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(Methinks, I hear him now; his plaufive words
2 Lord. You're loved, Sir; They, that least lend it
you, fhall lack you firft. King. I fill a place, I know't. How long is't, count, Since the phyfician at your father's died ? He was much fam'd.
Ber. Some fix months fince, my lord.
Ber. Thank your Majefty.
SCENE changes to the Countess's at Roufillon.
Enter Countefs, Steward and Clown.
Will now hear; what fay you of this gentle
Stew. Madam, the care I have had to even your content, I with might be found in the calendar of my past endeavours; for then we wound our modesty, and make foul the clearness of our defervings, when of ourselves we publish them.
Count. What does this knave here? get you gone, Sirrah:
Sirrah: the complaints, I have heard of you, I do not all believe; 'tis my flowness that I do not, for, I know, you lack not folly to commit them, and have ability enough to make such knaveries yours.
Clo. 'Tis not unknown to you, Madam, I am a poor fellow.
Count. Well, Sir.
Clo. No, Madam; 'tis not fo well that I am poor, tho' many of the rich are damn'd; but, if I have your ladyfhip'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 cafe.
Clo. In Isbel's cafe, and mine own; service is no heritage, and, I think, I shall never have the bleffing of God, 'till I have iffue of my body; for they say, bearns are bleffings.
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 reafon ?
Clo. Faith, Madam, I have other holy reafons, fuch 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, fooner than thy wickedness. Clo. I am out of friends, Madam, and I hope to have friends for my wife's fake.
Count. Such friends are thine enemies, knavė.
Clown. Y'are fhallow, Madam, in great friends; for the knaves come to do that for me, which I am weary of; he, that eares my land, fpares my team, and gives me leave to inne 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 cherisheth my flesh and blood, loves my flesh and blood; he, that loves my
flesh and blood, is my friend: ergo, he, that kiffes 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 Poyfam the papift, howfoe'er their hearts are fever'd in religion, their heads are both one; they may joul horns together, like any deer i'th' 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 "fhall find;
"Your marriage comes by deftiny, your cuckow fings by kind.
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 caufe, quoth fhe, (4)
Why the Grecians facked Troy? "Fond done, fond done ;- -for Paris, he,
(4) Was this fair Face the Caufe, quoth She, Why the Grecians facked Troy?
Was this King Priam's Joy?] As the Stanza, that follows, is in alternate Rhyme, and as a Rhyme is here wanting to She in the firft Verfe; 'tis evident, the third Line is wanting. The old Folio's give Us a Part of it; but how to fupply the loft Part, was the Queftion. Mr. Rowe has given us the Fragment honeftly, as he found it: but Ms. Pope, rather than to feem founder'd, has funk it upon Us. 1 communicated to my ingenious Friend Mr. Warburton, how I found the Paffage in the old Books;
[Fond done, done, fond,
Was this King Priam's Joy?]
And from Him I received that Supplement, which I have given to the Text. And the Hiftorians tell us, it was Paris who was Priam's favourite Son.
"Was this King Priam's joy.
Count. What, one good in ten? You corrupt the fong, Sirrah.
Clo. One good woman in ten, Madam, which is a purifying o'th' fong: 'would, God would ferve the world fo all the year! we'd find no fault with the tythe-woman, if I were the Parfon; one in ten, quoth a'! an we might have a good woman born but every blazing ftar, or at an earthquake, 'twould mend the lottery well; a man may draw his heart out, ere he pluck one.
Count. You'll be gone, Sir knave, and do as I command you?
Clo. That man that fhould be at a woman's command, and yet no hurt done! tho' honefty be no puritan, yet it will do no hurt; it will wear the furplis of humility over the black gown of a big heart: I am going, forfooth, the business is for Helen to come hither.
Count. Well, now.
Stew. I know, Madam, you love your gentlewoman intirely.
Count. Faith, I do; her father bequeath'd her to me; and the herself, without other advantages, may lawfully make title to as much love as fhe finds; there is more owing her, than is paid; and more fhall be paid her, than he'll demand.
Stew. Madam, I was very late more near her, than, I think, fhe with'd me; alone the was, and did communicate to herself her own words to her own ears; fhe thought, I dare vow for her, they touch'd not any ftranger fenie. Her matter was, fhe lov'd your fon; Fortune, fhe faid, was no Goddefs, (5) that had put
(s) Fortune, he faid, was no Goddefs, &c. Love, no God, &c. complain'd against the Queen of Virgins, &c.] This Passage ftands thus in the old Copies :
My fear hath catch'd your fondness.-Now I fee (6)
Hel. Good Madam, pardon me.
Count. Go not about; my love hath in't a bond,
Now I fee The mystery of your loveliness, and find Tour falt tears' head :-] The Mystery of her Loveliness is beyond my Comprehenfion: The old Countess is faying nothing ironical, nothing taunting, or in Reproach, that this Word should find a place here; which it could not, unless sarcastically employ'd, and with fome Spleen. I dare warrant, the Poet meant, his old Lady fhould say no more than this: "I now find the Mystery of your creeping into Corners, and weeping, and pining in fecret." For this Reafon I have amended the Text, Loneliness. The Steward, in the foregoing Scene, where he gives the Countess Intelligence of Helen's Behaviour, fays;
Alone She was, and did communicate to herself her own Words to her own Ears.