By pestle and mortar.

DIO. Hemlock, do you mean?

HER. Just so.

DIO. No, that's too deathly cold a way;
You have hardly started ere your shins get numbed.

HER. Well, would you like a steep and swift descent?

DIO. Aye, that's the style: my walking powers are small.

HER. Go down to the Cerameicus.

DIO. And do what?

HER. Climb to the tower's top pinnacle--

DIO. And then?

HER. Observe the torch-race started, and when all
The multitude is shouting _Let them go_,
Let yourself go.

DIO. Go whither?

HER. To the ground.

DIO. O that would break my brain's two envelopes. I'll not try that