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When it was out,) let me not live, (quoth he,)
Of younger fpirits, whofe apprehenfive fenfes
(Since I nor wax, nor honey, can bring home,)
2 Lord. You're loved, Sir;
They, that leaft lend it you, fhall lack you firft.
He was much fam'd.
Ber. Some fix months, fince, my Lord.
King. If he were living, I would try him yet;—
Ber. Thank your Majefty.
SCENE changes to the Countefs's at Roufillon. Enter Countefs, Steward and Clown.
Will now hear; what fay you of this gentle
Stew. Madam, the care I have had to even your content, I wish might be found in the calendar of my paft endeavours; (5) for then we wound our modefty,
(5) For then we wound our modefty, and make foul the clearness of our defervings, when of ourfaves we publish them.] This fentiment our author has again inculcated in his Troilus and Creffida.
The worthiness of praise diftains his worth,
If he, that's prais'd, himself bring the praise forth,
I won't pretend, that Shakespeare is here treading in the freps of fchylus; but that poet has fomething in his Agamemnon, which might very well be a foundation to what our author has advanced in both these paffages.
- ἀλλ ̓
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, 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 Ladyship's good will to go to the world, woman and I will do as we may.
Count. Wilt thou needs be a beggar?
Clo. In Ifbel's cafe, and mine own; fervice is no heritage, and, I think, I fhall never have the bleffing of God, 'till I have iffue o' my body; for they say, 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 muft 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, 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.
- ἀλλ ̓ ἐναισίμως
Αἰνεῖν, παρ ̓ ἄλλων χρὴ τόδ ̓ ἔρχεσθαι γέρας.
Clo. Y'are fhallow, 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 loves my flesh and blood, is my friend: ergo, he, that kiffes my wife, is my friend. If men could be con
tented to be what they are, there were no fear in marriage; for young Charbon the puritan, and old Poyfam the papist, 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 deftiny, your cuckow fings by kind.
Count. Get you gone, Sir, I'll talk with you more
Stew. May it pleafe you, Madam, that he bid Helen come to you; of her I am to fspeak.
Count. Sirrah, tell my gentlewoman I would speak with her, Helen I mean.
Clo. "Was this fair face the caufe, quoth fhe, (6),
ftanza, that follows, is wanting to be in the ift The old folio's give us a
(6) Was this fair face the caufe, quoth she, Why the Grecians facked Troy? Was this King Priam's joy?] As the in alternate rhyme, and as a rhyme is here verfe; 'tis evident, the 3d line is wanting. part of it; but how to fupply the loft part, was the queftion. Mr. Roze has given us the fragment honeftly, as he found it: but Mr. Pope, rather than to feem founder'd, has funk it upon us.-I communicated to my ingenious friend Mr. Warburton how I found the paffage in the old books,
[Fond done, done, ford,
"Why the Grecians facked Troy?
"Fond done, fond done;—for Paris he "Was this King Priam's joy.
"With that fhe fighed as the ftood, (7)
And from him I received that fupplement, which I have given to the text, and the following justification of it. "I will first proceed "to justify my fenfe and emendation, and then account for the cor"ruption. In the first place, 'tis plain, the last line fhould not "have been read with an interrogation: For was Helen King "Priam's joy? No, furely, fhe was not. Who then? why, the "hiftorians tell us it was Paris, who wa. his favourite fon. And "how natural was it, when this be (whoever he was,) had faid,
was this the face that ruin'd Troy? to fall into a moral reflection, "and fay, what a fond deed was this! Priam's mifery proceeded "from him, that was his only joy. This is exactly agreeable to "the fimplicity of those ancient fongs: as the phrafe, For Paris "be-is to their mode of locution. So far we have the genius of "the Ballad, hiftory, and the context, to make it probable. An "obfervation upon the ensuing franxa may make it clear to demon "ftration.'
I will only fubjoin, in confirmation of my friend's ingenious con*jecture, that, in The Maid in the Mill by Beaumont and Fletcher, I find a fcrap of another old ballad upon the same subject, most nearly correfponding with ours.
And here fair Paris comes,
(7) With that fhe fighed, as fhe food,
And gave this fentence then;
There's 's yet one good in ten.]
This 2d ftanza is a joke turn'd upon the women: a confeffion that there was one good in ten. Upon which the Countefs fays, "What! "one good in ten! you corrupt the fong, firrah".-This fhews, that the fenfe of the fong was, one bad only in ten, or, nine good in ten: and this clears up the mystery. The 2d ftanza was certainly thus in the old ballad.
With that fhe fighed as fhe flood,
There's but one bad in ten.
A vifible continuation of the thought, as amended, in the latter part of the first stanza: and it relates to the ten fons of Priam, who all behaved themfelves well except this Paris. But why Priam's ten fons, may it not be afk'd, when univerfal tradition has given him
"And gave this fentence then ;
Count. What, one good in ten? You corrupt the fong, firrah.
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 tithe-woman, if I were the parfon; one in ten, qouth 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 furplis of humility over the black gown of a big heart: I am going, forfooth, the bufinefs is for Helen to come hither. [Exit.
Count. Well, now.
Stew. I know, Madam, you love your gentlewoman intirely.
Count. Faith, I do; her father bequeath'd her to me; and the herfelf, without other advantages, may 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, fhe wish'd me; alone she was, and did communicate to herself her own words to her own ears; the thought, I dare vow for her, they touch'd not any
fifty? To this I reply, that, at the time of this unfortunate part of his reign, he had but ten. To these this fongfter alludes. They were, Agathon, Antiphon, Deiphobus, Dius, Hector, Helenus, Hippothous, Pammon, Paris and Polites. It seems particularly humorous in the clown, (and fuiting with the licence of his character, as a jefter;) all at once to deprave the text of the ballad, and turn it to a farcafm upon the women. Mr. Warburton.