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The Tragedy of Othello, Moor of Venice
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Exit
Gentleman.
Good ancient, you are welcome. [To Emilia.] Welcome,
mistress.
Let it not gall your patience, good Iago,
That I extend my manners; 'tis my breeding
That gives me this bold show of courtesy. Kisses
her.
IAGO. Sir, would she give you so much of her lips
As of her tongue she oft bestows on me,
You'ld 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 parlors, wildcats 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,
Gentleman.
Good ancient, you are welcome. [To Emilia.] Welcome,
mistress.
Let it not gall your patience, good Iago,
That I extend my manners; 'tis my breeding
That gives me this bold show of courtesy. Kisses
her.
IAGO. Sir, would she give you so much of her lips
As of her tongue she oft bestows on me,
You'ld 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 parlors, wildcats 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,
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