Cheater!
Bawd!
Cowherd!
Conjurer!
Cutpurse!
Witch!
O me!
We are ruined, lost! Have you no more regard
To your reputations? Where’s your judgment? ’Slight,
Have yet some care of me, of your republic—
Away, this brach! I’ll bring thee, rogue, within
The statute of sorcery, tricesimo tertio
Of Harry the Eighth: ay, and perhaps thy neck
Within a noose, for laundering gold and barbing it.
Snatches Face’s sword.
You’ll bring your head within a cockscomb, will you?
And you, sir, with your menstrue—
Dashes Subtle’s vial out of his hand.
Gather it up.—
’Sdeath, you abominable pair of stinkards,
Leave off your barking, and grow one again,
Or, by the light that shines, I’ll cut your throats.
I’ll not be made a prey unto the marshal,
For ne’er a snarling dog-bolt of you both.
Have you together cozened all this while,
And all the world, and shall it now be said,
You’ve made most courteous shift to cozen yourselves?
To Face.
You will accuse him! You will “bring him in
Within the statute!” Who shall take your word?
A whoreson, upstart, apocryphal Captain,
Whom not a Puritan in Blackfriars will trust
So much as for a feather:
To Subtle.
and you, too,
Will give the cause, forsooth! You will insult,
And claim a primacy in the divisions!
You must be chief! As if you only had
The powder to project with, and the work
Were not begun out of equality?
The venture tripartite? All things in common?
Without priority? ’Sdeath! You perpetual curs,
Fall to your couples again, and cozen kindly,
And heartily, and lovingly, as you should,
And lose not the beginning of a term,
Or, by this hand, I shall grow factious too,
And take my part, and quit you.
’Tis his fault;
He ever murmurs, and objects his pains,
And says, the weight of all lies upon him.
Why, so it does.
How does it? Do not we
Sustain our parts?
Yes, but they are not equal.
Why, if your part exceed today, I hope
Ours may, tomorrow match it.
Ay, they may.
May, murmuring mastiff! Ay, and do. Death on me!
Help me to throttle him.
Dorothy! Mistress Dorothy!
’Ods precious, I’ll do anything. What do you mean?
Because o’ your fermentation and cibation?
Not I, by heaven—
Your Sol and Luna
To Face.
—help me.
Would I were hanged then? I’ll conform myself.
Will you, sir? Do so then, and quickly: swear.
What should I swear?
To leave your faction, sir,
And labour kindly in the common work.
Let me not breathe if I meant aught beside.
I only used those speeches as a spur
To him.
I hope we need no spurs, sir. Do we?
’Slid, prove today, who shall shark best.
Agreed.
Yes, and work close and friendly.
’Slight, the knot
Shall grow the stronger for this breach, with me.
Why, so, my good baboons! Shall we go make
A sort of sober, scurvy, precise neighbours,
That scarce have smiled twice since the king came in,
A feast of laughter at our follies? Rascals,
Would run themselves from breath, to see me ride,
Or you t’ have but a hole to thrust your heads in,
For which you should pay ear-rent? No, agree.
And may Don Provost ride a feasting long,
In his old velvet jerkin and stained scarfs,
My noble Sovereign, and worthy General,
Ere we contribute a new crewel garter
To his most worsted worship.
Royal Dol!
Spoken like Claridiana, and thyself.
For which at supper, thou shalt sit in triumph,
And not be styled Dol Common, but Dol Proper,
Dol Singular: the longest cut at night,
Shall draw thee for his Dol Particular.
Who’s that? One rings. To the window, Dol:
—pray heaven,
The master do not trouble us this quarter.
O, fear not him. While there dies one a week
O’ the plague, he’s safe, from thinking toward London.
Beside, he’s busy at his hop-yards now;
I had a letter from him. If he do,
He’ll send such word, for airing of the house,
As you shall have sufficient time to quit it:
Though we break up a fortnight, ’tis no matter.
Who is it, Dol?
A fine young quodling.
O,
My lawyer’s clerk, I lighted on last night,
In Holborn, at the Dagger. He would have
(I told you of him) a familiar,
To rifle with at horses, and win cups.
O, let him in.
Stay. Who shall do’t?
Get you
Your robes on: I will meet him as going out.
And what shall I do?
Not be seen; away!
Seem you very reserved.
Enough.
Aloud and retiring.
God be wi’ you, sir,
I pray you let him know that I was here:
His name is Dapper. I would gladly have stayed, but—
Within. Captain, I am here.
Who’s that?—He’s come, I think, Doctor.
In truth
I am very sorry, Captain.
But I thought
Sure I should meet you.
Ay, I am very glad.
I had a scurvy writ or two to make,
And I had lent my watch last night to one
That dines today at the sheriff’s, and so was robbed
Of my past-time.
Is this the cunning-man?
This is his worship.
Is he a Doctor?
Yes.
And have you broke with him, Captain?
Ay.
And how?
Faith, he does make the matter, sir, so dainty
I know not what to say.
Not so, good Captain.
Would I were fairly rid of it, believe me.
Nay, now you grieve me, sir. Why should you wish so?
I dare assure you, I’ll not be ungrateful.
I cannot think you will, sir. But the law
Is such a thing—and then he says, Read’s matter
Falling so lately.
Read! He was an ass,
And dealt, sir, with a fool.
It was a clerk, sir.
A clerk!
Nay, hear me, sir. You know the law
Better, I think—
I should, sir, and the danger:
You
