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A monologue from the play by Thomas Middleton
NOTE: This monologue is reprinted from Michaelmas Term. Thomas Middleton. London: Arthur Johnson, 1607.
QUOMODO
The land’s mine: that’s sure enough, boy.
Let me advance thee, knave, and give thee a kiss:
My plot’s so firm, I dare it now to miss.
Now shall I be divulg’d a landed man
Throughout the livery: one points, another whispers,
A third frets inwardly; let him fret and hang!
Especially his envy I shall have
That would be fain, yet cannot be a knave;
Like an old lecher girt in a furr’d gown,
Whose mind stands stiff, but his performance down.
Now come my golden days in. Whither is the worshipful
master Quomodo and his fair bedfellow rid forth?
To his land in Essex. Whence come those goodly load of logs?
From his land in Essex. Where grows this pleasant fruit,
says one citizen’s wife in the row? At master Quomodo’s orchard in Essex.
O, O, does it so? I thank you for that good news, I faith. […]
Grant me patience in my joys, that being so great, I run not mad with ’em!
