EMILIA.
A halter pardon him, and hell gnaw his bones!
Why should he call her whore? who keeps her company?
What place? what time? what form? what likelihood?
The Moor’s abused by some most villainous knave,
Some base notorious knave, some scurvy fellow.
O heaven, that such companions thou’dst unfold,
And put in every honest hand a whip
To lash the rascals naked through the world
Even from the east to the west!
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.
Alas, 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.
DESDEMONA.
If ’twere no other,—
IAGO.
’Tis but so, I warrant.
[Trumpets within.]
Hark, how these instruments summon to supper.
The messengers of Venice stay the meat.
Go in, and weep not. All things shall be well.