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.