2 Lord. You're loved, Sir; They, that least lend it you, fhall lack you first. 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. King. If he were living, I would try him yet; Lend me an arm; the reft have worn me out With feveral applications; nature and fickness Debate it at their leifure. Welcome, count, My fon's no dearer.. Ber. Thank your Majesty.. [Flourish. Exeunt SCENE VI. Changes to the Countess's at Roufillon.. 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 paft endeavours; for then we wound our modefty, and make foul the clearness of our defervings, when of ourfelves 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 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. I you lack not folly to commit them, and have ability enough to make fuch knaveries YOURS.] Well, but if he had folly to commit them, he neither wanted knavery, nor any thing elfe, fure, to make them his own. This nonfenfe fhould be read, To make fuch knaveries Y ARE; nimble, dextrous, i. e. Tho' you be fool enough to commit knaveries, yet you have quickness enough to commit them dextrously for this obfervation was to let us into his character. But now, tho' this be fet right, and, I dare fay, in Shakespear's own words, yet the former part of the fentence wilk ftill be inaccurate you lack not folly to commit THEM. Them, what? the fenfe requires knaveries, but the antecedent referr'd is complaints. But this was certainly a negligence of Shakespear's, and therefore to be left as we find it. And the reader, who cannot fee that this is an inaccuracy which the Author might well com to 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, back 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. Count. In what cafe? T Clo. In Ibel's cafe, and mine own; fervice is no heritage, and, I think, I fhall 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. Ch. My poor body, Madam, requires it. I am driven on by the Flesh; and he muft 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, knave.. Clo. Y' are shallow, 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 mit, and the other what he never could, has either read Shakespear very little, or greatly mifpent his pains. The principal office of a critick is to diftinguish between thefe two things. But 'tis that branch of criticism which no precepts can teach the writer to difcharge, or the reader to judge of. 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 destiny, 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 fpeak. Count. Sirrah, tell my gentlewoman I would fpeak with her; Helen I mean. Clo. 3" Was this fair face the caufe, quoth fhe,. "Why the Grecians facked Troy ? › "Fond done, fond done; for Paris, he, "Was this King Priam's joy. [Singing. With 2 A prophet, I, Madam; and I speak the truth the next way.] It is a fuperftition, which has run through all ages and people, that natural fools have fomething in them of divinity. On which account they were efteemed facred: Travellers tell us in what esteem the Turks now hold them; nor had they lefs honour paid them heretofore in France, as appears from the old word Benêt, for a na tural fool. Hence it was that Pantagruel, in Rablais, advised Panurge to go and confult the fool Triboulet as an oracle; which gives occafion to a fatirical Stroke upon the privy council of Francis the Firft.- -Par l'avis, confeil, prediction des fols vos fgavez quants princes, &c. ont efté confervex, &c.-The phrafe-fpeak the truth the next way, means directly; as they do who are only the inftruments or canals of others; fuch as infpired perfons were fuppofed to be. 3 Was this fair face the caufe, quotb she, Why the Grecians facked Troy? Fond done, fond done Was this King Priam's joy.] This is a Stanza of an old ballad, out of which a word or two are dropt, equally neceffary_to make "With that fhe fighed as fhe ftood, 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 furplice of humility over the black gown of a big heart: I am going, forfooth, the business is for Helen to comè hither. [Exit. Count. Well, now. Stew. I know, Madam, you love your gentlewoman intirely. Count. Faith, I do; her father bequeath'd her to and the herself, without other advantages, may me; make the fenfe and the alternate rhime. For it was not Helen, who was King Priam's joy, but Paris. The third line therefore fhould be read thus, Fond done, fond done; FOR PARTS, HE, 4 Among nine bad if one be good, There's yet one good in ten.] This fecond ftanza of the ballad is turned to a joke upon the women: a confeffion, that there was one good in ten. Whereon the Countess obferved, that he cor rupted the fong; which fhews the fong faid, Nine good in ten. If one be bad amongst nine good, There's but one bad in ten, This relates to the ten fons of Priam, who all behaved themfelves well but Paris. For, tho' he once had fifty, yet at this unfortuDate period of his reign he had but ten; Agathon, Antiphon, Deiphobus, Dius, Hector, Helenus, Hippotbous, Pemmon, Paris, and Polites, lawfully 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 she'll demand. Stew. Madam, I was very late more near her, than, I think, the wifh'd me; alone she was, and did communicate to herfelf her own words to her own ears; fhe thought, I dare vow for her, they touch'd not any Aranger fenfe. Her matter was, fhe lov'd your fon; Fortune, the faid, was no Goddess, that had put fuch difference betwixt their two eftates; Love, no God, that would not extend his might, only where qualities were level; 5 Diana, no queen of Virgins, that would fuffer her poor Knight to be furpriz'd 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 a virgin exclaim in; which I held it my duty fpeedily to acquaint you withal; fithence, in the lofs that may happen, it concerns you fomething to know it. Count. You have difcharg'd this honeftly, keep it to yourself; many likelihoods inform'd me of this before, which hung fo tottering in the balance, that I could neither believe nor misdoubt; pray you, leave me; ftall this in your bofom, and I thank you for your honest care; I will speak with you further anon. SCENE VII. Enter Helena. [Exit Steward: Count. Ev'n fo it was with me, when I was young;. If we are nature's, these are ours: this thorn Doth to our rofe of youth rightly belong Our blood to us, this to our blood, is born; It is the fhow and feal of nature's truth,. Where love's streng paffion is impreft in youth; By our remembrances of days foregone, 6 Such were our faults, or then we thought them none. Her eye is fick on't; I observe her now. 5 Diana added by Mr. Theobald: Hel 6 Such were our faults, OR then we thought them none.] We hould read, O! then we thought them none. A motive |