IAGO.
If thou dost, I shall never love thee after. Why, thou silly
gentleman!

RODERIGO.
It is silliness to live when to live is torment; and then
have we a prescription to die when death is our physician.

IAGO.
O villainous! I have looked upon the world for four times seven
years, and since I could distinguish betwixt a benefit and an
injury, I never found man that knew how to love himself. Ere I
would say I would drown myself for the love of a Guinea-hen, I
would change my humanity with a baboon.

RODERIGO.
What should I do? I confess it is my shame to be so fond,
but it is not in my virtue to amend it.

IAGO.
Virtue! a fig! 'Tis in ourselves that we are thus or thus.
Our bodies are gardens, to the which our wills are gardeners;
so that if we will plant nettles or sow lettuce, set hyssop and
weed up thyme, supply it with one gender of herbs or distract it
with many, either to have it sterile with idleness or manured
with industry; why, the power and corrigible authority of this
lies in our wills. If the balance of our lives had not one scale
of reason to poise another of sensuality, the blood and baseness
of our natures would conduct us to most preposterous conclusions: