Every Man in his Humour [31]
BOB. Do you prate?
LOR. JU. Nay, good Signior, will you regard the humour of a fool? Away, knave.
PROS. Piso, get him away. [EXIT PISO AND COB.
BOB. A whoreson filthy slave, a turd, an excrement. Body of Caesar, but that I scorn to let forth so mean a spirit, I'd have stabb'd him to the earth.
PROS. Marry, God forbid, sir.
BOB. By this fair heaven, I would have done it.
STEP. Oh, he swears admirably; (by this fair heaven!) Body of Caesar: I shall never do it, sure (upon my salvation). No, I have not the right grace.
MAT. Signior, will you any? By this air, the most divine tobacco as ever I drunk.
LOR. JU. I thank you, sir.
STEP. Oh, this gentleman doth it rarely too, but nothing like the other. By this air, as I am a gentleman: By Phoebus. [EXIT BOB. AND MAT.
MUS. Master, glance, glance: Signior Prospero.
STEP. As I have a soul to be saved, I do protest --
PROS. That you are a fool.
LOR. JU. Cousin, will you any tobacco?
STEP. Ay, sir: upon my salvation.
LOR. JU. How now, cousin?
STEP. I protest, as I am a gentleman, but no soldier indeed.
PROS. No, Signior, as I remember, you served on a great horse, last general muster.
STEP. Ay, sir, that's true, cousin, may I swear as I am a soldier, by that?
LOR. JU. Oh yes, that you may.
STEP. Then as I am a gentleman, and a soldier, it is divine tobacco.
PROS. But soft, where's Signior Matheo? gone?
MUS. No, sir, they went in here.
PROS. Oh, let's follow them: Signior Matheo is gone to salute his mistress, sirrah, now thou shalt hear some of his verses, for he never comes hither without some shreds of poetry: Come, Signior Stephano. Musco.
STEP. Musco? where? I this Musco?
LOR. JU. Ay; but peace, cousin, no words of it at any hand.
STEP. Not I, by this fair heaven, as I have a soul to be saved, by Phoebus.
PROS. Oh rare! your cousin's discourse is simply suited, all in oaths.
LOR. JU. Ay, he lacks nothing but a little light stuff, to draw them out withal, and he were rarely fitted to the time. [EXEUNT.
SCENE III. -- ENTER THORELLO WITH COB.
THO. Ha, how many are there, sayest thou?
COB. Marry, sir, your brother, Signior Prospero.
THO. Tut, beside him: what strangers are there, man?
COB. Strangers? let me see, one, two; mass, I know not well, there's so many.
THO. How? so many?
COB. Ay, there's some five or six of them at the most.
THO. A swarm, a swarm? Spite of the devil, how they sting my heart! How long hast thou been coming hither, Cob?
COB. But a little while, sir.
THO. Didst thou come running?
COB. No, sir.
THO. Tut, then I am familiar with thy haste. Ban to my fortunes: what meant I to marry? I that before was rank'd in such content, My mind attired in smooth silken peace, Being free master of mine own free thoughts, And now become a slave? what, never sigh, Be of good cheer, man: for thou art a cuckold, 'Tis done, 'tis done: nay, when such flowing store, Plenty itself falls in my wife's lap, The Cornucopiae will be mine, I know. But, Cob, What entertainment had they? I am sure My sister and my wife would bid them welcome, ha?
COB. Like enough: yet I heard not a word of welcome.
THO. No, their lips were seal'd with kisses, and the voice Drown'd in a flood of joy at their arrival, Had lost her motion, state, and faculty. Cob, which of them was't that first kiss'd my wife? (My sister, I should say,) my wife, alas, I fear not her: ha? who was it, say'st thou?
COB. By my troth, sir, will you have the truth of it?
THO. Oh ay, good Cob: I pray thee.
COB. God's my judge, I saw nobody to be kiss'd, unless they would have kiss'd the post in the middle of the warehouse; for there I left them all, at their tobacco, with a pox.
THO. How? were they not gone in then ere thou cam'st?
COB. Oh no, sir.
THO. Spite of the devil, what do I stay here then? Cob, follow me. [EXIT THO.
COB. Nay, soft and fair, I have eggs on the spit; I cannot go yet sir: now am I for some