Why, then the world's mine oyster, which I with sword will open. Your brother- no, no brother; yet the son- Yet not the son; I will not call him son Of him I was about to call his father- Hath heard your praises; and this night he means To burn the lodging where you use to lie, And you within it. Invest me in my motley; give me leave To speak my mind, and I will through and through Cleanse the foul body of th' infected world, If they will patiently receive my medicine. Now in respect it is in the fields, it pleaseth me well; but in respect it is not in the court, it is tedious. And they are often tarr'd over with the surgery of our sheep; and would you have us kiss tar? The courtier's hands are perfum'd with civet. But doth he know that I am in this forest, and in man's apparel? Looks he as freshly as he did the day he wrestled?