Ida. Not in delights, or pompe, or maiestie. 730
Count. And why?
Ida. Since these are meanes to draw the minde
From perfect good, and make true iudgement blind.
Count. Might you haue wealth, and fortunes ritchest store?
Ida. Yet would I (might I chuse) be honest poore.
For she that sits at fortunes feete alowe
Is sure she shall not taste a further woe.
But those that prancke one top of fortunes ball,
Still feare a change: and fearing catch a fall.
Count. Tut foolish maide, each one contemneth need. 740
Ida. Good reasõ why, they know not good indeed.
Count. Many marrie then, on whom distresse doth loure,
Ida. Yes they that vertue deeme an honest dowre.
Madame, by right this world I may compare,
Vnto my worke, wherein with heedfull care,
The heauenly workeman plants with curious hand,
As I with needle drawe each thing one land,
Euen as hee list, some men like to the Rose,
Are fashioned fresh, some in their stalkes do close,
And borne do suddaine die: some are but weeds, 750
And yet from them a secret good proceeds:
I with my needle if I please may blot,
The fairest rose within my cambricke plot,
God with a becke can change each worldly thing,
The poore to earth, the begger to the king.
What then hath man, wherein hee well may boast,
Since by a becke he liues, a louer is lost?
Enter Eustace with letters.