How poor are they that have not patience! What wound did ever heal but by degrees? Thou know’st we work by wit, and not by witchcraft; And wit depends on dilatory time. Does’t not go well? Cassio hath beaten thee. And thou, by that small hurt, hast cashier’d Cassio: Though other things grow fair against the sun, Yet fruits that blossom first will first be ripe: Content thyself awhile. By the mass, ’tis morning; Pleasure and action make the hours seem short. Retire thee; go where thou art billeted: Away, I say; thou shalt know more hereafter: Nay, get thee gone. Exit Roderigo. Two things are to be done: My wife must move for Cassio to her mistress; I’ll set her on; Myself the while to draw the Moor apart, And bring him jump when he may Cassio find Soliciting his wife: ay, that’s the way Dull not device by coldness and delay. Exit.