Old L. Hearts of most hard temper
Melt and lament for her.
Anne. O, God's will! much better[339]
She ne'er had known pomp: though 't be temporal,
Yet, if that quarrel, fortune, do divorce[340]
It from the bearer, 'tis a sufferance panging 15
As soul and body's severing.
Old L. Alas, poor lady![341]
She's a stranger now again.[342]
Anne. So much the more
Must pity drop upon her. Verily,
I swear, 'tis better to be lowly born
And range with humble livers in content 20
Than to be perk'd up in a glistering grief
And wear a golden sorrow.
Old L. Our content
Is our best having.
Anne. By my troth and maidenhead,
I would not be a queen.
Old L. Beshrew me, I would,
And venture maidenhead for't; and so would you, 25
For all this spice of your hypocrisy:
You, that have so fair parts of woman on you,
Have too a woman's heart; which ever yet
Affected eminence, wealth, sovereignty;
Which, to say sooth, are blessings; and which gifts— 30
Saving your mincing—the capacity
Of your soft cheveril conscience would receive,[343]
If you might please to stretch it.
Anne. Nay, good troth.[344]
Old L. Yes, troth, and troth; you would not be a queen?
Anne. No, not for all the riches under heaven. 35