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And bow'd his eminent top to their low ranks,
Making them proud of his humility,

In their poor praise he humbled: Such a man
Might be a copy to these younger times;

Which, follow'd well, would demonftrate them now
But goers backward.

Ber. His good remembrance, fir,

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 fay, (Methinks, I hear him now; his plaufive words

He scatter'd not in ears, but grafted them

To grow there, and to bear)-Let me not live,
Thus his good melancholy oft began,
On the catastrophe and heel of pastime,
When it was out,-let me not live, quoth he,
After my flame lacks oil, to be the fnuff
Of younger fpirits, whofe apprehenfive fenfes
All but new things difdain; whofe judgments are
Mere fathers of their garments; whofe conftancies
Expire before their fashions:-This he wish'd:
I, after him, do after him wish too,

Since I nor wax, nor honey, can bring home,
I quickly were diffolved from my hive,
To give fome labourer room.

So in &c.]-His epitaph bears not fo ftrong a teftimony to his fame, as does your majefty's commendation-" So his approof-in epitaph"it contains not fuch encomiums.

1 apprehenfive fenfes]-faftidious tafte.

Mere fathers of their garments; whofe conftancies expire]-are employed folely in inventing new modes of drefs; whofe fancies change"Some jay of Italy"

"Whose mother was her painting.'

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CYMBELINE, A&I, S. 4. Imo.

2 Lord.

2 Lord. You are lov'd, fir;

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 physician at your father's died?

He was much fam'd.

Ber. Some fix months fince, my lord.

him yet;

King. If he were living, I would try
Lend me an arm;-
With several applications-nature and sickness
Debate it at their leiture. Welcome, count;

the reft have worn me out

My fon's no dearer.

Ber. Thank your majesty.

[Flourish. Exeunt.

SCENE III.

A Room in the Count's Palace.

Enter Countefs, Steward, and Clown.

Count. I will now hear what you fay of this gentle

woman.

n

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, that I am a poor fellow.

to even your content,]-give you fatisfaction.

to commit them, &c.]to put you upon attemping such knaveries, and have ability enough for their accomplishment.

Count.

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 ladyship'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 cafe.
Count. In what cafe?

:

Clo. In Ifbel's cafe, and mine own. Service is no heritage and, I think, I fhall never have the bleffing of God, till I have iffue of my body; for, they fay, bearns are bleffings.

Count. Tell me thy reafon 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 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

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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. You are fhallow, madam; ev'n great friends: for the knaves come to do that for me, which I am a weary of. He, that ears my land, fpares my team, and gives me leave to inn the crop: if 1 be his cuckold, he's my

P good will to go to the world,]-confent to marry.

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9 are fhallow,]-not in the fecret, mistaken.

ears-tills.

drudge:

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 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' the herd.

Count. Wilt thou ever be a foul-mouth'd and calumnious knave?

Clo. A prophet, I, madam; and I fpeak the truth the next way:

For I the ballad will repeat,

Which men full true shall find;
Your marriage comes by deftiny,

Your cuckoo fings by kind.

Count. Get you gone, fir; 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 Helen I mean.

her;

Clo. Was this fair face the caufe, quoth fhe,

Why the Grecians facked Troy?
For it undone, undone, quoth be,
Was this king Priam's joy.
With that fhe fighed as she stood,
With that fhe fighed as she stood,
And gave this a sentence then;
Among nine bad if one be good,
Among nine bad if one be good,
There's yet one good in ten.

[Singing.

• Fond done, fond done (for Paris, he.)

Count.

Count. What, one good in ten? you corrupt the fong, firrah.

Clo. One good woman in ten, madam; which is a pu rifying o' the 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 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, fir knave, and do as I command you?

Clo. That man should be at a woman's command, and yet no hurt done !-Though honesty " be a 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 come hither.

Count. Well, now.

[Exit.

Stew. I know, madam, you love your gentlewoman intirely.

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 she was, and did communicate to herself her own words to her own ears; she thought, I dare vow for her, they touch'd not any ftranger fenfe. Her matter was, she lov'd your fon : Fortune, she said, was no goddess, that had put fuch diffe

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on every blazing ftar,]-upon the appearance of every comet. "be a puritan, yet it will do no hurt ;]-fomewhat nice and fcrupulous, yet it is not obftinately fo, it will conform a little-be no puritan. " touch'd not any stranger sense.]—reach'd not the audience of another.

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