Monday, July 2, 2012

"A plague on them!"

Dear groundlyngs, I retired agayne to a publike house--though I wyseley chose a different house, the Cheshire Cheese this eve. As I sat downe with my yeele pasty and a tankard of the house ale, your Will hearde a commotion from the door as some roaring fellowe shouted.

"A plague on you, you young vipers," he called out to an unseen foe. "Jack o' th' Greene, slacke hayred Timmy, get away an I run ye through for vexing her Majesty's subjects! You plague-feweld dogs!"

I heard the lauchter of those two urchens as they ranne, and the new fellowe turned and slammed shut the door to the publike house. He seem'd a swollen bladder of a man, his belly, no, his bosoms, his thighs, his entire bodie bellied, his apparell bladdered to hold his bulke. From what I spied, his apparell was that of a Gentleman stretcht almost beyond boundes. What he wore had beene the garb in Mary's time--and he look'd also of those by-gone-days with the snowe upon his peakes. At his side in his belt he bore a Rapier that he likely only wyelded against the likes of Jack o' the Greene and Timmy in frustration.

"Ale, Francis, and be quicke," he called to the servyng boy. He noted my presence and my stare. "You are that player fellowe, William Shakaspear?"

"You've seen my playes, sir?" replies your Will.

He doffed his hatte. "Sir Jack Malapert, sirrah. I quite liked your Titus and that other playe--the one with good Sir Robin. Now there is a goode fellowe!"

"Many thanks, good Sir Jack," say I. "I take it Raggamuffin an' Raggmalle have vex'd you with their critikes?"

"A plague on them!" he roared agayne, turning back to th' door and shaking his fiste. "A pox on theyr unformed things!" He look'd to me again. "Yes, sirrah, they are always impudent. If they have vex'd thee as well, then let us drinke to the plague takyng their pocked tongues to Hell!"

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