A Select Collection of Old English Plays, Volume 13Dodsley, Robert
General
A Select Collection of Old English Plays, Volume 13
Dodsley, Robert
English drama
Hark you, widows; Randalls was disturbed in cogitations about
lands, ploughs, and cheesepresses in Wales; and, by cat, hur
have forgot where hur and hur meet soon at pright dark evenings.
+Wid.+ Why, on the 'Change, in the Dutch walks.
+Ran.+ O haw, have hur? but Randalls was talk no Dutch; pray
meet her in the Welsh walk. Was no Welsh walk there?
+Wid.+ Fie, no! There are no Welsh merchants there?
+Ran.+ Mass, was fery true, was all shentlemen in Wales. Hur
never saw hur shambermaid; pray, where was her shambermaid?
+Jar.+ Taken up i' th' kitchen, sir.
+Ran.+ Can hur make wedding-ped pravely for Randalls and widows?
+Wid.+ Pray tell him, Jarvis, whe'r[67] she can or no.
+Jar.+ Sir, not to delay, but to debilitate the strength of
your active apprehension of my mistress's favour----
+Ran.+ Was fery good words.
+Jar.+ Hark in your ear: she will have her nest feathered with
no British breed.
+Ran.+ Sounds, was not British so good as English?
+Jar.+ Yes, where there's wisdom, wit, and valour; but, as
amongst our English, we may have one fool, a knave, a coxcomb,
and a coward, she bid me tell you, she has seen such wonders
come out of Wales. In one word,[68] you're an ass, and she'll
have none of you.
+Ran.+ Augh, Saint Tavie, Owen, Morgan, and all hur cousins!
was widow herself say so?
+Wid.+ Good sir, let every circumstance make up one answer,
take it with you.
+Jar.+ And the Roman answer is, the English goose, sir.[69]
+Ran.+ Sounds! hur was kill now! Gog and Gogmagog! a whole
dozen of shiants. Make fool of Randalls! Randalls was wisht to
as prave match as widows; was know one Mary Bloodhound, was
ha' all, when her father kick up heels; and, by cat, though
hur never saw hur, hur will send hur love-letters presently,
get hur good-wills, and go to shurch and marry, and hur were
eight-and-thirty, two hundred and nine and fifty widows. Mark
hur now. [_Exit +Randall+._
+Jar.+ He pelts as he goes pitifully.
+Wid.+ Where's Mary?
+John.+ Mary!
_Enter +Maid+._
+Wid.+ Pray go to Aldgate, to my sempstress, for my ruff; I
must use it, say, to-morrow. Did ye bid her hollow it just in
the French fashion cut?
+Maid.+ Yes, forsooth.
+Wid.+ 'Twas well; we have no other proof in use that we are
English, if we do not zany them. Let John go with you.
+Maid.+ Yes, forsooth. [_Exit._
+Jar.+ But pray, forsooth, how do you mean to dispose of your
suitors?
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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