Shape. How bright it flames! Put out your nose, good lady;
You burn daylight.[121]
Pot. Come up, you lousy rascals.
Hear. Not upon you for a kingdom, good Joan.
The Great Turk, Joan, the Great Turk!
Slicer. Kiss him, chuck;
Kiss him, chuck, open-mouth'd, and be reveng'd.
Pot. Hang you, base cheating varlet!
Slicer. Don't you see
December in her face?
Shape. Sure, the surveyor
Of the highways will have to do with her
For not keeping her countenance passable.
Hear. There lies a hoar-frost on her head, and yet
A constant thaw in her nose.
Shape. She's like a piece
Of firewood, dropping at one end, and yet
Burning i' th' midst.
Slicer. O that endeavouring face!
When will your costiveness have done, good madam?