The Husband Who Did Not Know (Cuckold)

Lyrics

[Intro]

[Verse 1]
In the Globe Theatre, Southwark, London, autumn 1604,
William Shakespeare, born 1564, died 1616,
wrote you into existence, my spotted handkerchief,
strawberries embroidered on white linen, heirloom from Othello's mother.
You, the token of love, twisted by Iago's hand,
dropped in Cassio's lodging on a cool afternoon, 10 degrees Celsius,
the Thames breeze carrying scents of ale and damp wool.

[Chorus]
Oh, husband who did not know,
the horns sprouting invisible from your forehead,
symbol of the cuckold, Elizabethan jest,
Iago's project seeding jealousy, green-eyed monster,
mocking the meat it feeds on, as Shakespeare penned in Act 3, Scene 3.
Nervous laughter ripples through the pit,
audience shifting on their feet, late afternoon light fading.

[Verse 2]
You, handkerchief, spotted with strawberries,
passed from Desdemona's hand to Emilia's,
then to Iago, who plants you like evidence of betrayal.
In the press of bodies, smell of sweat and tobacco smoke,
the crowd guffaws uneasily at the word 'cuckold,'
some whispering 'wittol' for the knowing fool,
derived from 'wittingly,' Eric Partridge noted in 1947.
Othello, the Moor, clutches his head, imagining the horns.

[Bridge]

Addressed to you, my fabric of deceit,
in this aria, Sisukiro sings the tragedy unfolding,
from the First Folio, 1623, Folger Library pages.
The actors, unnamed, Burbage perhaps as Othello,
voice Iago's venom: 'Look to your wife; observe her well with Cassio.'
The chill air, 15 degrees at most, as dusk settles over the thatched roof.

[Verse 3]
Thomas Platter, in his 1599 diary, described the boisterous crowds,
heckling and murmuring, now nervous at the unfolding horror.
You, handkerchief, the pivot of the plot,
lost and found, igniting rage in Othello's heart.
The horns, not props on stage, but in every deceived husband's mind,
since medieval times, a degrading crown.

[Chorus]
Oh, husband who did not know,
the horns sprouting invisible from your forehead,
symbol of the cuckold, Elizabethan jest,
Iago's project seeding jealousy, green-eyed monster,
mocking the meat it feeds on, as Shakespeare penned in Act 3, Scene 3.
Nervous laughter ripples through the pit,
audience shifting on their feet, late afternoon light fading.

[Outro]

And so the tragedy closes, my spotted one,
with Desdemona's plea: 'That handkerchief which I so loved and gave thee.'
Autumn 1604, the lesson lingers in the smoke-filled air.