Othello, Act 4, Scene 3

I do beseech you, sir, trouble yourself no further.

Please, sir, don't put yourself to any more trouble.

O, pardon me; ’twill do me good to walk.

Oh, excuse me; the walk will do me good.

Madam, good night. I humbly thank your ladyship.

Madam, good night. I humbly thank your ladyship.

Your honour is most welcome.

Your honour is very welcome.

Will you walk, sir?— O, Desdemona,—

Shall we walk, sir?— Oh, Desdemona,—

My lord?

My lord?

Get you to bed on th’ instant, I will be return’d forthwith. Dismiss your attendant there. Look ’t be done.

Go to bed at once. I'll be back straight away. Send that attendant of yours away. See that it's done.

I will, my lord.

I will, my lord.

How goes it now? He looks gentler than he did.

How are things now? He looks gentler than he did.

He says he will return incontinent, He hath commanded me to go to bed, And bade me to dismiss you.

He says he'll come back immediately. He has ordered me to go to bed, and told me to send you away.

Dismiss me?

Send me away?

It was his bidding. Therefore, good Emilia, Give me my nightly wearing, and adieu. We must not now displease him.

That was his order. So, good Emilia, give me my nightclothes, and goodbye. We mustn't upset him now.

I would you had never seen him!

I wish you had never set eyes on him!

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.

I don't wish that. My love thinks so well of him that even his roughness, his rebukes, his frowns—please, unpin me—have charm and beauty in them.

I have laid those sheets you bade me on the bed.

I've put those sheets you asked for on the bed.

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.

It makes no difference. Honestly, how silly our minds are! If I die before you, please wrap me in one of those same sheets.

Come, come, you talk.

Come on, come on, you're just talking nonsense.

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.

My mother had a maid called Barbary. She was in love, and the man she loved turned out to be wild and abandoned her. She had a song about a "willow". It was an old thing, but it fitted her situation, and she died singing it. Tonight that song won't leave my mind. I can hardly stop myself from hanging my head to one side and singing it like poor Barbary. Please hurry.

Shall I go fetch your night-gown?

Shall I go and get your nightgown?

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

No, unpin me here. This Lodovico is a fine-looking man.

A very handsome man.

A very handsome man.

He speaks well.

He speaks well.

I know a lady in Venice would have walked barefoot to Palestine for a touch of his nether lip.

I know a lady in Venice who would have walked barefoot to Palestine for one touch of his lower lip.

[Singing.] 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;—

[Singing.] The poor soul sat sighing by a sycamore tree, sing all a green willow. Her hand on her breast, her head on her knee, sing willow, willow, willow. The clear streams ran past her and murmured her groans, sing willow, willow, willow; her salt tears fell from her and softened the stones;—

Lay by these:—

Put these aside:—

Prithee hie thee. He’ll come anon.

Please hurry. He'll be here soon.

Sing all a green willow must be my garland. Let nobody blame him, his scorn I approve,—

Sing all a green willow must be my garland. Let nobody blame him, I accept his contempt,—

Nay, that’s not next. Hark! who is’t that knocks?

No, that's not the next line. Listen! Who's that knocking?

It’s the wind.

It's the wind.

[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.

[She sings.] I called my love a false love; but what did he say then? Sing willow, willow, willow: if I chase more women, you'll sleep with more men.

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

Now go; good night. My eyes are itching. Does that mean I'm going to cry?

’Tis neither here nor there.

It means nothing one way or the other.

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?

I've heard people say it does. Oh, these men, these men! Do you honestly believe—tell me, Emilia—that there are women who betray their husbands in such a disgusting way?

There be some such, no question.

There are some like that, no question about it.

Wouldst thou do such a deed for all the world?

Would you do such a thing to win the whole world?

Why, would not you?

Why, wouldn't you?

No, by this heavenly light!

No, by this heavenly light!

Nor I neither by this heavenly light, I might do’t as well i’ the dark.

I wouldn't either by this heavenly light. I could just as easily do it in the dark.

Wouldst thou do such a deed for all the world?

Would you do such a thing to win the whole world?

The world’s a huge thing. It is a great price For a small vice.

The world's an enormous thing. It's a huge payment for a small sin.

In troth, I think thou wouldst not.

Truly, I don't think you would.

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.

Truly, I think I would, and then undo it once it was done. Look, I wouldn't do such a thing for a cheap jointed ring, or lengths of fine linen, or gowns, petticoats or caps, or any small gift; but for the whole world—well, who wouldn't make her husband a cuckold in order to make him a king? I'd risk purgatory for that.

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

Curse me if I would do such a wrong for the whole world.

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.

Why, the wrong is only a wrong within the world; and since you'd have the world as your payment, it's a wrong inside your own world, and you could soon put it right.

I do not think there is any such woman.

I don't think any such woman exists.

Yes, a dozen; and as many to the vantage as would store the world they played 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 so.

Yes, a dozen of them; and as many more on top as would fill up the world they gambled for. But I do think it's their husbands' fault if wives go wrong: suppose they neglect their duties and pour what belongs to us into other women's laps; or else they burst out in irritable jealousies and shut us up at home. Or suppose they hit us, or spitefully cut back the allowance we used to have. Well, we have tempers; and though we have some goodness in us, we still have some taste for revenge. Let husbands understand that their wives have feelings like theirs: they see, and smell, and have palates for sweet and sour, just as husbands do. What is it they're doing when they swap us for other women? Is it pleasure? I think it is. And is it love that drives it? I think it is. Is it weakness that goes astray like this? That too. And don't we have feelings, appetites for pleasure, and weakness, just as men do? Then let them treat us well: otherwise let them know that the wrongs we do, we learn from the wrongs they do.

Good night, good night. Heaven me such usage send, Not to pick bad from bad, but by bad mend!

Good night, good night. May Heaven send me habits like this: not to learn bad from bad, but to be improved by what is bad!