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★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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