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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 wifh'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 labourers room.

2 Lord. You're loved, Sir;

They, that leaft lend it you, shall lack you firft.
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 sickness Debate it at their leifure.

My fon's no dearer.

Welcome, Count,

[Flourish, Exeunt.

Ber. Thank your Majefty.

SCENE changes to the Countess's at Roufillon. Enter Countefs, 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; (5) for then we wound our modefty,

and:

(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 Ladyfhip's good will to go to the world, Ibel 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; fervice is no heritage, and, I think, I fhall never have the bleffing of God, 'till I have iffue o' 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 fle; 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.

ἀλλ ̓ ἐναισίμως

Αἰνεῖν, παρ ̓ ἄλλων χρὴ τόδ' ἔρχεσθαι γέρας.
But to be prais'd with honour, is a tribute
That must be paid us from another's tongue.

Clo.

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 cherither 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 contented 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 fpeak 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

anon.

Stew. May it pleafe you, Madam, that he bid Helen come to you; of her I am to fpeak.

Count. Sirrah, tell my gentlewoman I would speak with her, Helen I mean.

Clo. Was this fair face the caufe, quoth fhe, (6),

(6) Was this fair face the caufe, quoth she,

[Singing. Why

66

Why the Grecians facked Troy? Was this King Priam's joy?] As the ftanza, that follows, is in alternate rhyme, and as a rhyme is here wanting to be in the ift verfe; 'tis evident, the 3d line is wanting. The old folio's give us a part of it; but how to fupply the loft part, was the queftion. Mr. Rowe has given us the fragment honefly, 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, fond,
Was this King Priam's joy?]

And

"Why the Grecians facked Troy?
"Fond done, fond done ;-for Paris he
"Was this King Priam's joy.

"With that the fighed as the ftood, (7)

"And

And

And from him I received that fupplement, which I have given to the text, and the following juftification of it. "I will firft 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. "how natural was it, when this be (whoever fhe was,) had faid, 66 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 fanxa 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,
The hopeful youth of Troy;
Queen Hecuba's darling fon,
King Priam's only joy.

(7) With that fhe fighed, as fee food,

And gave this fentence then;
Among nine bad if one be good,

There's yet one good in ten.]

This 2d stanza 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 she flood,
And gave this fentence then;
If one be bad among ft nine good,

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 themselves well except this Paris. But why Priam's ten fons, may it not be afk'd, when univerfal tradition has given him

fifty

"And gave this fentence then ;
"Among nine bad if one be good,
"There's yet one good in ten.

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.

Cla. 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 herself, 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 fhe was, and did communicate to herself her own words to her own ears; fhe 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.

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