A Select Collection of Old English Plays, Vol. VII (4th edition) - Various
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MR BAR. I do absolve thee; and come hither, Philip:
I have writ a letter unto Master Goursey,
And I will tell thee the contents thereof;
But tell me first, think'st thou Frank Goursey loves thee?
PHIL. If that a man devoted to a man,
Loyal, religious in love's hallowed vows--
If that a man that is sole laboursome
To work his own thoughts to his friend's delight,
May purchase good opinion with his friend,
Then I may say, I have done this so well,
That I may think Frank Goursey loves me well.
MR BAR. 'Tis well; and I am much deceived in him,
And if he be not sober, wise, and valiant.
PHIL. I hope my father takes me for thus wise,
I will not glue myself in love to one
That hath not some desert of virtue in him:
Whate'er you think of him, believe me, father,
He will be answerable to your thoughts
In any quality commendable.
MR BAR. Thou cheer'st my hopes in him; and, in good faith,
Thou'st[262] made my love complete unto thy friend:
Philip, I love him, and I love him so,
I could afford him a good wife, I know.
PHIL. Father, a wife!
MR BAR. Philip, a wife.
PHIL. I lay my life--my sister!
MR BAR. Ay, in good faith.
PHIL. Then, father, he shall have her; he shall, I swear.
MR BAR. How canst thou say so, knowing not his mind?
PHIL. All's one for that; I will go to him straight.
Father, if you would seek this seven-years'-day,
You could not find a fitter match for her;
And he shall have her, I swear he shall;
He were as good be hanged, as once deny[263] her.
I'faith, I'll to him.
MR BAR. Hairbrain, hairbrain, stay!
As yet we do not know his father's mind:
Why, what will Master Goursey say, my son,
If we should motion it without his knowledge?
Go to, he's a wise and discreet gentleman,
And that expects from me all honest parts;
Nor shall he fail his expectation;
First I do mean to make him privy to it:
Philip, this letter is to that effect.
PHIL. Father, for God's[264] sake, send it quickly, then:
I'll call your man. What, Hugh! where's Hugh, there, ho?
MR BAR. Philip, if this would prove a match,
It were the only means that could be found
To make thy mother friends with Mistress Goursey.
PHIL. How, a match! I'll warrant ye, a match.
My sister's fair, Frank Goursey he is rich;
Her[265] dowry, too, will be sufficient;
Frank's young,[266] and youth is apt to love;
And, by my troth, my sister's maidenhead
Stands like a game at tennis: if the ball
Hit into the hole, or hazard, farewell all:
MR BAR. How now, where's Hugh?
[_Enter_ NICHOLAS.]
PHIL. Why, what doth this proverbial with us?
Why, where's Hugh?
MR BAR. Peace, peace.
PHIL. Where's Hugh, I say?
MR BAR. Be not so hasty, Philip.
PHIL. Father, let me alone,
I do it but to make myself some sport.
This formal fool, your man, speaks nought but proverbs,
And speak men what they can to him, he'll answer
With some rhyme-rotten sentence or old saying,
Such spokes as th'ancient of the parish use,
With, "Neighbour, 'tis an old proverb and a true,
Goose giblets are good meat, old sack better than new;"
Then says another, "Neighbour, that is true;"
And when each man hath drunk his gallon round--
A penny pot, for that's the old man's gallon--
Then doth he lick his lips, and stroke his beard,
That's glued together with his slavering drops
Of yeasty ale, and when he scarce can trim
His gouty fingers, thus he'll phillip it,
And with a rotten hem, say, "Ay, my hearts,
Merry go sorry! cock and pie, my hearts"!
But then their saving penny proverb comes,
And that is this, "They that will to the wine,
By'r Lady[267] mistress, shall lay their penny to mine."
This was one of this penny-father's[268] bastards,
For, on my life, he was never[269] begot
Without the consent of some great proverb-monger.
MR BAR. O, ye are a wag.
PHIL. Well, now unto my business.
'Swounds, will that mouth, that's made of old-said saws
And nothing else, say nothing to us now?
NICH. O Master Philip, forbear; you must not leap over the stile, before
you come at it; haste makes waste; soft fire makes sweet malt; not too
fast for falling; there's no haste to hang true men.[270]
PHIL. Father, we ha't, ye see, we ha't. Now will I see if my memory will
serve for some proverbs too. O--a painted cloth were as well worth a
shilling as a thief worth a halter; well, after my hearty commendations,
as I was at the making hereof; so it is, that I hope as you speed, so
you're sure; a swift horse will tire, but he that trots easily will
endure. You have most learnedly proverb'd it, commending the virtue of
patience or forbearance, but yet, you know, forbearance is no quittance.
NICH. I promise ye, Master Philip, you have spoken as true as steel.
PHIL. Father, there's a proverb well applied.
NICH. And it seemeth unto me, ay, it seems to me, that you, Master
Philip, mock me: do you not know, _qui mocat mocabitur_? mock age,
and see how it will prosper.
PHIL. Why, ye whoreson proverb-book bound up in folio,
Have ye no other sense to answer me
But every word a proverb? no other English?
Well, I'll fulfil a proverb on thee straight.
NICH. What is it, sir?
PHIL. I'll fetch my fist from thine ear.
NICH. Bear witness, he threatens me!
PHIL. That same is the coward's common proverb.
But come, come, sirrah, tell me where Hugh is.
NICH. I may, and I will; I need not, except I list; you shall not
command me, you give me neither meat, drink, nor wages; I am your
father's man, and a man's a man, and a have but a hose on his head;
do not misuse me so, do not; for though he that is bound must obey,
yet he that will not tarry, may[271] run away--so he may.
MR BAR. Peace, Nick, I'll see he shall use thee well;
Go to, peace, sirrah: here, Nick, take this letter,
Carry it to him to whom it is directed.
NICH. To whom is it?
MR BAR. Why, read it: canst thou read?
NICH. Forsooth, though none of the best, yet meanly.
MR BAR. Why, dost thou not use it?
NICH. Forsooth, as use makes perfectness, so seldom seen is soon
forgotten.
MR BAR. Well-said: but go; it is to Master Goursey.
PHIL. Now, sir, what proverb have ye to deliver a letter?
NICH. What need you to care? who speaks to you? you may speak when ye
are spoken to, and keep your wind to cool your pottage. Well, well, you
are my master's son, and you look for his land; but they that hope for
dead men's shoes may hap go barefoot: take heed, as soon goes the young
sheep to the pot as the old. I pray God save my master's life, for
seldom comes the better!
PHIL. O, he hath given it me! Farewell, Proverbs.
NICH. Farewell, frost.[272]
PHIL. Shall I fling an old shoe after ye?
NICH. No; you should say, God send fair weather after me!
PHIL. I mean for good luck.
NICH. A good luck on ye!
[_Exit_.
MR BAR. Alas, poor fool! he uses all his wit.
Philip, in faith[273] this mirth hath cheered thought,
And cosen'd it of his right play of passion.
Go after Nick, and, when thou think'st he's there,
Go in and urge to that which I have writ:
I'll in these meadows make a circling walk,
And in my meditation conjure so,
As that same[274] fiend of thought, self-eating anger,
Shall by my spells of reason[275] vanish quite:
Away, and let me hear from thee to-night.
PHIL. To-night! yes, that you shall: but hark ye, father;
Look that you my sister waking keep,
For Frank, I swear, shall kiss her, ere I sleep.
[_Exeunt_.
_Enter_ FRANK _and_ BOY.
FRAN. I am very dry with walking o'er the green.--
Butler, some beer! Sirrah, call the butler.
BOY. Nay, faith, sir, we must have some smith to give the butler a
drench, or cut him in the forehead, for he hath got a horse's disease,
namely the staggers; to-night he's a good huswife, he reels all that he
wrought to-day; and he were good now to play at dice, for he casts[276]
excellent well.
FRAN. How mean'st thou? is he drunk?
BOY. I cannot tell; but I am sure he hath more liquor in him than a
whole dicker of hides; he's soak'd throughly, i'faith.
FRAN. Well, go and call him; bid him bring me drink.
BOY. I will, sir.
[_Exit_.
FRAN. My mother pouts, and will look merrily
Neither upon my father nor on me:
He says she fell out with Mistress Barnes to-day;
Then I am sure they'll not be quickly friends.
Good Lord, what kind of creatures women are!
Their love is lightly[277] won and lightly lost;
And then their hate is deadly and extreme:
He that doth take a wife betakes himself
To all the cares and troubles of the world.
Now her disquietness doth grieve my father,
Grieves me, and troubles all the house besides.
What, shall I have some drink? [_Horn sounded within_]--How now? a horn!
Belike the drunken knave is fall'n asleep,
And now the boy doth wake him with his horn.
_Enter_ BOY.
How now, sirrah, where's the butler?
BOY. Marry, sir, where he was even now, asleep; but I wak'd him, and
when he wak'd he thought he was in Master Barnes's buttery, for he
stretch'd himself thus, and yawning, said, "Nick, honest Nick, fill a
fresh bowl of ale; stand to it, Nick, and thou beest a man of God's
making, stand to it;" and then I winded my horn, and he's horn-mad.
_Enter_ HODGE.
HOD. Boy, hey! ho, boy! and thou beest a man, draw.--O, here's a blessed
moonshine, God be thanked!--Boy, is not this goodly weather for barley?
BOY. Spoken like a right malster, Hodge: but dost thou hear? thou art
not drunk?
HOD. No, I scorn that, i'faith.
BOY.[278] But thy fellow Dick Coomes is mightily drunk.
HOD. Drunk! a plague on it, when a man cannot carry his drink well!
'sblood, I'll stand to it.
BOY. Hold, man; see, and thou canst stand first.
HOD. Drunk! he's a beast, and he be drunk; there's no man that is a
sober man will be drunk; he's a boy, and he be drunk.
BOY. No, he's a man as thou art.
HOD. Thus 'tis, when a man will not be ruled by his friends: I bad him
keep under the lee, but he kept down the weather two bows; I told him he
would be taken with a planet, but the wisest of us all may fall.
BOY. True, Hodge. [_Boy trips him_.
HOD. Whoop! lend me thy hand, Dick, I am fall'n into a well; lend me thy
hand, I shall be drowned else.
BOY. Hold fast by the bucket, Hodge.
HOD. A rope on it!
BOY. Ay, there is a rope on it; but where art thou, Hodge?
HOD. In a well; I prythee, draw up.
BOY. Come, give up thy body; wind up, hoist
HOD. I am over head and ears.
BOY. In all, Hodge, in all.
FRAN. How loathsome is this beast-man's shape to me,
This mould of reason so unreasonable!--
Sirrah, why dost thou trip him down, seeing he's drunk?
BOY. Because, sir, I would have drunkards cheap.[279]
FRAN. How mean ye?
BOY. Why, they say that, when anything hath a fall, it is cheap; and so
of drunkards.
FRAN. Go to, help him up: [_Knocking without_] but, hark, who knocks?
[BOY _goes to the door, and returns_.]
BOY. Sir, here's one of Master Barnes's men with a letter to my old
master.
FRAN. Which of them is it?
BOY. They call him Nicholas, sir.
FRAN. Go, call him in.
[_Exit_ BOY.]
_Enter_ COOMES.
COOMES. By your leave, ho! How now, young master, how is't?
FRAN. Look ye, sirrah, where your fellow lies:
He's[280] in a fine taking, is he not?
COOMES. Whoop, Hodge! where art thou, man, where art thou?
HOD. O, in a well.
COOMES. In a well, man! nay, then, thou art deep in understanding.
FRAN. Ay, once to-day you were almost so, sir.
COOMES. Who, I! go to, young master, I do not like this humour in ye, I
tell ye true; give every man his due, and give him no more: say I was
in such a case! go to, 'tis the greatest indignation that can be offered
to a man; and, but a man's more godlier given, you were able to make him
swear out his heart-blood. What, though that honest Hodge have cut his
finger here, or, as some say, cut a feather: what, though he be mump,
misled, blind, or as it were--'tis no consequent to me: you know I have
drunk all the ale-houses in Abington dry, and laid the taps on the
tables, when I had done: 'sblood, I'll challenge all the true rob-pots
in Europe to leap up to the chin in a barrel of beer, and if I cannot
drink it down to my foot, ere I leave, and then set the tap in the midst
of the house, and then turn a good turn on the toe on it, let me be
counted nobody, a pingler,[281]--nay, let me be[282] bound to drink
nothing but small-beer seven years after--and I had as lief be hanged.
_Enter_ NICHOLAS.
FRAN. Peace, sir, I must speak with one.--
Nicholas, I think, your name is.
NlCH. True as the skin between your brows.
FRAN. Well, how doth thy master?
NlCH. Forsooth, live, and the best doth no better.
FRAN. Where is the letter he hath sent me?
NlCH. _Ecce signum_! here it is.
FRAN. 'Tis right as Philip said, 'tis a fine fool [_Aside_].
--This letter is directed to my father;
I'll carry it to him. Dick Coomes, make him drink.
[_Exit_.
COOMES. Ay, I'll make him drunk,[283] and he will.
NICH. Not so, Richard; it is good to be merry and wise.
DICK[284] [COOMES]. Well, Nicholas, as thou art Nicholas, welcome; but
as thou art Nicholas and a boon companion, ten times welcome. Nicholas,
give me thy hand: shall we be merry? and we shall, say but we shall, and
let the first word stand.
NICH. Indeed, as long lives the merry man as the sad; an ounce of debt
will not pay a pound of care.
COOMES. Nay, a pound of care will not pay an ounce of debt.
NICH. Well, 'tis a good horse never stumbles: but who lies here?
COOMES. 'Tis our Hodge, and I think he lies asleep: you made him drunk
at your house to-day; but I'll pepper some of you for't.
NICH. Ay, Richard, I know you'll put a man over the shoes, and if you
can; but he's a fool will take more than will do him good.
COOMES. 'Sblood, ye shall take more than will do ye good, or I'll make
ye clap under the table.
NICH. Nay, I hope, as I have temperance to forbear drink, so have I
patience to endure drink: I'll do as company doth; for when a man doth
to Rome come, he must do as there is done.[285]
COOMES. Ha, my resolved Nick, froligozene! Fill the pot, hostess;
swouns, you whore! Harry Hook's a rascal. Help me, but carry my fellow
Hodge in, and we'll c'rouse[286] it, i'faith.
[_Exeunt_.
_Enter_ PHILIP.
PHIL. By this, I think, the letter is delivered,
And 'twill be shortly time that I step in,
And woo their favours for my sister's fortune:
And yet I need not; she may do as well,
But yet not better, as the case doth stand,
Between our mothers; it may make them friends;
Nay, I would swear that she would do as well,
Were she a stranger to one quality,
But they are so acquainted, they'll ne'er part.
Why, she will flout the devil, and make blush
The boldest face of man that e'er man saw;
He that hath best opinion of his wit,
And hath his brainpan fraught with bitter jests,
Or of his own, or stol'n, or howsoever,
Let him stand ne'er so high in his own conceit,
Her wit's a sun that melts him down like butter,
And makes him sit at table pancake-wise,
Flat, flat, God knows, and ne'er a word to say;
Yet she'll not leave him then, but like a tyrant
She'll persecute the poor wit-beaten man,
And so bebang him with dry bobs and scoffs,
When he is down, most coward-like, good faith,
As I have pitied the poor patient.
There came a farmer's son a-wooing to her,
A proper man: well-landed too he was,
A man that for his wit need not to ask
What time a year 'twere good to sow his oats,
Nor yet his barley; no, nor when to reap,
To plough his fallows, or to fell his trees,
Well-experienc'd thus each kind of way;
After a two months' labour at the most--
And yet 'twas well he held it out so long--
He left his love, she had so lac'd his lips
He could say nothing to her but "God be with ye!"
Why she, when men have din'd and call for cheese,
Will straight maintain jests bitter to disgest;[287]
And then some one will fall to argument,
Who if he over-master her with reason,
Then she'll begin to buffet him with mocks.
Well, I do doubt Francis hath so much spleen,
They'll ne'er agree; but I will moderate.
By this time it is time, I think, to enter:
This is the house; shall I knock? no; I will not.
[Nor] wait, while one comes out to answer [me]:[288]
I'll in, and let them be as bold with us.
[_Exit_.
_Enter_ MASTER GOURSEY, _reading a letter_.
MR GOUR. _If that they like, her dowry shall be equal
To your son's wealth or possibility:
It is a means to make our wives good friends,
And to continue friendship 'twixt us two_.
'Tis so, indeed: I like this motion,
And it hath my consent, because my wife
Is sore infected and heart-sick with hate;
And I have sought the Galen of advice,
Which only tells me this same potion
To be most sovereign for her sickness' cure.
_Enter_ FRANK _and_ PHILIP.
Here comes my son, conferring with his friend.--
Francis, how do you like your friend's discourse?
I know he is persuading to this motion.
FRAN. Father, as matter that befits a friend,
But yet not me, that am too young to marry.
MR GOUR. Nay, if thy mind be forward with thy years,
The time is lost thou tarriest. Trust me, boy,
This match is answerable to thy birth;
Her blood and portion give each other grace;
These indented lines promise a sum,
And I do like the value: if it hap
Thy liking to accord to my consent,
It is a match. Wilt thou go see the maid?
FRAN. Ne'er trust me, father, the shackles[289] of marriage,
Which I do see in others, seem so severe,
I dare not put my youngling liberty
Under the awe of that instruction;
And yet I grant the limits of free youth
Going astray are often restrain'd by that.
But mistress wedlock, to my scholar-thoughts,
Will be too curs'd, I fear: O, should she snip
My pleasure-aiming mind, I shall be sad,
And swear, when I did marry, I was mad!
MR GOUR. But, boy, let my experience teach thee this--
Yet, in good faith, thou speak'st not much amiss--
When first thy mother's fame to me did come,
Thy grandsire thus then came to me his son,
And even my words to thee to me he said,
And as to me thou say'st to him I said,
But in a greater huff and hotter blood,--
I tell ye, on youth's tip-toes then I stood:
Says he (good faith, this was his very say),
"When I was young, I was but reason's fool,
And went to wedding as to wisdom's school;
It taught me much, and much I did forget,
But, beaten much, by it I got some wit;
Though I was shackled from an often scout,
Yet I would wanton it, when I was out;
'Twas comfort old acquaintance then to meet,
Restrained liberty attain'd is sweet."
Thus said my father to thy father[290], son,
And thou mayst do this too, as I have done.
PHIL. In faith, good counsel, Frank: what say'st thou to it?
FRAN. Philip, what should I say?
PHIL. Why, either ay or no.
FRAN. O, but which rather?
PHIL. Why, that which was persuaded by thy father.
FRAN. That's ay then[291]. Ay. O, should it fall out ill,
Then I, for I am guilty of that ill!--
I'll not be guilty. No.
PHIL. What, backward gone!
FRAN. Philip, no whit backward; that is, on.
PHIL. On, then.
FRAN. O, stay!
PHIL. Tush, there is no good luck in this delay.
Come, come; late-comers, man, are shent.
FRAN. Heigho, I fear I shall repent!
Well, which way, Philip[292]?
PHIL. Why, this way.
FRAN. Canst thou tell,
And takest upon thee to be my guide to hell?--
But which way, father?
MR GOUR. That way.
FRAN. Ay, you know,
You found the way to sorrow long ago.
Father, God be wi' ye[293]: you have sent your son
To seek on earth an earthly day of doom,
Where I shall be adjudged, alack the ruth,
To penance for the follies of my youth!
Well, I must go; but, by my troth, my mind
Is not capable to love [in][294] that kind.
O, I have look'd upon this mould of men,
As I have done upon a lion's den!
Praised I have the gallant beast I saw,
Yet wish'd me no acquaintance with his paw:
And must I now be grated with them? well,
Yet I may hap to prove a Daniel;
And, if I do, sure it would make me laugh,
To be among wild beasts and yet be safe.
Is there a remedy to abate their rage?
Yes, many catch them, and put them in a cage.
Ay, but how catch them? marry, in your hand
Carry me forth a burning firebrand,
For with his sparkling shine, old rumour says,
A firebrand the swiftest runner frays:
This I may do; but, if it prove not so,
Then man goes out to seek his adjunct woe.
Philip, away! and, father, now adieu!
In quest of sorrow I am sent by you.
MR GOUR. Return, the messenger of joy, my son.
FRAN. Seldom in this world such a work is done.
PHIL. Nay, nay, make haste, it will be quickly night.
FRAN. Why, is it not good to woo by candle-light?
PHIL. But, if we make not haste, they'll be a-bed.
FRAN. The better, candles out and curtains spread.
[_Exeunt_ FRANCIS and PHILIP.]
MR GOUR. I know, though that my son's years be not many,
Yet he hath wit to woo as well as any.
Here comes my wife: I am glad my boy is gone.
_Enter_ MISTRESS GOURSEY.
Ere she came hither. How now, wife? how is't?
What, are ye yet in charity and love
With Mistress Barnes?
MRS GOUR. With Mistress Barnes! why Mistress[295] Barnes, I pray?
MR GOUR. Because she is your neighbour and--
MRS GOUR. And what?
And a jealous, slandering, spiteful quean she is,
One that would blur my reputation
With her opprobrious malice, if she could;
She wrongs her husband, to abuse my fame:
'Tis known that I have lived in honest name
All my lifetime, and been your right true wife.
MR GOUR. I entertain no other thought, my wife,
And my opinion's sound of your behaviour.
MRS GOUR. And my behaviour is as sound as it;
But her ill-speeches seeks to rot my credit,
And eat it with the worm of hate and malice.
MR GOUR. Why, then, preserve it you by patience.
MRS GOUR. By patience! would ye have me shame myself,
And cosen myself to bear her injuries?
Not while her eyes be open, will I yield
A word, a letter, a syllable's value.
But equal and make even her wrongs to me
To her again.
MR GOUR. Then, in good faith, wife, ye are more to blame.
MRS GOUR. Am I to blame, sir? pray, what letter's this?
[_Snatches the letter_.]
MR GOUR. There is a dearth of manners in ye, wife,
Rudely to snatch it from me. Give it me.
MRS GOUR. You shall not have it, sir, till I have read it.
MR GOUR. Give me it, then, and I will read it to you.
MRS GOUR. No, no, it shall not need: I am a scholar
Good enough to read a letter, sir.
MR GOUR. God's passion, if she know but the contents,
She'll seek to cross this match! she shall not read it. [_Aside_.]
Wife, give it me; come, come, give it me.
MRS GOUR. Husband, in very deed, you shall not have it.
MR GOUR. What, will you move me to impatience, then?
MRS GOUR. Tut, tell not me of your impatience;
But since you talk, sir, of impatience,
You shall not have the letter, by this light,
Till I have read it; soul, I'll burn it first!
MR GOUR. Go to, ye move me, wife; give me the letter;
In troth, I shall grow angry, if you do not.
MRS GOUR. Grow to the house-top with your anger, sir!
Ne'er tell me, I care not thus much for it.
MR GOUR. Well, I can bear enough, but not too much.
Come, give it me; 'twere best you be persuaded;
By God--ye make me swear--now God forgive me!--
Give me, I say, and stand not long upon it;
Go to, I am angry at the heart, my very heart.
MRS GOUR. Heart me no hearts! you shall not have it, sir,
No, you shall not; ne'er look so big,
I will not be afraid at your great looks;
You shall not have it, no, you shall not have it.
MR GOUR. Shall I not have it? in troth, I'll try that:
Minion, I'll ha''t; shall I not ha''t?--I am loth--
Go to, take pausement, be advis'd--
In faith, I will; and stand not long upon it--
A woman of your years! I am asham'd
A couple of so long continuance
Should thus--God's foot--I cry God heart'ly mercy!--
Go to, ye vex me; and I'll vex ye for it;
Before I leave ye, I will make ye glad
To tender it on your knees; hear ye, I will, I will.
What, worse and worse stomach! true faith,
Shall I be cross'd by you in my old age?
And where I should have greatest comfort, too,
A nurse of you?--nurse in the devil's name!--
Go to, mistress; by God's precious deer,
If ye delay--
MRS GOUR. Lord, Lord, why, in what a fit
Are you in, husband! so enrag'd, so mov'd,
And for so slight a cause, to read a letter!
Did this letter, love, contain my death,
Should you deny my sight of it, I would not
Nor see my sorrow nor eschew my danger,
But willingly yield me a patient
Unto the doom that your displeasure gave.
Here is the letter; not for that your incensement
[_Gives back the letter_.]
Makes me make offer of it, but your health,
Which anger, I do fear, hath craz'd[296],
And viper-like hath suck'd away the blood
That wont was to be cheerful in this cheek:
How pale ye look!
MR GOUR. Pale! Can ye blame me for it? I tell you true,
An easy matter could not thus have moved me.
Well, this resignment--and so forth--but, woman,
This fortnight shall I not forget ye for it.--
Ha, ha, I see that roughness can do somewhat!
I did not think, good faith, I could have set
So sour a face upon it, and to her,
My bed-embracer, my right bosom friend.
I would not that she should have seen the letter--
As poor a man as I am--by my troth,
For twenty pound: well, I am glad I have it. [_Aside_.]
Ha, here's ado about a thing of nothing!
What, stomach, ha! 'tis happy you're come down.
[_Exit_.