The divine Desdemona.

In general, as is the case with most of Shakespeare's females, we
lose sight of her personal charms in her attachment and devotedness
to her husband. 'She is subdued even to the very quality of her
lord'; and to Othello's 'honours and his valiant parts her soul and
fortunes consecrates'. The lady protests so much herself, and she is
as good as her word. The truth of conception, with which timidity
and boldness are united in the same character, is marvellous. The
extravagance of her resolutions, the pertinacity of her affections,
may be said to arise out of the gentleness of her nature. They imply
an unreserved reliance on the purity of her own intentions, an
entire surrender of her fears to her love, a knitting of herself
(heart and soul) to the fate of another. Bating the commencement of
her passion, which is a little fantastical and headstrong (though
even that may perhaps be consistently accounted for from her
inability to resist a rising inclination [Footnote: Iago. Ay, too
gentle. Othello. Nay, that's certain.]) her whole character consists
in having no will of her own, no prompter but her obedience. Her
romantic turn is only a consequence of the domestic and practical
part of her disposition; and instead of following Othello to the
wars, she would gladly have 'remained at home a moth of peace', if
her husband could have stayed with her. Her resignation and angelic
sweetness of temper do not desert her at the last. The scenes in
which she laments and tries to account for Othello's estrangement
from her are exquisitely beautiful. After he has struck her, and
called her names, she says:

--Alas, Iago,
What shall I do to win my lord again?