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 return'd forthwith. Dismiss your attendant there. Look, it be done.

Des.
I will, my Lord.

Æmil.
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.

Æmil.
Dismiss me?

Des.
It was his bidding; therefore, good Æmilia,
Give me my nightly Wearing, and adieu.
We must not now displease him.

Æmil.
I would, you had never seen him!

Des.
So would not I; my love doth so approve him,
That ev'n his stubbornness, his checks, and frowns,—
Pr'ythee, unpin me,—have grace and favour in them.

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

Des.
All's one. Good Father! how foolish are our minds?
If I do die before thee, pr'ythee, shroud me
In one of these same sheets.

Æmil.
Come, come; you talk.

Des.
My Mother had a maid call'd Barbara,
She was in love; ^{3 note}

Will not go from my mind; ^{4 note}

Æmil.
Shall I go fetch your night-gown? Des.
No, unpin me here.
This Lodovico is a proper man.

Æmil.
A very handsom man.

Des.
He speaks well. Æmil.

I know a lady in Venice would have walk'd barefoot to Palestine for a touch of his nether lip.

Des.

    ^{5 note}‘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 moans;
    ‘Sing willow, &c.
  ‘Her salt tears fell from her, and soft'ned the stones;
    ‘Sing willow, &c. (Lay by these)
  ‘Willow, willow, &c. (Pr'ythee, hye thee, he'll come anon)
    ‘Sing all a green willow must be my garland.
  ‘Let no body blame him, his scorn I approve.
‘Nay that's not next—Hark, who is it that knocks?

Æmil.
It's the wind.

Des.
^{6 note}I call'd my love false love; but what said he then?
    Sing willow, &c.
  If I court more women, you'll couch with more men.
So get thee gone. Good night. Mine eyes do itch,
Doth that bode weeping?

Æmil.
'Tis neither here nor there. 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?

Æmil.
There be some such, no question.

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

Æmil.
Why, would not you?

Des.
No, by this heavenly light.

Æmil.
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?

Æmil.
The world is a huge thing,
It is a great price, for a small vice.

Des.
In troth, I think, thou wouldst not.

Æmil.

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.

Æmil.

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 make it right.

Des.
I do not think, there is any such woman.

Æmilia.
Yes, a dozen; and as many to th' vantage,
as would store the world they play'd 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 on us; or say, they strike us;
Or scant ^{7 note}our former Having in despight;
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 sports? 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; ^{8 note}

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