So bless me, heaven, but thou art the prettiest boy That e'er ran by a horse! hast thou dwelt long With thy fair mistress? MAID. I came but this morning, sir. INGEN. How fares thy lady, boy? MAID. Like to a turtle that hath lost her mate, Drooping she sits; her grief, sir, cannot speak. Had it a voice articulate, we should know How and for what cause she suffers; and perhaps-- But 'tis unlikely--give her comfort, sir. Weeping she sits, and all the sound comes from her Is like the murmur of a silver brook, Which her tears truly would make there about her, Sat she in any hollow continent. INGEN. Believe me, boy, thou hast a passionate tongue, Lively expression, or thy memory Hath carried thy lesson well away. But wherefore mourns thy lady? MAID. Sir, you know, And would to God I did not know myself! INGEN. Alas! it cannot be for love to me. When last I saw her, she revil'd me, boy, With bitterest words, and wish'd me never more To approach her sight; and for my marriage now I do sustain it as a penance due To the desert that made her banish me. MAID. Sir, I dare swear, she did presume no words, Nor dangers had been powerful to restrain Your coming to her, when she gave the charge-- But are you married truly? INGEN. Why, my boy, Dost think I mock myself? I sent her gloves. MAID. The gloves she has return'd you, sir, by me, And prays you give them to some other lady, That you'll deceive next, and be perjured to. Sure, you have wrong'd her: sir, she bad me tell you, She ne'er thought goodness dwelt in many men, But what there was of goodness in the world, She thought you had it all; but now she sees The jewel she esteem'd is counterfeit; That you are but a common man yourself-- A traitor to her and her virtuous love; That all men are betrayers, and their breasts As full of dangerous gulfs as is the sea, Where any woman, thinking to find harbour, She and her honour are precipitated, And never to be brought with safety off. Alas, my hapless lady desolate! Distress'd, forsaken virgin! INGEN. Sure, this boy Is of an excellent nature who, so newly Ta'en to her service, feels his mistress' grief, As he and they were old familiar friends. Why weep'st thou, gentle lad? MAID. Who hath one tear, And would not save't from all occasions, From brothers' slaughters and from mothers' deaths, To spend it here for my distressed lady? But, sir, my lady did command me beg To see your wife, that I may bear to her The sad report. What creature could make you Untie the hand fast pledged unto her? INGEN. Wife, wife, come forth! now, gentle boy, be judge, _Enter_ INGEN'S BROTHER, _like a woman, masked_. INGEN _kisses her_.