Let me amend it, sweet!
[Kisses her.]
ALISOUN
Avaunt, vile chimney-sweep! Beshrew thee, Huberd
Love, wouldst thou swap complexions?
[Looks in a pewter plate, while the Cook holds a candle.]
Thy smut nose
Hath blotched the lily pallor of my brow
Like a crushed violet. Some powder, quick,
And touch it off.