Alas, Iago, What shall I do to win my lord again?
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. She kneels. 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! She stands. 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.
I pray you be content. ‘Tis but his humor.
The business of the state does him offense,
And he does chide with you.
If 'twere no other—
It is but so, I warrant.