of this matter cannot I report: But men are men; the best sometimes forget: Though Cassio did some little wrong to him, As men in rage strike those that wish them best, Yet surely Cassio, I believe, received From him that fled some strange indignity, Which patience could not pass. I know, Iago, Thy honesty and love doth mince this matter, Making it light to Cassio. Cassio, I love thee But never more be officer of mine. Look, if my gentle love be not raised up! I'll make thee an example. What's the matter? All's well now, sweeting; come away to bed. Sir, for your hurts, myself will be your surgeon: Lead him off. Iago, look with care about the town, And silence those whom this vile brawl distracted. Come, Desdemona: 'tis the soldiers' life To have their balmy slumbers waked with strife. What, are you hurt, lieutenant? Ay, past all surgery. Marry, heaven forbid! Reputation, reputation, reputation! O, I have lost my reputation! I have lost the immortal part of myself, and what remains is bestial. My reputation, Iago, my reputation! As I am an honest man, I thought you had received some bodily wound; there is more sense in that than in reputation. Reputation is an idle and most false imposition: oft got without merit, and lost without deserving: you have lost no reputation at all, unless you repute yourself such a loser. What, man! there are ways to recover the general again: you are but now cast in his mood, a punishment more in policy than in malice, even so as one would beat his offenceless dog to affright an imperious lion: sue to him again, and he's yours. I will rather sue to be despised than to deceive so good a commander with so slight, so drunken, and so indiscreet an officer. Drunk? and speak parrot? and squabble? swagger? swear? and discourse fustian with one's own shadow? O thou invisible spirit of wine, if thou hast no name to be known by, let us call thee devil! What was he that you followed with your sword? What had he done to you? I know not. Is't possible? I remember a mass of things, but nothing distinctly; a quarrel, but nothing wherefore. O God, that men should put an enemy in their mouths to steal away their brains! that we should, with joy, pleasance revel and applause, transform ourselves into beasts! Why, but you are now well enough: how came you thus recovered? It hath pleased the devil drunkenness to