William Shakespeare: Othello, Moor of Venice

ACT II. 1. SCENE I. A seaport in Cyprus. A Platform. (continued)

IAGO.
Sir, would she give you so much of her lips
As of her tongue she oft bestows on me,
You'd have enough.

DESDEMONA.
Alas, she has no speech.

IAGO.
In faith, too much;
I find it still when I have list to sleep:
Marry, before your ladyship, I grant,
She puts her tongue a little in her heart,
And chides with thinking.

EMILIA.
You have little cause to say so.

IAGO.
Come on, come on; you are pictures out of doors,
Bells in your parlours, wild cats in your kitchens,
Saints in your injuries, devils being offended,
Players in your housewifery, and housewives in your beds.

DESDEMONA.
O, fie upon thee, slanderer!

IAGO.
Nay, it is true, or else I am a Turk:
You rise to play, and go to bed to work.

EMILIA.
You shall not write my praise.

IAGO.
No, let me not.

DESDEMONA.
What wouldst thou write of me, if thou shouldst praise me?

IAGO.
O gentle lady, do not put me to't;
For I am nothing if not critical.

DESDEMONA.
Come on, assay--There's one gone to the harbor?

IAGO.
Ay, madam.

DESDEMONA.
I am not merry; but I do beguile
The thing I am, by seeming otherwise.--
Come, how wouldst thou praise me?

IAGO.
I am about it; but, indeed, my invention
Comes from my pate as birdlime does from frize,--
It plucks out brains and all: but my Muse labours,
And thus she is deliver'd.
If she be fair and wise,--fairness and wit,
The one's for use, the other useth it.

DESDEMONA.
Well prais'd! How if she be black and witty?