Came there a certain lord, neat, trimly dress’d,
Fresh as a bridegroom; and his chin, new reap’d,
Show’d like a stubble-land at harvest-home.
He was perfuméd like a milliner,
And ’twixt his finger and his thumb he held
A pouncet-box, which ever and anon
He gave his nose and took ’t away again;
Who, therewith angry, when it next came there,
Took it in snuff: and still he smil’d and talk’d,
And as the soldiers bore dead bodies by,