IAGO IN BIRMINGHAM.

Iago MR. J-S-PH CH-MB-RL-N.

Roderigo MR. J-SSE C-LL-NS.

Roderigo. Thou told'st me thou did'st hold him in thy hate.

Iago. Despise me, if I did not. The great ones of the City,

In personal suit to make me his Lieutenant,

Off-capped to him:—and, by the faith of man,

I know my price—I am worth no worse a place;

But he, as loving his own pride and purposes,

Evades them with a bombast circumstance,

Horribly stuffed with epithets of war;

And, in conclusion,

Nonsuits my meditators; for, "Certes," says he,

"I have already chose my officer." And who was he?

Forsooth, a great Arithmetician.

That never set a squadron in the field,

Nor the division of a battle knows

More than a spinster; unless the bookish theorick,

Wherein the toged Consul can propose

As masterly as he; mere prattle, without practice,

Is all his soldiership.

But, Sir, he had the Election!