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 lour[262] 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 addrest[265] 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._