Act the Second
Scene I Porch to the Castle of the Countess of Arran
The Countess of Arran and Ida discovered sitting at work.
A Song.261
Count. of A. Fair Ida, might you choose the greatest good,
’Midst all the world in blessings that abound,
Wherein, my daughter, should your liking be?
Ida. Not in delights, or pomp, or majesty.
Count. of A. And why?
Ida. Since these are means to draw the mind
From perfect good, and make true judgment blind.
Count. of A. Might you have wealth and fortune’s richest store?
Ida. Yet would I, might I choose, be honest-poor;
For she that sits at fortune’s feet a-low
Is sure she shall not taste a further woe;
But those that prank on top of fortune’s ball
Still fear a change, and, fearing, catch a fall.
Count. of A. Tut, foolish maid, each one contemneth need.
Ida. Good reason why, they know not good indeed.
Count. of A. Many, marry, then, on whom distress doth lour.
Ida. Yes, they that virtue deem an honest dower.
Madam, by right this world I may compare
Unto my work, wherein with heedful care
The heavenly workman plants with curious hand—
As I with needle draw—each thing on land
Even as he list: some men like to the rose
Are fashion’d fresh; some in their stalks do close,
And, born, do sudden die; some are but weeds,
And yet from them a secret good proceeds:
I with my needle, if I please, may blot
The fairest rose within my cambric plot;
God with a beck can change each worldly thing,
The poor to earth, the beggar to the king.
What, then, hath man wherein he well may boast,
Since by a beck he lives, a lour262 is lost?
Count. of A. Peace, Ida, here are strangers near at hand.
Enter Eustace with letters.
Eust. Madam, God speed!
Count. of A. I thank you, gentle squire.
Eust. The country Countess of Northumberland
Doth greet you well; and hath requested me
To bring these letters to your ladyship.
[Delivers the letters.
Count. of A. I thank her honour, and yourself, my friend.
[Peruses them.
I see she means you good, brave gentleman.—
Daughter, the Lady Elinor salutes
Yourself as well as me: then for her sake
’Twere good you entertain’d that courtier well.
Ida. As much salute as may become my sex,
And he in virtue can vouchsafe to think,
I yield him for the courteous countess’ sake.—
Good sir, sit down: my mother here and I
Count time misspent an endless vanity.
Eust. [aside]. Beyond report, the wit, the fair, the shape!—
What work you here, fair mistress? may I see it?
Ida. Good sir, look on: how like you this compáct?
Eust. Methinks in this I see true love in act:
The woodbines with their leaves do sweetly spread,
The roses blushing prank them in their red;
No flower but boasts the beauties of the spring;
This bird hath life indeed, if it could sing.
What means, fair mistress, had you in this work?
Ida. My needle, sir.
Eust. In needles, then, there lurk
Some hidden grace, I deem, beyond my reach.
Ida. Not grace in them, good sir, but those that teach.
Eust. Say that your needle now were Cupid’s sting,—
[Aside]. But, ah, her eye must be no less,
In which is heaven and heavenliness,
In which the food of God is shut,
Whose powers the purest minds do glut!
Ida. What if it were?
Eust. Then see a wondrous thing;
I fear me you would paint in Tereus’ heart
Affection in his power and chiefest part.
Ida. Good Lord, sir, no! for hearts but prickèd soft
Are wounded sore, for so I hear it oft.
Eust. What recks the wound, where but your happy eye
May make him live whom Jove hath judg’d to die?
Ida. Should life and death within this needle lurk,
I’ll prick no hearts, I’ll prick upon my work.
Enter Ateukin and Slipper.
Count. of A. Peace, Ida, I perceive the fox at hand.
Eust. The fox! why, fetch your hounds, and chase him hence.
Count. of A. O, sir, these great men bark at small offence.
Come, will it please you enter, gentle sir?
[They offer to go out.
Ateu. Stay, courteous ladies; favour me so much
As to discourse a word or two apart.
Count. of A. Good sir, my daughter learns this rule of me,
To shun resort and strangers’ company;
For some are shifting mates that carry letters;
Some, such as you, too good because our betters.
Slip. Now, I pray you, sir, what akin are you to a pickerel?
Ateu. Why, knave?
Slip. By my troth, sir, because I never knew a proper situation fellow of your pitch fitter to swallow a gudgeon.
Ateu. What meanest thou by this?
Slip. “Shifting fellow,” sir,—these be thy words;263 “shifting fellow”: this gentlewoman, I fear me, knew your bringing up.
Ateu. How so?
Slip. Why, sir, your father was a miller, that could shift for a peck of grist in a bushel, and you a fair-spoken gentleman, that can get more land by a lie than an honest man by his ready money.
Ateu. Caitiff, what sayest thou?
Slip. I say, sir, that if she call you shifting knave, you shall not put her to the proof.
Ateu. And why?
Slip. Because, sir, living by your wit as you do, shifting is your letters-patents: it were a hard matter for me to get my dinner that day wherein my master had not sold a dozen of devices, a case of cogs, and a suit of shifts,264 in the morning. I speak this in your commendation, sir, and, I pray you, so take it.
Ateu. If I live, knave, I will be revenged. What gentleman would entertain a rascal thus to derogate from his honour? [Beats him.
Ida. My lord, why are you thus impatient?
Ateu. Not angry, Ida; but I teach this knave
How to behave himself among his betters.—
Behold, fair countess, to assure your stay,
I here present the signet of the king,
Who now by me, fair Ida, doth salute you:
And since in secret I have certain things
In his behalf, good madam, to impart,
I crave your daughter to discourse apart.
Count. of A. She shall in humble duty be addrest265
To do his highness’ will in what she may.
Ida. Now, gentle sir, what would his grace with me?
Ateu. Fair, comely nymph, the beauty of your face,
Sufficient to bewitch the heavenly powers,
Hath wrought so much in him, that now of late
He finds himself made captive unto love;
And though his power and majesty require
A straight command before an humble suit,
Yet he his mightiness doth so abase
As to entreat your favour, honest maid.
Ida. Is he not married, sir, unto our queen?
Ateu. He is.
Ida. And are not they by God accurs’d,
That sever them whom he hath knit in one?
Ateu. They be: what then? we seek not to displace
The princess from her seat; but, since by love
The king is made your own, he is resolv’d
In private to accept your dalliance,
In spite of war, watch, or worldly eye.
Ida. O, how he talks, as if he should not die!
As if that God in justice once could wink
Upon that fault I am asham’d to think!
Ateu. Tut, mistress, man at first was born to err;
Women are all not formèd to be saints:
’Tis impious for to kill our native king,
Whom by a little favour we may save.
Ida. Better, than live unchaste, to lie in grave.
Ateu. He shall erect your state, and wed you well.
Ida. But can his warrant keep my soul from hell?
Ateu. He will enforce, if you resist his suit.
Ida. What tho?266 The world may shame to him account,
To be a king of men and worldly pelf,
Yet hath no power to rule and guide himself.
Ateu. I know you, gentle lady, and the care
Both of your honour and his grace’s health
Makes me confusèd in this dangerous state.
Ida. So counsel him, but soothe thou not his sin:
’Tis vain allurement that doth make him love:
I shame to hear, be you asham’d to move.
Count. of A. [aside]. I see my daughter grows impatient:
I fear me, he pretends some bad intent.
Ateu. Will you despise the king and scorn him so?
Ida. In all allegiance I will serve his grace,
But not in lust: O, how I blush to name it!
Ateu. [aside]. An endless work is this: how should I frame it?
[They discourse privately.
Slip. O, mistress, may I turn a word upon you?
Count. of A. Friend, what wilt thou?
Slip. O, what a happy gentlewoman be you truly! the world reports this of you, mistress, that a man can no sooner come to your house but the butler comes with a black-jack and says, “Welcome, friend, here’s a cup of the best for you”: verily, mistress, you are said to have the best ale in all Scotland.
Count. of A. Sirrah, go fetch him drink. [Servant brings drink]. How likest thou this?
Slip. Like it, mistress! why, this is quincy quarie, pepper de watchet, single goby, of all that ever I tasted! I’ll prove in this ale and toast the compass of the whole world. First, this is the earth,—it lies in the middle, a fair brown toast, a goodly country for hungry teeth to dwell upon; next, this is the sea, a fair pool for a dry tongue to fish in: now come I, and, seeing the world is naught, I divide it thus; and, because the sea cannot stand without the earth, as Aristotle saith, I put them both into their first chaos, which is my belly: and so, mistress, you may see your ale is become a miracle.
Eust. A merry mate, madam, I promise you.
Count. of A. Why sigh you, sirrah?
Slip. Truly, madam, to think upon the world, which, since I denounced it, keeps such a rumbling in my stomach, that, unless your cook give it a counterbuff with some of your roasted capons or beef, I fear me I shall become a loose body, so dainty, I think, I shall neither hold fast before nor behind.
Count. of A. Go take him in, and feast this merry swain.—
Sirrah, my cook is your physician;
He hath a purge for to digest the world.
[Exeunt Slipper and Servant.
Ateu. Will you not, Ida, grant his highness this?
Ida. As I have said, in duty I am his:
For other lawless lusts that ill beseem him,
I cannot like, and good I will not deem him.
Count. of A. Ida, come in:—and, sir, if so you please,
Come, take a homely widow’s entertain.
Ida. If he have no great haste, he may come nigh;
If haste, though he be gone, I will not cry.
[Exeunt Countess of Arran, Ida, and Eustace.
Ateu. I see this labour lost, my hope in vain;
Yet will I try another drift again. [Exit.