When it was out,-" Let me not live," quoth he, I, after him, do after him wish too, To give some labourers room. 2 Lord. You are lov'd, sir: They that least lend it you shall lack you first. King. I fill a place, I know 't.-How long is 't, count, Since the physician at your father's died? He was much fam'd. Ber. Some six months since, my lord. King. If he were living I would try him yet ;Lend me an arm;-the rest have worn me out With several applications :-nature and sickness Debate it at their leisure. Welcome, count; My son 's no dearer. Ber. Thank your majesty. [Exeunt. Flourish. SCENE III.-Rousillon. A Room in the Countess's Palace. Enter COUNTESS, Steward, and Clown. Count. I will now hear what say you of this gentlewoman? Stew. Madam, the care I have had to even your content, I wish might be found in the calendar of my past endeavours for then we wound our modesty, and make foul the clearness of our deservings, when of ourselves we publish them. Count. What does this knave here? Get you gone, sirrah: The complaints I have heard of you I do not all believe; 't is my slowness that I do not: for I know you lack not folly to commit them, and have ability enough to make such knaveries yours. Clo. T is not unknown to you, madam, I am a poor fellow. Count. Well, sir. Clo. No, madam, 't is not so well that I am poor; though many of the rich are damned: But, if I may have your ladyship's good-will to go to the world, Isbel the woman and I will do as we may. Count. Wilt thou needs be a beggar? Clo. I do beg your good-will in this case. Clo. In Isbel's case and mine own. : Service is no heritage and I think I shall never have the blessing of God, till I have issue o' my body; for, they say, barnes are blessings. Count. Tell me thy reason why thou wilt marry. Clo. My poor body, madam, requires it: I am driven on by the flesh; and he must needs go that the devil drives. Count. Is this all your worship's reason? Clo. Faith, madam, I have other holy reasons, such as they are. Count. May the world know them? Clo. I have been, madam, a wicked creature, as you and all flesh and blood are; and, indeed, I do marry that I may repent. Count. Thy marriage, sooner than thy wickedness. Clo. I am out o' friends, madam; and I hope to have friends for my wife's sake. Count. Such friends are thine enemies, knave. Clo. You 're shallow, madam, in great friends; for the knaves come to do that for me which I am a-weary of. He that ears my land spares my team, and gives me leave to in the crop: If I be his cuckold, he 's my drudge: He that comforts my wife is the cherisher of my flesh and blood; he that cherishes my flesh and blood loves my flesh and blood; he that loves my flesh and blood is my friend; ergo, he that kisses my wife is my friend. If men could be contented to be what they are, there were no fear in marriage: for young Charbon the puritan, and old Poysam the papist, howsome'er their hearts are severed in religion, their heads are both one, they may jowl horns together, like any deer i' the herd. Count. Wilt thou ever be a foul-mouth'd and calumnious knave? Clo. A prophet I, madam; and I speak the truth the next way: For I the ballad will repeat, Which men full true shall find; Count. Get you gone, sir; I'll talk with you more anon. Stew. May it please you, madam, that he bid Helen come to you; of her I am to speak. Count. Sirrah, tell my gentlewoman I would speak with her; Helen I mean. Clo. Was this fair face the cause, quoth she, [Singing. Fond done, done fond, Was this king Priam's joy? Count. What, one good in ten? you corrupt the song, sirrah. Clo. One good woman in ten, madam, which is a a The next way-the nearest way. b The mention of Helen is associated in the miud of the Clown with some popular ballad on the war of Troy. purifying o' the song: 'Would God would serve the world so all the year! we 'd find no fault with the tithe woman, if I were the parson: One in ten, quoth a'! an we might have a good woman born but for every blazing star, or at an earthquake, 't would mend the lottery well; a man may draw his heart out, ere a pluck one. Count. You'll be gone, sir knave, and do as I command you! Clo. That man should be at woman's command, and yet no hurt done!-Though honesty be no puritan, yet it will do no hurt; it will wear the surplice of humility over the black gown of a big heart.—I am going, forsooth; the business is for Helen to come hither. [Exit. Count. Well, now. Stew. I know, madam, you love your gentlewoman entirely. Count. Faith, I do: her father bequeathed her to me; and she herself, without other advantage, may lawfully make title to as much love as she finds there is more owing her than is paid; and more shall be paid her than she 'll demand. Stew. Madam, I was very late more near her than, I think, she wished me: alone she was, and did communicate to herself her own words to her own ears; she thought, I dare vow for her, they touched not any stranger sense. Her matter was, she loved your son: Fortune, she said, was no goddess, that had put such difference betwixt their two estates; Love, no god, that would not extend his might only where qualities were level; Diana, no queen of virgins, that would suffer her poor knight to be surprised, without rescue in the first assault, or ransom afterward: This she delivered in the most bitter touch of sorrow that e'er I heard virgin exclaim in which I held my duty, speedily to acquaint you withal; sithence, in the loss that may happen, it concerns you something to know it. Count. You have discharged this honestly; keep it to yourself: many likelihoods informed me of this before, which hung so tottering in the balance, that I could neither believe nor misdoubt: Pray you, leave me: stall this in your bosom, and I thank you for your honest care: I will speak with you further anon. Enter HELENA. [Exit Steward. Count. Even so it was with me when I was young: If ever we are nature's, these are ours; this thorn Doth to our rose of youth rightly belong : Our blood to us, this to our blood is born; It is the show and seal of nature's truth, Where love's strong passion is impress'd in youth: Such were our faults;—or then we thought them none. Her eye is sick on 't; I observe her now. Hel. What is your pleasure, madam? Count. You know, Helen, I am a mother to you. Count. Nay, a mother; Why not a mother? When I said, a mother, Hel. That I am not. |