Act III

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.

Shall I deny you? no: farewell, my lord.

Farewell, my Desdemona: I’ll come to thee straight.

Emilia, come. Be as your fancies teach you;

Whate’er you be, I am obedient.

But I do love thee! and when I love thee not,

Chaos is come again.