Thread by @vandroidhelsing

Not to give Ben Shapiro more airtime but "wokescold" sounds like a the surname of a Shakespearean alewife with a philandering husband

SIR GRATETHROP: how now, madam wokescold, what ails thee

MME WOKESCOLD: 'tis nothing but a bat, that wings its way
from the barn of a summer eve
and laps the milk of an unknown cow

MME WOKESCOLD: ay, there thou art, thou milk-faced thing
caught, I ween, with thy lips still wet from the dairy

MR WOKESCOLD: nay, Nell, nay! you but find me with
a bit of cheese

MME WOKESCOLD: ay, if cheese doth sigh with love for the eating of 't!

SIR GRATETHROP: another ale, and I'll be off

MME WOKESCOLD: marry, I had forgot thee
but I had not forgot thy oath

SIR GRATETHROP: my oath?

MME WOKESCOLD: ay, thou barnacle 'pon my hull
for one sup more, a sennight since, thou swore
to do my bidding once, sans cry or murmur

SIR GRATETHROP: and but one sup more before I do thy will

MME WOKESCOLD: nay, take this churl, this lump in my bed
and be off about thy duties. use him as thou wouldst
I care not but that he come home meek and chasten'd
as the softest village maid that ever was

exit SIR GRATETHROP and MR WOKESCOLD

MME WOKESCOLD: ah! the air already is sweet to taste
the ale brews, the table's laid. now 'tis time for Nell
with day done and door well-closed, to take her ease
and try for herself a crumb of pungent cheese

exit

scene IV, a high heath

enter SIR GRATETHROP, MR WOKESCOLD, & ESQUIRE

SIR GRATETHROP
how nimbly the wind doth tickle

ESQUIRE
'twould tickle less had we turn'd at the crossroads
a good inn we'd find, a good bed, a good pint

SIR GRATETHROP
tsh
hush, bedamn'd, the inn's this way

ESQUIRE
if you'd not et the map in rage, sir, our road we'd know
and indeed have taken

SIR GRATETHROP
pish, hush, or thy mouth I'll bestraw like a hay-tick.
I like well to eat a map of a forenoon, as all gentles do

ESQUIRE
I have indeed 'fore now marked your gentle whims
to pay not for ale, as a very king, to take up land,
as a baron, to nick a ham and eat it to the bone—
but that we know is the native habit of knights

MR WOKESCOLD
I shall take this knife and with its steel tongue
lap at every corner of my heart's bowl, if one more
word I hear from either of you

enter GHOST

GHOST
sirs, a word

MR WOKESCOLD
save me

GHOST
from the bowels of the earth I come, these frail
arms still bearing the tatty webs o’ the grave, this throat
still ragged from speaking the tongues of hell
and ‘tis my help thou begg’st?

MR WOKESCOLD
ay

GHOST
a bargain we might strike, if there be
something you offer of more surety than death,
which, like slipped strings o' my lady's purse, so
the grave doth freely spill its coin upon the earth
MR WOKESCOLD
is it vengeance thou require?
GHOST
nay & thou'rt not the man were 't so

MR WOKESCOLD
'i faith a dear happiness to me.

GHOST
that plainly certain, thou thread-limbed doll

MR WOKESCOLD
aid me, and a jewel I'll give thee beyond price

ESQUIRE
to what wind speaks our companion, sir
or, as is his use, doth he but make wind at both ends

SIR GRATETHROP
I am charged but to take him, not to mind him
open thy wallet, let's see what dry crusts remain

MR WOKESCOLD
a wife I have, and would have not.

GHOST
a wife I had,
and have not. but if wife thou hast, what make you
here, 'mong fen and heath and wheeling crow

MR WOKESCOLD
these knaves make sport of me

GHOST
what! were there no better toy?

MR WOKESCOLD
hush, and I'll tell
my lady wife hath sold me for a lump of cheese

GHOST
were there no dearer price?

MR WOKESCOLD
thou mockest me

GHOST
nay, perhaps 'twere the rarest cheese

MR WOKESCOLD
hush thy japes and ope thine ear. my lady's
trick I'd fain return, so be thou ghost
or devil, or angel fair—

GHOST
the first, so far 's I know, mayhap the next

MR WOKESCOLD
—i' faith thy voice is plainly not the third

GHOST
a strange prayer for favor, this

MR WOKESCOLD
however you be,
this pact I'll make. move me from this heath,
and my wife you'll have. not more fair than angels, she;
nor much less. only the very devil's tongue, & that,
I trust, is in your common way

GHOST
a strange wife-merchant, thee, as 'twere to sell plate
and make a boast of fractures. still, beggar I am, therefore
a chooser not. 'tis done.

exit MR WOKESCOLD and the GHOST

SIR GRATETHORP
the wind has chang'd. we must be off. say, knave,
was there not some prick with us?

ESQUIRE
were there one? I misremember
still, my back seems to bear its stings
ah well, better goadless ass than assless goad

SIR GRATETHORP
'tis well said. now, ass, become thy word,
and let me ride a bit. my feet are full sore.

exeunt

scene V. the alehouse

enter mme wokescold

MME WOKESCOLD
how fresh the morn, how sweet the sun and air
the very ale doth foam and froth with greater joy
this bread hath uncommon savor and delight
a man, I find, is like a drape: a pretty thing, yet
not prettier than heaven beyond

enter the GHOST

GHOST
ho, there

MME WOKESCOLD
ho yourself, and see if a beanpatch liketh it more

GHOST [aside]
what roses are her cheeks, what wells her eyes
a scold I'm sent to find, & find instead a nymph

MME WOKESCOLD
'tis early for ale. be off

GHOST [aside]
ah! my heart

MME WOKESCOLD
you have no stomach? go, and I'll break my fast alone
and in abundance, for when none's there to catch
my spleen, every moment's a feast

GHOST
I doubt it not; thou art, I see, a great liver

MME WOKESCOLD
whence come you, and how soon may you return?

GHOST
soon 's I'm bidden, ma'am, for tho' thou'rt meant for me
I'll reverse the vow, and mean myself for thee

MME WOKESCOLD
well, I'm off.

GHOST
nay, return

MME WOKESCOLD
when your speech is less jumbl'd and more sweet
I'll gladly partake. till then, take your dusty limbs
from my clean bench, else I'll make a broom of you

exit MME WOKESCOLD

GHOST
to sweep the floor of such an one is an honour
I must not crave

GHOST (cont'd)
alas that it should be so.
alas that she is mine, that to be mine were labour
'stead of wooing, a lawful trade. & 'tis so
that law is oft the enemy of love. I am no lawyer
to make a puppet of law, to paint its cheeks
in benevolent smiles, & dance it so 'pon a stage

GHOST (cont'd)
am I return'd from death to find a blighted love
did that keyless lock open but to bind, and have
I starv'd some worm of its rightful feast but
to yearn for its mouth once more? the grave's kiss
is all the love I'm meant to know, its cold
the only warmth.

GHOST (cont'd)
alas, forsooth, alack.
alas, that ever I left my father's house
forsooth, 'twould have been greater death
to stay. alack, sweet corse, where doth thee lie
did they dress thee not in man's but in thy
proper raiment? did they bury thee as man
or true, as maid Helen?

enter MME WOKESCOLD

MME WOKESCOLD
what, sirrah, are you
still here?

GHOST
I am, madame. but thou find'st no sirrah

MME WOKESCOLD
oh! pardon. sire, then, lord, or baron. earl, mayhap
or king, such as I find here in droves, gnawing
at the corn, crown askew.

GHOST
no king am I

MME WOKESCOLD
a poor country and a poorer throne would such
a king have. but come. I've been unkind. I've a stool
and bit of bread, if bread you seek. and work, which
is the meet fare for my table

GHOST
I accept

MME WOKESCOLD
how are you known?

GHOST
simply, Roland

MME WOKESCOLD
and how not simply?

GHOST
no simple for me;
the sickness runs too deep

MME WOKESCOLD
so I see. well, come.

GHOST
lead whither thou wilt; I'll follow
the world behind's full; the one ahead, hollow

exeunt

for those who haven't read the original, HELEN/ROLAND/GHOST is read by some critics as a character who didn't survive one of the cross-dressing comedies and is resurrected here, though nobody knows why she claims to have had a wife in her first scene.

after this we switch back to Sir Gratethrop and the Esquire, who are still under the influence of the Ghost, who kind of bungled it, and can no longer see any men but each other.

a hermit in the woods tries to fix matters, but in a trick Shakespeare would later use to more chaotic effect in A Midsummer Night's Dream, ends up making them see each other as their own true love.
meanwhile, Mr Wokescold tries to leave the heath.

at the same time, Madame Wokescold is puzzled over her feelings for "Roland". Shakespeare uses similar language of confusion and disorientation for Mr. Wokescold wandering the heath and Madame Wokescold navigating the new wilderness of romantic love.

an early version of Falstaff shows up and makes things worse before departing for later, better plays.
"Roland" decides she will leave the alehouse and try to find her grave, hoping for closure. older stagings play this for laughs.

Madame Wokescold, who by then knows "Roland" has made a mysterious and onerous bargain and thinks this departure is related, essentially offers to buy out "Roland's" side of things so "Roland" can be free.
Mr Wokescold, meanwhile, is still wandering the heath.

"Roland" agrees to this deal, then tells Madame Wokescold she's bought her own freedom, and departs. Madame is now even more furious with her husband, and goes after Roland.

Gratethorp and the Esquire agree to marry. A comic scene ensues where Gratethorp details his holdings, which are both meager and disgusting, and the Esquire, despite protesting each one, accepts them. Mr Wokescold appears and cruelly berates them, but they can't see him.

Oh, also this whole time there's a Lear-esque civil war happening but those parts aren't fun and are really just there so Gratethorp can be summoned to duty from his own wedding.

Madame Wokescold and "Roland" wander into the remains of the wedding, where Mr Wokescold is gnawing a crust of bread. Seeing a man with his wife, Mr Wokescold's possessiveness is awakened, and he demands the bargain be reversed.

Since Mr Wokescold demands they switch places, believing this will undo the deal, "Roland" agrees. Mr Wokescold then drops dead, and "Roland" is now legally Nell Wokescold's husband.

The quarto version ends here. The First Folio adds a scene where the Esquire sums up the themes. In no version does Shakespeare seem to remember that the Ghost repeatedly identifies herself as a woman, making this the rare Elizabethan play that ends with a lesbian wedding.

HELEN:
Doctor Faustus could ne'er more neatly
devise the means of his own end

NELL WOKESCOLD:
yet
he's for hell, and we for someplace higher

HELEN:
I live, Nell.

NELL:
'tis a simple thing to live, Roland.
come. to home! and there's my hand.

exeunt omnes

—A SUMMER'S DEALING