_Eust._ Madam, God speed! _Count. of A._ I thank you, gentle squire. _Eust._ The country Countess of Northumberland Doth greet you well; and hath requested me To bring these letters to your ladyship. [_Delivers the letters._ _Count. of A._ I thank her honour, and yourself, my friend. [_Peruses them._ I see she means you good, brave gentleman.-- Daughter, the Lady Elinor salutes Yourself as well as me: then for her sake 'Twere good you entertain'd that courtier well. _Ida._ As much salute as may become my sex, And he in virtue can vouchsafe to think, I yield him for the courteous countess' sake.-- Good sir, sit down: my mother here and I Count time misspent an endless vanity. _Eust._ [_aside_]. Beyond report, the wit, the fair, the shape!-- What work you here, fair mistress? may I see it? _Ida._ Good sir, look on: how like you this compáct? _Eust._ Methinks in this I see true love in act: The woodbines with their leaves do sweetly spread, The roses blushing prank them in their red; No flower but boasts the beauties of the spring; This bird hath life indeed, if it could sing. What means, fair mistress, had you in this work? _Ida._ My needle, sir. _Eust._ In needles, then, there lurk Some hidden grace, I deem, beyond my reach. _Ida._ Not grace in them, good sir, but those that teach. _Eust._ Say that your needle now were Cupid's sting,-- [_Aside_]. But, ah, her eye must be no less, In which is heaven and heavenliness, In which the food of God is shut, Whose powers the purest minds do glut! _Ida._ What if it were? _Eust._ Then see a wondrous thing; I fear me you would paint in Tereus' heart Affection in his power and chiefest part. _Ida._ Good Lord, sir, no! for hearts but prickèd soft Are wounded sore, for so I hear it oft. _Eust._ What recks the wound, where but your happy eye May make him live whom Jove hath judg'd to die? _Ida._ Should life and death within this needle lurk, I'll prick no hearts, I'll prick upon my work. _Enter_ ATEUKIN _and_ SLIPPER. _Count. of A._ Peace, Ida, I perceive the fox at hand. _Eust._ The fox! why, fetch your hounds, and chase him hence. _Count. of A._ O, sir, these great men bark at small offence. Come, will it please you enter, gentle sir? [_They offer to go out._ _Ateu._ Stay, courteous ladies; favour me so much As to discourse a word or two apart. _Count. of A._ Good sir, my daughter learns this rule of me, To shun resort and strangers' company; For some are shifting mates that carry letters; Some, such as you, too good because our betters. _Slip._ Now, I pray you, sir, what akin are you to a pickerel? _Ateu._ Why, knave? _Slip._ By my troth, sir, because I never knew a proper situation fellow of your pitch fitter to swallow a gudgeon.