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.
