ACT 4. SCENE III. Another room In the castle.

by William Shakespeare

　　Enter Othello, Lodovico, Desdemona, Emilia and Attendants

　　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,--Desdemona

　　My lord?Othello

　　Get you to bed on the instant; I will be returnedforthwith: 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.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: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 cheques, his frowns--Prithee, unpin me,--have grace and favour in them.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 meIn one of those same sheets.Emilia

　　Come, come you talk.Desdemona

　　My mother had a maid call'd Barbara:She was in love, and he she loved proved madAnd 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-nightWill not go from my mind; I have much to do,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.Desdemona

　　He speaks well.Emilia

　　I know a lady in Venice would have walked barefootto Palestine for a touch of his nether lip.Desdemona

　　Singing The poor soul sat sighing by a sycamore tree,Sing all a green willow: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;Lay by these:--Singing

　　Sing willow, willow, willow;Prithee, hie thee; he'll come anon:--Singing

　　Sing all a green willow must be my garland.Let nobody blame him; his scorn I approve,-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 whatsaid he then?Sing willow, willow, willow:If I court moe women, you'll couch with moe men!So, get thee gone; good night Ate 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 husbandsIn 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.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 I haddone. Marry, I would not do such a thing for ajoint-ring, nor for measures of lawn, nor forgowns, petticoats, nor caps, nor any pettyexhibition; but for the whole world,--why, who wouldnot make her husband a cuckold to make him amonarch? I should venture purgatory for't.Desdemona

　　Beshrew me, if I would do such a wrongFor the whole world.Emilia

　　Why the wrong is but a wrong i' the world: andhaving the world for your labour, tis a wrong in yourown 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 wouldstore the world they played for.But I do think it is their husbands' faultsIf 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;Why, we have galls, and though we have some grace,Yet have we some revenge. Let husbands knowTheir wives have sense like them: they see and smellAnd have their palates both for sweet and sour,As husbands have. What is it that they doWhen 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?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!Exeunt