Grim. It may be wholesome, but it is vengeance sour.
Jack. It scours the better. Sir boy, give me my razor.
Will. Here at hand, sir.
Grim. God’s arms! ’tis a chopping knife, ’tis no razor.
Jack. It is a razor, and that a very good one;
It came lately from Palermo,[124] it cost me twenty crowns alone.
Your eyes dazzle after your washing, these spectacles put on:
Now view this razor, tell me, is it not a good one?
Grim. They be gay barnacles, yet I see never the better.
Jack. Indeed they be a young sight, and that is the matter;