Bull-calf.
Shal.
Come on, come on, come on; give me
your hand, Sir; an early stirrer, 8 noteby the 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?
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 Doit of Staffordshire, and black George
Bare, and Francis Pickbone, and Will Squele a Cotswold
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.
-- 293 --
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 Sampson Stockfish, a fruiterer, behind
Gray's-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 9 noteclapt in the clowt at twelve score, and
carried you a fore-hand shaft a 1 notefourteen and fourteen
and a half, that it would have done a man's heart good
to see.—How a score of ewes now?
Sil.
Thereafter as they be. A score of good ewes
may be worth ten pounds.
Shal.
And is old Double dead?
Samuel Johnson [1765], The plays of William Shakespeare, in eight volumes, with the corrections and illustrations of Various Commentators; To which are added notes by Sam. Johnson (Printed for J. and R. Tonson [and] C. Corbet [etc.], London) [word count] [S11001].
