demerits May speak unbonneted to as proud a fortune As this that I have reach’d: for know, Iago, But that I love the gentle Desdemona, I would not my unhoused free condition Put into circumscription and confine For the sea’s worth. But, look! what lights come yond?

Those are the raised father and his friends: You were best go in.

Not I I must be found: My parts, my title and my perfect soul Shall manifest me rightly. Is it they?

The servants of the duke, and my lieutenant. The goodness of the night upon you, friends! What is the news?