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

Oth.
O, pardon me ^note; 'twill ^note 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? ^note
O,— ^note Desdemona,— ^{note note}

Des.
My lord? ^note

Oth.

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

Des.
I will, my lord. [Exeunt ^note Othello, Lodovico, and Attendants.

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

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

Emil.
Dismiss ^note me!

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

Emil.
I would ^note you had never seen him!

Des.
So would not I: my love doth so approve him,
That even his stubbornness, his checks ^note, his frowns ^note,—
Prithee, unpin me,—have grace and favour in them ^note. ^note

Emil.
I have laid ^note those ^note sheets you bade ^note me on the bed.

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

Emil.
Come, come, you talk.

Des.
My mother had a maid call'd Barbara ^note:
She was in love; and he she loved proved mad ^note
And did forsake her: ^note she had ^note a song of ‘willow ^note;’
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 ^note much to do ^{note note}
But ^note to go hang my head all at one ^note side
And sing it like poor Barbara ^note. Prithee, dispatch. ^note

Emil.
Shall I go ^note fetch your night-gown?

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

Emil.

A very handsome man.

Des.

He speaks ^note well.

Emil.

I know a lady in Venice would have walked ^notebarefoot ^note to Palestine for ^note a touch of his nether ^note lip.

Des.

[Singing ^note]
  The poor soul sat sighing ^note 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 ^note;
  Her salt ^note tears fell from her, and ^note soften'd the stones;— ^note
Lay by these:— [Singing]
  Sing willow, willow, willow;
Prithee, hie thee; he'll come anon:— ^note [Singing]
  Sing all a green willow must be my garland.
    Let nobody blame him; his scorn I approve,—
Nay, that's not next. ^note Hark! ^note who is't that ^note knocks?

Emil.
It's ^note the wind.

Des.

[Singing ^note]
  I call'd my love false love ^note; but what said he then?
    Sing willow, willow, willow ^note:
  If I court moe women ^note, you'll couch ^note with moe men ^note. ^note

So ^note get thee gone; good night. Mine eyes do itch;
Doth ^note that bode weeping? ^note

Emil.
'Tis neither here nor there.

Des.
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 ^note?

Emil.
There be some such, no question. ^note

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

Emil.
Why, would not you?

Des.
No, by this heavenly light!

Emil.

Nor ^note I neither by this heavenly light; I might do 't as well i' ^note the dark. ^note

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

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

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

Emil.

In troth ^note, I think I should; and undo 't ^note when I had done ^note. Marry, I would not do such a thing for a jointring, nor for measures ^note of lawn, nor for gowns, petticoats ^note, nor caps ^note, nor any petty ^note exhibition; but, for the whole ^note world, — ^note why, ^note who would not make her husband a cuckold to make him a monarch? I should venture purgatory for 't ^note.

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

Emil.

Why, the wrong is but a wrong i' the 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.

Emil.

Yes, a dozen; and as many to the vantage as would store the world they played for.

Des.
Good night, good night: heaven ^note me such uses ^note send, ^note
Not to pick bad from bad, but by bad mend! [Exeunt.

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