LADY WISHFORT. Offence! as I'm a person, I'm ashamed of you—foh! how you stink of wine! D'ye think my niece will ever endure such a borachio! you're an absolute borachio.
Meer. Yes, / But by my way of dressing, you must know, sir, / And med'cining the leather to a height / Of improved ware, like your borachio / Of Spain, sir, I can fetch nine thousand for't.