If I can fasten but one cup upon him, With that which he hath drunk to-night already, He’ll be as full of quarrel and offence As my young mistress’ dog. Now, my sick fool Roderigo, Whom love hath turn’d almost the wrong side out, To Desdemona hath to-night caroused Potations pottle-deep; and he’s to watch: Three lads of Cyprus, noble swelling spirits, That hold their honours in a wary distance, The very elements of this warlike isle, Have I to-night fluster’d with flowing cups, And they watch too. Now, ’mongst this flock of drunkards, Am I to put our Cassio in some action That may offend the isle.⁠—But here they come: If consequence do but approve my dream, My boat sails freely, both with wind and stream.

Some wine, ho!