A Select Collection of Old English Plays, Volume 12Dodsley, Robert
General
A Select Collection of Old English Plays, Volume 12
Dodsley, Robert
English drama
HEAR. You may,
If that you please undo yourself; you may:
I will not strive to hinder you. There is
Something contriving for you, which may be
Perhaps yet brought about: a match or so;
A proper fellow: 'tis a trifle, that;
A thing you care not for, I know. Have I
Plotted to take you off from these, to match you
In better sort, and am us'd thus? As for
The rent you ask, here take it; take your money;
Fill, choke your gaping throat: but if as yet
You are not deaf to counsel, let me tell you,
It had been better that you ne'er had took it;
It may stop some proceedings.
POT. Master Hearsay,
You know you may have even my heart out of
My belly (as they say), if you'll but take
The pains to reach it out. I am sometimes
Peevish, I do confess. Here, take your money.
HEAR. No.
POT. Good sir.
HEAR. No, keep it and hoard it up;
My purse is no safe place for it.
POT. Let me
Request you that you would be pleas'd to take it.
HEAR. Alas! 'twould only trouble me: I can
As willingly go light as be your treasurer.
POT. Good Master Slicer, speak to him to take it.
Sweet Master Shape, join with him.[122]
SLICER. Nay, be once
O'errul'd by a woman.
SHAPE. Come, come; you shall take it.
POT. Nay, faith you shall. Here, put it up, good sir.
HEAR. Upon entreaty, I'm content for once;
But make no custom of't. You do presume
Upon my easy foolishness: 'tis that
Makes you so bold. Were it another man,
He ne'er would have to do with you. But mark me--
If e'er I find you in this mood again,
I'll dash your hopes of marriage for ever.
[_Exeunt all but_ HEARSAY.
SCENE III.
_To him_ MEANWELL, ANDREW.
AND. God save you, tutors both!
MEAN. Fie, Andrew, fie!
What, kiss your hand! You smell not compliment.
HEAR. Besides you come too near, when you salute.
Your breath may be discover'd; and you give
Advantage unto him you thus accost
To shake you by the hand: which often doth
Endanger the whole arm. Your gallant's, like
The crystal glass, brittle; rude handling cracks him.
To be saluted so were to be wounded:
His parts would fall asunder like unto
Spill'd quicksilver. An ear, an eye, a nose,
Would drop, like summer fruit from shaken trees.
MEAN. For the same reason, I'd not have you dance.
Some courtiers, I confess, do use it; but
They are the sounder sort; those foolish ones
That have a care of health, which you shall not,
If you'll be rul'd by me. The hazard's great:
'Tis an adventure, an exploit, no[123] piece
Of service for a gentleman, to caper.
HEAR. A gallant's like a leg of mutton boil'd
By a Spanish cook: take him but by the one end,
And shake him, all the flesh falls from the bones,
And leaves them bare immediately.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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