Sir, I am sure you have heard of my painting:
My name's Bazardo.
Hieronimo.
Bazardo! 'fore God, an excellent fellow. Look you, sir,
Do you see? I'd have you paint me my gallery,
In your oil-colours matted, and draw me five
Years younger than I am: do you see, sir? let five
Years go: let them go like the marshal of Spain,
My wife Isabella standing by me,
With a speaking look to my son Horatio,
Which should intend to this, or some such like purpose:
God bless thee, my sweet son; and my hand leaning upon his head thus.
Sir; do you see? may it be done?
Painter.
Very well, sir.
Hieronimo.
Nay, I pray, mark me, sir:
Then, sir, would I have you paint me this tree,
This very tree. Canst paint a doleful cry?
Painter.
Seemingly, sir.