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Act 4, Scene 3


LODOVICO: I do beseech you, sir, trouble yourself no further.

OTHELLO: O, pardon me: 'twill do me good to walk.

LODOVICO: Madam, good night; I humbly thank your ladyship.

DESDEMONA: Your honour is most welcome.

OTHELLO:                     Will you walk, sir?
O,--Desdemona,--     [5]


OTHELLO: Get you to bed on the instant; I will be returned
forthwith: dismiss your attendant there: look it be done.

DESDEMONA: I will, my lord.

[Exeunt OTHELLO, LODOVICO, and Attendants.]

EMILIA: How goes it now? he looks gentler than he did.     [10]

DESDEMONA: He says he will return incontinent:
He hath commanded me to go to bed,
And bade me to dismiss you.

EMILIA:                     Dismiss me!

DESDEMONA: It was his bidding: therefore, good Emilia,.
Give me my nightly wearing, and adieu:     [15]
We must not now displease him.

EMILIA: I would you had never seen him!

DESDEMONA: So would not I: my love doth so approve him,
That even his stubbornness, his checks, his frowns--
Prithee, unpin me,--have grace and favour in them.     [20]

EMILIA: I have laid those sheets you bade me on the bed.

DESDEMONA: All's one. Good faith, how foolish are our minds!
If I do die before thee prithee, shroud me
In one of those same sheets.

EMILIA:                     Come, come you talk.

DESDEMONA: My mother had a maid call'd Barbara:     [25]
She was in love, and he she loved proved mad
And did forsake her: she had a song of 'willow;'
An old thing 'twas, but it express'd her fortune,
And she died singing it: that song to-night
Will not go from my mind; I have much to do,     [30]
But to go hang my head all at one side,
And sing it like poor Barbara. Prithee, dispatch.

EMILIA: Shall I go fetch your night-gown?

DESDEMONA:                          No, unpin me here.
This Lodovico is a proper man.

EMILIA: A very handsome man.     [35]

DESDEMONA: He speaks well.

EMILIA: I know a lady in Venice would have walked barefoot
to Palestine for a touch of his nether lip.

DESDEMONA:      [Singing]
The poor soul sat sighing by a sycamore tree,
Sing all a green willow:     [40]
Her hand on her bosom, her head on her knee,
Sing willow, willow, willow:
The fresh streams ran by her, and murmur'd her moans;
Sing willow, willow, willow;
Her salt tears fell from her, and soften'd the stones;     [45]
Lay by these:--
Sing willow, willow, willow;
Prithee, hie thee; he'll come anon:--
Sing all a green willow must be my garland.
Let nobody blame him; his scorn I approve,--     [50]
Nay, that's not next.--Hark! who is't that knocks?

EMILIA: It's the wind.

DESDEMONA:      [Singing]
I call'd my love false love; but what said he then?
Sing willow, willow, willow:
If I court moe women, you'll couch with moe men.--     [55]
So, get thee gone; good night. Mine eyes do itch;
Doth that bode weeping?

EMILIA:                    'Tis neither here nor there.

DESDEMONA: I have heard it said so. O, these men, these men!
Dost thou in conscience think,--tell me, Emilia,--
That there be women do abuse their husbands     [60]
In such gross kind?

EMILIA:                There be some such, no question.

DESDEMONA: Wouldst thou do such a deed for all the world?

EMILIA: Why, would not you?

DESDEMONA:                No, by this heavenly light!

EMILIA: Nor I neither by this heavenly light;
I might do't as well i' the dark.     [65]

DESDEMONA: Wouldst thou do such a deed for all the world?

EMILIA: The world's a huge thing: it is a great price.
For a small vice.

DESDEMONA: In troth, I think thou wouldst not.

EMILIA: In troth, I think I should; and undo't when     [70]
I had done. Marry, I would not do such a thing for a
joint-ring, nor for measures of lawn, nor for gowns,
petticoats, nor caps, nor any petty exhibition; but for
the whole world,--why, who would not make her
husband a cuckold to make him a monarch? I should     [75]
venture purgatory for't.

DESDEMONA: Beshrew me, if I would do such a wrong
For the whole world.

EMILIA: Why the wrong is but a wrong i' the world:
and having the world for your labour, tis a wrong in your     [80]
own world, and you might quickly make it right.

DESDEMONA: I do not think there is any such woman.

EMILIA: Yes, a dozen; and as many to the vantage
as would store the world they played for.
But I do think it is their husbands' faults     [85]
If wives do fall: say that they slack their duties,
And pour our treasures into foreign laps,
Or else break out in peevish jealousies,
Throwing restraint upon us; or say they strike us,
Or scant our former having in despite;     [90]
Why, we have galls, and though we have some grace,
Yet have we some revenge. Let husbands know
Their wives have sense like them: they see and smell
And have their palates both for sweet and sour,
As husbands have. What is it that they do     [95]
When they change us for others? Is it sport?
I think it is: and doth affection breed it?
I think it doth: is't frailty that thus errs?
It is so too: and have not we affections,
Desires for sport, and frailty, as men have?     [100]
Then let them use us well: else let them know,
The ills we do, their ills instruct us so.

DESDEMONA: Good night, good night: heaven me such uses send,
Not to pick bad from bad, but by bad mend!


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