BOSOLA. Why, from your scurvy face-physic. To behold thee not painted inclines somewhat near a miracle. These in thy face here were deep ruts and foul sloughs the last progress.[33] There was a lady in France that, having had the small-pox, flayed the skin off her face to make it more level; and whereas before she looked like a nutmeg-grater, after she resembled an abortive hedge-hog. OLD LADY. Do you call this painting? BOSOLA. No, no, but you call [it] careening[34] of an old morphewed[35] lady, to make her disembogue[36] again: there 's rough-cast phrase to your plastic.[37] OLD LADY. It seems you are well acquainted with my closet. BOSOLA. One would suspect it for a shop of witchcraft, to find in it the fat of serpents, spawn of snakes, Jews' spittle, and their young children's ordure; and all these for the face. I would sooner eat a dead pigeon taken from the soles of the feet of one sick of the plague, than kiss one of you fasting. Here are two of you, whose sin of your youth is the very patrimony of the physician; makes him renew his foot-cloth with the spring, and change his high-pric'd courtezan with the fall of the leaf. I do wonder you do not loathe yourselves. Observe my meditation now. What thing is in this outward form of man To be belov'd? We account it ominous, If nature do produce a colt, or lamb, A fawn, or goat, in any limb resembling A man, and fly from 't as a prodigy: Man stands amaz'd to see his deformity In any other creature but himself. But in our own flesh though we bear diseases Which have their true names only ta'en from beasts,-- As the most ulcerous wolf and swinish measle,-- Though we are eaten up of lice and worms, And though continually we bear about us A rotten and dead body, we delight To hide it in rich tissue: all our fear, Nay, all our terror, is, lest our physician Should put us in the ground to be made sweet.-- Your wife 's gone to Rome: you two couple, and get you to the wells at Lucca to recover your aches. I have other work on foot. [Exeunt CASTRUCCIO and Old Lady] I observe our duchess Is sick a-days, she pukes, her stomach seethes, The fins of her eye-lids look most teeming blue,[38] She wanes i' the cheek, and waxes fat i' the flank, And, contrary to our Italian fashion, Wears a loose-bodied gown: there 's somewhat in 't. I have a trick may chance discover it, A pretty one; I have bought some apricocks, The first our spring yields. [Enter ANTONIO and DELIO, talking together apart] DELIO. And so long since married? You amaze me. ANTONIO. Let me seal your lips for ever: For, did I think that anything but th' air Could carry these words from you, I should wish You had no breath at all.--Now, sir, in your contemplation? You are studying to become a great wise fellow.