Page 1150 - Shakespeare - Vol. 3

POMPEY

I spy comfort, I cry bail! Here’s a gentleman, and a friend of mine. [40]

LUCIO
How now, noble Pompey! What, at the wheels of Caesar? Art thou led in
triumph? What, is there none of Pygmalion’s images newly made woman to
be had now, for putting the hand in the pocket and extracting clutched? What

reply, ha? What say’st thou to this tune, [45] matter and method? Is’t not
drowned i’th’last rain? Ha? What say’st thou, trot? Is the world as it was,
man? Which is the way? Is it sad, and few words? Or how? The trick of it?

DUKE
Still thus, and thus: still worse! [50]

LUCIO
How doth my dear morsel, thy mistress? Procures she still, ha?

POMPEY
Troth, sir, she hath eaten up all her beef, and she is herself in the tub.

LUCIO

Why, ’tis good: it is the right of it: it must be so. [55] Ever your fresh whore,
and your powdered bawd; an unshunned consequence; it must be so. Art
going to prison, Pompey?

POMPEY
Yes, faith, sir.

LUCIO
Why, ’tis not amiss, Pompey. Farewell: go, say I [60] sent thee thither. − For

debt, Pompey, or how?

ELBOW
For being a bawd, for being a bawd.

LUCIO
Well, then, imprison him. If imprisonment be the due of a bawd, why, ’tis his