Lend me an arm ;-the rest have worn me out Ber. Thank your majesty. [Exeunt. Flourish. SCENE III. Roufillon. A Room in the Countefs's Palace. Enter Countefs, Steward, and Clown. Count. I will now hear: what fay you of this gentle woman? 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 modefty, and make foul the clearness of our defervings, when of ourselves we publish them. Count. What does this knave here? Get you gone, firrah: 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 fuch knaveries yours. Clo. 'Tis not unknown to you, madam, I am a poor fellow. Count. Well, fir. Clo. No, madam, 'tis not fo well, that I am poor; though many of the rich are damn'd: But, if I may have your ladyfhip's good will to go to the world, Ifbel 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. Count. Count. In what cafe? Clo. In Ifbel's cafe, and mine own. Service is no ritage: and, I think, I fhall never have the bleffi God, till I have iffue of my body; for, they say, be are bleffings. Count. Tell me thy reason why thou wilt marry. Clo. My poor body, madam, requires it: I am driv on by the flesh; and he must needs go, that the de drives. Count. Is this all your worship's reason ? Clo. Faith madam, I have other holy reafons, fuch they are. Count. May the world know them? th Clo. I have been, madam, a wicked creature, as y and all flesh and blood are; and, indeed, I do marry, I may repent. Count. Thy marriage, sooner than thy wickedness. Clo. I am out of friends, madam; and I hope to ha friends for my wife's fake. Count. Such friends are thine enemies, knave. Clo. You are fhallow, madam; e'en great friends; f the knaves come to do that for me, which I am a-wear of. He, that ears my land, fpares my team, and gives m leave to inn the crop: if I be his cuckold, he's m drudge: He, that comforts my wife, is the cherisher my flesh and blood; he, that cherishes my flesh and blood loves my flesh and blood; he, that loves my flesh an blood, is my friend: ergo, he that kiffes my wife, is m friend. If men could be contented to be what they are there were no fear in marriage; for young Charbon th puritan, and old Poysam the papist, howfoe'er their hear are fever'd in religion, their heads are both one, they may joll horns together, like any deer i' the herd. Count unt. Wilt thou ever be a foul-mouth'd and calumknave? Jeb? A prophet I, madam; and I speak the truth the way: ri de ch For I the ballad will repeat, Your cuckoo fings by kind. fir; I'll talk with you more anos. Count. Get you gone, Stew. May it please you, madam, that he bid Helen me to you; of her I am to speak. Count. Sirrah, tell my gentlewoman, I would speak ith her; Helen I mean. Clo. Was this fair face the caufe, quoth fhe, [Singing. Why the Grecians facked Troy? Fond done, done fond, Was this king Priam's joy. And gave this fentence then; There's yet one good in ten. Count. What, one good in ten? you corrupt the fong, rrah. Clo. One good woman in ten, madam; which is a pu fying o' the song: 'Would God would serve the world o 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 am earth earthquake, 'twould mend the lottery well; a man may draw his heart out, ere he pluck one. Count. You'll be gone, fir knave, and do as I command you? Clo. That man should be at woman's command, and yet no hurt done!-Though honefty be no puritan, yet it will do no hurt; it will wear the furplice of humility over the black gown of a big heart.—I am going, forfooth: the bufinefs is for Helen to come hither. [Exit Clown. Count. Well, now. Stew. I know, madam, you love your gentlewoman entirely. Count. Faith, I do: her father bequeath'd her to me; and fhe herself, without other advantage, may lawfully. make title to as much love as fhe finds: there is more owing her, than is paid; and more shall be paid her, than fhe'll demand. Stew. Madam, I was very late more near her than, I think, the wish'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 stranger sense. Her matter was, fhe loved your fon : Fortune, she faid, was no goddess, that had put fuch 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 furprised, without rescue, in the firft affault, or ransom afterward: This fhe deliver'd in the most bitter touch of forrow, that e'er I heard virgin exclaim in: which I held my duty, speedily to acquaint you withal; fithence, in the loss that may happen, it concerns you fomething to know it. Count. You have discharged this honeftly; keep it to yourself: many likelihoods inform'd me of this before, which hung fo tottering in the balance, that I could nei ther maher believe, nor mifdoubt: Pray you, leave me: stall this in your bofom, and I thank you for your honeft care: and will speak with you further anon. [Exit Steward. , a et OTE th Enter HELENA. Count. Even fo it was with me, when I was young: CIf we are nature's, these are ours; this thorn Doth to our rofe of youth rightly belong; w Our blood to us, this to our blood is born; It is the fhow and feal of nature's truth, Where love's ftrong paffion is imprefs'd in youth: By our remembrances of days foregone, Such were our faults;—or then we thought them none. T, Her eye is fick on't; I obferve her now. Hel. What is your pleasure, madam ? Count. I am a mother to you. Hel. Mine honourable mistress. Count. You know, Helen, Nay, a mother. That were enwombed mine: 'Tis often feen, You ne'er opprefs'd me with a mother's groan, Hel. |