Page 1544 - Shakespeare - Vol. 3
P. 1544

The poor soul sat sighing, by a sycamore tree, [40]
                                                    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. [45]
                               Her salt tears fell from her, which soften’d the stones; −
               Lay by these: −

                                                    Sing willow, willow, willow.
               Prithee hie thee: he’ll come anon: −
                               Sing all a green willow must be my garland. [50]
                                                    Let nobody blame him, his scorn I approve, −

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



              EMILIA
               It is the wind.



              DESDEMONA
                               I call’d my love false love; but what said he then?
                                                    Sing willow, willow, willow: [55]
                               If I court moe women, you’ll couch with moe men.

               Now get thee gone; good night: mine eyes do itch,
               Does 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, − [60]

               That there be women do abuse their husbands
               In such gross kind?



              EMILIA
                               There be some such, no question.



              DESDEMONA
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