Beaumont and Fletcher's Works, Vol. 05 of 10Fletcher, John
General
Beaumont and Fletcher's Works, Vol. 05 of 10
Fletcher, John
English drama
_Fool._ God-ye-good even, Gaffer.
_2 Keep._ Who let the Fool loose?
_1 Keep._ If any of the mad-men take her, she is pepper'd,
They'll bounce her loins.
_Fool._ Will ye walk into the coal house?
_1 Keep._ She is as leacherous too as a she-Ferret.
_2 Keep._ Who a vengeance looks to her? go in _Kate_,
I'le give thee a fine Apple.
_Fool._ Will ye buss me?
And tickle me, and make me laugh?
_1 Keep._ I'le whip ye.
_Engl._ Fool, fool, come up to me fool.
_Fool._ Are ye peeping?
_Engl._ I'le get thee with five fools.
_Fool._ O fine, O dainty.
_Engl._ And thou shalt lie in [in] a horse-cloth, like a Lady.
_Fool._ And shall I have a Coach?
_Engl._ Drawn with four Turkeys,
And they shall tread thee too.
_Fool._ We shall have eggs then;
And shall I sit upon 'em?
_Engl._ I, I, and they shall be all addle,
And make an admirable Tanzey for the Devil.
Come, come away, I am taken with thy love fool,
And will mightily belabour thee.
_1 Keep._ How the fool bridles! how she twitters at him!
These _English_ men would stagger a wise woman.
If we should suffer her to have her will now,
We should have all the women in _Spain_ as mad as she here.
_2 Keep._ They would strive who should be most fool:
Away with her.
_Enter Master, three Gentlemen, a mad Scholar, and_ Pedro.
_Fool._ Pray ye stay a little: let's hear him sing, h'as a fine breast.
_1 Keep._ Here comes my Master; to the spit ye whore,
And stir no more abroad, but tend your business;
You shall have no more sops i'th' pan else, nor no Porridge:
Besides, I'le whip your breech.
_Fool._ I'le go in presently.
_1 Gent._ I'le assure ye, Sir, the Cardinal's angry with ye
For keeping this young man.
_Mast._ I am heartily sorry.
If ye allow him sound, pray ye take him with ye.
_1 Gent._ This is the place, and now observe their humours.
_2 Gent._ We can find nothing in him light, nor tainted;
No startings, nor no rubs, in all his answers,
In all his Letters nothing but discretion,
Learning, and handsome stile.
_Mast._ Be not deceived, Sir,
Mark but his look.
_1 Gent._ His grief, and his imprisonment
May stamp that there.
_Mast._ Pray talk with him again then.
_2 Gent._ That will be needless, we have tried him long enough,
And if he had a taint we should have met with't.
Yet to discharge your care--
_Ped._ A sober youth:
Pity so heavy a cross should light upon him.
_2 Gent._ You find no sickness?
_Schol._ None Sir, I thank Heaven,
Nor nothing that diverts my understanding.
_1 Gent._ Do you sleep a nights?
_Schol._ As sound, and sweet, as any man.
_2 Gent._ Have ye no fearful dreams?
_Schol._ Sometimes, as all have
That go to bed with raw and windy stomachs;
Else I am all one piece.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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