Measure for Measure | Page 9

her.

CLOWN. Sir, your honour cannot come to that yet.
ESCALUS. No, sir, nor I mean it not.
CLOWN. Sir, but you shall come to it, by your honour's leave. And, I
beseech you, look into Master Froth here, sir, a man of fourscore pound
a-year; whose father died at Hallowmas:--was't not at Hallowmas,
Master Froth?
FROTH. All-hallond eve.
CLOWN. Why, very well; I hope here be truths: He, sir, sitting, as I
say, in a lower chair, sir;--'twas in the 'Bunch of Grapes', where, indeed,
you have a delight to sit, have you not?--
FROTH. I have so; because it is an open room, and good for winter.
CLOWN. Why, very well then;--I hope here be truths.
ANGELO. This will last out a night in Russia, When nights are longest
there: I'll take my leave, And leave you to the hearing of the cause;
Hoping you'll find good cause to whip them all.
ESCALUS. I think no less. Good morrow to your lordship.
[Exit ANGELO.]
Now, sir, come on; what was done to Elbow's wife, once more?
CLOWN. Once, sir? there was nothing done to her once.
ELBOW. I beseech you, sir, ask him what this man did to my wife.
CLOWN. I beseech your honour, ask me.
ESCALUS. Well, sir: what did this gentleman to her?
CLOWN. I beseech you, sir, look in this gentleman's face.--Good
Master Froth, look upon his honour; 'tis for a good purpose.--Doth your
honour mark his face?
ESCALUS. Ay, sir, very well.
CLOWN. Nay, I beseech you, mark it well.
ESCALUS. Well, I do so.
CLOWN. Doth your honour see any harm in his face?
ESCALUS. Why, no.
CLOWN. I'll be supposed upon a book his face is the worst thing about
him. Good then; if his face be the worst thing about him, how could
Master Froth do the constable's wife any harm? I would know that of
your honour.
ESCALUS. He's in the right. Constable, what say you to it?
ELBOW. First, an it like you, the house is a respected house; next, this
is a respected fellow; and his mistress is a respected woman.

CLOWN. By this hand, sir, his wife is a more respected person than
any of us all.
ELBOW. Varlet, thou liest; thou liest, wicked varlet: the time is yet to
come that she was ever respected with man, woman, or child.
CLOWN. Sir, she was respected with him before he married with her.
ESCALUS. Which is the wiser here, Justice or Iniquity?--is this true?
ELBOW. O thou caitiff! O thou varlet! O thou wicked Hannibal! I
respected with her before I was married to her? If ever I was respected
with her, or she with me, let not your worship think me the poor duke's
officer.--Prove this, thou wicked Hannibal, or I'll have mine action of
battery on thee.
ESCALUS. If he took you a box o' th' ear, you might have your action
of slander too.
ELBOW. Marry, I thank your good worship for it. What is't your
worship's pleasure I should do with this wicked caitiff?
ESCALUS. Truly, officer, because he hath some offences in him that
thou wouldst discover if thou couldst, let him continue in his courses
till thou knowest what they are.
ELBOW. Marry, I thank your worship for it.--Thou seest, thou wicked
varlet, now, what's come upon thee; thou art to continue now, thou
varlet; thou art to continue.
ESCALUS. [To FROTH.] Where were you born, friend?
FROTH. Here in Vienna, sir.
ESCALUS. Are you of fourscore pounds a-year?
FROTH. Yes, an't please you, sir.
ESCALUS. So.--[To the CLOWN.] What trade are you of, sir?
CLOWN. A tapster; a poor widow's tapster.
ESCALUS. Your mistress' name?
CLOWN. Mistress Overdone.
ESCALUS. Hath she had any more than one husband?
CLOWN. Nine, sir; Overdone by the last.
ESCALUS. Nine!--Come hither to me, Master Froth. Master Froth, I
would not have you acquainted with tapsters: they will draw you,
Master Froth, and you will hang them. Get you gone, and let me hear
no more of you.
FROTH. I thank your worship. For mine own part, I never come into
any room in a taphouse but I am drawn in.

ESCALUS. Well, no more of it, Master Froth: farewell.
[Exit FROTH.]
--Come you hither to me, master tapster; what's your name, master
tapster?
CLOWN. Pompey.
ESCALUS. What else?
CLOWN. Bum, sir.
ESCALUS. 'Troth, and your bum is the greatest thing about you; so
that, in the beastliest sense, you are Pompey the great. Pompey, you are
partly a bawd, Pompey, howsoever you colour it in being a tapster. Are
you not? come, tell me true; it shall be the better for you.
CLOWN. Truly, sir, I am a poor fellow that would live.
ESCALUS. How would you live, Pompey? by being a bawd? What do
you