IAGO.
Why, he drinks you, with facility, your Dane dead drunk; he sweats not to overthrow your Almain; he gives your Hollander a vomit ere the next pottle can be filled.
CASSIO.
To the health of our general!
MONTANO.
I am for it, lieutenant; and I’ll do you justice.
IAGO.
O sweet England!
[Sings.]
King Stephen was a worthy peer,
His breeches cost him but a crown;
He held them sixpence all too dear,
With that he call’d the tailor lown.
He was a wight of high renown,
And thou art but of low degree:
’Tis pride that pulls the country down,
Then take thine auld cloak about thee.
Some wine, ho!
CASSIO.
’Fore God, this is a more exquisite song than the other.
IAGO.
Will you hear ’t again?
CASSIO.
No, for I hold him to be unworthy of his place that does those things. Well, God’s above all, and there be souls must be saved, and there be souls must not be saved.