★Othello
DESDEMONA
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,
Sing willow, willow, willow;
Sing all a green willow must be my garland.
I call'd my love false love; but what said he then?
Sing willow, willow, willow;
If I court more women, you'll couch with more men.
『Othello』4.3
(Shakespeare)
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