SCENE II.
Rousillon. A Room in the Countess's Palace.
Enter Countess and Clown.
Count.
Come on, sir: I shall now put you to the
height of your breeding.
Clo.
I will show myself highly fed, and lowly taught.
I know my business is but to the court.
Count.
To the court! why, what place make you
-- 236 --
special, when you put off that with such contempt?
But to the court!
Clo.
Truly, madam, if God have lent a man any
manners, he may easily put it off at court: he that
cannot make a leg, put off's cap, kiss his hand, and
say nothing, has neither leg, hands, lip, nor cap; and,
indeed, such a fellow, to say precisely, were not for the
court. But, for me, I have an answer will serve all
men.
Count.
Marry, that's a bountiful answer, that fits all
questions.
Clo.
It is like a barber's chair, that fits all buttocks;
the pin-buttock, the quatch-buttock, the brawn-buttock,
or any buttock.
Count.
Will your answer serve fit to all questions?
Clo.
As fit as ten groats is for the hand of an attorney,
as your French crown for your taffata punk, as
Tib's rush for Tom's fore-finger7 note, as a pancake for Shrove-Tuesday,
a morris for May-day, as the nail to his hole,
the cuckold to his horn, as a scolding quean to a wrangling
knave, as the nun's lip to the friar's mouth; nay,
as the pudding to his skin.
Count.
Have you, I say, an answer of such fitness
for all questions?
Clo.
From below your duke, to beneath your constable,
it will fit any question.
Count.
It must be an answer of most monstrous size,
that must fit all demands.
Clo.
But a trifle neither, in good faith, if the learned
should speak truth of it. Here it is, and all that
belongs to't: ask me, if I am a courtier; it shall do
you no harm to learn.
Count.
To be young again, if we could. I will be a
-- 237 --
fool in question, hoping to be the wiser by your answer.
I pray you, sir, are you a courtier?
Clo.
O Lord, sir!—there's a simple putting off.—
More, more, a hundred of them.
Count.
Sir, I am a poor friend of yours, that loves
you.
Clo.
O Lord, sir,!—Thick, thick, spare not me.
Count.
I think, sir, you can eat none of this homely
meat.
Clo.
O Lord, sir!—Nay, put me to't, I warrant you.
Count.
You were lately whipped, sir, as I think.
Clo.
O Lord, sir!—Spare not me.
Count.
Do you cry, “O Lord, sir,” at your whipping,
and “spare not me?” Indeed, your “O Lord, sir,” is
very sequent to your whipping: you would answer very
well to a whipping, if you were but bound to't.
Clo.
I ne'er had worse luck in my life, in my—“O
Lord, sir.” I see, things may serve long, but not serve
ever.
Count.
I play the noble housewife with the time,
to entertain it so merrily with a fool.
Clo.
O Lord, sir!—why, there't serves well again.
Count.
An end, sir: to your business. Give Helen this8 note,
And urge her to a present answer back:
Commend me to my kinsmen, and my son.
This is not much.
Clo.
Not much commendation to them.
Count.
Not much employment for you: you understand
me?
Clo.
Most fruitfully: I am there before my legs.
Count.
Haste you again.
[Exeunt severally.
-- 238 --
J. Payne Collier [1842–1844], The works of William Shakespeare. The text formed from an entirely new collation of the old editions: with the various readings, notes, a life of the poet, and a history of the Early English stage. By J. Payne Collier, Esq. F.S.A. In eight volumes (Whittaker & Co. [etc.], London) [word count] [S10101].