[Exeunt. Manet 1st Soldier.
1st Sol. Must this on now to deceive all comers,
And cover emptiness? 'tis, for all the world,
Like a great city-pie brought to a table,
Where there be many hands that lay about.
The lid's shut close, when all the meat's pick'd out,
Yet stands to make a show, and cosen people. [Exit.
SCENE IV.
Enter Govianus in black, a book in his hand, his Page carrying a torch before him.
Gov. Already mine eye melts; the monument
No sooner stood before it, but a tear
Ran swiftly from me to express her duty.
Temple of honour! I salute thee early,
The time that my griefs rise; chamber of peace!
Where wounded virtue sleeps, lock'd from the world,
I bring, to be acquainted with thy silence,
Sorrows that love no noise; they dwell all inward,
Where truth and love in every man should dwell.
Be ready, boy! give me the strain again,
'Twill show well here whilst, in my grief's devotion,
At every rest mine eye lets fall a bead,
To keep the number perfect.
[Govianus kneels at the tomb. His Page sings.
The Song.
If ever pity were well-plac'd
On true desert and virtuous honour,
It could ne'er be better grac'd;
Freely then bestow't upon her.
Never lady earn'd her fame
In virtue's war with greater strife;
To preserve her constant name
She gave up beauty, youth, and life.
There she sleeps;
And here he weeps,
The lord unto so rare a wife.
Weep, weep, and mourn! lament,
You virgins that pass by her!
For if praise come by death again,
I doubt few will lie nigh her.
Gov. Thou art an honest boy, 'tis like one
That has a feeling of his master's passions
And the unmatch'd worth of his dead mistress.
Thy better years shall find me good to thee,
When understanding ripens in thy soul,
Which truly makes the man, and not long time.
Prythee, withdraw a little, and attend me
At the cloister door.