William Shakespeare: Merry Wives of Windsor, Act III
Enter Sir Hugh Evans and Simple
I pray you now, good master Slender's serving-man, and friend Simple by your name, which way have you looked for Master Caius, that calls himself doctor of physic?
Marry, sir, the pittie-ward, the park-ward, every way; old Windsor way, and every way but the town way.
'Pless my soul, how full of chollors I am, and trempling of mind! I shall be glad if he have deceived me. How melancholies I am! I will knog his urinals about his knave's costard when I have good opportunities for the ork. 'Pless my soul!
Melodious birds sings madrigals;
There will we make our peds of roses,
And a thousand fragrant posies.
Mercy on me! I have a great dispositions to cry.
When as I sat in Pabylon—
And a thousand vagram posies.
To shallow &c.
Heaven prosper the right! What weapons is he?
No weapons, sir. There comes my master, Master Shallow, and another gentleman, from Frogmore, over the stile, this way.
Enter Page, Shallow, and Slender
How now, master Parson! Good morrow, good Sir Hugh. Keep a gamester from the dice, and a good student from his book, and it is wonderful.
Yonder is a most reverend gentleman, who, belike having received wrong by some person, is at most odds with his own gravity and patience that ever you saw.
I have lived fourscore years and upward; I never heard a man of his place, gravity and learning, so wide of his own respect.
Got's will, and his passion of my heart! I had as lief you would tell me of a mess of porridge.
He has no more knowledge in Hibocrates and Galen, —and he is a knave besides; a cowardly knave as you would desires to be acquainted withal.
Enter Host, Doctor Caius, and Rugby
Aside to Doctor Caius
Pray you let us not be laughing-stocks to other men's humours; I desire you in friendship, and I will one way or other make you amends.
I will knog your urinals about your knave's cockscomb for missing your meetings and appointments.
Diable! Jack Rugby,—mine host de Jarteer,—have I not stay for him to kill him? have I not, at de place I did appoint?
As I am a Christians soul now, look you, this is the place appointed: I'll be judgement by mine host of the Garter.
Peace, I say! hear mine host of the Garter. Am I politic? am I subtle? am I a Machiavel? Shall I lose my doctor? no; he gives me the potions and the motions. Shall I lose my parson, my priest, my Sir Hugh? no; he gives me the proverbs and the no-verbs. Give me thy hand, terrestrial; so. Give me thy hand, celestial; so. Boys of art, I have deceived you both; I have directed you to wrong places: your hearts are mighty, your skins are whole, and let burnt sack be the issue. Come, lay their swords to pawn. Follow me, lads of peace; follow, follow, follow.
Exeunt Shallow, Slender, Page, and Host
This is well; he has made us his vlouting-stog. I desire you that we may be friends; and let us knog our prains together to be revenge on this same scall, scurvy cogging companion, the host of the Garter.
By gar, with all my heart. He promise to bring me where is Anne Page; by gar, he deceive me too.
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