Another room in the castle.
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 honor is most welcome.
OTHELLO Will you walk, sir?
O--Desdemona--
DESDEMONA My lord?
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.
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 checks, his frowns--
Prithee, unpin me--have grace and favor 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 me
In one of those same sheets.
EMILIA Come, come, you talk.
DESDEMONA My mother had a maid call'd Barbary;
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 tonight
Will 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 Barbary. Prithee, dispatch.
EMILIA Shall I go fetch your nightgown?
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 barefoot to
Palestine for a touch of his nether lip.
DESDEMONA [Sings.]
"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--
[Sings.] "Sing willow, willow, willow--"
Prithee, hie thee; he'll come anon--
[Sings.]
"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 [Sings.]
"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--"
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
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.
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 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
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 labor, 'tis a wrong in your 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
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,
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
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?
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.