Page 1743 - Shakespeare - Vol. 4

PORTER

You did nothing sir.

MAN
I am not Samson, nor Sir Guy, nor Colbrand, [20]
To mow ’em down before me; but if I spared any
That had a head to hit, either young or old,

He or she, cuckold or cuckold-maker,
Let me ne’er hope to see a chine again,
And that I would not for a cow, God save her. [25]

[ONE] WITHIN
Do you hear, master porter?

PORTER
I shall be with you presently, good master puppy. Keep the door close, sirrah.

MAN
What would you have me do?

PORTER

What should you do, but knock ’em down by [30] th’dozens? Is this Moorfields
to muster in? Or have we some strange Indian with the great tool come to
court, the women so besiege us? Bless me, what a fry of fornication is at
door! On my Christian conscience, this one christening will beget a thousand:

here will be [35] father, godfather, and all together.

MAN
The spoons will be the bigger, sir. There is a fellow somewhat near the door,
he should be a brazier by his face, for, o’my conscience, twenty of the dog-
days now reign in’s nose; all that stand about him are under the [40] line,
they need no other penance. That fire-drake did I hit three times on the

head, and three times was his nose discharged against me; he stands there
like a mortar-piece, to blow us. There was a haberdasher’s wife of small wit
near him, that railed upon me till her pinked [45] porringer fell off her head,

for kindling such a combustion in the state. I missed the meteor once, and hit
that woman, who cried out “Clubs!”, when I might see from far some forty