Iago

I follow him to serve my turn upon him: We cannot all be masters, nor all masters Cannot be truly follow'd. You shall mark Many a duteous and kneecrooking knave, That doting on his own obsequious bondage Wears out his time, much like his master's azz, For naught but provender; and, when he's old, cashier'd. Whip me such honest knaves. Others there are Who, trimm'd in forms and visages of duty, Keep yet their hearts attending on themselves, And throwing but shows of service on their lords Do well thrive by them; and when they have lined their coats Do themselves homage. These fellows have some soul, And such a one do I profess myself. For, sir, It is as sure as you are Roderigo, Were I the Moor, I would not be Iago. In following him, I follow but myself; Heaven is my judge, not I for love and duty, But seeming so, for my peculiar end. I am not what I am