University of Virginia Library

Scæne 7.

Count. Christopher,
Count.
Well goe your waies away, how now Christopher,
What newes with you?

Christ.
I haue an humble suit to your good Lordship.

Count.
A suit Christopher? what suit I prithee?

Christ.
I would craue pardon at your Lordships hands,
If it seeme vaine or simple in your sight.

Count.
Ile pardon all simplicity, Christopher,
What is thy suit?

Christ.
Perhaps being now so old a batcheler,
I shall seeme halfe vnwise, to bend my selfe
In strict affection to a poore yong maide.

Count.
What? is it touching loue Christopher?
Art thou dispost to marry, why tis well.

Christo.
I, but your Lordship may imagine now
That I being steward of your honours house.
If I be maried once, will more regard
The maintenance of my wife and of my charge,
Then the due discharge of my place and office:

Count.
No, no, Christopher, I know thee honest.

Christo.

Good faith my Lord, your honour may suspect it
but—

Count.
Then I should wrong thee, thou hast euer been
Honest and true, and will be still I knowe.

Chris.
I but this marriage alters many men:
And you may feare, it will do me my Lord,
But ere it do so? I will vndergoe
Ten thousand seuerall deaths.

Count.
I know it man.
Who wouldst thou haue I prithee?

Chris.
Rachel de prie,
If your good Lordship, graunt me your consent.

Count.
Rachel de prie? what the poore beggers daughter?
Shees a right handsome maide, how poore soeuer,
And thou hast my consent, with all my hart.

Chris.

I humbly thanke your honour. Ile now aske her
father.

Exit.
Count.
Do so Christofero thou shalt do well.
Tis strange (she being so poore) he should affect her,
But this is more strange that my selfe should loue her.
I spide her, lately, at her fathers doore,
And if I did not see in her sweet face
Gentry and noblenesse, nere trust me more:
But this perswasion, fancie wrought in me,
That fancie being created with her lookes,
For where loue is he thinke his basest obiect
Gentle and noble: I am farre in loue,
And shall be forc'd to wrong my honest steward,
For I must suc, and seeke her for my selfe;
How much my duetie to my late dead wife,
And my owne deere renowne so ere it swaies,
Ile to her father straight. Loue hates delays.

Exit.