_Clo._ You're shallow, madam, in great friends; for the knaves come to do that for me, which I am aweary of. He that ears my land spares my team, and gives me leave to in the crop; if I be his cuckold, he's my drudge: he that comforts my wife is the cherisher of my flesh and blood; he 45 that cherishes my flesh and blood loves my flesh and blood; he that loves my flesh and blood is my friend: ergo, he that kisses my wife is my friend. If men could be contented to be what they are, there were no fear in marriage; for young Charbon the puritan and old Poysam the papist, howsome'er 50 their hearts are severed in religion, their heads are both one; they may joul horns together, like any deer i' the herd. _Count._ Wilt thou ever be a foul-mouthed and calumnious knave? _Clo._ A prophet I, madam; and I speak the truth the 55 next way: For I the ballad will repeat, Which men full true shall find; Your marriage comes by destiny, Your cuckoo sings by kind. 60 _Count._ Get you gone, sir; I'll talk with you more anon. _Stew._ May it please you, madam, that he bid Helen come to you: of her I am to speak. _Count._ Sirrah, tell my gentlewoman I would speak with her; Helen I mean. 65 _Clo._ 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, 70 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. 75 _Count._ What, one good in ten? you corrupt the song, sirrah. _Clo._ 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 80 the parson: one in ten, quoth a'! an we might have a good woman born but one every blazing star, or at an earth-quake, 'twould mend the lottery well: a man may draw his heart out, ere a' pluck one. _Count._ You'll be gone, sir knave, and do as I command 85 you. _Clo._ 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 90 business is for Helen to come hither. [_Exit._ _Count._ Well, now. _Stew._ I know, madam, you love your gentlewoman entirely.