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(which I will fashion to fall out between twelve and
one,) you may take him at your pleasure; I will be
near to second your attempt, and he shall fall between
us. Come, stand not amazed at it, but go along with
me; I will show you such a necessity in his death,
that you shall think yourself bound to put it
It is now high supper-time, and the night grows to
waste: about it.

Rod. I will hear further reason for this.
Iago. And you shall be satisfied.


on him.


Another Room in the Castle.


and Attendants. Lod. I do beseech you, sir, trouble yourself no

further. Oth. O, 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?-0,-Desdemona, Des.

My lord? Oth. Get you to bed on the instant; I will be return'd forthwith: dismiss your attendant there; look, it be done. Des. I will, my lord.

[Ereunt Othello, Lodovico, and Attendants,

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

did. 'Des. He says, he will return incontinent: He hath cominanded me to go to bed, And bade me to dismiss you. Emil.

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

Emil. I would, you bad never seen him!

Des. So would not I; my love doth so approve him, That even his stubbornness, his checks, and frowns, Pr'ythee, unpin me,-have grace and favour in them. Emil. I have laid those sheets you bade me on

the bed. Des. All's one:-Good father! how foolish are our

If I do die before thee, pr'ythee, shroud me
In one of those same sheets.

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 died singing it: That song, to-night,
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 Barbara. Pr’ythee, despatch.

Emil. Shall I go fetch your night-gown?

No, uppin me here. This Lodovico is a proper man.

Emil. A very handsome man.

And he speaks well. Emil. I know a lady in Venice, who would have walk'd barefoot to Palestine, for a touch of his nether lip. Des. The poor soul sat sighing 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


Sing willow, &c. Her salt tears fell from her, and soften'd the stones ; Lay by these:

Sing willow, willow, willow; Prythee, hie thee; he'll come anon.

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 it that knocks?

Emil. It is the wind.

Des. I call’d my love, false love; but what said he


Sing willow, 8c.
If I court mo women, you'll couch with mo men.

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

'Tis neither here nor there. Des. have heard it said so.-0, these men, these

Dost thou in conscience think, tell me, Emilia,
That there be women do abuse their husbands
In such


kind? Emil.

There be some such, no question. Des. Would'st thou do such a deed for all the world? Emil. Why, would not you? Des.

No, by this heavenly light! Emil. Nor I neither by this beavenly light; I might do't as well i'the dark. Des. Would'st thou do such a deed for all the

world? Emil. The world is a huge thing: 'Tis a great

price For a small vice.

Des. Good troth, I think thou would'st not.

Emil. By my 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.

Des, Beshrew me, if I would do such a wrong for the whole world.

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 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 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 to. Des. Good night, good night: Heaven me such

usage send, Not to pick bad from bad; but, by bad, mend!


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