at it, but go along with me; I will shew you such a necessity in his death, that you shall think yourself bound to put it on him. It is now high supper-time; and the night grows to waste. About it.

Rod. I will hear further reason for this.
Iago. And you shall be satisfied.

[Exeunt.

Enter OTHELLO, LODOVICO, DESDEMONA, EMILIA, and Attendants.

Lod. I do beseech you, sir, trouble yourself no further.

Oth. Oh, pardon me; 'twill do me good to walk. Lod. Madam, good night; I humbly thank your ladyship.

Des. Your honour is most welcome.

Oth. Will you walk, sir? Oh Desdemona !
Des. My lord.

Oth. Get you to bed on th' instant, I will be returned forthwith: dismiss your attendant there;

look it be done.

Des. I will, my lord.

[Exit.

Emil. How goes it now? he looks gentler than he did.

Des. He says he will return incontinent; And hath commanded me to go to bed,

And bid me to dismiss you.

Emil. Dismiss me?

Des. It was his bidding; therefore, good Æmilia, Give me my nightly wearing, and adieu.

We must not now displease him.

Emil. I would you had never seen him! [him, Des. So would not 1; my love doth so approve That even his stubbornness, his checks, and frowns, (Pr'ythee, unpin me) have grace and favour in them. Emil. I have laid those sheets you bade me on [our minds ! Des. All's one good Father! how foolish are If I do die before thee, pr'ythee, shroud me In one of these same sheets.

the bed.

Emil. Come, come; you talk.

Des. My mother had a maid called Barbara, 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've much ado, But to go hang my head all at one side, And sing it like poor Barbara. Pr'ythee dispatch, Emil. Shall I go fetch your night-gown ? Des. No, unpin me here;

This Lodovico is a proper man.

Emil. A very handsome man.

Des. He speaks well.

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

Des. The poor soul sat singing by a sycamore

tree,

Sing all a green willow:

[Singing.

Her hand on her bosom, her head on her knee,
Sing willow, willow, willow:

The fresh streams ran by her, and murmur'd her
Sing willow, &c.

moans:

Her salt tears fell from her, and soften'd the stones; Sing willow, &c.

Willow, willow, &c.

(Pr'ythee, hye thee, he'll come anon.)

Sing all a green willow must be my gurland. (73)

Let nobody blame him, his scorn I approve.

Nay that's not next-Hark, who is it that knocks? Emil. It's the wind.

Des. I called my love false love; but what said

Sing willow, &c.

[he then? If I court more women, you'll couch with more

So, get

men.

thee gone, good night; mine eyes do itch, Doth that bode weeping?

Emil. 'Tis neither here nor there.

(73) Desdemona's song of the willow, after she becomes lunatic, seems to have a reference to the same image of a willow in the moon, under which Ophelia in Hamlet was supposed to be drowned, in her attempt to hang a garland upon it.

Des. I have heard it said so; oh these men,

these men!

Dost thou in conscience think, tell me, Æmilia, That there be women do abuse their husbands In such gross kind?

Emil. There be some such, no question.

Des. Wouldst thou do such a deed for all the world?

Emil. Why, would not you?

Des. No by this heavenly light.

Emil. Nor I neither by this heavenly light:

I might do't as well i' th' dark.

Des. Wouldst thou do such a deed for all the world?

Emil. The world is a huge thing;

It is a great price, for a small vice.

Des. In trot I think thou wouldst not. Emil. In troth, I think I should; and undo't when 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 all the whole world; why, who would not make her husband a cuckold, to make him a monarch? I should venture purgatory for't.

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

Emil. Why, the wrong is but a wrong i' th' world; and having the world for your labour, 'tis

a wrong in your own world, and you might quickly set it right.

Des. I do not think there is any such woman. Emil. Yes, a dozen; and as many to th' vantage, Would store the world they played for.

[as

But, I do think, it is their husbands' faults,
If wives do fall: say, that they slack their duties,
And pour out treasures into foreign laps;
Or else break out in peevish jealousies,
Throwing restraint on us; or say, they strike us,
Or scant our former having in despight; [grace,
Why, have we galls, and though we have some
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,
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 we not 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 to.

Des. Good-night, good-night; Heaven me such
uses send,

Not to pick bad from bad; but by bad mend!

[Exeunt.