Mon. What is she? Cassio. She that I spake of: Our great Captains Captaine, Left in the conduct of the bold Iago, Whose footing heere anticipates our thoughts, A Senights speed. Great Ioue, Othello guard, And swell his Saile with thine owne powrefull breath, That he may blesse this Bay with his tall Ship, Make loues quicke pants in Desdemonaes Armes, Giue renew'd fire to our extincted Spirits.
Enter Desdemona, Iago, Rodorigo, and Aemilia.
Oh behold, The Riches of the Ship is come on shore: You men of Cyprus, let her haue your knees. Haile to thee Ladie: and the grace of Heauen, Before, behinde thee, and on euery hand Enwheele thee round
Des. I thanke you, Valiant Cassio, What tydings can you tell of my Lord? Cas. He is not yet arriu'd, nor know I ought But that he's well, and will be shortly heere
Des. Oh, but I feare: How lost you company? Cassio. The great Contention of Sea, and Skies Parted our fellowship. But hearke, a Saile
Within. A Saile, a Saile
Gent. They giue this greeting to the Cittadell: This likewise is a Friend
Cassio. See for the Newes: Good Ancient, you are welcome. Welcome Mistris: Let it not gaule your patience (good Iago) That I extend my Manners. 'Tis my breeding, That giues me this bold shew of Curtesie
Iago. Sir, would she giue you so much of her lippes, As of her tongue she oft bestowes on me, You would haue enough
Des. Alas: she ha's no speech
Iago. Infaith too much: I finde it still, when I haue leaue to sleepe. Marry before your Ladyship, I grant, She puts her tongue a little in her heart, And chides with thinking
aemil. You haue little cause to say so
Iago. Come on, come on: you are Pictures out of doore: Bells in your Parlours: Wilde-Cats in your Kitchens: Saints in your Iniuries: Diuels being offended: Players in your Huswiferie, and Huswiues in your Beds
Des. Oh, fie vpon thee, Slanderer
Iago. Nay, it is true: or else I am a Turke, You rise to play, and go to bed to worke. Aemil. You shall not write my praise
Iago. No, let me not
Desde. What would'st write of me, if thou should'st praise me? Iago. Oh, gentle Lady, do not put me too't, For I am nothing, if not Criticall
Des. Come on, assay. There's one gone to the Harbour? Iago. I Madam
Des. I am not merry: but I do beguile The thing I am, by seeming otherwise. Come, how would'st thou praise me? Iago. I am about it, but indeed my inuention comes from my pate, as Birdlyme do's from Freeze, it pluckes out Braines and all. But my Muse labours, and thus she is deliuer'd. If she be faire, and wise: fairenesse, and wit, The ones for vse, the other vseth it
Des. Well prais'd: How if she be Blacke and Witty? Iago. If she be blacke, and thereto haue a wit, She'le find a white, that shall her blacknesse fit
Des. Worse, and worse. Aemil. How if Faire, and Foolish? Iago. She neuer yet was foolish that was faire, For euen her folly helpt her to an heire
Desde. These are old fond Paradoxes, to make Fooles laugh i'th' Alehouse. What miserable praise hast thou for her that's Foule, and Foolish
Iago. There's none so foule and foolish thereunto, But do's foule pranks, which faire, and wise-ones do
Desde. Oh heauy ignorance: thou praisest the worst best. But what praise could'st thou bestow on a deseruing woman indeed? One, that in the authorithy of her merit, did iustly put on the vouch of very malice it selfe