Puslapio vaizdai
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Clown. Why, very well then; I hope here be Truths. Ang. This will last out a Night in Rufka, When Nights are longeft there. I'll take my Leave, And leave you to the hearing of the Cause, Hoping you'll find good Caufe to whip them all.

[Exit. Efcal. I think no lefs. Good-morrow to your Lordship. Now, Sir, come on: What was done to Elbow's Wife, once

more?

my

Clown. Once, Sir? There was nothing done to her once. Elb. I befeech you, Sir, ask him what this Man did to Wife.

Clown. I befeech your Honour ask me.

Efcal. Well, Sir, what did this Gentleman to her? Clown. I befeech you,Sir, look in this Gentleman's Face; good Master Froth, look upon his Honour; 'tis for a good Purpofe; doth your Honour mark his Face?

Efcal. Ay, Sir, very well.

Clown. Nay, I beseech you mark it well.
Efcal. Well, I do fo.

Clown. Doth your Honour fee any Harm in his Face?
Efcal. Why, no.

Clown. I'll be fuppos'd upon a Book, his Face is the worst thing about him: Good then; if his Face be the worft thing about him, how could Mafter Froth do the Conftable's Wife any harm? I would know that of your Honour.

Efcal. He's in the right, Conftable, what fay you to it? Elb. First, and it like you, the Houfe is a refpected Houfe; next, this is a refpected Fellow; and his Miftrefs is a refpected Woman.

Clown. By this Hand, Sir, his Wife is a more refpected Perfon than any of us all.

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Elb. Varlet, thou lieft; thou lieft, wicked Varlet; time is yet to come, that he was ever refpe&ted with Man, Woman, or Child.

Clown. Sir, fhe was respected with him before he marry'd

with her.

Efcal. Which is the wifer here; Justice, or Iniquity? Is

this true?

Elb. O thou Caitiff! O thou Varlet! O thou wicked Hannibal! I refpected with her, before I was marry'd to her? If ever I was refpected with her, or fhe with me, let not

your

your Worship think me the poor Duke's Officer; prove this, thou wicked Hannibal, or I'll have mine Action of Battery on thee.

Efcal. If he took you a Box o'th' Ear, you might have your Action of Slander too.

Elb. Marry I thank your good Worship for it: What is't your Worship's Pleasure I fhall do with this wicked Caitiff?

Efcal. Truly, Officer, because he hath fome Offences in him, that thou wouldst discover, if thou couldft, let him continue in his Courses, 'till thou know'ft what they are.

Elb. Marry, I thank your Worship for it; thou feeft, thou wicked Varlet now, what's come upon thee. Thou art to continue,

Efcal. Where were you born, Friend?

Froth. Here in Vienna, Sir.

Efcal. Are you of fourfcore Pounds a Year?

Froth. Yes, and't please you, Sir.

[To Froth.

Efcal. So. What Trade are you of, Sir? [To the Clown. Clown. A Tapfter, a poor Widow's Tapfter.

Efcal. Your Mistress Name?

Clown. Miftrefs Over-don.

Efcal. Hath fhe had any more than one Husband?
Clown. Nine, Sir: Over don by the laft.

Efcal. Nine? Come hither to me, Mafter Froth; Mafter Froth, I would not have you acquainted with Tapfters; they will draw you, Mafter Froth, and you will hang them. Get you gone, and let me hear no more of you.

Froth. I thank your Worship; for mine own Part, I never come into any Room in a Taphoufe, but I am drawn

in.

Efcal. Well; no more of it Mafter Froth; farewel.

[Exit Froth. Come you hither to me, Master Tapfter; what's your Name, Mafter Tapfter?

Clown. Pompey.
Efcal. What else?

Clown. Bum, Sir.

Efcal. Troth, and your Bum is the greatest thing about you, fo that in the beaftlieft Senfe, you are Pompey the great; Pompey, you are partly a Bawd, Pompey; how fo

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ever

ever you colour it being a Tapfter; are you not? come, tell me true, it shall be the better for you.

Clown. Truly, Sir, I am a poor Fellow that would live. Efcal. How would you live, Pompey? by being a Bawd? what do you think of the Trade, Pompey? is it a lawful Trade?

Clown. If the Law will allow it, Sir.

Efcal. But the Law will not allow it, Pompey, nor it shall not be allowed in Vienna.

Clown. Does your Worship mean to geld and splay all the Youth in the City?

Efcal. No, Pompey.

Clown. Truly, Sir, in my poor Opinion, they will to't then. If your Worship will take order for the Drabs and Knaves, you need not to fear the Bawds.

Efcal. There are pretty Orders beginning, I can tell It is but heading and hanging.

you:

Clown. If you head and hang all that offend that way but for ten Years together, you'll be glad to give out a Commiffion for more Heads: If this Law hold in Vienna ten Years, I'll rent the fairest Houfe in it after three Pence a Bay: If you live to fee this come to pafs, fay, Pompey told

you fo.

Efcal. Thank you, good Pompey; and in Requital of your Prophecy, hark you; I advife you let me not find you before me again upon any Complaint whatsoever; no, not for dwelling where you do: If I do, Pompey, I fhall beat you to your Tent, and prove a fhrewd Cafar to you: In plain Dealing, I will have you whipt: So for this time, Pompey, fare you well.

Clown. I thank your Worship for your good Counfel; but I fhall follow it as the Flesh and Fortune fhall better determine. Whip me? no, no; let Carman whip his Jade. The valiant Heart's not whipt out of his Trade. [Exit.

Efcal. Come hither to me, Mafter Elbow; come hither, Mafter Conftable; how long have you been in this Place of Conftable?

Elb. Se en Year and a half, Sir.

Efcal. I thought, by the readiness in the Office, you had continued in it fome time: You fay, feven Years toge

ther.

Elb.

Elb. And a half, Sir.

Efcal. Alas! it hath been great Pains to you; they do you Wrong to put you so oft upon't: Are there not Men in your Ward fufficient to ferve it?

Elb. Faith, Sir, few of any Wit in fuch Matters; as they are chosen they are glad to chufe me for them: I do it for fome piece of Mony, and go through with all.

Efcal. Look you, bring me in the Names of fome fix or feven, the most fufficient of your Parish.

Elb. To your Worship's Houfe, Sir?

Efcal. To my Houfe; fare you well. What's a Clock, think you?

Juft. Eleven, Sir.

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[Exit Elbow.

Efcal. I pray you go home to Dinner with me.

Just. I humbly thank you.

Efcal. It grieves me for the Death of Claudio:

But there's no Remedy,

Juft. Lord Angelo is fevere.

Efcal. It is but needful,

Mercy is not it felf, that oft looks fo;
Pardon is ftill the Nurfe of fecond Woe:
But yet, poor Claudio, there is no Remedy.
Come, Sir.

SCENE

[Exeunt.

II.

Enter Provoft, and a Servant.

Serv. He's hearing of a Caufe; he will come ftraight:

I'll tell him of you.

Prov. Pray you do; I'll know

His Pleafure; may be he will relent; alas!

He hath but as offended in a Dream:

All Sects, all Ages fmack of this Vice, and he

To die for't!

Enter Angelo.

Ang. Now, what's the Matter, Provost?

Prov. Is it your Will Claudio fhall die to morrow? Ang. Did not I tell thee yea? hadft thou not Order? Why doft thou ask again?

Prov. Left I might be too rafh.

Under your good Correction, I have feen

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When

When after Execution, Judgment hath
Repented o'er his Doom.

Ang. Go to; let that be mine;

Do you your Office, or give up your Place,
And you fhall well be fpar'd.

Prov. I crave your Honour's

Pardon.

What shall be done, Sir, with the groaning Juliet?
She's very near her Hour.

Ang. Difpofe of her

To fome more fitter Place, and that with speed:
Ser. Here is the Sifter of the Man condemn'd,
Defires Access to you.

Ang. Hath he a Sifter?

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Prov. Ay, my good Lord, a very virtuous Maid, And to be fhortly of a Sifter-hood,

If not already.

Ang. Well; let her be admitted.

See you the Fornicatrefs be remov'd;

Let her have needful, but not lavish Means;

There fhall be Order for't.

Enter Lucio and Ifabella.

Prov. 'Save your Honour,

Ang. Stay a little while. Y'are welcome; what's your Will?

Ifab. I am a woful Suitor to your Honour, 'Please but your Honour hear me.

Ang. Well, what's your Suit?

Ifab. There is a Vice that moft I do abhor,
And more defire fhould meet the Blow of Juftice,
For which I would not plead, but that I muft,
For which I muft not plead, but that I am
At War 'twixt will, and will not.

Ang. Well; the Matter?

Ifab. I have a Brother is condemn'd to die;

I do befeech you let it be his Fault,

And not my Brother.

Prov. Heav'n give thee moving Graces.

Ang. Condemn the Fault, and not the Actor of it;

Why every Fault's condemn'd e'er it be done;

Mine were the Cipher of a Function

To fine the Faults, whofe Fine ftands in Record,
And let go by the Actor.

Ifab.

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