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When it was out,) let me not live, (quoth he,)
After my flame lacks oil; to be the snuff
Of younger spirits, whose apprehensive senses
All but new things disdain ; whose judgments are
Mere fathers of their garments; whose constancies
Expire before their fathions :- this he wilh'd.
I, after him, do after him with too,
(Since I nor wax, nor honey, can bring home,)
I quickly were dissolved from my hive,
To give some labourers room.

2 Lord. You're loved, Sir;
They, that least lend it you, shall lack you first.

King. I fill a place, I know't. How long is't, Count, Since the physician at your father's died? He was much fam’d.

Ber. Some fix months, since, my Lord.

King. If he were living, I would try him yet;
Lend me an arm ;---the rest have worn me out
With several applications; nature and sickness
Debate it at their leisure. Welcome, Count,
My son's no dearer.

Ber. Thank your Majesty. [Flourish, Exeunt. SCENE changes to the Countess’s at Roufillan.

Enter Countess, Steward and Clown. Count. Will now hear; what say you of this gentle

woman? Stew. Madam, the care I have had to even your content, I wish might be found in the calendar of iny paft endeavours ; (5) for then we wound our modesty,

and

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(5) For then we wound our modesty, and make foul the clearness of our deservings, when of ourfdves we publish them.] This sentiment our author has again inculcated in his Troilus and Crefida.

The worthiness of praise ciftains 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 Æschylus; but that poet has something in biß Agamemnon, which might very well be a foundation to what our author has advanced in both these pafiages.

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and make foul the clearness of our deservings, 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 such knaveries yours.

Clo. 'Tis not unknown to you, Madam, I am a

poor fellow

Count. Well, Sir.

Clo. No, Madam; 'tis not so 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, Ifbel 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 case.
Count. In what case ?

Clo. In Ifbel's case, and mine own; service is no heritage, and, I think, I shall never have the blessing of God, 'till I have issue o' my body; for they say, bearns are blessings.

Count. Tell me thy reason why thou wilt marry.

Clo. My poor body, Madam, requires it. I am driven on by the flesh ; and he must 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, sooner than thy wickedness.

Clo. I am out of friends, Madam, and I hope to have friends for my wife's sake.

Count. Such friends are thine enemies, knave.

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Clo. Y'are shallow, Madam, in great friends ; for the knaves come to do that for me, which I am weary of; he, that eares my land, spares 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 cheriiher of my fell and blood; he, that cherisheth my feth and blood, loves my flesh and blood; he, that loves my fesh and blood, is my friend: ergo, he, that kisses 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 Poysam the papist, howsoe’er their hearts are sever'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 calum. nious knave ?

Clo. A prophet, I, Madam ; and I speak the truth the next way ; " For I the ballad will repeat, which men full true

or shall find; Your marriage comes by destiny, your cuckow sings

by kind. Count. Get you gone, Sir, I'll talk with you more

anon.

Stew. May it please you, Madam, thit he bid Helen come to you ; of her I am to speak.

Court. Sirrah, tell my gentlewoman I would speak with her, Helen I mean. Clo.“ Was this fair face the cause, quoth fhe, (6).

[Singing

Why (6) Was this fair face the cause, quoth fe,

Why ite Grecians jacked Troy?

Was this King Priam's joy?) As the stanza, that follows, is in alternate rhyme, and as a rhyme is here wanting to fire in the ift verse; 'tis evident, the 3d line is wanting. The old folio's give us a part of it; but how to supply the lost part, was the question. Mr. Rowe has given us the fragment honestly, 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 passage in the old books,

[Fond done, done, ford,
Was ibis 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 she fighed as the stood, (7)

“ And And from him I received that supplement, which I have given to the text, and the following justification of it. “I will first proceed “ to justify my sense and emendation, and then account for the cor“ ruption. In the first place, 'tis plain, the last line thould not “ have been read with an interrogation : For was Helen King « Priam's joy? No, surely, she was not. Who then? why, the " hiftorians tell us it was Paris, who wa, his favourite lon. And “ how natural was it, when this phe (whoever she was,) bad said, “ was this the face that ruin'd Troy? to fall into a moral reflection, “ and say, what a' fond deed was this! Priam's misery proceeded « from him, that was his only joy. This is exactly agreeable to “ the fimplicity of those ancient songs: as the phrase, 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 “ observation upon the ensuing flensa may make it clear to demon. " Atration."

I will only subjoin, in confirmation of my friend's ingenious conje&ture, that, in "The Maid in tbe Mill by Beaumont and Fletcber, I find a scrap of another old ballad upon the fame subject, moft nearly corresponding with ours.

And here fair Paris comes,
The hopeful youth of Troy;
Queen Hecuba's darling son,

King Priam's only joy.
(7) Wirb that fe figbed, as fee food,

And gave this sentence iben;
Among nine bad if one be good,

There's yet one good in ten.] This ad ftanza is a joke turn'd upon the women: a confeffion that there was one good in ten. Upon which the Countess says, “ What! " one good in ten! you corrupt the fong, firrah". This thews, that the sense of the song was, one bad only in ten, or, wine good in ten: and this clears up the mystery. The 2d stanza was certainly thus in the old ballad.

With that she sig bed as the food,
And

gave this sentence then;
If one be bad amongst nine good,

There's but one bad in ten. A visible continuation of the thought, as amended, in the latter part of the first stanza: and it relates to the ten fons of Priam, who ali behaved themselves well except this Paris. But why Priam's ten fons, may it not be afk'd, when uniserfal tradition has given him

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gave

this sentence then; “ Among nine bad if one be good, “ There's yet one good in ten.

Count. What, one good in ten ? You corrupt the song, firrah.

Clo. One good woman in ten, Madam, which is a purifying o' th' fong: would, God would serve the world so all the year! we'd find no fault with the tithe-woman, if I were the parson; 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 com

Clo. That man that should be at a woman's command, and yet no hurt done! tho' honesty be no puritan, yet it will do no hurt; it will wear the surplis of humility over the black gown of a big heart: 'I am going, forsooth, the businefs 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 she finds; there is more owing her, than is paid; and more shall be paid her, than she'll demand.

Stew. Madam, I was very late more near her, than, I think, the wish'd me; alone she was, and did communicate to herself her own words to her own ears ; Me 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 fongster alludes. They were, Agathon, Antipbon, Deipbobus, Dius, Heator, Helenus, Hippothous, Pammon, Paris and Polites

. It seems particularly humorous the clown, (and suiting with the licence of his character, as a jesler ;) all at once to deprave the text of the ballad, and turn it to a sarcasm upon the women,

Mr. Warburton.

ftranger

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