MEN. He can see to swear, methinks.
VIS. If I but once lay hands upon the slave,
That thus hath robb'd me of my dearest jewel,
I'll rend the miscreant to a thousand pieces,
And gnash his trembling members 'twixt my teeth,
Drinking his live-warm blood to satisfy
The boiling thirst of pain and furiousness,
That thus exasperates great Polypheme.
MEN. Pray thee, Appetitus, see how he grasps for that he would be loth to find.
APP. What's that? a stumblingblock?
VIS. These hands, that whilom tore up sturdy oaks,
And rent the rock that dash'd out Acis' brains,
Bath'd[303] in the stole bliss of my Galatea,
Serve now (O misery!) to no better use,
But for bad guides to my unskilful feet,
Never accustom'd thus to be directed.
MEN. As I am a rogue, he wants nothing but a wheel to make him the true picture of fortune; how say'st? what, shall we play at blind-man's-buff with him?
APP. Ay, if thou wilt; but first I'll try whether he can see?
VIS. Find me out Outis, search the rocks and woods,
The hills and dales, and all the coasts adjoining,
That I may have him, and revenge my wrong.
APP. Visus, methinks your eyes are well enough.
VIS. What's he that calls me Visus? dost not know—