COUNTESS.
Sirrah, tell my gentlewoman I would speak with her; Helen I mean.
CLOWN.
[Sings.]
Was this fair face the cause, quoth she,
Why the Grecians sacked Troy?
Fond done, done fond,
Was this King Priam’s joy?
With that she sighed as she stood,
With that she sighed as she stood,
And gave this sentence then:
Among nine bad if one be good,
Among nine bad if one be good,
There’s yet one good in ten.
COUNTESS.
What, one good in ten? You corrupt the song, sirrah.
CLOWN.
One good woman in ten, madam, which is a purifying o’ the song. Would God would serve the world so all the year! We’d find no fault with the tithe-woman, if I were the parson. One in ten, quoth ’a! And we might have a good woman born but or every blazing star, or at an earthquake, ’twould mend the lottery well; a man may draw his heart out ere he pluck one.
COUNTESS.
You’ll be gone, sir knave, and do as I command you!
CLOWN.
That man should be at woman’s command, and yet no hurt done! Though honesty be no puritan, yet it will do no hurt; it will wear the surplice of humility over the black gown of a big heart. I am going, forsooth; the business is for Helen to come hither.
[Exit.]
COUNTESS.
Well, now.
STEWARD.
I know, madam, you love your gentlewoman entirely.
COUNTESS.
Faith I do. Her father bequeath’d her to me, and she herself, without other advantage, may lawfully make title to as much love as she finds; there is more owing her than is paid, and more shall be paid her than she’ll demand.