Another Time, I was arranging a Sunshade for Mistress _Fraunces_, in the blue-buckram Chamber, when Mistress _Anne_ calleth me into the Balcony to look at some sunset Clouds, which she likened unto an Oliphant with a Princess on its Back, and to Armies and Fairy Palaces and such-like, till I told her if she span any more of her gold Cobwebs about me, I should be unable to leave the Balcony. Without heeding me, she giveth a great Sigh, and says, "There's one Thing I should like, that I know my Father would forbid. Pshaw, _Ned!_ thou needs not look so surprise-stricken! 'tis but to have my Fortune told, by a real Fortune-teller." "And so double your Sorrows and deaden your Pleasures, Mistress?" say I. "Ah, no, 'tis bad tampering with unlawful Quests." And then I told her a Tale current in the Part of the Country I came from, of a Lady who would dabble in Things supernal; and how her Fore-knowledge, actual or phansied, bred in her such Impatience of her present Lot and Greediness for Things to come, as to lead her to poison her Husband. And how the Grass would ne'er grow over his Body, but left the exact Outline of it, Arms, Legs, Feet, Hands, traced out a-top of his Grave; as may be seen this Day: and how she, a likely and well-favoured Woman, finding herself viewed askance by all, albeit no Crime could be proven against her, did call on Heaven to make her as thin as a Willowwand if she had any hidden Guilt upon her Soul; and how from that self-same Day she peaked and pined, dwindled, and fell away, till there was no Substance, so to speak, in her; for a Child might ha' carried her, she was the Lightness of one of Mistress _Anne's_ satin Slippers. At the End of this Tale, Mistress _Anne_ drew a deep Breath, and, saith she, "_Ned_, thou wert always a marvellous Recounter!—Tell me another Tale, as moving as the last." So I told her another and another; till the Stars began to come out; and a Singer in a Boat lying a little Way off began to sing— "_What though thine Eyes be like the Sun That lights up all he looks upon_—" "Whose can those be?" quod she. "Aye! whose, indeed?" said I. But I thought I knew.—Thus, in honeyed Sweetness, lapsed Day after Day. But it came to an End. I found at last, whether I would shut mine Eyes or no, whether I would give Ear or feign Dullness, that I was seeing, hearing Nothing but Mistress _Anne_. At first, I would not attend to this; then said (in _Answer_ to Something,) "What Harm?" But yet Something answered back again, There _is_ Harm. Then quod I, To whom? There is none, nor never shall be to any save myself, and the only Harm to me is the Pain; and if the Pain is a Pleasure, or I choose to bear it and count it as such, where's the Harm and where's the Wrong?