William Shakespeare: Othello, Moor of Venice

ACT IV. 3. SCENE III. Cyprus. Another Room in the Castle. (continued)

DESDEMONA.
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.

EMILIA.
Shall I go fetch your night-gown?

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.
[Sings.]
"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 be these:--

[Sings.]
  "Sing willow, willow, willow;--"

Pr'ythee, hie thee; he'll come anon:--
[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.--"

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.