For my departure, you may yet survive. 
Host.  It shall be done in less. 
Balth.  Away, thou lumpfish. (Exit hostess.)
Lamp.  So! now comes my turn! ’t is all over with me! 
       There’s dagger, rope, and ratsbane in his looks! 
Baith.  And now, thou sketch and outline of a man! 
       Thou thing that hast no shadow in the sun! 
       Thou eel in a consumption, eldest born
       Of Death and Famine! thou anatomy
       Of a starved pilchard! 
Lamp.  I do confess my leanness.  I am spare,
       And, therefore, spare me. 
Balth.  Why wouldst thou have made me
       A thoroughfare, for thy whole shop to pass through? 
Lamp.  Man, you know, must live. 
Balth.  Yes:  he must die, too. 
Lamp.  For my patients’ sake! 
Balth.  I’ll send you to the major part of them—­
       The window, sir, is open;-come, prepare. 
       Lamp.  Pray consider! 
       I may hurt some one in the street.

[Illustration:  Lampedo and Hostess kneeling, with hands folded, pleading with Balthazar, who is standing over them, holding a sword.  Several small glass bottles are on the table by the wall and scattered on the floor.]

Balth.  Why, then,
       I’ll rattle thee to pieces in a dicebox,
       Or grind thee in a coffee mill to powder,
       For thou must sup with Pluto:—­so, make ready! 
       Whilst I, with this good smallsword for a lancet,
       Let thy starved spirit out (for blood thou hast none),
       And nail thee to the wall, where thou shalt look
       Like a dried beetle with a pin stuck through him. 
Lamp.  Consider my poor wife. 
Balth.  Thy wife! 
Lamp.  My wife, sir. 
Balth.  Hast thou dared think of matrimony, too? 
       Thou shadow of a man, and base as lean! 
Lamp.  O spare me for her sake! 
       I have a wife, and three angelic babes,
       Who, by those looks, are well nigh fatherless. 
Balth.  Well, well! your wife and children shall plead for you. 
       Come, come; the pills! where are the pills?  Produce them. 
Lamp.  Here is the box. 
Balth.  Were it Pandora’s, and each single pill
       Had ten diseases in it, you should take them. 
Lamp.  What, all? 
Balth.  Ay, all; and quickly, too.  Come, sir, begin—­
       (Lampedo takes one.) That’s well!—­Another. 
Lamp.  One’s a dose. 
Balth.  Proceed, sir. 
Lamp.  What will become of me? 
       Let me go home, and set my shop to rights,
       And, like immortal Caesar, die with decency. 
Balth.  Away! and thank thy lucky star I have not
       Brayed thee in thine own mortar, or exposed thee
       For a large specimen of the lizard genus. 
Lamp.  Would I were one!—­for they can feed on air. 
Balth.  Home, sir! and be more honest. 
Lump.  If I am not,
       I’ll be more wise, at least.

NOTEs.—­Pluto, in ancient mythology, the god of the lower world.