But with hot burning nutshells they singe off his hairs.
Was there ever man that lived in such misery?
Well, I will go in—with a heavy and pensive heart, too,
To think how Pithias, this poor gentleman, to-morrow shall die.
[Exit.
Here entereth Jack and Will.
Jack. Well, by mine honesty, I will mar your monkey’s[87] face, if you so fondly prate.
Will. Jack, by my troth, seeing you are without the court-gate,
If you play Jack-napes, in mocking my master and despising my face,
Even here with a pantable[88] I will you disgrace;