Cassio
’Fore God, they have given me a rouse already.
Montano
Good faith, a little one; not past a pint, as I am a soldier.
Iago
And let me the canakin clink, clink;
And let me the canakin clink
A soldier’s a man;
A life’s but a span;
Why, then, let a soldier drink.
Sings.
Cassio
’Fore God, an excellent song.
Iago
I learned it in England, where, indeed, they are most potent in potting: your Dane, your German, and your swag-bellied Hollander—Drink, ho!—are nothing to your English.
Cassio
Is your Englishman so expert in his drinking?
Iago
Why, he drinks you, with facility, your Dane dead drunk; he sweats not to overthrow your Almain; he gives your Hollander a vomit, ere the next pottle can be filled.
Cassio
To the health of our general!