Without the which I am not to be won,
You shall this twelvemonth term from day to day
Visit the speechless sick, and still converse
840 With groaning wretches; and your task shall be,
With all the fierce endeavour of your wit
To enforce the pained impotent to smile.
Biron. To move wild laughter in the throat of death?
It cannot be; it is impossible:
845 Mirth cannot move a soul in agony.
Ros. Why, that’s the way to choke a gibing spirit,