SCENE II
A high road near St. Albans.
Enter sir John and Doll.
Sir John.
Come Doll, come, be merry, wench.
Farewel Kent; we are not for thee. Be lusty my lass;
come, for Lancashire: we must nip the bung for
these crowns4 note.
Doll.
Why is all the gold spent already, that you
had the other day?
Sir John.
Gone, Doll, gone; flown, spent, vanish'd.
The devil, drink, and dice, has devoured all.
Doll.
You might have left me in Kent, till you
had been better provided.
Sir John.
No, Doll, no; Kent's too hot, Doll,
Kent's too hot. The weathercock of Wrotham will
crow no longer; we have pluck'd him, he has lost
his feathers; I have prun'd him bare, left him
thrice5 note
note left after thrice plucking, would indeed
be worth nothing. I suspect that we should read—left him bare
thrice; omitting the word bare in the former clause of the sentence.
Steevens.
; he is moulted, he is moulted, wench.
Doll.
I might have gone to service again; old master
Harpool told me he would provide me a mistress.
Sir John.
Peace, Doll, peace. Come, mad wench,
I'll make thee an honest woman; we'll into Lancashire
to our friends: the troth is, I'll marry thee.
-- 348 --
We want but a little money, and money we will have,
I warrant thee. Stay; who comes here? Some Irish
villain methinks, that has slain a man, and now is
rifling of him. Stand close, Doll; we'll see the end.
Enter an Irishman with his dead master. He lays him down, and rifles him.
Irishm.
Alas poe master, sir Richard Lee; be Saint
Patrick, Ise rob and cut thy trote, for de shain6 note, and
dy mony, and dy gold ring. Be me truly, Ise love
dee well, but now dow be kill, dow be shitten knave.
S. John.
Stand, sirrah; what art thou?
Irishm.
Be Saint Patrick, mester, Ise poor Irisman;
Ise a leufter* note.
S. John.
Sirrah, sirrah, you're a damn'd rogue;
you have kill'd a man here, and rifled him of all that
he has. 'Sblood you rogue, deliver, or I'll not leave
you so much as a hair above your shoulders, you
whorson Irish dog.
[Robs him.
Irishm.
We's me! by saint Patrick, Ise kill my
mester for his shain and his ring; and now Ise be
rob of all. Me's undo.
S. John.
Avaunt, you rascal; go sirrah, be walking.
Come Doll, the devil laughs when one thief robs another.
Come wench, we'll to St. Albans, and revel
in our bower, my brave girl.
Doll.
O, thou art old sir John, when all's done,
i'faith.
[Exeunt.
Edmond Malone [1780], Supplement to the edition of Shakspeare's plays published in 1778 By Samuel Johnson and George Steevens. In two volumes. Containing additional observations by several of the former commentators: to which are subjoined the genuine poems of the same author, and seven plays that have been ascribed to him; with notes By the editor and others (Printed for C. Bathurst [and] W. Strahan [etc.], London) [word count] [S10911].
