Page 1544 - Shakespeare - Vol. 3

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