I do beseech you, sir, trouble yourself no further.
Lodovico: I beg you, don't walk anymore on my account.
You don't have to walk with me.
don't trouble yourself no more walking needed
O, pardon me; ’twill do me good to walk.
Othello: Oh, don't apologize. Walking will do me good.
I need to walk. It helps.
let me walk i need it
Madam, good night. I humbly thank your ladyship.
Madam, good night. I thank you for your kindness.
Good night. Thank you.
good night i thank you
Your honour is most welcome.
You are most welcome, sir.
You're welcome.
you're welcome
Will you walk, sir?—
O, Desdemona,—
Will you walk with me, sir?
Come on a walk?
walk with me?
My lord?
My lord?
Yes?
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 right now. I'll be back soon.
Get to bed. I'll be right back.
bed now i'll return
I will, my lord.
Yes, my lord.
Okay.
yes my lord
How goes it now? He looks gentler than he did.
How's he doing now? He seems gentler than before.
He seems calmer than before.
he looks gentler than before
He says he will return incontinent,
He hath commanded me to go to bed,
And bade me to dismiss you.
He said he'll come back right away.
He said he'll be back soon.
he'll return soon
Dismiss me?
Dismiss you? What do you mean?
Dismiss me? Wait, what?
dismiss me? what?
The Willow Song is based on a real Elizabethan ballad, 'The Poor Soul Sat Sighing,' found in manuscript collections from the 1580s. Shakespeare takes this existing cultural material and gives it to Desdemona on the night before her murder — making it function simultaneously as a folk memory, a character study, and a structural preparation for tragedy. The song's subject — a woman abandoned by 'her mad lover' — is close enough to Desdemona's situation to be felt as an omen, but not so close that Desdemona herself makes the connection. This gap between what she knows and what the audience knows is the source of the scene's emotional power. She sings her own elegy without knowing it, in the way that folk songs often carry grief older than the singer.
It was his bidding. Therefore, good Emilia,
Give me my nightly wearing, and adieu.
We must not now displease him.
He asked me to. So please, good Emilia, help me undress.
He told me to. Can you help me get ready for bed?
he said to help me get ready for bed
I would you had never seen him!
I wish you'd never met him!
I wish you'd never married him!
i wish you had never seen 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 wouldn't say that. My love for him is so strong, it approves of him despite everything.
No, I wouldn't. I love him too much. My love makes me accept him.
no i wouldn't i love him so much
I have laid those sheets you bade me on the bed.
I've put the sheets on the bed that you wanted.
I put the sheets you wanted on the bed.
i've laid the sheets you wanted
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. Oh, how foolish our minds are!
Whatever. We're so stupid about love!
doesn't matter how foolish our minds are!
Come, come, you talk.
Come on, let's go. You're just talking.
Come on, that's all talk.
come on you're just talking
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 servant named Barbary. She fell in love with a man who went away, and she died of heartbreak, singing a sad song.
My mom had a maid named Barbary. She fell for a guy who left her. She died sad, singing this song.
my mother had a maid named barbary her lover left she died singing a sad song
Shall I go fetch your night-gown?
Should I get your nightgown?
You want your nightgown?
nightgown?
No, unpin me here.
This Lodovico is a proper man.
No, just help me take off these pins here.
No, just help me undress here.
no unpin me here
A very handsome man.
He's a handsome man.
He's good-looking.
he's handsome
He speaks well.
He speaks well.
He talks nicely.
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 a man like him.
I know a Venetian girl who'd walk anywhere for a guy like that.
a lady in venice would walk bare feet to palestine for a man like him
Emilia's speech about why wives might cheat — husbands who neglect, restrict, hit, and impoverish them — is Shakespeare's most explicit engagement with the power dynamics of marriage. She is not endorsing infidelity; she is contextualizing it as a predictable response to mistreatment. 'We have galls' — women feel bitterness too. The argument is surprisingly modern in its logic: you cannot expect unconditional loyalty from someone you mistreat. What makes the speech devastating in context is that Emilia is married to the man causing all of this mistreatment — Iago. Her pragmatic worldview comes from direct experience. She has 'galls.' And in 5-2, those galls will come to something: she will refuse to be silent at the cost of her life.
_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 by these:—
"A poor soul sat sighing by a sycamore tree, / Sing, willow, willow, willow; / His hand on his bosom, his head on his knee, / Sing willow, willow, willow."
"A sad man sat by a tree, sighing, / Singing willow, willow, willow; / Hand on his heart, head down, / Singing willow."
the poor soul sat sighing by a sycamore tree hand on his breast head on his knee sing willow willow
It’s the wind.
It's just the wind.
Just the wind.
it's the wind
_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?
"I called my love false love, but what did he say then? / If I court moe women, you'll couch with moe men."
"I called him a false lover. What did he say? If you love other men, I'll love other women."
i called my love false love what did he say? if i court more women you'll couch with more men
’Tis neither here nor there.
It's not really relevant anymore.
That doesn't matter now.
it doesn't matter
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 that. Oh, these men! Such behavior!
That's what they say. Men are all like that!
i've heard that oh these men these men!
The scene's staging — two women, one undressing the other, preparing for sleep — creates unusual theatrical intimacy. The domestic ritual of preparing for bed strips away the social armor that characters wear elsewhere. Desdemona here is not the general's wife or Brabantio's daughter or Cassio's advocate; she is a woman getting ready to sleep, singing a sad song, asking her companion about faithfulness in marriage. The vulnerability of this scene is precisely calibrated: it is the last moment before the play's violence, and its quiet domesticity makes the murder in 5-2 feel even more obscene. Shakespeare has shown us how ordinary her life is. Then he shows us how it ends.
There be some such, no question.
Yes, there are some like that, no doubt.
Yeah, some of them are like that.
some are no question
Wouldst thou do such a deed for all the world?
Would you do such a thing—betray your husband—for all the money in the world?
Would you cheat on your husband for all the money in the world?
would you betray your husband for all the world's wealth?
Why, would not you?
Would you?
Would you?
would you?
No, by this heavenly light!
No! Never! I swear by heaven!
Never! I swear!
no by heaven never
Nor I neither by this heavenly light,
I might do’t as well i’ the dark.
Neither would I, I swear by heaven.
Me neither, I swear.
me neither by heaven
Wouldst thou do such a deed for all the world?
Would you do such a thing for all the world?
For real, would you?
really? for all the world?
The world’s a huge thing. It is a great price
For a small vice.
The world is a huge thing. It's a great price for such a sin.
The world's a big thing. But it's not worth it.
the world's huge but it's not enough for such wrong
In troth, I think thou wouldst not.
I believe you wouldn't.
I believe you.
i trust you
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.
Actually, I think I would. But I'd undo it afterwards. But if I could find a good reason—some benefit—I'd do it. We're all frail.
Actually, I probably would. But I'd feel bad after. If there was a good reason, I'd do it. We're all weak.
actually i would but i'd regret it if there was a good reason i'd do it we're all weak
Beshrew me, if I would do such a wrong for the whole world.
God forgive me, but I would never do such a wrong thing, not for the whole world!
Never! I'd never do that, not for anything!
never! not for anything not 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.
It's just a small wrong in a big world. And if the profit is good, it's nothing to worry about.
It's just a small thing. And if you get paid well, who cares?
it's a small wrong in a huge world if you get paid it's nothing
I do not think there is any such woman.
I don't think there's any woman like that.
I don't think anyone's like that.
no woman is 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.
There are plenty of them. A dozen, and more waiting in line.
Oh please. There's tons of them.
dozen women more waiting to do it
Good night, good night. Heaven me such usage send,
Not to pick bad from bad, but by bad mend!
Good night. I pray heaven grants me a husband who treats me better than this.
Good night. I hope God gives me a better husband.
good night hope heaven sendsme a better husband
The Reckoning
The quietest scene in the second half of the play — and because of that quiet, the most unbearable. After the violence of the preceding scenes, Shakespeare gives us two women, a bed, and a song. The Willow Song is an old ballad about abandoned love; Desdemona learns it by heart the day her mother's maid died, which is also the day the murder Othello is planning is being finalized. The scene is a lyric before tragedy. The conversation about whether women cheat on their husbands — Emilia's pragmatic 'yes, sometimes, and who can blame them' versus Desdemona's absolute 'no, never' — is the last of the play's great gender-political dialogues, and Desdemona's answer is the most innocent and most fatal.
If this happened today…
Two women getting ready for bed, the older one asking the younger 'do you think people ever just — stop loving you overnight? For no reason?' And the younger one saying she doesn't know, but she knows a song. She sings it. Then they argue gently about whether anyone could be driven to cheat by loneliness. The older one says yes. The younger one says never. And then: goodnight.