BRABANTIO.
What, have you lost your wits?
RODERIGO.
Most reverend signior, do you know my voice?
BRABANTIO.
Not I; what are you?
RODERIGO.
My name is Roderigo.
BRABANTIO.
The worser welcome:
I have charged thee not to haunt about my doors;
In honest plainness thou hast heard me say
My daughter is not for thee; and now, in madness,
Being full of supper and distempering draughts,
Upon malicious bravery dost thou come
To start my quiet.
RODERIGO.
Sir, sir, sir, —
BRABANTIO.
But thou must needs be sure
My spirit and my place have in them power
To make this bitter to thee.
RODERIGO.
Patience, good sir.
BRABANTIO.
What tell'st thou me of robbing? this is Venice;
My house is not a grange.
RODERIGO.
Most grave Brabantio,
In simple and pure soul I come to you.
IAGO.
Zounds, sir, you are one of those that will not serve God if the
devil bid you. Because we come to do you service, and you think
we are ruffians, you'll have your daughter covered with a Barbary
horse; you'll have your nephews neigh to you; you'll have coursers
for cousins and gennets for germans.
