The poor soul sat <sighing> by a sycamore tree, 43 Sing all a green willow. 44 Her hand on her bosom, her head on her knee, 45 Sing willow, willow, willow. 46 The fresh streams ran by her and murmured her 47 moans, 48 Sing willow, willow, willow; 49 Her salt tears fell from her, and softened the 50 stones— 51 Lay by these. 52 Sing willow, willow, willow. 53 Prithee hie thee! He’ll come anon.
DESDEMONA, < singing >
The poor soul sat < sighing > by a sycamore tree, 43
Sing all a green willow. 44
Her hand on her bosom, her head on her knee, 45
Sing willow, willow, willow. 46
The fresh streams ran by her and murmured her 47
moans, 48
Sing willow, willow, willow; 49
Her salt tears fell from her, and softened the 50
stones—51
Lay by these. 52
Sing willow, willow, willow. 53
Prithee hie thee! He’ll come anon. 54
Sing all a green willow must be my garland. 55
Let nobody blame him, his scorn I approve. 56
Nay, that’s not next.] Hark, who is ’t that knocks? 57
