Fest. You smile:
Despise them as they merit!
Par. If I smile,
'T is with as very contempt as ever turned
Flesh into stone. This courteous recompense,
This grateful ... Festus, were your nature fit
To be defiled, your eyes the eyes to ache
At gangrene-blotches, eating poison-blains,
The ulcerous barky scurf of leprosy
Which finds—a man, and leaves—a hideous thing