SCENE III. Another Room in the Castle. Enter OTHELLO, LODOVICO, DESDEMONA, EMILIA, and Attendants. Lod. I do beseech you, sir, trouble yourself no further. Oth. O, pardon me; 't will do me good to walk." Lod. Madam, good night; I humbly thank your ladyship. Des. Your honour is most welcome. Oth. Des. 0,-Desdemona, Will you walk, sir?. My lord? Oth. Get you to bed on the instant, I will be returned forthwith: dismiss your attendant there; look, it be done. Des. I will, my lord. [Exeunt OTHELLO, LODOVICO, and Attendants.. Emil. How goes it now? he looks gentler than he did, Des. He says he will return incontinent; He hath commanded me to go to bed, And bade me to dismiss you. Emil. Dismiss 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, you had never seen him! Des. So would not I; my love doth so approve him, That even his stubbornness, his checks, and frowns, Pr'y thee, 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 If I do die before thee, pr'y thee, shroud me Emil. Come, come, you talk. And sing it like poor Barbara. Pr'y thee, despatch. No, unpin me here. — Des. Des. And he speaks well. Emil. I know a lady in Venice, who would have walked barefoot to Palestine, for a touch of his nether lip. I. Des. The poor soul sat sighing by a sycamore tree, [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 soften'd the stones; Lay by these: Sing willow, willow, willow s Wild, inconstant. Pr'y thee, hie thee; he'll come anon. Sing all a green willow must be my garland. Let nobody blame him, II. his scorn I approve, Nay, that's not next. -Hark! who is it that knocks? Emil. It is the wind. Des. So, get thee gone; good night. Mine eyes do itch; Doth that bode weeping? Emil. 'Tis neither here nor there. - O, these men, tell me, Emilia, That there be women do abuse their husbands In such gross 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! Would'st thou do such a deed for all the world? Emil. The world is a huge thing: 'Tis a great price. Des. Good troth, I think thou would'st not. Emil. By my troth, I think I should. 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. 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. But, I do think, it is their husbands' faults, Throwing restraint upon us; or, say, they strike us, 6 Or scant our former having in despite ; grace, Yet we have some revenge. though we have some Let husbands know, Their wives have sense like them: they see, and smell, And have their palates both for sweet and sour, Des. Good night, good night: Heaven me such usage send, Not to pick bad from bad; but, by bad, mend! [Exeunt. 6 Our former allowance of expence. 7 Sensation. ACT THE FIFTH. SCENE I. A Street. Enter IAGO and RODERIGO. Iago. Here, stand behind this bulk; straight will he come: Wear thy good rapier bare, and put it home; sword. Rod. Be near at hand; I may miscarry in 't. Iago. Here, at thy hand; be bold, and take thy [Retires to a little distance. Rod. I have no great devotion to the deed; And yet he has given me satisfying reasons: 'Tis but a man gone: forth, my sword; he dies. [Goes to his stand. Iago. I have rubb'd this youngster almost to the sense 9, And he grows angry. Now, whether he kill Cassio, Or Cassio him, or each do kill the other, Every way makes my gain: Live Roderigo, He calls me to a restitution large Of gold, and jewels, that I bobb'd' from him, It must not be: if Cassio do remain, He hath a daily beauty in his life, That makes me ugly; and, besides, the Moor May unfold me to him; there stand I in much peril : No, he must die: But so, I hear him coming. Unsheathed. |