In their poor praise he humbled: Such a man Which, follow'd well, would demonstrate them now But goers backward. Ber. His good remembrance, sir, Lies richer in your thoughts, than on his tomb; As in your royal speech. 291 King. Would, I were with him! He would always say (Methinks, I hear him now; his plausive words To grow there, and to bear)—Let me not live- Since I nor wax, nor honey, can bring home, To give some labourer room. 2 Lord. You are lov'd, sir; 300 They, that least lend it you, shall lack you first. 310 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. [Flourish. Exeunt. 1 SCENE III. A Room in the Count's Palace. Enter Countess, Steward, and Clown. Count. I will now hear, what say you of this gentlewoman?¡ 322 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; 'tis my slowness that I do not: for, I know, you lack not folly to commit them, and have ability enough to make such knaveries your's. 332 Clo. 'Tis not unknown to you, madam, that I am a poor fellow. Count. Well, sir. Clo. Clo. No, madam, 'tis not so well, that I am poor; though many of the rich are damn'd: but, if I 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. 340 Service is no Clo. In Isbel's case, and mine own. heritage; and, I think, I shall never have the blessing of God, 'till I have issue of my body; for, they say, bearns 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? 350 Clo. Faith, madam, I have other holy reasons, such as they are. Count. May the world know them? 4 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 of friends, madam; and I hope to have friends for my wife's sake. Count. Such friends are thine enemies, knave. ვნე Clo. You are shallow, madam, in great friends; for the knaves come to do that for me, which I am a weary of. He, that eares my land, spares my team, and gives me leave to inn the crop If I be his cuck old, old, 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 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, howsce'er their hearts are sever'd in religion, their heads are both one; they may joul horns together, like any deer i' the herd. 375 Count. Wilt thou ever be a foul-mouth'd and a calumnious knave? Clo. A prophet, I, madam; I speak the truth the next way: "For I the ballad will repeat, which men full true "shall find ; "Your marriage comes by destiny, your cuckoo "sings 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 cause, quoth she, "Why the Grecians sacked Troy? [Singing. "Fond "Fond done, done fond; "Was this king Priam's joy? "With that she sighed as she stood, "And gave this sentence then ; 390 Count. What, one good in ten? You corrupt the song, sirrah. 399 Clo. One good woman in ten, madam; which is a purifying o' the song: 'Would, God would serve the world so all the year! we'd find no fault with the tythe-woman, if I were the parson : One in ten, quoth a'! an we might have a good woman born but every blazing star, 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? 409 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. |