_Palm._ Ye judge All-Hallows’ breath unknown: If any breath stink, it is your own. _Pot._ I know mine own breath from All-Hallows, Or else it were time to kiss the gallows. _Pard._ Nay, Sirs, here may ye see The great toe of the Trinity; Who to this toe any money voweth, And once may roll it in his mouth, All his life after I undertake, He shall never be vex’d with the tooth-ache. _Pot._ I pray you turn that relic about; Either the Trinity had the gout; Or else, because it is three toes in one, God made it as much as three toes alone. _Pard._ Well, let that pass, and look upon this: Here is a relic that doth not miss To help the least as well as the most: This is a buttock-bone of Penticost. · · · · · Here is a box full of humble bees, That stung Eve as she sat on her knees Tasting the fruit to her forbidden: Who kisseth the bees within this hidden, Shall have as much pardon of right, As for any relic he kiss’d this night.... Good friends, I have yet here in this glass, Which on the drink at the wedding was Of Adam and Eve undoubtedly: If ye honour this relic devoutly, Although ye thirst no whit the less, Yet shall ye drink the more, doubtless. After which drinking, ye shall be as meet To stand on your head as on your feet.’ The same sort of significant irony runs through the Apothecary’s knavish enumeration of miraculous cures in his possession. ‘For this medicine helpeth one and other, And bringeth them in case that they need no other. Here is a _syrapus de Byzansis_, A little thing is enough of this; For even the weight of one scrippal Shall make you as strong as a cripple.... These be the things that break all strife, Between man’s sickness and his life. From all pain these shall you deliver, And set you even at rest forever. Here is a medicine no more like the same, Which commonly is called thus by name.... Not one thing here particularly, But worketh universally; For it doth me as much good when I sell it, As all the buyers that take it or smell it. If any reward may entreat ye, I beseech your mastership be good to me, And ye shall have a box of marmalade, So fine that you may dig it with a spade.’ After these quaint but pointed examples of it, Swift’s boast with respect to the invention of irony,