The Complete Apocryphal Works of William Shakespeare - All 17 Rare Plays in One Edition. William ShakespeareЧитать онлайн книгу.
livery cloak, but all the lace was off;
‘twas bad, but yet it served to hide the plate.
WILL
Sirrah Shakebag, canst thou remember
Since we trolled the bowl at sittingburgh
Where I broke the tapster’s head of the lion
With a cudgel-stick?
SHAKEBAG
Ay, very well, WILL
WILL
Why, it was with the money that the plate was sold for.
Sirrah Bradshow, what wilt thou give him
That can tell thee who sold thy plate?
BRADSHAW
Who, I pray thee, good Will?
WILL
Why, ‘twas one jack fitten.
He’s now in newgate for stealing a horse,
And shall be arraigned the next ‘size.
For I’ll back and tell him who robbed him of his plate.
This cheers my heart; master Greene, I’ll leave you,
For I must to the isle of sheppy with speed.
GREENE
Before you go, let me intreat you
To carry this letter to mistress Arden of feversham,
And humbly recommend me to her self.
BRADSHAW
That will i, master Greene, and so farewell.
Here, Will, there’s a crown for thy good news. (Exit BRADSHAW
WILL
Farewell, Bradshaw,
I’ll drink no water for thy sake whilst this lasts.
Now gentlemen, shall we have your company to London?
GREENE
Nay, stay, sirs: a little more I needs must use your help,
And in a matter of great consequence,
Wherein if you’ll be secret and profound,
I’ll give you twenty angels for your pains.
WILL
How? Twenty angels? Give my fellow
George Shakebag and me twenty angels?
And if thou’lt have thy own father slain,
That thou may’st inherit his land, we’ll kill him.
SHAKEBAG
Ay, thy mother, thy sister, thy
With mighty furrows in his stormy brows;
GREENE
Well, this it is: Arden of feversham
Hath highly wronged me about the abbey land,
That no revenge but death will serve the turn.
Will you two kill him? Here’s the angels down,
And I will lay the platform of his death.
WILL
Plat me no platforms; give me the money
And I’ll stab him as he stands pissing against a wall,
But I’ll kill him.
SHAKEBAG
Where is he?
GREENE
He is now at London, in aldersgate street.
SHAKEBAG
He’s dead as if he had been condemned
by an act of parliament, if once Black Will and i
Swear his death.
GREENE
Here is ten pound, and when he is dead,
Ye shall have twenty more.
WILL
My fingers itch to be at the peasant.
Ah, that I might be set a work thus through the year
And that murder would grow to an occupation,
That a man might, without danger of law,
Come, let us be going, and we’ll bate at rochester,
Where I’ll give thee a gallon of sack,
To handsel the match with all. (Exeunt. Here enters MICHAEL
MICHAEL
I have gotten such a letter,
As will touch the painter: and thus it is…
(here Enter Arden and Franklin and hear Michael read this letter.
‘my duty remembered, mistress Susan, hoping in god you be in
Good health, as i, Michael was at the making hereof. This is to
Certify you that as the turtle true, when she hath lost her mate,
Sitteth alone so i, mourning for your absence, do walk up and down
Paul’s till one day I fell asleep and lost my master’s pantofles.
Ah, mistress Susan, abolish that paltry painter, cut him off by the
Shins with a frowning look of your crabbed countenance, and think
And do ye slack his business for your own?
ARDEN
Where is the letter, sirrah? Let me see it.
(then he gives him the letter.
See, master Franklin, here’s proper stuff:
Susan my maid, the painter, and my man,
A crew of harlots, all in love, forsooth;
Sirrah, let me hear no more of this,
Nor for thy life once write to her a word.
(here Enter Greene, Will, and SHAKEBAG
Wilt thou be married to so base a trull?
‘tis Mosbie’s sister: come I once at home,
I’ll rouse her from remaining in my house.
Now, master Franklin, let us go walk in paul’s,
Come but a turn or two, and then away. (Exeunt.
GREENE
The first is Arden, and that’s his man.
The other is Franklin, Arden’s dearest friend.
WILL
Zounds, I’ll kill them all three.
GREENE
Hay, sirs, touch not his man in any case,
But stand close, and take you fittest standing,
And at his coming forth, speed him:
To the nag’s head, there’s this coward’s haunt.
SHAKEBAG
If he be not paid his own, ne’er trust SHAKEBAG
WILL
Sirrah Shakebag, at his coming forth
I’ll run him through, and then to the blackfriars,
And there take water and away.
SHAKEBAG
Why, that’s the best; but see thou miss him not.
WILL
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