Which, follow'd well, would demonstrate them Expire before their fashions."-This he wish'd; now But goers backward. Ber. His good remembrance, sir, Lies richer in your thoughts, than on his tomb: So in approof lives not his epitaph, As in your royal speech. King. 'Would I were with him! He would always say, (Methinks, I hear him now; his plausive words 66 Of younger spirits, whose apprehensive senses All but new things disdain; whose judgments are Mere fathers of their garments; whose constancies 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: '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 yours. Clo. 'Tis not unknown to you, madam, I am a poor fellow. Count. Well, sir. Clo. No, madam; 'tis 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. Count. In what case? Service is Clo. In Isbel's case, and mine own. no heritage; and, I think, I shall never have the blessing of God, till I have issue of 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 wicked ness. 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 are shallow, madam; e'en 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 inn 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 joll horns together, like any deer i' the herd. Count. Wilt thou ever be a foul-mouthed 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, 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 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 on 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? 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. Count. Well, now. [Exit. 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. [Exit Steward. Enter HELENA. 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; It is the show and seal of nature's truth, Hel. Mine honourable mistress. Count. That were enwombed mine. "Tis often seen, That I am not. The count Rousillon cannot be my brother: were (So that my lord, your son, were not my brother Count. Yes, Helen, you might be my daughter in-law. God shield, you mean it not! daughter and mother. Then, I confess, Hel. My friends were poor, but honest; so's my love: Nor would I have him, till I do deserve him, The sun, that looks upon his worshipper, Hel. Count. Madam, I had. Wherefore? tell true. Hel. I will tell truth; by grace itself, I swear. You know, my father left me some prescriptions Of rare and prov'd effects, such as his reading And manifest experience had collected For general sovereignty; and that he will'd me But give me leave to try success, I'd venture Dost thou believe't? Count. Why, Helen, thou shalt have my leave, and love, Means, and attendants, and my loving greetings [Exeunt. After well-enter'd soldiers, to return And find your grace in health. King. No, no, it cannot be: and yet my heart That doth my life besiege. Farewell, young lords; King. Those girls of Italy, take heed of them. Both. 1 Lord. O, my sweet lord, that you will stay Ber. I am con "Too young," early." Par. An thy bravely. Ber. I shall s Creaking my sh Till honour be b But one to da away. 1 Lord. The Par. 2 Lord. I am Ber. I grow body. 1 Lord. Fare 2 Lord. Swe Par. Noble b Good sparks, an you shall find i captain Spurio, war, here on h sword entrenche his reports for r 2 Lord. We Par. Mars do will you do? Ber. Stay; t Par. Use a m lords: you have of too cold an a for they wear t there do muste under the influe though the devil followed. After farewell. Ber. And I w |