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HERCULIO: ’Tis neither malice, spite, nor virtue
Whose ledger swells, or plucks, the seedy fruits of progress —
But mainly accident.
Lest thy with surety know aught else —
Withhold thy assignations.
TRIAGO: Pish upon thee, nuncle. Pish!
Dost thou mean to say
Things peel this way
Through doughty misadventure?
HERCULIO: Peradventure —
TRIAGO: Pish abeam!
Has thou no more to say than that?
Wouldst thou on this shaky surmise
Withhold rebuke?
HERCULIO: Perchance, percase, mayhap dear Triago
’Twas but a fluke?

—Büchstein, Die Schweizer Heulsuse