Original Text
SCENE III. Cyprus. 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 honour is most welcome.
Original Text
OTHELLO. Will you walk, sir?— O, Desdemona,— DESDEMONA. My lord? OTHELLO. Get you to bed on th’ instant, I will be return’d forthwith. Dismiss your attendant there. Look ’t be done. DESDEMONA. I will, my lord. [_Exeunt Othello, Lodovico and Attendants._]
Original Text
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.
Original Text
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 favour 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.
Original Text
EMILIA. Come, come, you talk. DESDEMONA. My mother had a maid call’d Barbary, 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 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 night-gown?
Original Text
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. [_Singing._]
Original Text
_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.
Original Text
[_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 mo women, you’ll couch with mo men._
Original Text
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.
Original Text
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?
Original Text
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.