unbreeched

No , in good earnest .
How sometimes nature will betray its folly ,
Its tenderness , and make itself a pastime
To harder bosoms ! Looking on the lines
Of my boy’s face , methoughts I did recoil
Twenty-three years , and saw myself unbreeched ,
In my green velvet coat , my dagger muzzled
Lest it should bite its master and so prove ,
As ornaments oft do , too dangerous .
How like , methought , I then was to this kernel ,
This squash , this gentleman . — Mine honest friend ,
Will you take eggs for money ?