Keeper. Heaven bless your purpose, sir! [Exeunt.
Enter Stephen's Wife, and her Sister, Old Foster's Wife.
Wife. Sister, there's no way to make sorrow light
But in the noble bearing; be content.
Blows given from heaven are our due punishment:
All shipwrecks are no drownings: you see buildings
Made fairer from their ruins: he that I married—
The brother to your husband—lay, you know,
On the same bed of misery; yet now
He's rank'd with the best citizens.
Mrs Fos. O, you were born to wealth and happiness;
I, to want and scorn!
Wife. Come, I will work my husband: stay this grief.
The longest sorrow finds at last relief.
Enter Clown.
Now, sir, your business?
Clown. Marry, mistress, here are two creatures, scarce able to make one man, desire to speak with you.
Wife. What are they? Know their names.
Clown. Nay, I know that already: the one is a thing that was plucked into the world by the head and shoulders to be wondered at, and 'tis called a knight; the other is a coach-horse of the same overridden race, and that's a foolish gentleman.