Pan. Antonio, kiss my foot: I honour thee,
In laying thwart my blood upon thy breast.
I tell thee, boy, he was Pandulpho’s son;
And I do grace thee with supporting him.
Young man,
He[311] who hath naught that fortune’s gripe can seize,
The domineering monarch of the earth; 30
He who is all impregnably his own,
He whose great heart heaven cannot force with force,
Vouchsafes his love. Non servio Deo, sed assentio.
Ant. I ha’ lost a good wife.
Pan. Didst find her good, or didst thou make her good?
If found, thou may’st refind, because thou hadst her;
If made, the work is lost, but thou that madest her
Livest yet as cunning. Hast lost a good wife?
Thrice-blessèd man that lost her whilst she was good,
Fair, young, unblemish’d, constant, loving, chaste. 40
I tell thee, youth, age knows, young loves seem graced,
Which with gray cares, rude jars, are oft defaced.
Ant. But she was full of hope.
Pan. May be, may be; but that which may be stood,
Stands now without all may. She dièd good,
And dost thou grieve?
Alb. I ha’ lost a true friend.
Pan. I live encompass’d with two blessèd souls.
Thou lost a good wife, thou lost a true friend, ha!
Two of the rarest lendings of the heavens,—
But lendings which, at the fix’d day of pay 50
Set down by fate, thou must restore again.[312]
O what unconscionable souls are here!
Are you all like the spoke-shaves of the church?
Have you no maw to restitution?
Hast lost a true friend, coz? then thou hadst one.
I tell thee, youth, ’tis all as difficult
To find true friend in this apostate age
(That balks all right affiance ’twixt two hearts)
As ’tis to find a fixèd modest heart
Under a painted breast. Lost a true friend! 60
O happy soul that lost him whilst he was true!
Believe it, coz, I to my tears have found,
Oft dirt’s respect makes firmer friends unsound.
Alb. You have lost a good son.