SCENE III. Rousillon. A Room in the Countess's Palace. Enter Countess, Steward, and Clown1. 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 3, Isbel the woman and I will do as we may. Count. Wilt thou needs be a beggar? Clo. I do beg your goodwill in this case. 1 The Clown in this comedy is a domestic fool of the same kind as Touchstone. Such fools were, in the poet's time, maintained in all great families to keep up merriment in the house. Cartwright, in one of the copies of verses prefixed to the works of Beaumont and Fletcher, censures such dialogues as this, and that between Olivia and the Clown in Twelfth Night: 'Shakspeare to thee was dull, whose best jest lies I'th' lady's questions, and the fool's replies, Old fashion'd wit, which walk'd from town to town In trunk-hose, which our fathers called the clown.' 2 To act up to your desires, 3 To be married. Clo. In Isbel's case, and mine own. Service is no 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. 4 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 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. 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 5 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 nourisher 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 Poysam7 the papist, howsoe'er their hearts are severed in religion, their heads are both 5 Ploughs. 6 Therefore. 4 Children. 7 Malone conjectures that we should read, Poisson the papist,' alluding to the custom of eating fish on fast days: as Charbon the puritan alludes to the fiery zeal of that sect. It is much in Shakspeare's manner to use significant names. 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 way8: 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, Why the Grecians sacked Troy? Fond done 10, done fond, Was this king Priam's joy 11. There's yet one good in ten. [Singing. Count. What, one good in ten; you corrupt the song, sirrah. Clo. One good woman in ten, madam; which is 8 The readiest way. 9 i. e. nature. 10 Foolishly done, 11 The name of Helen brings to the Clown's memory this fragment of an old ballad; something has escaped him it appears, for Paris was king Priam's only joy,' as Helen was Sir Paris's. According to two fragments quoted by the commentators. a purifying o'the song: 'Would, God would serve the world so all the year! we'd find no fault with the tithe-woman, if I were the parson: One in ten, quoth a'! an we might have a good woman born, but on 12 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 13. I am going, forsooth: the business 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 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 Malone substituted or. 12 The old copy reads ore. 13 The clown answers, with the licentious petulance allowed to the character, that if a man does as a woman commands, it is likely he will do amiss;' that he does not amiss, he makes the effect not of his lady's goodness, but of his own honesty, which, though not very nice or puritanical, will do no hurt, but, unlike the puritans, will comply with the injunctions of superiors; and wear the 'surplice of humility over the black gown of a big heart;' will obey commands, though not much pleased with a state of subjection. 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; Diana1*, no queen of virgins, that would suffer her poor knight to be surprised, without rescue, in the first assault, or ransome 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 15, 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 for your honest care: I will speak with you further [Exit Steward. anon. Enter HELENA. you Even so it was with me, when I was young: Our blood to us, this to our blood is born; It is the show and seal of nature's truth, Where love's strong passion is impress'd in youth: By our remembrances 17 of days foregone, Such were our faults;-or then we thought them none. Hel. What is your pleasure, madam? I am a mother to you. You know, Helen, 14 The old copies omit Diana. Theobald inserted the word. 15 Since. 16 The old copy reads, ' if ever we are nature's.' The correction is Pope's. 17 i. e. according to our recollection. |