Men should be what they seem; Or those that be not, would they might seem none!

Nay, yet there’s more in this: I prithee, speak to me as to thy thinkings, As thou dost ruminate, and give thy worst of thoughts The worst of words.

Good my lord, pardon me: Though I am bound to every act of duty, I am not bound to that all slaves are free to. Utter my thoughts? Why, say they are vile and false; As where’s that palace whereinto foul things Sometimes intrude not? who has a breast so pure, But some uncleanly apprehensions Keep leets and law-days and in session sit With meditations lawful?

Thou dost conspire against thy friend, Iago, If thou but think’st him wrong’d and makest his ear A stranger to thy thoughts.

I do beseech you⁠— Though I perchance am vicious in my guess, As, I confess, it is my nature’s plague To spy into abuses, and oft my jealousy Shapes faults that are not⁠—that your wisdom yet, From one that so imperfectly conceits, Would take no notice, nor build yourself a trouble Out of his scattering and unsure observance. It were not for your quiet nor your good, Nor for my manhood, honesty, or wisdom, To let you know my thoughts.

Good name in man and woman, dear my lord, Is the immediate jewel of their souls: Who steals my purse steals trash; ’tis something, nothing; ’Twas mine, ’tis his, and has been slave to thousands: But he that filches from me my good name Robs me of that which not enriches him And makes me poor indeed.

You cannot, if my heart were in your hand; Nor shall not, whilst ’tis in my custody.