_Falstaff._ Go fetch me a quart of sack, put a toast in’t. Have I liv’d to be carried in a basket, like a barrow of butcher’s offal, and to be thrown into the Thames? Well, if I be serv’d such another trick, I’ll have my brains ta’en out and butter’d, and give them to a dog for a new-year’s gift. The rogues slighted me into the river with as little remorse as they would have drown’d a bitch’s blind puppies, fifteen i’ th’ litter; and you may know by my size, that I have a kind of alacrity in sinking: if the bottom were as deep as hell, I should down. I had been drown’d, but that the shore was shelvy and shallow; a death that I abhor; for the water swells a man: and what a thing should I have been, when I had been swell’d? I should have been a mountain of mummy. _Merry wives of Windsor, act 3. sc. 15._ _Falstaff._ Nay, you shall hear, Master Brook, what I have suffer’d to bring this woman to evil for your good. Being thus cramm’d in the basket, a couple of Ford’s knaves, his hinds, were call’d forth by their mistress, to carry me in the name of foul cloaths to Datchet-lane. They took me on their shoulders, met the jealous knave their master in the door, who ask’d them once or twice what they had in their basket. I quak’d for fear, left the lunatic knave would have search’d it; but Fate, ordaining he should be a cuckold, held his hand. Well, on went he for a search, and away went I for foul cloaths. But mark the sequel, Master Brook. I suffer’d the pangs of three egregious deaths: first, an intolerable fright, to be detected by a jealous rotten bell weather; next, to be compass’d like a good bilbo, in the circumference of a peck, hilt to point, heel to head; and then to be stopt in, like a strong distillation, with stinking cloaths that fretted in their own grease. Think of that, a man of my kidney; think of that, that am as subject to heat as butter; a man of continual dissolution and thaw; it was a miracle to ’scape suffocation. And in the height of this bath, when I was more than half-stew’d in grease, like a Dutch dish, to be thrown into the Thames, and cool’d glowing hot, in that surge, like a horse-shoe; think of that; hissing hot; think of that, Master Brook. _Merry wives of Windsor, act 3. sc. 17._ CHAP. VIII. Resemblance and Contrast. Having discussed those qualities and circumstances of single objects that seem peculiarly connected with criticism, we proceed, according to the method proposed in the chapter of beauty, to the relations of objects, beginning with the relations of resemblance and contrast.