All's One or a Yorkshire Tragedy, Shakespeare Apocrypha E-Book

William Shakespeare

• Herausgeber: Seltzer Books
• Kategorie: Poesie und Drama
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 32

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2018

Beschreibung

Elizabethan play, sometimes attributed in part to Shakespeare. According to Wikipedia: "William Shakespeare (baptised 26 April 1564 – died 23 April 1616) was an English poet and playwright, widely regarded as the greatest writer in the English language and the world's pre-eminent dramatist. He is often called England's national poet and the "Bard of Avon" (or simply "The Bard"). His surviving works consist of 38 plays, 154 sonnets, two long narrative poems, and several other poems. His plays have been translated into every major living language, and are performed more often than those of any other playwright."

Leseprobe

All's One Or One Of The Four Plays In One, Called A York-Shire Tragedy As It Was Played By The King's Majesty's Players

published by Samizdat Express, Orange, CT, USA

established in 1974, offering over 14,000 books

Other plays partially attributed to William Shakespeare:

Cromwell

Edward III

Faire Em

Fairy Tale in Two Acts

London Prodigal

Merry Devil

Puritaine Widdow

Sir John Oldcastle

Sir Thomas More

Tragedy of Locrine

Two Noble Kinsmen

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from Shakespeare, William.  A Yorkshire Tragedy.  Not So New as Lamentable

and True.  In C.F. Tucker Brooke, ed., The Shakespeare Apocrypha

(Oxford, 1918).

Dramatis Personae.

Husband.

Master of a College.

Knight, a Justice of Peace.

Oliver,

Ralph,

Samuel, serving-men.

Other Servants, and Officers.

Wife.

Maid-servant.

A little Boy.

SCENE I.  A room in Calverly Hall.

[Enter Oliver and Ralph, two servingmen.]

OLIVER.

Sirrah Ralph, my young Mistress is in such a pitiful passionate

humor for the long absence of her love--

RALPH.

Why, can you blame her? why, apples hanging longer on the tree

then when they are ripe makes so many fallings; viz., Mad

wenches, because they are not gathered in time, are fain to

drop of them selves, and then tis Common you know for every

man to take em up.

OLIVER.

Mass, thou sayest true, Tis common indeed: but, sirrah, is

neither our young master returned, nor our fellow Sam come

from London?

RALPH.

Neither of either, as the Puritan bawd says.  Slidd, I hear

Sam: Sam's come, her's!  Tarry! come, yfaith, now my nose

itches for news.

OLIVER.

And so does mine elbow.

[Sam calls within.  Where are you there?]

SAM.

Boy, look you walk my horse with discretion; I have rid him

simply.  I warrant his skin sticks to his back with very heat:

if a should catch cold and get the Cough of the Lungs I were

well served, were I not?

[Enter Sam.  Furnisht with things from London.]

What, Ralph and Oliver.

AMBO.

Honest fellow Sam, welcome, yfaith! what tricks hast thou

brought from London?

SAM.

You see I am hangd after the truest fashion: three hats, and

two glasses, bobbing upon em, two rebato wires upon my breast,

a capcase by my side, a brush at my back, an Almanack in my

pocket, and three ballats in my Codpiece:  nay, I am the true

picture of a Common servingman.

OLIVER.

I'll swear thou art.  Thou mayest set up when thou wilt.

There's many a one begins with less, I can tell thee, that

proves a rich man ere he dies.  But what's the news from

London, Sam?

RALPH.

Aye, that's well said; what's the news from London, Sirrah?

My young mistress keeps such a puling for her love.

SAM.

Why, the more fool she; aye, the more ninny hammer she.

OLIVER.

Why, Sam, why?

SAM.

Why, he's married to another Long ago.

AMBO.

Yfaith, ye jest.

SAM.

Why, did you not know that till now? why, he's married, beats

his wife, and has two or three children by her: for you must

note that any woman bears the more when she is beaten.

RALPH.

Aye, that's true, for she bears the blows.

OLIVER.

Sirrah Sam, I would not for two years wages, my young mistress

knew so much; she'd run upon the left hand of her wit, and

ne'er be her own woman again.

SAM.

And I think she was blest in her Cradle, that he never came

in her bed; why, he has consumed all, pawnd his lands, and

made his university brother stand in wax for him--There's a

fine phrase for a scrivener! puh, he owes more then his skin's

worth.

OLIVER.

Is't possible?

SAM.

Nay, I'll tell you moreover, he calls his wife whore as

familiarly as one would call Mal and Dol, and his children