ENTER SIGNIOR MATHEO, TO HIM COB.
MAT. I think this be the house: what ho!
COB. Who's there? oh, Signior Matheo. God give you good morrow,
sir.
MAT. What? Cob? how doest thou, good Cob? does thou inhabit
here, Cob?
COB. Ay, sir, I and my lineage have kept a poor house in our days.
MAT. Thy lineage, Monsieur Cob! what lineage, what lineage?
COB. Why, sir, an ancient lineage, and a princely: mine ancestry
came from a king's loins, no worse man; and yet no man neither but
Herring the king of fish, one of the monarchs of the world, I
assure you. I do fetch my pedigree and name from the first red
herring that was eaten in Adam and Eve's kitchen: his Cob was my
great, great, mighty great grandfather.
MAT. Why mighty? why mighty?
COB. Oh, it's a mighty while ago, sir, and it was a mighty great
Cob.
MAT. How knowest thou that?
COB. How know I? why, his ghost comes to me every night.
MAT. Oh, unsavoury jest: the ghost of a herring Cob.
COB. Ay, why not the ghost of a herring Cob, as well as the ghost
of Rashero Bacono, they were both broiled on the coals? you are a
scholar, upsolve me that now.
MAT. Oh, rude ignorance! Cob, canst thou shew me of a gentleman,
one Signior Bobadilla, where his lodging is?
COB. Oh, my guest, sir, you mean?
MAT. Thy guest, alas! ha, ha.
COB. Why do you laugh, sir? do you not mean Signior Bobadilla?
MAT. Cob, I pray thee advise thyself well: do not wrong the
gentleman, and thyself too. I dare be sworn he scorns thy house;
he! he lodge in such a base obscure place as thy house? Tut, I
know his disposition so well, he would not lie in thy bed if
thou'dst give it him.
COB. I will not give it him. Mass, I thought somewhat was in it,
we could not get him to bed all night. Well sir, though he lie not
on my bed, he lies on my bench, an't please you to go up, sir, you
shall find him with two cushions under his head, and his cloak
wrapt about him, as though he had neither won nor lost, and yet I
warrant he ne'er cast better in his life than he hath done
to-night.
MAT. Why, was he drunk?
COB. Drunk, sir? you hear not me say so; perhaps he swallow'd a
tavern token, or some such device, sir; I have nothing to do
withal: I deal with water and not with wine. Give me my tankard
there, ho! God be with you, sir; it's six o'clock: I should have
carried two turns by this, what ho! my stopple, come.
MAT. Lie in a water-bearer's house, a gentleman of his note?
Well, I'll tell him my mind.
[EXIT.]
COB. What, Tib, shew this gentleman up to Signior Bobadilla: oh,
an my house were the Brazen head now, faith it would e'en cry moe
fools yet: you should have some now, would take him to be a
gentleman at least; alas, God help the simple, his father's an
honest man, a good fishmonger, and so forth: and now doth he creep
and wriggle into acquaintance with all the brave gallants about
the town, such as my guest is, (oh, my guest is a fine man!) and
they flout him invincibly. He useth every day to a merchant's
house, (where I serve water) one M. Thorello's; and here's the
jest, he is in love with my master's sister, and calls her
mistress: and there he sits a whole afternoon sometimes,
reading of these same abominable, vile, (a pox on them, I cannot
abide them!) rascally verses, Poetry, poetry, and speaking of
Interludes, 'twill make a man burst to hear him: and the wenches,
they do so jeer and tihe at him; well, should they do as much to
me, I'd forswear them all, by the life of Pharaoh, there's an oath:
how many water-bearers shall you hear swear such an oath? oh, I
have a guest, (he teacheth me) he doth swear the best of any man
christened. By Phoebus, By the life of Pharaoh, By the body of me,
As I am gentleman, and a soldier: such dainty oaths; and withal he
doth take this same filthy roguish tobacco, the finest and
cleanliest; it would do a man good to see the fume come forth at
his nostrils: well, he owes me forty shillings, (my wife lent him
out of her purse; by sixpence a time,) besides his lodging; I would
I had it: I shall have it, he saith, next Action. Helter skelter,
hang sorrow, care will kill a cat, up-tails all, and a pox on the
hangman.
[EXIT.]
[BOBADILLA DISCOVERS HIMSELF; ON A BENCH; TO HIM TIB.]
BOB. Hostess, hostess.
TIB. What say you, sir?
BOB. A cup of your small beer, sweet hostess.
TIB. Sir, there's a gentleman below would speak with you.
BOB. A gentleman? (God's so) I am not within.
TIB. My husband told him you were, sir.
BOB. What a plague! what meant he?
MAT. Signior Bobadilla.
[MATHEO WITHIN.]
BOB. Who's there? (take away the bason, good hostess) come up,
sir.
TIB. He would desire you to come up, sir; you come into a cleanly
house here.
MAT. God save you, sir, God save you.
[ENTER MATHEO.]
BOB. Signior Matheo, is't you, sir? please you sit down.
MAT. I thank you, good Signior, you may see I am somewhat
audacious.
BOB. Not so, Signior, I was requested to supper yesternight by a
sort of gallants, where you were wished for, and drunk to, I assure
you.
MAT. Vouchsafe me by whom, good Signior.
BOB. Marry, by Signior Prospero, and others; why, hostess, a stool
here for this gentleman.
MAT. No haste, sir, it is very well.
BOB. Body of me, it was so late ere we parted last night, I can
scarce open mine eyes yet; I was but new risen as you came; how
passes the day abroad, sir? you can tell.
MAT. Faith, some half hour to seven: now trust me, you have an
exceeding fine lodging here, very neat, and private.
BOB. Ay, sir, sit down. I pray you, Signior Matheo, in any case
possess no gentlemen of your acquaintance with notice of my
lodging.
MAT. Who? I, sir? no.
BOB. Not that I need to care who know it, but in regard I would
not be so popular and general as some be.
MAT. True, Signior, I conceive you.
BOB. For do you see, sir, by the heart of myself, (except it be
to some peculiar and choice spirits, to whom I am extraordinarily
engaged, as yourself, or so,) I could not extend thus far.
MAT. O Lord, sir! I resolve so.
BOB. What new book have you there? What? "Go by Hieronymo."
MAT. Ay, did you ever see it acted? is't not well penned?
BOB. Well penned: I would fain see all the Poets of our time pen
such another play as that was; they'll prate and swagger, and keep
a stir of art and devices, when (by God's so) they are the most
shallow, pitiful fellows that live upon the face of the earth
again.
MAT. Indeed, here are a number of fine speeches in this book:
"Oh eyes, no eyes, but fountains fraught with tears;" there's a
conceit: Fountains fraught with tears. "Oh life, no life, but
lively form of death;" is't not excellent? "Oh world, no world,
but mass of public wrongs;" O God's me: "confused and filled with
murder and misdeeds." Is't not simply the best that ever you
heard?
Ha, how do you like it?
BOB. 'Tis good.
MAT. "To thee, the purest object to my sense,
The most refined essence heaven covers,
Send I these lines, wherein I do commence
The happy state of true deserving lovers.
If they prove rough, unpolish'd, harsh, and rude,
Haste made that waste; thus mildly I conclude."
BOB. Nay, proceed, proceed, where's this? where's this?
MAT. This, sir, a toy of mine own in my non-age: but when will
you come and see my study? good faith, I can shew you some very
good things I have done of late: that boot becomes your leg
passing well, sir, methinks.
BOB. So, so, it's a fashion gentlemen use.
MAT. Mass, sir, and now you speak of the fashion, Signior
Prospero's elder brother and I are fallen out exceedingly: this
other day I happened to enter into some discourse of a hanger,
which, I assure you, both for fashion and workmanship was most
beautiful and gentlemanlike; yet he condemned it for the most
pied and ridiculous that ever he saw.
BOB. Signior Giuliano, was it not? the elder brother?
MAT. Ay, sir, he.
BOB. Hang him, rook! he! why, he has no more judgment than a
malt-horse. By St. George, I hold him the most peremptory absurd
clown (one a them) in Christendom: I protest to you (as I am a
gentleman and a soldier) I ne'er talk'd with the like of him: he
has not so much as a good word in his belly, all iron, iron, a
good commodity for a smith to make hob-nails on.
MAT. Ay, and he thinks to carry it away with his manhood still
where he comes: he brags he will give me the bastinado, as I hear.
BOB. How, the bastinado? how came he by that word, trow?
MAT. Nay, indeed, he said cudgel me; I termed it so for the
more grace.
BOB. That may be, for I was sure it was none of his word: but
when, when said he so?
MAT. Faith, yesterday, they say, a young gallant, a friend of
mine, told me so.
BOB. By the life of Pharaoh, an't were my case now, I should send
him a challenge presently: the bastinado! come hither, you shall
challenge him; I'll shew you a trick or two, you shall kill him at
pleasure, the first stoccado if you will, by this air.
MAT. Indeed, you have absolute knowledge in the mystery, I have
heard, sir.
BOB. Of whom? of whom, I pray?
MAT. Faith, I have heard it spoken of divers, that you have very
rare skill, sir.
BOB. By heaven, no, not I, no skill in the earth: some small
science, know my time, distance, or so, I have profest it more for
noblemen and gentlemen's use than mine own practise, I assure you.
Hostess, lend us another bed-staff here quickly: look you, sir,
exalt not your point above this state at any hand, and let your
poniard maintain your defence thus: give it the gentleman. So,
sir, come on, oh, twine your body more about, that you may come to
a more sweet comely gentlemanlike guard; so indifferent. Hollow
your body more, sir, thus: now stand fast on your left leg, note
your distance, keep your due proportion of time: oh, you disorder
your point most vilely.
MAT. How is the bearing of it now, sir?
BOB. Oh, out of measure ill, a well-experienced man would pass
upon you at pleasure.
MAT. How mean you pass upon me?
BOB. Why, thus, sir: make a thrust at me; come in upon my time;
control your point, and make a full career at the body: the
best-practis'd gentlemen of the time term it the passado, a most
desperate thrust, believe it.
MAT. Well, come, sir.
BOB. Why, you do not manage your weapons with that facility and
grace that you should do, I have no spirit to play with you, your
dearth of judgment makes you seem tedious.
MAT. But one venue, sir.
BOB. Fie! venue, most gross denomination as ever I heard: oh,
the stoccado while you live, Signior, not that. Come, put on
your cloak, and we'll go to some private place where you are
acquainted, some tavern or so, and we'll send for one of these
fencers, where he shall breathe you at my direction, and then I'll
teach you that trick; you shall kill him with it at the first if
you please: why, I'll learn you by the true judgment of the eye,
hand, and foot, to control any man's point in the world; Should
your adversary confront you with a pistol, 'twere nothing, you
should (by the same rule) control the bullet, most certain, by
Phoebus: unless it were hail-shot: what money have you about
you, sir?
MAT. Faith, I have not past two shillings, or so.
BOB. 'Tis somewhat with the least, but come, when we have done,
we'll call up Signior Prospero; perhaps we shall meet with
Coridon his brother there.
[EXEUNT.]