an eminent fellow?

BOSOLA. I will teach a trick to know it: give out you lie a-dying,
and if you hear the common people curse you, be sure you are taken
for one of the prime night-caps.<32>
[Enter an Old Lady]
You come from painting now.

OLD LADY. From what?

BOSOLA. Why, from your scurvy face-physic. To behold thee not
painted inclines somewhat near a miracle. These in thy face here
were deep ruts and foul sloughs the last progress.<33> There was
a lady in France that, having had the small-pox, flayed the skin off
her face to make it more level; and whereas before she looked
like a nutmeg-grater, after she resembled an abortive hedge-hog.

OLD LADY. Do you call this painting?

BOSOLA. No, no, but you call [it] careening<34> of an old
morphewed<35> lady, to make her disembogue<36> again:
there 's rough-cast phrase to your plastic.<37>

OLD LADY. It seems you are well acquainted with my closet.

BOSOLA. One would suspect it for a shop of witchcraft, to find in it
the fat of serpents, spawn of snakes, Jews' spittle, and their young
children's ordure; and all these for the face. I would sooner eat
a dead pigeon taken from the soles of the feet of one sick of the
plague, than kiss one of you fasting. Here are two of you, whose sin