My story being done, 182 She gave me for my pains a world of ⟨sighs.⟩
OTHELLO . . .
My story being done, 182
She gave me for my pains a world of ⟨sighs.⟩ 183
She swore, in faith, ’twas strange, ’twas passing 184
strange, 185
’Twas pitiful, ’twas wondrous pitiful. 186
She wished she had not heard it, yet she wished 187
That heaven had made her such a man. She thanked 188
me, 189
And bade me, if I had a friend that loved her, 190
I should but teach him how to tell my story, 191
And that would woo her.
