"O sir, I content you.
I follow him to serve my turn upon him: We cannot all be masters, nor can all masters be truly follow'd. You shall mark many a duteous and knee-crooking knave, that, doting on his own obsequious bondage, wears out his time much like his master's ass, for nought but provender, and when he's old, cashier'd, whip me such honest knaves: others there are, who trimm'd in forms, and visages of duty, keep yet their hearts attending on themselves, and throwing but shows of service on their lords, do well thrived by'em, and when have lin'd their coats, do themselves homage, those fellows have some souls, and such a one do I profess myself,... for sir, it is as sure as you are Roderigo, were I the Moor, I would not be Iago: In following him, I follow but myself. Heaven is my judge, not I for love and duty, but seeming so,for my peculiar end. For when my outward action does demonstrate the native act, and figure of my heart, in complement extern, 'tis not long after, but I will wear my heart upon my sleeve, For doves to peck at: I am not what I am."