No keyword-matching excerpt could be extracted (the cluster label doesn't share vocabulary with this character's speech).
Full speech
Borachio. Survey my garments round, and then declare If I have hit it? What mark? thou bold Parishioner of Hell. The froward Sisters have conspired Slave! Dog Wilt thou never leave this immense folly? Can nothing serve these dull Lips but Proverbs? Is it then decreed, I must grow mad? Sa, sa, sa, A mutiny in Heaven! Alas poor fool! I pity thee. Thou wilt believe nothing But that which may be seen or understood. I say thou art and Officer. Or if thou art not Thou shalt be; which is better: for that same Which we now enjoy is in some danger To be lost: but that which we never had Cannot be lost before we have it. Beside. Look here and then rejoice, Is the Count (Whom they call my Rival ith' Dukes favour) Is he (I say) accoutered Like to me? Why his sleeves fit Like stockings on his Arms. His Breeches are Like two Clokebags, half sowde Together in the Twist: and his other Garments show Like Plasters on him. Follow. And make thy fortune fat. Dull Caitiff, leave these abortive Prouects, And talk in the newest fashion. I'll have My very Dug bark i'th' Courtly garb. The excrements and mere defects of nature, shall be reduced to Ornaments in me. I'll feed upon the tongues of Nightingales, For so each fart I let, will be a Song— A Pallas hewed in and entire Carbuncle. Encircled with a More that flows with Lhasis— At me? thou liest. They laughed at thee. Hark! thou dull Sinner. Is this real? hah? Do they adore, or flout me now? Miscreant: What suspicious follys Dost thou create within that Wolden-skull? And with what Heathen-phrase uttered? Know Dog, If I employ my wrath— G ntlemen applaud my patience: Because, He cannot furnish me with wholesome Suits, He doubts my power to get they granted. It is decreed. All offices shall be sold i'th' dark— Still, cross to my designs. I'll stretch your Sinws Dares he control my purposes? I'll mince the Villain into sand, to fill My Howerglasse— I'll make him wear it on his forehead. Not the four winds (met in March) shall cool my spleen I'll cram Cerberus, with sopps made of the slaves blood— Base stem, derived from I soap root, Our Ancestors were not so familiar. Behold, & grow more mannerly. Lay hold on me? Take off your hands; or I will toss you all Into the clouds, and kick the Mountains after you. Know you not Rogues, that I can muzle up The testify Unicorn, in a Spinners thread? A Chaos shall succeed this same. Weep not Borachio! I have prepared Such bloody art in my revenge; as makes Men's wits, more famous then their cruelty, Let horror propagate. All's too little For my use. But you Sir had the honour, To release me. That's my intent. For it were dull humanity to aim No farther then his life. I'll pursue him Even to Hell. Bold Miscreant! If I but stir— Here! Signior Cossimo! Pastes there (say you) who is't? The Butchers dog shall save him a labour. Very distinctly. Leave Forest to my charge for I am His impediment. Those were Authors of that noise, I spoke of. That's none of the Counts voice. Have at you sir; Oh Villains, Oh, Oh, Oh.
Plot summary
Plot — The Cruel Brother
As a favour to Lucio, to whom he is devoted, the Duke appoints the low-born Foreste his secretary, the first port of call for ali suitors seeking monopolies and preferment. Lucio also wants to marry Foreste’s sister, 1627 Corsa, arguing that she is ennobled by her virtue, though not her ancestry. He goes through with the marriage secretly, without the Duke’s permission; but the Duke is impressed by Corsa when they are introduced, and has her brought to court so that the marriage can be properly celebrated with masques and revels. Foreste humiliates the satirist Castruccio, but his elevation to the secretaryship prevents Castruccio from challenging him to a duel. The poet initially takes a literary revenge, but, when the Duke asks about his satires, he is too cowardly to admit that Foreste is the target. The rustic Lothario comes to court, dressing foppishly in the hope of becoming a ducal favourite. Castruccio persuades him that his lack of success is Foreste’s fault. Lothario accosts Foreste offensively and finds himself imprisoned in a tiny cell. The Duke’s real intention in bringing Corsa to court is to seduce her. He engages Foreste’s wife as an unwitting go-between, then sends Lucio away overnight on a diplomatic mission. With Castruccio’s assistance, he visits Corsa, and rapes her. Foreste learns of the rape and slits the dishonoured Corsa’s wrist; she bleeds to death. On his return, Lucio takes a more lenient view than Foreste — he places more weight on the compulsion than the sexual penetration — but both agree to take revenge on the Duke, and visit him in bed. In the end, they decide to spare him, but he has already arranged assassins to dispose of them: the job was given to Castruccio, who subcontracted it to Lothario. Lothario kills the Duke by mistake; Castruccio and his accomplice kill him, then finish the job by killing Foreste and Lucio. The conspirators are kept alive to answer questions, and then suffer a death of exemplary horribleness.