۞ وَمَآ أُبَرِّئُ نَفْسِىٓ ۚ إِنَّ ٱلنَّفْسَ لَأَمَّارَةٌۢ بِٱلسُّوٓءِ إِلَّا مَا رَحِمَ رَبِّىٓ ۚ إِنَّ رَبِّى غَفُورٌ رَّحِيمٌ
Wa maa ubarri'u nafsee; innan nafsa la ammaaratum bissooo'i illaa maa rahima Rabbee; inna Rabbee Ghafoorur Raheem
I do not pretend to be blameless, for man’s very soul incites him to evil unless my Lord shows mercy: He is most forgiving, most merciful.’
And I do not absolve myself — the lower self urges relentlessly toward harm, except where my Lord shows mercy. Indeed, my Lord is forgiving and merciful.
Commentators have long split over who speaks here. Read as the governor's wife, it continues her confession before the king; read as Yusuf, it is a man newly cleared of the charge declining to claim he was never tempted. The Arabic ammāra is an intensive form, naming a standing pressure rather than a single lapse, which is why later writers built a whole vocabulary of the inner self around this phrase.