Measure for Measure. Уильям Шекспир
the dukes fall upon
the
King.
FIRST GENTLEMAN. Heaven grant us its peace, but not the King of
Hungary's!
SECOND GENTLEMAN. Amen.
LUCIO. Thou conclud'st like the sanctimonious pirate that went
to
sea with the Ten Commandments, but scrap'd one out of the
table.
SECOND GENTLEMAN. 'Thou shalt not steal'?
LUCIO. Ay, that he raz'd.
FIRST GENTLEMAN. Why, 'twas a commandment to command the
captain
and all the rest from their functions: they put forth to
steal.
There's not a soldier of us all that, in the thanksgiving
before
meat, do relish the petition well that prays for peace.
SECOND GENTLEMAN. I never heard any soldier dislike it.
LUCIO. I believe thee; for I think thou never wast where grace
was
said.
SECOND GENTLEMAN. No? A dozen times at least.
FIRST GENTLEMAN. What, in metre?
LUCIO. In any proportion or in any language.
FIRST GENTLEMAN. I think, or in any religion.
LUCIO. Ay, why not? Grace is grace, despite of all controversy;
as,
for example, thou thyself art a wicked villain, despite of
all
grace.
FIRST GENTLEMAN. Well, there went but a pair of shears between
us.
LUCIO. I grant; as there may between the lists and the velvet.
Thou art the list.
FIRST GENTLEMAN. And thou the velvet; thou art good velvet;
thou'rt
a three-pil'd piece, I warrant thee. I had as lief be a list
of
an English kersey as be pil'd, as thou art pil'd, for a
French
velvet. Do I speak feelingly now?
LUCIO. I think thou dost; and, indeed, with most painful
feeling of
thy speech. I will, out of thine own confession, learn to
begin
thy health; but, whilst I live, forget to drink after thee.
FIRST GENTLEMAN. I think I have done myself wrong, have I not?
SECOND GENTLEMAN. Yes, that thou hast, whether thou art tainted
or
free.
Enter MISTRESS OVERDONE
LUCIO. Behold, behold, where Madam Mitigation comes! I have
purchas'd as many diseases under her roof as come to-
SECOND GENTLEMAN. To what, I pray?
FIRST GENTLEMAN. Judge.
SECOND GENTLEMAN. To three thousand dolours a year.
FIRST GENTLEMAN. Ay, and more.
LUCIO. A French crown more.
FIRST GENTLEMAN. Thou art always figuring diseases in me, but
thou
art full of error; I am sound.
LUCIO. Nay, not, as one would say, healthy; but so sound as
things
that are hollow: thy bones are hollow; impiety has made a
feast
of thee.
FIRST GENTLEMAN. How now! which of your hips has the most
profound
sciatica?
MRS. OVERDONE. Well, well! there's one yonder arrested and
carried
to prison was worth five thousand of you all.
FIRST GENTLEMAN. Who's that, I pray thee?
MRS. OVERDONE. Marry, sir, that's Claudio, Signior Claudio.
FIRST GENTLEMAN. Claudio to prison? 'Tis not so.
MRS. OVERDONE. Nay, but I know 'tis so: I saw him arrested; saw
him
carried away; and, which is more, within these three days his
head to be chopp'd off.
LUCIO. But, after all this fooling, I would not have it so. Art
thou sure of this?
MRS. OVERDONE. I am too sure of it; and it is for getting Madam
Julietta with child.
LUCIO. Believe me, this may be; he promis'd to meet me two
hours
since, and he was ever precise in promise-keeping.
SECOND GENTLEMAN. Besides, you know, it draws something near to
the
speech we had to such a purpose.
FIRST GENTLEMAN. But most of all agreeing with the
proclamation.
LUCIO. Away; let's go learn the truth of it.
MRS. OVERDONE. Thus, what with the war, what with the sweat,
what
with the gallows, and what with poverty, I am custom-shrunk.
Enter POMPEY
How now! what's the news with you?
POMPEY. Yonder man is carried to prison.
MRS. OVERDONE. Well, what has he done?
POMPEY. A woman.
MRS. OVERDONE. But what's his offence?
POMPEY. Groping for trouts in a peculiar river.
MRS. OVERDONE. What! is there a maid with child by him?
POMPEY. No; but there's a woman with maid by him. You have not
heard of the proclamation, have you?
MRS. OVERDONE. What proclamation, man?
POMPEY. All houses in the suburbs of Vienna must be pluck'd
down.
MRS. OVERDONE. And what shall become of those in the city?
POMPEY. They shall stand for seed; they had gone down too, but
that
a wise burgher put in for them.
MRS. OVERDONE. But shall all our houses of resort in the
suburbs be
pull'd down?
POMPEY. To the ground, mistress.
MRS. OVERDONE. Why, here's a