_On._ Burn eyes out in your sockets, sink and stink: Teeth I will pick ye to the very bones, Hang hair like Hemp, or like the _Isling_ Curs, For never Powder, nor the Crisping-iron Shall touch these dangling locks--oh--Ruby lips, Love hath to you been like Wine-vinegar, Now you look wan and pale, lips, ghosts ye are, And my disgrace sharper than Mustard-seed. _Cra._ How like a Chaundler he do's vent his passions, _Risum teneatis_? _On._ Well sung the Poet, Love is a golden _[b]ubo_, full of Dreams: That ripen'd breaks, and fills us with extreams. _Tut._ A gold buble, pupill, Oh gross _solæcisme_ To chaster eares that understand the _Latine_. _On._ I will not be corrected now: I am in love, revenge is now the Cud That I do chaw: I'll challenge him. _Cra._ I marry Sir. _Unc._ Your honor bids you Nephew, on, and prosper. _On._ But none will bear it from me, times are dangerous. _Cra._ Carry it your self man. _On._ Tutor, your counsel: [I'll] do nothing Sir Without him. _Unc._ This may rid thee, (valiant Cuz.) Whom I have kept this forty year my Ward: Fain would I have his state, and now of late He did inquire at _Ephesus_ for his age, But the Church Book being burnt with _Dian's_ Temple He lost his ayme: I have try'd to famish him, Marry he'll live o'th stones: and then for Poysons, He is an Antidote 'gainst all of 'em; He sprung from _Mithridates_; he is so dry and hot, He will eat Spiders faster than a Monkey: His Maw (unhurt) keeps Quicksilver like a bladder, The largest dose of _Camphire_, _Opium_, Harmes not his Brain; I think his Skul's as empty As a suckt Egg; _Vitriol_ and Oyle of _Tartar_ He will eat tosts of: _Henbane_ I am sure And _Hemlock_ I have made his Pot-herbs often. _Cra._ If he refuse you, yours is then the honor: If he accept, he being so great, you may Crave both to choose the Weapon, time, and place, Which may be ten years hence, and _Calicut_, Or underneath the line to avoid advantage. _On._ I am resolved.