Page:The Tragedy of the Duchesse of Malfy (1623).pdf/24

 For an eminent fellow.

Bos. I will teach a tricke to know it, Give out you lie a dying, and if you Heare the common people curse you, Be sure you are taken for one of the prime night-caps, You come from painting now?

Old Lady. From what?

Bos. Why, from your scurvy face-physicke, To behold thee not painted enclines somewhat neere A miracle: These in thy face here, were deepe rutts, And foule sloughes the last progresse: There was a Lady in France, that having had the small pockes, Flead the skinne off her face, to make it more levell; And whereas before she look'd like a Nutmeg-grater, After she resembled an abortive hedge-hog.

Old Lady. Doe you call this painting?

Bos. No, no but you call carreening of an old Morphew'd Lady, to make her disembogue againe, There's rough-cast phrase to your plastique.

Old Lady. It seemes you are well acquainted with my closset?

Bos. One would suspect it for a shop of witch-craft, To finde in it the fat of Serpents; spawne of Snakes, Jewes spittle, And their yong children ordures, and all these for the face: I would sooner eate a dead pidgeon, taken from the soles of the feete Of one sicke of the plague, then kisse one of you fasting: Here are two of you, whose sin of your youth, is the very Patrimony of the Physition, makes him renew his Foote-cloth with the Spring, and change his High-priz'd curtezan with the fall of the leafe: I do wonder you doe not loath your selves, Observe my meditation now: What thing is in this outward forme of man To be belov'd? we account it ominous, If Nature doe produce a Colt, or Lambe, A Fawne, or Goate, in any limbe resembling A Man; and flye from't as a prodegy. Man stands amaz'd to see his deformity,