PENULO. By the mass, this physic is an excellent art; It picks such a deal of gold out of every part. [_Aside_. BOMELIO. Vell, vell; me now see vat this matter mean. Nobel prince, dis ting be done by mashic clean. 'Tis true dat me tell, me perceive it plain: No natural 'pediment, but cunshering certain. DUKE. O double, treble woe! my son, how cometh this? He saith by magic it is wrought, unnatural it is. Dost thou remember aught, that so it should appear, Or can'st thou any reason make it should be true we hear? What means he by these signs? can any one express? PENULO. If you give me leave, sir, to say as I guess, Methinks he should mean there was some old man, That threatened to be revenged on him then. 'Tis so you may see: he confirms it again. DUKE. Condemned be that man to everlasting pain, Perpetual his annoy, continual his unrest! O, that I had him here to plague as I thought best! But, learned sir, is there no way, is there no remedy? Can there be found out no device the charm to mollify? Good sir, if anything, whatever that it be, Let spare no cost, my will is such, I will allow it thee. BOMELIO. Indeed, and by my trot', dar is o' thing, But me am vera let' de same to bring; Yit wit'out dat me am seawer,[117] me tell, Your son again be never more well. DUKE. Good father, tell it me: whatever should befall, Mine be the danger, mine the loss, you shall be pleased for all. In any case, express it then. BOMELIO. Fait', then me will. If you no have your son be so dumb still. You mus' get-a de grand enemy dat he now have, And in de tenderest part his dearest blood crave: Derwit' mus' you wash his tongue-a string. Noting but dat will his speech bring. DUKE. The dearest blood in the tenderest part Of his great enemy? O, grief to my heart! Will nothing else cure his disease? BOMELIO. Noting, by my trot'; but do as you please. DUKE. My son, my wretched son! and whom dost thou suppose Thy greatest enemy amongst thy father's foes? It is Hermione: 'tis he, and none but he. He hath now proved himself, indeed, thy greatest enemy. Where lives the wretch? That he were ta'en, and we revenged be? PENULO. And must his dearest blood, in his tenderest part, Help him in his speech? that's an excellent art. But what part is that, my masters, now about a man That is the tenderest? guess it, and you can. I can tell what part a woman thinks tenderest to be, And there is dear blood in it--but _benedicite_. And do you think, sir, there is none but he, That can be thought his greatest enemy? I have heard it said, there is no hate Like to a brother or sister's, if they fall at debate. I will not say, but you may think it as well as I, If you mark since her coming home his sister's cruelty, And the continual rancour she beareth unto him. BOMELIO. Is te maid his sister? be Got, den, he say tim. Bin mine fait' and trot', ser, 'tis true dat he say: His sister be his greatest enemy to-day.