"No…" Roderigo trailed off weakly. "You are right, I should not show such weakness… O, but being so in love is weakness; weakness is sewn up in the very web of love!" He sighed theatrically and swiped at his nose like a mucous child. "Determined I am to have her, and believe me, Iago! But for some peculiar reason, I begin to think that perhaps she will not have me, no matter my determination…"
The thought wounded him, likely or unlikely as it may be, and the damning realization cut him at the heart. To think that Desdemona, whether the Moor had illusioned her or not, simply did not want Roderigo, regardless of any merit that he possessed…! Was that not enough to drive any man mad? Forsooth, Roderigo had loved other girls before, but he was certain that his past affections paled in comparison to what he felt now for the beautiful Desdemona.
In misplaced frustration, Roderigo knocked Iago's hand from his shoulder and gripped him around the wrist, though he was vaguely aware that the action was not in the least bit threatening. "You cannot possibly understand my torment, Iago!" he cried, his voice echoing off of the streets shrilly, spittle scattering from his lips and mingling with the raindrops. "I love her, with all my heart and soul. If she loves me not, I may drown myself for grief! You have never loved as I do now-I am sure of it; I would bet my life upon it! Your attempts to console me can do nothing: They cannot make her love me, and therefore, I will hear no more of them!"