That shakes the rotten carcass of old death
Out of his rags! Here’s a large mouth indeed!
That spits forth death, and mountains, rocks, and seas:
Talks as familiarly of roaring lions,
As maids of thirteen do of puppy-dogs.
What cannonier begot this lusty blood?
He speaks plain cannon, fire, and smoke, and bounce.
He gives the bastinado with his tongue.
Zounds! I was never so bethump’d with words,
Since I first call’d my brother’s father, dad.”