Simple.
Sir H.
I pray you now, good master Slender's servingman,
and friend Simple by your name, which way have
you looked for master Caius, that calls himself doctor
of physic?
Simp.
Marry, sir,14Q0066 the city-ward, the park-ward note note, every
way; old Windsor way, and every way but the town way.
Sir H.
I most fehemently desire you, you will also
look note that way.
Simp.
I will, sir.
Sir H.
Pless my soul! how full of cholers I am, and
trempling of mind!—I shall be glad if he have deceiv'd
me:—how melancholies I am?—I will knog his urinals
about his knave's costard, when I have good oportunities note
for the 'ork:—Pless my soul!
To shallow rivers, to whose falls
[singing.
melodious birds sing note madrigals;
there will we make our beds of roses,
and a thousand fragrant posies.
To shallow—
Mercy on me! I have a great dispositions note to cry.
-- 43 --
melodious birds sing madrigals; note—
When as I sat in Pabylon,—
and a thousand vagram posies.
To shallow—
Simp.
Yonder he is coming, this way, sir Hugh.
Sir H.
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,
master Shallow, and another gentleman, from Frogmore,
over the stile, this way.
Sir H.
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!
Sir H.
Pless you from his mercy' sake, all of you!
Shal.
What, the sword and the word! do you study
them both, master parson?
Page.
And youthful still, in your doublet and hose,
this raw rhéumatic day!
Sir H.
There is reasons and causes for it.
Page.
We are come to you, to do a good office,
master parson.
Sir H.
Fery well; What is it?
Page.
Yonder is a most reverend gentleman, who, belike,
having received wrong by some person, is at most odds
with his own gravity, and patience, that ever you saw.
Shal.
I have lived fourscore years, and upward; I
-- 44 --
never heard a man of his place, gravity, and learning,
so wide of his own respect.
Sir H.
What is he?
Page.
I think, you know him; master doctor Caius,
the renowned French physician.
Sir H.
Got's will, and his passion o'my heart! I had
as lief you would tell me of a mess of porridge.
Page.
Why?
Sir H.
He has no more knowledge in Hibocrates,
and Galen,—and he is a knave besides; a cowardly
knave, as you would desires note to be acquainted withal.
Page.
I warrant you, [to Shal.] 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 master parson, keep in your weapon.
Shal.
So do you, good master doctor.
Host.
Disarm them, and let them question; let
them keep their limbs whole, and hack our English.
D. Cai.
I pray you, let-a me speak a vord vit your
ear; Verefore vill you not meet-a me?
Sir H.
Pray you, use your patience in good time.
D. Cai.
By gar, you are de coward, de Jack dog,
John ape.
Sir H.
Pray note you, let us not be laughing-stogs to
other men's humours; I desire you in friendship, and
I will one way or other make you amends:—I will
knog your urinals about your knave's cogs-combs note, for
missing note your meetings and appointments.
D. Cai.
Diable!—Jack Rugby,—mine host de jarteer,
-- 45 --
—have I not stay for him to kill him, have I not, at de
place I did appoint?
Sir H.
As I am a christians' 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, note French and
Welch, soul-curer and body-curer.
D. Cai.
Ay, dat is very good! excellent!
Host.
Peace, I say; hear mine host of the garter.
Am I politic? 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 pro-verbs, and the no-verbs.
—Give me thy hand, terrestrial: so: note—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!
[Exeunt Host, Page, &c.
D. Cai.
Ha! do I perceive dat? have you make-a de
sot of us? ha, ha!
Sir H.
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
scal', scurvy, cogging companion, the host of the garter.
D. Cai.
By gar, vit all my heart: he promise to
bring me vere is Anne Page; by gar, he deceive me too.
Sir H.
Well, I will smite his noddles: Pray you,
follow.
[Exeunt.
-- 46 --
Edward Capell [1767], Mr William Shakespeare his comedies, histories, and tragedies, set out by himself in quarto, or by the Players his Fellows in folio, and now faithfully republish'd from those Editions in ten Volumes octavo; with an introduction: Whereunto will be added, in some other Volumes, notes, critical and explanatory, and a Body of Various Readings entire (Printed by Dryden Leach, for J. and R. Tonson [etc.], London) [word count] [S10601].
