How now, my lord! I have been talking with a suitor here, A man that languishes in your displeasure.

Why, your lieutenant, Cassio. Good my lord, If I have any grace or power to move you, His present reconciliation take; For if he be not one that truly loves you, That errs in ignorance and not in cunning, I have no judgment in an honest face: I prithee, call him back.

Ay, sooth; so humbled That he hath left part of his grief with me, To suffer with him. Good love, call him back.

Why, then, to-morrow night; or Tuesday morn; On Tuesday noon, or night; on Wednesday morn: I prithee, name the time, but let it not Exceed three days: in faith, he’s penitent; And yet his trespass, in our common reason⁠— Save that, they say, the wars must make examples Out of their best⁠—is not almost a fault To incur a private cheque. When shall he come? Tell me, Othello: I wonder in my soul, What you would ask me, that I should deny, Or stand so mammering on. What! Michael Cassio, That came a-wooing with you, and so many a time, When I have spoke of you dispraisingly, Hath ta’en your part; to have so much to do To bring him in! Trust me, I could do much⁠—

Prithee, no more: let him come when he will; I will deny thee nothing.

Why, this is not a boon; ’Tis as I should entreat you wear your gloves, Or feed on nourishing dishes, or keep you warm, Or sue to you to do a peculiar profit To your own person: nay, when I have a suit Wherein I mean to touch your love indeed, It shall be full of poise and difficult weight And fearful to be granted.

I will deny thee nothing: Whereon, I do beseech thee, grant me this, To leave me but a little to myself.

Emilia, come. Be as your fancies teach you; Whate’er you be, I am obedient. Exeunt Desdemona and Emilia.

Excellent wretch! Perdition catch my soul, But I do love thee! and when I love thee not, Chaos is come again.