Hieronimo.
Nay, it should cry; but all is one. Well, sir,
Paint me a youth run through and through
With villains' swords, and hanging upon this tree—
Canst thou draw a murd'rer?
Painter.
I'll warrant you, sir;
I have the pattern of the most notorious villains
That ever liv'd in all Spain.
Hieronimo.
O, let them be worse, worse: stretch thine art;
And let their beards be of Judas his own colour,[226]
And let their eyebrows jutty over: in any case observe that;
Then, sir, after some violent noise,
Bring me forth in my shirt, and my gown under mine arm,
With my torch in my hand, and my sword rear'd up thus:
And with these words:
What noise is this? who calls Hieronimo?
May it be done?
Painter.
Yes, sir.
Hieronimo.