Читать книгу The Complete Works of Shakespeare онлайн

39 страница из 942

S. Ant. What is she?

S. Dro. A very reverent body: ay, such a one as a man may not speak of without he say “Sir-reverence.” I have but lean luck in the match, and yet is she a wondrous fat marriage.

S. Ant. How dost thou mean a fat marriage?

S. Dro. Marry, sir, she’s the kitchen wench and all grease, and I know not what use to put her to but to make a lamp of her and run from her by her own light. I warrant, her rags and the tallow in them will burn a Poland winter: if she lives till doomsday, she’ll burn a week longer than the whole world.

S. Ant. What complexion is she of?

S. Dro. Swart, like my shoe, but her face nothing like so clean kept: for why? she sweats, a man may go over shoes in the grime of it.

S. Ant. That’s a fault that water will mend.

S. Dro. No, sir, ’tis in grain, Noah’s flood could not do it.

S. Ant. What’s her name?

S. Dro. Nell, sir; but her name [and] three quarters, that’s an ell and three quarters, will not measure her from hip to hip.

S. Ant. Then she bears some breadth?