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The Complete Apocryphal Works of William Shakespeare - All 17 Rare Plays in One Edition. William ShakespeareЧитать онлайн книгу.

The Complete Apocryphal Works of William Shakespeare - All 17 Rare Plays in One Edition - William Shakespeare


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      Nay, see how mistaking you are,

      I pray thee go.

      ALICE

      No no, not now.

      ARDEN

      Then let me leave thee satisfied in this,

      That time nor place, nor persons alter me,

      But that I hold thee dearer than my life.

      ALICE

      That will be seen by your quick return.

      ARDEN

      And that shall be ere night, and if I live.

      Farewell, sweet Alice, we mind to sup with thee. (Exit ALICE

      FRANKLIN

      Come, Michael, are our horses ready?

      MICHAEL

      Ay, your horse are ready, but I am not ready,

      For I have lost my purse,

      With six and thiry shillings in it,

      With taking up of my master’s nag.

      FRANKLIN

      Why, I pray you, let us go before,

      Whilst he stays behind to seek his purse.

      ARDEN

      Go to, sirrah, see you follow us to the isle of sheppey,

      To my lord cheney’s, where we mean to dine.

      (Exeunt Arden and FRANKLIN

      Manet MICHAEL

      MICHAEL

      So, fair weather after you,

      For before you lies Black Will and Shakebag

      In the broom close, too close for you:

      They’ll be your ferrymen to long home. (here enters the painter.

      But who is this, the painter, my corrival,

      That would needs win mistress SUSAN

      CLARKE

      How now, Michael, how doth my mistress,

      And all at home?

      MICHAEL

      Who, Susan Mosbie? She’s your mistress too?

      CLARKE

      Ay, how doth she and all the rest?

      MICHAEL

      All’s well but Susan; she is sick.

      CLARKE

      Sick? Of what disease?

      MICHAEL

      Of a great fear.

      CLARKE

      A fear of what?

      MICHAEL

      A great fever.

      CLARKE

      A fever, god forbid!

      MICHAEL

      Yes, faith, and of a lordaine, too,

      As big as your self.

      CLARKE

      O, Michael, the spleen prickles you.

      Go to, you carry an eye over mistress SUSAN

      MICHAEL

      I’faith, to keep her from the painter.

      CLARKE

      Why more from a painter than from a serving

      Creature like your self?

      Of a pretty wench, and spoil her beauty with blotting.

      CLARKE

      What mean you by that?

      MICHAEL

      Why that you painters, paint lambs in the

      Lining of wenches’ petticoats,

      And we serving men put horns to them to make them become sheep.

      CLARKE

      Such another word will cost you a cuff or a knock.

      MICHAEL

      What, with a dagger made of a pencil?

      Faith, ‘tis too weak,

      And therefore thou too weak to win SUSAN

      CLARKE

      Would Susan’s love lay upon this stroke.

      (then he breaks Michael’s head. Here Enter Mosbie, Greene and ALICE

      ALICE

      I’ll lay my life, this is for Susan’s love.

      Stayed you behind your master to this end?

      Have you no other time to brabble in

      But now when serious matters are in hand? -

      Say, Clarke, hast thou done the thing thou promised?

      CLARKE

      Ay, here it is; the very touch is death.

      ALICE

      Then this, I hope, if all the rest do fail

      Will catch master Arden,

      And make him wise in death that lived a fool.

      Why should he thrust his sickle in our corn,

      Or what hath he to do with thee, my love,

      Or govern me that am to rule myself?

      Forsooth, for credit sake, I must leave thee!

      Nay, he must leave to live that we may love,

      May live, may love; for what is life but love?

      And love shall last as long as life remains,

      And life shall end before my love depart.

      MOSBIE

      Why, what’s love without true constancy?

      Like to a pillar built of many stones,

      Yet neither with good mortar well compact

      Nor with cement to fasten it in the joints,

      But that it shakes with every blast of wind,

      And, being touched, straight falls unto the earth,

      And buries all his haughty pride in dust.

      No, let our love be rocks of adamant,

      Which time nor place nor tempest can asunder.

      GREENE

      Mosbie, leave protestations now,

      And let us bethink us what we have to do,

      Black Will and Shakebag I have placed

      Let’s to them and see what they have done.

      (here enters Arden and FRANKLIN

      ARDEN

      Oh, ferryman, where art thou?

      FRANKLIN

      Friend, what’s thy opinion of this mist?

      FERRYMAN

      I think ‘tis like to a curst wife in a little house,

      That never leaves her husband till she have driven him

      Out at doors with a wet pair of eyes,

      Then looks he as if his house were a fire,

      Or some of his friends dead.

      ARDEN

      Speaks thou this of


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