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- Edition: As You Like It
Everyman In His Humor (Modern)
- Introduction
- Texts of this edition
- Contextual materials
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He will expect you, sir, within this half hour.
Why, what's o'clock?
New stricken ten.
Hath he the money ready, can you tell?
Yes, sir. Baptista brought it yesternight.
Oh, that's well. Fetch me my cloak. Exit Piso.
Sir, Signor Platano will meet you there with the bond.
That's true. By Jesu, I had clean forgot it;
Past ten, sir.
[Aside] Heart, then will Prospero presently be here too,
Sir?
[Aside] Yet, now I have bethought me, too, I will not. --
I think he be, sir.
[Aside] But he'll prate too; there's no talk of him.
Sir, if a servant's zeal and humble duty
I have a matter to impart to thee,
Sir, for that --
Nay, hear me, man. Think I esteem thee well
Reveal it, sir?
Nay, I do not think thou wouldst,
Sir, then I were a villain.
[Aside] He will not swear. He has some meaning,
Not yet, sir, but I will,
Nay, I dare take thy word.
By my soul's safety, sir, I here protest,
Enough, enough, these ceremonies need not.
At your pleasure, sir.
I pray you, search the books 'gainst I return
I will, sir.
And hear you: if my brother Prospero
Very well, sir.
Forget it not, nor be not you out of the way.
I will not, sir.
Or whether he come or no, if any other,
Yes, sir.
Have care, I pray you, and remember it.
I warrant you, sir.
But Piso, this is not the secret I told thee of.
No, sir, I suppose so.
Nay, believe me, it is not.
I do believe you, sir.
By heaven, it is not; that's enough.
"Piso, remember, silence buried here"?
Fasting days. What tell you me of your fasting days? Would 1206they were all on a light fire for me! They say the world shall 1207be consumed with fire and brimstone in the latter day, but I would we 1208had these Ember weeks and these villainous Fridays burnt in the meantime, and then --
Why, how now, Cob, what moves thee to this choler, ha?
Collar, sir? 'Swounds, I scorn your collar. I, sir, am no collier's horse, sir; never ride me with your collar. An you do, I'll show 1212you a jade's trick.
Oh, you'll slip your head out of the collar. Why, Cob, you mistake me.
Nay, I have my rheum, and I be angry as well as another, sir.
Thy "rheum"? Thy humor, man; thou mistakest.
"Humor"? Mack, I think it be so, indeed. What is this "humor"? It's some rare thing, I warrant.
Marry, I'll tell thee what it is, as 'tis generally received 1218in these days: it is a monster bred in a man by self-love and 1219affectation, and fed by folly.
How? Must it be fed?
Oh, ay, humor is nothing if it be not fed. Why, didst thou never hear of that? It's a common phrase, "Feed my humor."
I'll none on it. Humor, avaunt! I know you not; be 1223gone. Let who will make hungry meals for you; it shall not be I. 1224Feed you, quoth he? 'Sblood, I have much ado to feed myself, especially on 1225these lean rascal days too. An't had been any other day but a fasting 1226day -- a plague on them all, for me! By this light, one might 1227have done God good service and have drowned them all in the flood two 1228or three hundred thousand years ago. Oh, I do stomach them hugely! I have 1229a maw, now, an 'twere for Sir Bevis's horse.
Nay, but I pray thee, Cob, what makes thee so out of love with fasting days?
Marry, that that will make any man out of love with 1232them, I think: their bad conditions, an you will needs know. First, they are 1233of a Flemish breed, I am sure on't, for they raven up more butter 1234than all the days of the week beside. Next, they stink of fish miserably. 1235Thirdly, they'll keep a man devoutly hungry all day, and at night send him supperless to bed.
Indeed, these are faults, Cob.
Nay, an this were all, 'twere something. But they are the 1238only known enemies to my generation. A fasting day no sooner comes but my lineage goes to rack. Poor cobs, they smoke for it; they melt in passion. 1240And your maids too know this, and yet would have me turn Hannibal and 1241eat my own fish and blood!
([He] pulls out a red herring [and addresses 1242it].) My princely coz, fear nothing. I have not the heart to devour you, an I might be made as rich as Golias. Oh, that I had room 1244for my tears! I could weep salt water enough now to preserve the lives 1245of ten thousand of my kin. But I may curse none but these filthy almanacs, for, an 'twere not for them, these days of persecution would ne'er be 1247known. I'll be hanged an some fishmonger's son do not make on them, and 1248puts in more fasting days than he should do because he would utter his father's dried stockfish.
'Soul , peace! Thou'lt be beaten like a stockfish else. [He 1250sees a group approaching.] Here is Signor Matheo. Now must I look out for 1251a messenger to my master.
Exeunt Cob and Piso.