The Tragedy of Othello, Moor of Venice. Уильям Шекспир

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                                        O, behold,

          The riches of the ship is come on shore!

          Ye men of Cyprus, let her have your knees.

          Hall to thee, lady! And the grace of heaven,

          Before, behind thee, and on every hand,

          Enwheel thee round!

        DESDEMONA. I thank you, valiant Cassio.

          What tidings can you tell me of my lord?

        CASSIO. He is not yet arrived, nor know I aught

          But that he's well and will be shortly here.

        DESDEMONA. O, but I fear- How lost you company?

        CASSIO. The great contention of the sea and skies

          Parted our fellowship- But, hark! a sail.

                                A cry within, "A sail, a sail!" Guns

      heard.

        SECOND GENTLEMAN. They give their greeting to the citadel;

          This likewise is a friend.

        CASSIO. See for the news.

                                                            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,