Bar. Peace, Ithamore, 'tis better so than spared. Assure thyself thou shalt have broth by the eye. [98] My purse, my coffer, and myself is thine.
Itha. Well, master, I go.
Bar. Stay, first let me stir it, Ithamore. As fatal be it to her as the draught Of which great Alexander drunk and died: And with her let it work like Borgia's wine, Whereof his sire, the Pope, was poisoned. In few, [99] the blood of Hydra, Lerna's bane:100 The juice of hebon, [100] and Cocytus' breath, And all the poisons of the Stygian pool Break from the fiery kingdom; and in this Vomit your venom and invenom her That like a fiend hath left her father thus.
Itha. What a blessing has he given 't! was ever pot of rice porridge so sauced! What shall I do with it?
Bar. O, my sweet Ithamore, go set it down, And come again so soon as thou hast done, For I have other business for thee.110
Itha. Here's a drench to poison a whole stable of Flanders mares: I'll carry 't to the nuns with a powder.
Bar. And the horse pestilence to boot; away.
Itha. I am gone. Pay me my wages, for my work is done. [Exit.
Bar. I'll pay thee with a vengeance, Ithamore. [Exit.