Now I pray to Jupiter, that thou die a cuckold!
I mean a sallet, with which men do fight.
MULCIBER.
It is a small tasting of a man's might,
That he should for any matter
Fight with a few herbs in a platter:
No great laud should follow that victory.
THERSITES.
God's passion, Mulciber, where is thy wit and memory?
I would have a sallet made of steel.
MULCIBER.
Why, sir, in your stomach long you shall it feel,
For steel is hard for to digest.
THERSITES.
Man's bones and sides, he is worse than a beast!
I would have a sallet to wear on my head,
Which under my chin with a thong red
Buckled shall be:
Dost thou yet perceive me?