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 thank your ladyship humbly.

Your honour is most welcome.

Your honour is very welcome.

Will you walk, sir?— O, Desdemona,—

Will you 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 immediately. 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 milder 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 right away. 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 displease 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 approves of him so much that even his roughness, his rebukes, his frowns—please, unpin me—have a charm and a sweetness 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 doesn't matter. Honestly, what foolish things our minds are! If I die before you, please wrap me for burial in one of those same sheets.

Come, come, you talk.

Come now, that's just talk.

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 unfaithful and abandoned her. She had a song about a willow — it was an old thing, but it said exactly what had happened to her — and she died singing it. Tonight that song won't leave my mind. I can hardly keep myself from hanging my head over to one side and singing it, like poor Barbary. Please hurry.

Shall I go fetch your night-gown?

Shall I go and fetch 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 beside a sycamore tree — sing all a green willow. Her hand on her breast, her head on her knee — sing willow, willow, willow. The fresh streams ran past her and murmured her groans back to her — 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 is 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 go after more women, you'll go to bed with more men.

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

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

’Tis neither here nor there.

It means nothing at all.

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.

Wouldst thou do such a deed for all the world?

Would you do such a thing for 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.

Nor would I, 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 for the whole world?

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

The world is an enormous thing. It's a big 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 would undo it once I'd done it. Honestly, I wouldn't do such a thing for a cheap jointed ring, or for lengths of fine linen, or for gowns, petticoats or caps, or any small gift; but for the whole world — why, who wouldn't make her husband a cuckold 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 believe there is any woman like that.

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 there are, a dozen of them, and as many more on top of that 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 jealousy and shut us up under guard; or suppose they hit us, or spitefully cut back the allowance we used to have. Well, we have bitterness in us; and though we have some virtue, we still have some capacity for revenge. Let husbands know that their wives have feelings like theirs: they see, and smell, and have tongues for sweet and sour, just as husbands do. What is it they're doing when they swap us for others? Is it pleasure? I think it is. And does desire cause it? I think it does. Is it weakness that goes astray like this? Yes, that too. And don't we have desires, appetites for pleasure, and weakness, the way men do? Then let them treat us well; otherwise let them know that the wrongs we do, we learn from their wrongs.

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 such habits that I don't learn bad from bad, but learn to improve because of bad!