 | Every Man in his Humour |  |
Act III, Scene iv
[Enter] KITELY [and] COBKITELY
Ha? How many are there, sayest thou?
COB
Marry, sir, your brother, Master Wellbred--
KITELY
Tut, beside him: what strangers are there, man?
COB
Strangers? Let me see, one, two: mass, I know not well, there are so many.
KITELY
How? So many?
COB
Aye, there's some five, or six of them, at most.
KITELY
[Aside]
Spite of the devil, how they sting my head
With forkèd stings, thus wide and large!
How long hast thou been coming hither, Cob?
COB
A little while, sir.
KITELY
Didst thou come running?
COB
No, sir.
KITELY
Nay, then I am familiar with thy haste!
[Aside]I, that before was ranked in such content,
My mind at rest too, in so soft a peace,
Being free master of mine own free thoughts,
And now become a slave? What? Never sigh,
Be of good cheer, man: for thou art a cuckold,
'Tis done, 'tis done! Nay, when such flowing store,
Plenty itself, falls in my wife's lap,
The cornu-copiae will be mine, I know. But, Cob,
What entertainment had they? I am sure
My sister, and my wife, would bid them welcome! Ha?
COB
Like enough, sir, yet I heard not a word of it.
KITELY
No: their lips were sealed with kisses, and the voice
Drowned in a flood of joy, at their arrival,
Had lost her motion, state, and faculty.
Cob, which of them was't, that first kissed my wife?
My sister, I should say; my wife, alas,
I fear not her: ha? Who was it, say'st thou?
COB
By my troth, sir, will you have the truth of it?
Oh aye, good Cob: I pray thee, heartily.
COB
Then, I am a vagabond, and fitter for Bridewell than your worship's company, if I saw anybody to be kissed, unless they would have kissed the post in the middle of the warehouse; for there I left them all, at their tobacco, with a pox.
KITELY
How? Were they not gone in, then, ere thou cam'st?
COB
Oh, no, sir.
KITELY
Spite of the devil! What do I stay here, then? Cob, follow me.
[Exit]
COB
Nay, soft and fair, I have eggs on the spit: I cannot go yet, sir. Now am I for some five and fifty reasons hammering, hammering revenge; oh, for three or four gallons of vinegar, to sharpen my wits. Revenge; vinegar revenge; vinegar and mustard revenge; nay, an' he had not lyen in my house, 'twould never have grieved me, but being my guest, one that I'll be sworn my wife has lent him her smock off her back, while his one shirt has been at washing; pawned her neckerchers for clean bands for him; sold almost all my platters, to buy him tobacco; and he to turn monster of ingratitude, and strike his lawful host! Well, I hope to raise up an host of fury for't: here comes Justice Clement.
[Enter] CLEMENT,KNOWELL [and] FORMAL
CLEMENT
What, 's Master Kitely gone? Roger?
FORMAL
Aye, sir.
CLEMENT
'Heart o' me! What made him leave us so abruptly? How now, sirrah? What make you here? What would you have, ha?
COB
An't please your worship, I am a poor neighbour of your worship's--
CLEMENT
A poor neighbour of mine? Why, speak, poor neighbour.
COB
I dwell, sir, at the sign of the Water-tankard, hard by the Green Lattice: I have paid scot and lot there, any time this eighteen years.
CLEMENT
To the Green Lattice?
COB
No, sir, to the parish: marry, I have seldom scaped scot-free, at the Lattice.
CLEMENT
Oh, well! What business has my poor neighbour with me?
COB
An't like your worship, I am come to crave the peace of your worship.
CLEMENT
Of me, knave? Peace of me, knave? Did I e'er hurt thee? Or threaten thee? Or wrong thee? Ha?
COB
No, sir, but your worship's warrant, for one that has wronged me, sir: his arms are at too much liberty, I would fain have them bound to a treaty of peace, an' my credit could compass it with your worship.
CLEMENT
Thou goest far enough about for't, I'm sure.
Why, dost thou go in danger of thy life for him, friend?
COB
No sir; but I go in danger of my death, every hour, by his means: an' I die within a twelve-month and a day, I may swear, by the law of the land, that he killed me.
CLEMENT
How? How knave? Swear he killed thee? And by the law? What pretence? What colour hast thou for that?
COB
Marry, an't please your worship, both black and blue: colour enough, I warrant you. I have it here, to show your worship.
CLEMENT
What is he that gave you this, sirrah?
COB
A gentleman, and a soldier, he says he is, o' the city here.
CLEMENT
A soldier o' the city? What call you him?
COB
Captain Bobadill.
CLEMENT
Bobadill? And why did he bob and beat you, sirrah? How began the quarrel betwixt you: ha? Speak truly, knave, I advise you.
COB
Marry, indeed, an' please your worship, only because I spake against their vagrant tobacco, as I came by 'em, when they were taking on't; for nothing else.
CLEMENT
Ha? You speak against tobacco? Formal, his name.
FORMAL
What's your name, sirrah?
COB
Oliver, sir, Oliver Cob, sir.
CLEMENT
Tell Oliver Cob, he shall go to the jail, Formal.
FORMAL
Oliver Cob, my master, Justice Clement, says, you shall go to the jail.
COB
Oh, I beseech your worship, for God's sake, dear Master Justice.
CLEMENT
Nay, God's precious: an' such drunkards, and tankards, as you are, come to dispute of tobacco once--I have done! Away with him.
COB
Oh, good Master Justice, sweet old gentleman.
KNOWELL
Sweet Oliver, would I could do thee any good: Justice Clement, let me entreat you, sir.
CLEMENT
What? A threadbare rascal! A beggar! A slave that never drunk out of better than piss-pot metal in his life! And he to deprave and abuse the virtue of an herb so generally received in the courts of princes, the chambers of nobles, the bowers of sweet ladies, the cabins of soldiers! Roger, away with him, by God's precious--I say, go to.
COB
Dear Master Justice: let me be beaten again, I have deserved it; but not the prison, I beseech you.
KNOWELL
Alas, poor Oliver!
CLEMENT
Roger, make him a warrant--he shall not go--I but fear the knave.
FORMAL
Do not stink, sweet Oliver, you shall not go, my master will give you a warrant.
COB
Oh, the Lord maintain his worship, his worthy worship.
CLEMENT
Away, dispatch him. [Exeunt FORMAL and COB] How now, Master Knowell! In dumps? In dumps? Come, this becomes not.
KNOWELL
Sir, would I could not feel my cares--
Your cares are nothing! They are like my cap, soon put on, and as soon put off. What? Your son is old enough to govern himself: let him run his course, it's the only way to make him a staid man. If he were an unthrift, a ruffian, a drunkard, or a licentious liver, then you had reason: you had reason to take care; but, being none of these, mirth's my witness, an' I had twice so many cares as you have, I'd drown them all in a cup of sack. Come, come, let's try it; I muse your parcel of a soldier returns not all this while.
[Exeunt]
| Every Man in his Humour | |