Ant. S. What’s her name?
Dro.S. Nell, sir; but her name and three-quarters, that’s
an ell and three-quarters, will not measure her from
hip to hip.
Ant. S. Then she bears some breadth?
Dro.S. No longer from head to foot than from hip to hip;
she is spherical like a globe,—I could find out
countries on her.
Ant. S. In what part of her body stands Ireland?
Dro.S. Marry, sir, in her buttocks; I found it out by the
bogs.
Ant. S. Where’s Scotland?
Dro.S. I found it by the barrenness; hard, in the palm of
the hand.
Ant. S. Where’s France?
Dro.S. In her forehead; arm’d and reverted, making war
against her heir.
Ant. S. Where’s England?
Dro.S. I looked for the chalky cliffs, but I could find no
whiteness in them; but I guess it stood in her chin,
by the salt rheum that ran between France and it.
Ant. S. Where’s Spain?
Dro.S. Faith, I saw it not; but I felt it hot in her breath.
Ant. S. Where’s America, the Indies?
Dro.S. O, sir, upon her nose,—all o’er embellished with
rubies, carbuncles, saphires, declining their rich
aspect to the hot breath of Spain, who sent whole
armadoes of carracks to be ballast at her nose.
Ant. S. Where stood Belgia, the Netherlands?
Dro.S. O, sir, I did not look so low. * * *
Comedy of Errors, Act III., Sc. II.
Feed where thou wilt, on mountain or in dale:
Graze on my lips; and if those hills be dry,
Stray lower, where the pleasant fountains lie.
Within this limit is relief enough,
Sweet bottom-grass, and high delightful plain,
Round rising hillocks, brakes obscure and rough,
To shelter thee from tempest and from rain:
Then be my deer, since I am such a park;
No dog shall rouse thee, though a thousand bark.
Venus and Adonis.