IAGO.
Nothing, my lord; or if—I know not what.
OTHELLO.
Was not that Cassio parted from my wife?
IAGO.
Cassio, my lord? No, sure, I cannot think it,
That he would steal away so guilty-like,
Seeing you coming.
OTHELLO.
I do believe ’twas he.
DESDEMONA.
How now, my lord?
I have been talking with a suitor here,
A man that languishes in your displeasure.
OTHELLO.
Who is’t you mean?
DESDEMONA.
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 judgement in an honest face.
I prithee call him back.
OTHELLO.
Went he hence now?
DESDEMONA.
Ay, sooth; so humbled
That he hath left part of his grief with me
To suffer with him. Good love, call him back.
OTHELLO.
Not now, sweet Desdemon, some other time.