Qua. Gnathonical coxcomb!
Lam. Nay, prithee, fut, fear not, he’s no edge-tool; you may jest with him.
Sim. No edge-tool. Oh!
Qua. Tones of heaven itself.
Sim. Tones of heaven itself.
Qua. By blessedness, I thought so.
Lam. Nay, when?[435] when? 110
Qua. Why, thou pole-head![436] thou Janus! thou poltroon! thou protest! thou earwig that wrigglest into
men’s brains! thou dirty cur, that bemirest with thy fawning! thou——
Lam. Obscure me! or——