Iago
Speak within door.
Emilia
O, fie upon them! Some such squire he was
That turn’d your wit the seamy side without,
And made you to suspect me with the Moor.
Iago
You are a fool; go to.
Desdemona
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.
Iago
I pray you, be content; ’tis but his humour:
The business of the state does him offence,
And he does chide with you.