Enter Hoft, Shallow, Slender and Page. Hoft. 'Blefs thee, bully-doctor. Slen. Give you good morrow, Sir. Caius. Vat be all you, one, two, tree, four, come for? Hoft. To fee thee fight, to fee thee foigne, to fee thee traverse, to see thee here, to fee thee there, to fee thee pafs thy puncto, thy ftock, thy reverfe, thy dif tance, thy montant. Is he dead, my Ethiopean? Is he dead, my Francifco? ha, bully? what fays my Æfculapius? my Galen? my heart of elder? ha? is he dead, bully-ftale? is he dead? Caius. By gar, he is de coward Jack-priest of de vorld; he is not fhow his face. Hoft. Thou art a Caftalion-king-Urinal: Hector of Greece, my boy. Caius. I pray you bear witnefs, that me have ftay fix or feven, two or tree hours for him, and he is no come. Shal. He is the wifer man, Mr. Doctor; he is a curer of fouls, and you a curer of bodies; if you fhould fight, you go against the hair of your profeffions: Is it not true, mafter Page? Page. Mafter Shallow, you have yourself been a great fighter, tho' now a man of peace. Shal. Body-kins, Mr. Page, tho' I now be old, and of peace, if I fee a fword out, my finger itches to make one; tho' we are juftices, and doctors, and churchmen, Mr. Page, we have fome falt of our youth in us; we are the fons of women, Mr. Page. Page. "Tis true, Mr. Shallow. Shal. It will be found fo, Mr. Page. Mr. Doctor Caius, I am come to fetch you home: I am fworn of the peace: you have fhew'd yourfelf a wife phyfician, and Sir Hugh hath fhewn himself a wife and patient, church-man: you must go with me, Mr. Doctor. Hoft. Pardon, gueft-juftice; a word, monfieur mock water. Caius. Mock-vater? vat is dat? Hoft. Mock-water, in our English tongue, is valour, bully. Caius. By gar, then I have as much mock-vater as de Englishman, fcurvy-jack-dog-prieft; by gar, me vill cut his ears. Hoft. He will clapper-claw thee tightly, bully. Hoft. 'That is, he will make thee amends. Caius. By gar,me do look, he fhall clapper-de-claw me; for by gar, me vill have it. Hoft. And I will provoke him to't, or let him wag. Hoft. And moreover, bully: but firft, Mr. Gueft, and Mr. Page, and eke Cavaliero Slender, go you through the town to Frogmore. Page. Sir Hugh is there, is he? Hoft. He is there; fee, what humour he is in; and I will bring the doctor about the fields: will it do well? Shal. We will do it. All. Adieu, good Mr. Doctor. [Exe. Page, Shal, and Slen. Caius. By gar, me vill kill de prieft; for he speak for a jack-an-ape to Ann Page. Hoft. Let him die; but, firft, fheath thy impatience; throw cold water on thy choler; go about the fields with me through Frogmore; I will bring thee where Mistress Ann Page is, at a farm-houfe a feafting; and thou shalt woo her. (17) Try'd game, faid I well? Caius. By gar, me tank you vor dat: by gar, I love you; and I fhall procure 'a you de good gueft; de Earl, de Knight, de Lords, de Gentlemen, my patients. (17) And thou shalt woo her. Cride-Game.] Thus the old folios. The quartos with a little difference. And thou hatt wear ber cry'd game. Said I well? Neither of the readings furnish any idea; nor can be genuine. Try'd game, as I have reftor'd it, may well fignify; Thou old cock of the game; thou experienced finner: and might be reafonably applied to Caius, who was an old bachelor, and had dame Quickly for his housekeeper. Hoft Hoft. For the which I will be thy adversary toward Ann Page: faid I well? Caius. By gar, 'tis good; vell faid. Hoft. Let us wag then. Caius. Come at my heels, Jack Rugby. [Exeunt. SCENE, Frogmore near Windfor. Enter Evans and Simple. EVANS. Pray you now, good mafter Slender's fervingman, and friend Simple by your name, which way have you look'd for Mafter Caius, that calls himself Doctor of Phyfic? Simp. Marry, Sir, the Pitty wary, the Park-ward, every way, old Windfor way, and every way but the town way. Eva. I moft fehemently defire you, you will alfo look that way. Simp. I will, Sir. Eva. 'Plefs my foul, how full of collars I am, and trempling of mind! I fhall be glad, if he have deceiv'd me, how melanchollies I am! I will knog his urinals about his knave's coftard, when I have good opportuties for the orke: 'Plefs my foul! [Sings, being afraid. By fhallow rivers, to whofe falls (18) Melodious birds fing madrigalls; (18) By ballow rivers,] The ftanza, which Sir Hugh repeats here, is part of a sweet little fonnet of our Author's, and printed among. his poems, called, The Paffionate Shepherd to his Love. MILTON was fo enamour'd with this poem, and the Nymph's reply to it, that he has borrow'd the clofe of his L'Allegro, and Il Penferofo from them—I don't know, whether it has been generally obferv'd, but it is with wonderful humour, in his finging, that Sir Hugh intermixes with his madrigal the first line of the 137th finging pfalm. The There will we make our peds of rofes ; By ballow tions to cry. 'Mercy on me, I have a great difpofiMelodious birds fing madrigalls— When as I fat in Pabilon; and a thousand vagrant pofes. By fhallow, &c. Simp. Yonder he is coming, this way, Sir Hugh. Eva. He's welcome. By shallow rivers, to whofe falls Heav'n profper the right what weapons is he? Simp. No weapons, Sir; there comes my mafter, Mr. Shallow, and another Gentleman from Frogmore, over the ftile, this way. Eva. Pray you, give me my gown, or elfe keep it in your arms. Enter Page, Shallow, and Slender. Shal. How now, mafter Parfon ? good morrow, good Sir Hugh. Keep a gamefter from the dice, and a good ftudent from his book, and it is wonderful. Slen. Ah, fweet Ann Page Page. Save you, good Sir Hugh. Eva. 'Plefs you from his mercy fake, all of you. them both, Mr. Parfon ? Page. And youthful ftill, in your doublet and hofe, this raw-rheumatick day? Eva. There is reafons and caufes for it. Page. We are come to you, to do a good office, Mr. Parfon. Eva. Ferry well: what is it? Page. Yonder is a moft reverend Gentleman, who, belike, having receiv'd wrong by fome perfon, is at most odds with his own gravity and patience, that ever you faw. Shal. I have liv'd fourfcore years and upward; I never heard a man of his place, gravity and learning, fo wide of his own refpect. Eva. What is he? Pages Page. I think, you know him; Mr. Doctor Caius, the renowned French phyfician. Eva. Got's will, and his paffion of my heart! I had as lief you should tell me of a mefs of porridge. Page. Why? Eva. He has no more knowledge in Hibocrates and Galen; and he is a knave, befides; a cowardly knave as you would defire to be acquainted withal. Page. I warrant you, he's the man should fight with him. Slen. O, fweet Ann Page! Enter Hoft, Caius, and Rugby. Shal. It appears fo, by his weapons: keep them afunder; here comes Dr. Caius. Page. Nay, good Mr. Parfon, keep in your weapon. Shal. So do you, good Mr. Doctor. Hoft. Difarm 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, ufe 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-ftocks to other mens humours: I defire you in friendship, and will one way or other make you amends; I will knog your urinal about your knave's cogs-comb, for miffing your meetings and appointments. Caius. Diable! Jack Rugby, mine Hoft de Farterre, have I not ftay for him, to kill him? have I not, at de place I did appoint? Eva. As I am a christian's foul, now look you, this is the place appointed; I'll be judgment by mine Hoft of the Garter. Hoft. Peace, I fay, Gallia and Gaul, French and Welch foul-curer and body-curer. Caius. Ay, dat is very good, excellent. Hoft. Peace, I fay; hear mine Hoft of the Garter. Am I politic? am I fubtle? am I a Machiavel? fhall |