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 doth demonstrate The native act and figure of my heart In compliment extern, ’tis not long after But I will wear my heart upon my sleeve For daws to peck at. I am not what I am

Where love is great, the littlest doubts are fear; Where little fears grow great, great love grows there.

It hurts not the tongue to give fair words.

Dream on, dream on, of bloody deeds and death.

One fairer than my love? The all-seeing sun Ne'er saw her match since first the world begun.

Welcome ever smiles, and farewell goes out sighing.

For mine own part, it was Greek to me.