O good Iago, What shall I do to win my lord again? Good friend, go to him; for, by this light of heaven, I know not how I lost him. Here I kneel: If e’er my will did trespass ’gainst his love, Either in discourse of thought or actual deed, Or that mine eyes, mine ears, or any sense, Delighted them in any other form; Or that I do not yet, and ever did. And ever will⁠—though he do shake me off To beggarly divorcement⁠—love him dearly, Comfort forswear me! Unkindness may do much; And his unkindness may defeat my life, But never taint my love. I cannot say “whore:” It does abhor me now I speak the word; To do the act that might the addition earn Not the world’s mass of vanity could make me.

I pray you, be content; ’tis but his humour: The business of the state does him offence, And he does chide with you.