Lod.

I do beseech you, Sir, trouble your self no further.

Oth.

Oh pardon; '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't 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 even his stubborness, his checks, his frowns,
(Pr'ythee unpin me) have grace and favour in them.

Æmil.
I have laid those sheets you bad 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, and he she lov'd prov'd mad,
And did forsake her She had a song of willow,

An old thing 'twas, but it express'd her fortune,
And she dy'd 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.

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 bare-foot to Palestine for a touch of his nether lip.

Des.

The poor soul sat singing by a sycamore tree, [singing.
  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, &c.
Her salt tears fell from her, and softned the stones;
  Sing willow, &c.
Willow, willow. (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't that knocks?

Æmil.
It's the wind.

Des.

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 boad 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.
Would'st thou do such a deed for all the world?

Æmil.
Why, would not you?

Des.
No, by this heav'nly light.

Æmil.
Nor I neither by this heav'nly light,
I might do't as well i'th' dark.

Des.
Would'st thou do such a deed for all the world?

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

Des.
In troth I think thou would'st 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.

Æmil.

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

Yet have we some revenge. Let husbands know,
Their wives have sense like them; they see and smell,
And have their palats both for sweet and sower,
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 fraily 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 to.

Des.
Good-night; good-night; heav'n me such uses send,
Not to pick bad from bad; but by bad, mend. [Exeunt.

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