Dog. How now! whom art thou cursing?
M. Saw. Thee!
Ha! no, it is my black cur I am cursing
For not attending on me.
Dog. I am that cur.
M. Saw. Thou liest: hence! come not nigh me.
Dog. Baw, waw!
M. Saw. Why dost thou thus appear to me in white,
As if thou wert the ghost of my dear love?
Dog. I am dogged, and list not to tell thee; yet,—to torment thee,—my whiteness puts thee in mind of thy winding-sheet.
M. Saw. Am I near death?
Dog. Yes, if the dog of hell be near thee; when the devil comes to thee as a lamb, have at thy throat!
M. Saw. Off, cur!