Des. O, fie upon thee, slanderer![5402]
Iago. Nay, it is true, or else I am a Turk:
You rise to play, and go to bed to work. 115
Emil. You shall not write my praise.
Iago. No, let me not.
Des. What wouldst thou write of me, if thou shouldst praise me?[5403]
Iago. O gentle lady, do not put me to't;
For I am nothing if not critical.
Des. Come on, assay—There's one gone to the harbour?[5404] 120
Iago. Ay, madam.
Des. I am not merry; but I do beguile
The thing I am by seeming otherwise.
Come, how wouldst thou praise me?
Iago. I am about it; but indeed my invention[5405][5406] 125
Comes from my pate as birdlime does from frize;[5405][5407]
It plucks out brains and all: but my Muse labours,[5405][5408]
And thus she is deliver'd.[5405][5409]
If she be fair and wise, fairness and wit,[5410]
The one's for use, the other useth it.[5410][5411] 130