Act III, scene viii
Enter Putresco and Harris.
My friend, in honour let me shake thy hand
As wreaker of an eightyfold ambition
That hatchèd did my nether brane of yore
My anger to allay. It recked me much
That Schiller did yet thrive. Now thanks to you
His madness grins apace.
                                      As I am one
That knows his trade of usefulness to men
Thus was I.
                Bravely said, gigantic wight
Thy name will echo eightyfold abune
But see! I have not done this thing for nought
Nor less!
                No whit – thy crime's reward below,
Your deed is but its own reward.
                                      No whit
The three parts we have gained, but two are yours.
I crave the third, although its name is not
Such as might linger on th'inebriate's tongue
Or any other wights' of my acquaint.
Knave! Thou call'st me BUN
                                      Aye! Bun thou art,
And I should crave the third. Cudgels I shun
Aye, swords of ilk! Mere toys, a child's delight!
Child, you say! Then you shall feel this blade,
And it you!
                           But Putresc now is caught
'Twixt Schiller and Carybdis (tedious saw!)
For how, if not by might alone, did I
Come here? 'Twas not by bus or foot, indeed
But by the very pogo-stick of him
Whose blessing once I sought, in seeking out.

Next scene