Simple.
Eva.
I pray you now, good Master Slender's Serving-man,
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.
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
Knaves Costard, when I have good opportunities for the
Orke: 'Pless my Soul: To shallow Rivers, to whose Falls melodious
Birds sings Madrigalls; There will we make our Peds of
Roses, and a thousand fragrant Posies. To shallow; 'Mercy on
me, I have a great disposition to cry. Melodious Birds sing
Madrigal—When as I sat in Pabilon; and a thousand vagram
Posies. To shallow, &c.
-- 155 --
Simp.
Yonder he is coming, this way, Sir Hugh.
Eva.
He's welcome. To shallow Rivers, to whose Falls—
Heaven 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?
Page.
And youthful still, in your Doublet and Hose, this
raw-rumatick 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.
-- 156 --
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 one
way or other make you amends: I will knog you your Urinal
about your Knave's Cogs-comb.
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, excellant.
Host.
Peace, I say; hear mine Host of the Garter.
Am I Politick? am I Subtle? am I a Machivel?
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, Celestial, so. Boys of Art, I have deceived
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?
-- 157 --
Eva.
This is well, he has made us his Vlowting-stog: I
desire you that we may be Friends; and let us knog our
Prains together, to be revenge on this same scall 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.
Charles Gildon [1709–1710], The works of Mr. William Shakespear; in six [seven] volumes. Adorn'd with Cuts. Revis'd and Corrected, with an Account of the Life and Writings of the Author. By N. Rowe ([Vol. 7] Printed for E. Curll... and E. Sanger [etc.], London) [word count] [S11401].
