Internet Shakespeare Editions

Become a FriendSign in

About this text

  • Title: Everyman In His Humor (Modern)
  • Editor: David Bevington

  • Copyright David Bevington. This text may be freely used for educational, non-profit purposes; for all other uses contact the Editor.
    Author: Ben Jonson
    Editor: David Bevington
    Not Peer Reviewed

    Everyman In His Humor (Modern)

    3.5.
    [Enter Cob.
    Cob
    [Knocking] What, Tib! Tib, I say!
    Tib
    [Within] How now, what cuckold is that knocks so hard?
    1700To him, Tib.
    Oh, husband, is't you? What's the news?
    Cob
    Nay, you have stunned me, i'faith! You have given me a knock on the forehead will stick by me. Cuckold? 'Swounds, cuckold?
    Tib
    Away, you fool! Did I know it was you that knocked? Come, come, you may call me as bad when you list.
    Cob
    May I? 'Swounds, Tib, you are a whore.
    1705Tib
    'Sheart, you lie in your throat.
    Cob
    How, the lie? And in my throat too? Do you long to be stabbed, ha?
    Tib
    Why, you are no soldier.
    Cob
    Mass, that's true. When was Bobadilla here? That rogue, that slave, that fencing Burgullian! I'll tickle him, i'faith.
    Tib
    Why, what's the matter?
    1710Cob
    Oh, he hath basted me rarely, sumptuously! But I have it here will sauce him. Oh, the doctor, the honestest old Trojan in all Italy! I do honor the very flea of his dog. A plague on him, he put me once in a villainous, filthy fear. Marry, it vanished away like the smoke of tobacco, but I was smoked soundly first, I thank the devil and 1715his good angel, my guest. Well, wife, or Tib, which you will, get you in and lock the door, I charge you, let no body in to you -- not Bobadilla himself, nor the devil in his likeness. You are a woman; you have flesh and blood enough in you; therefore, be not tempted; keep the door shut upon all comers.
    Tib
    I warrant you, there shall no body enter here without my consent.
    1720Cob
    Nor with your consent, sweet Tib; and so I leave you.
    Tib
    It's more than you know, whether you leave me so.
    Cob
    How?
    Tib
    Why, sweet.
    Cob
    Tut, sweet or sour, thou art a flower.
    1725Keep close thy door. I ask no more.
    Exeunt.