Mal. As a raven to a dunghill. They say there’s one dead here; pricked for the pride of the flesh.
Men. Ferneze: there he is; prithee, bury him.
Mal. O, most willingly: I mean to turn pure Rochelle[448] churchman, I.
Men. Thou churchman! why, why?
Mal. Because I’ll live lazily, rail upon authority, deny kings’ supremacy in things indifferent, and be a pope in mine own parish. 190
Men. Wherefore dost thou think churches were made?
Mal. To scour plough-shares: I ha’[449] seen oxen plough up altars; et nunc seges ubi Sion fuit.[450]
Men. Strange!
Mal. Nay, monstrous! I ha’ seen a sumptuous steeple turned to a stinking privy; more beastly, the sacredest place made a dogs’ kennel; nay, most inhuman, the stoned coffins of long-dead Christians burst up, and made hogs’ troughs: hic finis Priami.[451] Shall I ha’ some sack and cheese at thy chamber? Good night, good mischievous incarnate devil; good night, Mendoza; ah, ye inhuman villain, good night! night, fub. 202
Men. Goodnight: to-morrow morn?