# Shakespeare - First Folio facsimile (1910)/The Tragedie of Othello, the Moore of Venice/Act 4 Scene 3

Scena Tertia.
Enter Othello, Lodouico, Desdemona, Æmilia, and Atendants.
Lod. I do beseech you Sir, trouble your selfe no further.
Oth. Oh pardon me: 'twill do me good to walke.
Lodoui. Madam, good night: I humbly thanke your Ladyship.
Des. Your Honour is most welcome.
Oth. Will you walke Sir? Oh Desdemona.
Des. My Lord.
Othello. Get you to bed on th'instant, I will be return'd forthwith: dismisse your Attendant there: look't be done.Exit.
Des. I will my Lord.
Æm. How goes it now? He lookes gentler then he did.
Des. He saies he will returne incontinent, And hath commanded me to go to bed, And bid me to dismisse you.
Æmi. Dismisse me?
Des. It was his bidding: therefore good Æmilia, Giue me my nightly wearing, and adieu. We must not now displease him.
Æmil. I, would you had neuer seene him.
Des. So would not I: my loue doth so approue him, That euen his stubbornesse, his checks, his frownes, (Prythee vn-pin me) haue grace and fauour.
Æmi. I haue laid those Sheetes you bad me on the bed.
Des. All's one: good Father, how foolish are our minds? If I do die before, prythee shrow'd me In one of these same Sheetes.
Æmil. Come, come: you talke.
Des. My Mother had a Maid call'd Barbarie, She was in loue: and he she lou'd prou'd mad, And did forsake her. She had a Song of Willough, 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 haue much to do, But to go hang my head all at one side And sing it like poore Brabarie: prythee dispatch.
Æmi. Shall I go fetch your Night-gowne?
Des. No, vn-pin me here, This Lodouico is a proper man.
Æmil. A very handsome man.
Des. He speakes well.
Æmil. I know a Lady in Venice would haue walk'd barefoot to Palestine for a touch of his nether lip.
Des. The poore Soule sat singing, by a Sicamour tree. Sing all a greene Willough: Her hand on her bosome her head on her knee, Sing Willough, Willough, Willough. The fresh Streames ran by her, and murmur'd her moanes Sing Willough, &c. Her salt teares fell from her, and softned the stones, Sing Willough, &c. (Lay by these) Willough, Willough. (Prythee high thee: he'le come anon) Sing all a greene Willough must be my Garland. Let no body blame him, his scorne I approue. (Nay that's not next. Harke, who is't that knocks?
Æmil. It's the wind.
Des. I call'd my Loue false Loue: but what said he then? Sing Willough, &c. If I court mo women, you'le couch with mo men.
So get thee gone, good night: mine eyes do itch: Doth that boade weeping?
Æmil. 'Tis neyther heere, nor there.
Des. I haue heard it said so. O these Men, these men! Do'st thou in conscience thinke (tell me Æmilia) That there be women do abuse their husbands In such grosse kinde?
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 Heauenly light.
Æmil. Nor I neither, by this Heauenly light: I might doo't as well i'th'darke.
Des. Would'st thou do such a deed for al the world?
Æmil. The world's a huge thing: It is a great price, for a small vice.
Des. Introth, I thinke thou would'st not.
Æmil. Introth I thinke I should, and vndoo't when I had done. Marry, I would not doe such a thing for a ioynt Ring, nor for measures of Lawne, nor for Gownes, 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 hauing the world for your labour, 'tis a wrong in your owne world, and you might quickly make it right.
Des. I do not thinke there is any such woman.
Æmil. Yes, a dozen: and as many to'th'vantage, as would store the world they plaid for. But I do thinke it is their Husbands faults If Wiues do fall: (Say, that they slacke their duties, And powre our Treasures into forraigne laps; Or else breake out in peeuish Iealousies, Throwing restraint vpon vs: Or say they strike vs, Or scant our former hauing in despight) Why we haue galles: and though we haue some Grace, Yet haue we some Reuenge. Let Husbands know, Their wiues haue sense like them: They see, and smell, And haue their Palats both for sweet, and sowre, As Husbands haue. What is it that they do, When they change vs for others? Is it Sport? I thinke it is: and doth Affection breed it? I thinke it doth. Is't Frailty that thus erres? It is so too. And haue not we Affections? Desires for Sport? and Frailty, as men haue? Then let them vse vs well: else let them know, The illes we do, their illes instruct vs so.
Des. Good night, good night: Heauen me such vses send, Not to picke bad, from bad; but by bad, mend. Exeunt.
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