Silence, Justices.
Shallow.
Come on, come on, come on; give me your
hand, Sir; an early stirrer, by the‡ note rood. And
how doth my good cousin Silence?
Sil.
Good-morrow, good cousin Shallow.
Shal.
And how doth my cousin, your bed-fellow?
and your fairest daughter, and mine, my god-daughter
Ellen?
Sil.
Alas, a black ouzel, cousin Shallow.
Shal.
By yea and nay, Sir; I dare say my cousin
William is become a good scholar: he is at Oxford still;
is he not?
-- 34 --
Sil.
Indeed, Sir, to my cost.
Shal.
He must then to the inns of court, shortly: I
was once of Clement's-inn; where, I think, they will
talk of mad Shallow yet.
Sil.
You were call'd lusty Shallow then, cousin.
Shal.
I was call'd any thing, and I would have done
any thing, indeed, too; and roundly too. There was I,
and little John Dott of Staffordshire, and black George
Bure, and Francis Pickbone, and Will. Squeele, a Cot'swold
man, you had not four such swinge-bucklers in all the
inns of court again; and I may say to you, we knew
where the Bona-Roba's were, and had the best of them
all at commandment. Then was Jack Falstaff (now
Sir John) a boy and page to Thomas Mowbray, duke of
Norfolk.
Sil.
This Sir John, cousin, that comes hither anon,
about soldiers?
Shal.
The same Sir John, the very same: I saw him
break Schoggan's head, at the court gate, when he was a
crack, not thus high; and the very same day I did fight
with one Samson Stockfish, a fruiterer, behind Grays-inn.
O the mad days that I have spent! and to see how many
of mine old acquaintance are dead!
Sil.
We shall all follow, cousin.
Shal.
Certain, 'tis certain, very sure, very sure; death
(as the Psalmist saith) is certain to all; all shall die. How
a good yoke of bullocks, at Stamford fair?
Sil.
Truly, cousin, I was not there.
Shal.
Death is certain. Is old Double of your town
living yet?
Sil.
Dead, Sir.
Shal.
Dead! see, see—he drew a good bow: and
dead? he shot a fine shoot. John of Gaunt loved him
well, and betted much money on his head. Dead! he
would have clapt in the clowt at twelve score* note, and
carried you a forehand shaft a fourteen and fourteen and
a half, that it would have a man's heart good to see.
How a score of ewes, now?† note
-- 35 --
Sil.
Thereafter as they be: a score of good ewes may
be worth ten pounds.
Shal.
And is old Double dead?
John Bell [1774], Bell's Edition of Shakespeare's Plays, As they are now performed at the Theatres Royal in London; Regulated from the Prompt Books of each House By Permission; with Notes Critical and Illustrative; By the Authors of the Dramatic Censor (Printed for John Bell... and C. Etherington [etc.], York) [word count] [S10401].
