Emilia
A very handsome man.
Desdemona
He speaks well.
Emilia
I know a lady in Venice would have walked barefoot to Palestine for a touch of his nether lip.
Desdemona
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.
Let nobody blame him; his scorn I approve—