SCENE III.

_Enter_ INGEN, _reading a letter; sits down in a chair, and stamps with his foot; to him a_ SERVANT.

INGEN. Who brought this letter?

SER. A little Irish footboy, sir: He stays without for an answer.

INGEN. Bid him come in. Lord! What deep dissemblers are these females all. How far unlike a friend this lady us'd me, And here how like one mad in love she writes.

_Enter_ MAID, _like an Irish footboy, with a dart,[94] gloves in her pocket, and a handkerchief_.

So bless me, heaven, but thou art the prettiest boy That e'er ran by a horse! hast thou dwelt long With thy fair mistress?

MAID. I came but this morning, sir.

INGEN. How fares thy lady, boy?

MAID. Like to a turtle that hath lost her mate, Drooping she sits; her grief, sir, cannot speak. Had it a voice articulate, we should know How and for what cause she suffers; and perhaps-- But 'tis unlikely--give her comfort, sir. Weeping she sits, and all the sound comes from her Is like the murmur of a silver brook, Which her tears truly would make there about her, Sat she in any hollow continent.

INGEN. Believe me, boy, thou hast a passionate tongue, Lively expression, or thy memory Hath carried thy lesson well away. But wherefore mourns thy lady?

MAID. Sir, you know, And would to God I did not know myself!

INGEN. Alas! it cannot be for love to me. When last I saw her, she revil'd me, boy, With bitterest words, and wish'd me never more To approach her sight; and for my marriage now I do sustain it as a penance due To the desert that made her banish me.

MAID. Sir, I dare swear, she did presume no words, Nor dangers had been powerful to restrain Your coming to her, when she gave the charge-- But are you married truly?

INGEN. Why, my boy, Dost think I mock myself? I sent her gloves.

MAID. The gloves she has return'd you, sir, by me, And prays you give them to some other lady, That you'll deceive next, and be perjured to. Sure, you have wrong'd her: sir, she bad me tell you, She ne'er thought goodness dwelt in many men, But what there was of goodness in the world, She thought you had it all; but now she sees The jewel she esteem'd is counterfeit; That you are but a common man yourself-- A traitor to her and her virtuous love; That all men are betrayers, and their breasts As full of dangerous gulfs as is the sea, Where any woman, thinking to find harbour, She and her honour are precipitated, And never to be brought with safety off. Alas, my hapless lady desolate! Distress'd, forsaken virgin!

INGEN. Sure, this boy Is of an excellent nature who, so newly Ta'en to her service, feels his mistress' grief, As he and they were old familiar friends. Why weep'st thou, gentle lad?

MAID. Who hath one tear, And would not save't from all occasions, From brothers' slaughters and from mothers' deaths, To spend it here for my distressed lady? But, sir, my lady did command me beg To see your wife, that I may bear to her The sad report. What creature could make you Untie the hand fast pledged unto her?

INGEN. Wife, wife, come forth! now, gentle boy, be judge,

_Enter_ INGEN'S BROTHER, _like a woman, masked_. INGEN _kisses her_.

If such a face as this, being paid with scorn By her I did adore, had not full power To make me marry.

MAID. By the God of love, She's a fair creature, but faith, should be fairer. My lady, gentle mistress, one that thought She had some interest in this gentleman, (Who now is only yours) commanded me To kiss your white hand, and to sigh and weep, And wish you that content she should have had In the fruition of her love you hold. She bad me say, God give you joy, to both; Yet this withal (if ye were married): No one her footsteps ever more should meet, Nor see her face but in a winding-sheet.

BRO. Alas, poor lady! faith, I pity her, And, but to be i' th' same state, could forego Anything I possess to ease her woe.

MAID. Love's blessing light upon thy gentle soul! Men rail at women, mistress, but 'tis we Are false and cruel, ten times more unkind; You are smoother far and of a softer mind. Sir, I have one request more.

INGEN. Gentle lad, It must be one of a strange quality That I deny thee: both thy form and mind Inform me that thy nurture hath been better, Than to betray thee to this present life.

MAID. 'Tis, that you would vouchsafe to entertain me. My feet do tremble under me to bear My body back unto my uncouth lady, To assure her grief. What heart so hard would owe A tongue to tell so sad a tale to her? Alas! I dare not look upon her eyes, Where wronged love sits like the basilisk. And, sure, would kill me for my dire report: Or rather should not I appear like death, [_Holding up his dart._ When every word I spake shot through her heart More mortally than his unsparing dart.

BRO. Let me speak for the boy.

INGEN. To what end, love? No, I will sue to him to follow me. In troth, I love thy sweet condition, And may live to inform thy lady of thee. Come in; dry, dry thine eyes, respite thy woe; The effects of causes[95] crown or overthrow.