Simple.
Evans.
I pray you now, good master Slender's servingman,
and friend Simple by your name, which way have
you look'd for master Caius, that calls himself
Doctor of Physick?
Simp.
Marry, Sir, the Pitty-wary, the Park-ward,
every way, old Windsor way, and every way but the
town way.
Eva.
I most fehemently desire you, you will also
look that way.
Simp.
I will, Sir.
-- 261 --
Eva.
'Pless my soul, how full of chollars I am, and
trempling of mind! I shall be glad, if he have deceiv'd
me; how melanchollies I am! I will knog his urinals
about his knave's costard, when I have good opportunities
for the orke: 'Pless my soul!
[Sings, being afraid.
By shallow rivers, to whose falls(18) note
Melodious birds sing madrigalls;
There will we make our peds of roses;
And a thousand fragrant posies.
By shallow—'Mercy on me, I have a great dispositions
to cry. Melodious birds sing madrigalls—When as
I sat in Pabilon;—and a thousand vagrant posies.—
By shallow, &c.
Simp.
Yonder he is coming, this way, Sir Hugh.
Eva.
He's welcome. By shallow rivers, to whose
falls—
Heav'n prosper the right: what weapons is he?
Simp.
No weapons, Sir; there comes my master,
Mr. Shallow, and another gentleman from Frogmore,
over the stile, this way.
Eva.
Pray you, give me my gown, or else keep it in
your arms.
Enter Page, Shallow, and Slender.
Shal.
How now, master Parson? good morrow, good
Sir Hugh. Keep a gamester from the dice, and a good
student from his book, and it is wonderful.
Slen.
Ah, sweet Anne Page!
Page.
Save you, good Sir Hugh.
Eva.
'Pless you from his mercy-sake, all of you.
Shal.
What? the sword and the word? do you study
them both, Mr. Parson?
-- 262 --
Page.
And youthful still, in your doublet and hose,
this raw-rheumatick day?
Eva.
There is reasons and causes for it.
Page.
We are come to you, to do a good office,
Mr. Parson.
Eva.
Ferry well: what is it?
Page.
Yonder is a most reverend gentleman, who,
belike, having receiv'd wrong by some person, is at
most odds with his own gravity and patience, that
ever you saw.
Shal.
I have liv'd fourscore years, and upward; I
never heard a man of his place, gravity and learning,
so wide of his own respect.
Eva.
What is he?
Page.
I think, you know him; Mr. Doctor Caius,
the renowned French physician.
Eva.
Got's will, and his passion of my heart! I had
as lief you should tell me of a mess of porridge.
Page.
Why?
Eva.
He has no more knowledge in Hibocrates and
Galen; and he is a knave, besides; a cowardly knave as
you would desire to be acquainted withal.
Page.
I warrant you, he's the man should fight with
him.
Slen.
O, sweet Anne Page!
Enter Host, Caius, and Rugby.
Shal.
It appears so, by his weapons: keep them asunder;
here comes Doctor Caius.
Page.
Nay, good Mr. Parson, keep in your weapon.
Shal.
So do you, good Mr. Doctor.
Host.
Disarm them, and let them question; let them
keep their limbs whole, and hack our English.
Caius.
I pray you, let-a me speak a word with your
ear: wherefore vill you not meet-a me?
Eva.
Pray you, use your patience in good time.
Caius.
By gar, you are de coward, de Jack dog,
John ape.
Eva.
Pray you, let us not be laughing-stocks to other
mens humours: I desire you in friendship, and will
-- 263 --
one way or other make you amends; I will knog your
urinal about your knave's cogs-comb, for missing your
meetings and appointments.
Caius.
Diable! Jack Rugby, mine Host de Jarteer,
have I not stay for him, to kill him? have I not, at
de place I did appoint?
Eva.
As I am a christian's soul, now look you, this
is the place appointed; I'll be judgment by mine Host
of the Garter.
Host.
Peace, I say, Gallia and Gaul, French and Welch,
soul-curer and body-curer.
Caius.
Ay, dat is very good, excellent.
Host.
Peace, I say; hear mine Host of the Garter.
Am I politick? am I subtle? am I a Machiavel? shall
I lose my Doctor? no; he gives me the potions and
the motions. Shall I lose my Parson? my Priest? my
Sir Hugh? no; he gives me the proverbs and the no-verbs.
Give me thy hand, terrestrial; so: Give me
thy hand, celestial; so. Boys of art, I have deceiv'd
you both: I have directed you to wrong places: your
hearts are mighty, your skins are whole, and let burn'd
sack be the Issue. Come, lay their swords to pawn.
Follow me, lad of peace, follow, follow, follow.
Shal.
Trust me, a mad host. Follow, gentlemen,
follow.
Slen.
O sweet Anne Page!
[Ex. Shal. Slen. Page and Host.
Caius.
Ha! do I perceive dat? have you make a-de-sot
of us, ha, ha?
Eva.
This is well, he has made us his vlouting-stog.
I desire you, that we may be friends; and let
us knog our prains together to be revenge on this
same scald-scurvy-cogging companion, the Host of the
Garter.
Caius.
By gar, with all my heart; he promise to
bring me where is Anne Page; by gar, he deceive me
too.
Eva.
Well, I will smite his noddles; pray you, follow.
[Exeunt.
-- 264 --
Lewis Theobald [1733], The works of Shakespeare: in seven volumes. Collated with the Oldest Copies, and Corrected; With notes, Explanatory and Critical; By Mr. Theobald (Printed for A. Bettesworth and C. Hitch [and] J. Tonson [etc.], London) [word count] [S11201].
