It knits them unto me, and me to them,
That bond of sponsorship--How now, good dame--
Whence then so sad?
Woman. An't please your nobleness,
My neighbour Gretl is with her husband laid
In burning fever.
Eliz. I will come to them.
Woman. Alack, the place is foul for such as you;
And fear of plague has cleared the lane of lodgers;
If you could send--
Eliz. What? where I am afraid
To go myself, send others? That's strange doctrine.
I'll be with you anon. [Goes up into the Hall.]
[Isentrudis enters with a basket.]
Isen. Why, here's a weight--these cordials now, and simples,
Want a stout page to bear them: yet her fancy
Is still to go alone, to help herself.--
Where will 't all end? In madness, or the grave?
No limbs can stand these drudgeries: no spirit
The fretting harrow which this ruffian priest
Calls education--
Ah! here comes our Count.
[Count Walter enters as from a journey.]
Too late, sir, and too seldom--Where have you been
These four months past, while we are sold for bond-slaves
Unto a peevish friar?
Wal. Why, my fair rosebud--
A trifle overblown, but not less sweet--
I have been pining for you, till my hair
Is as gray as any badger's.
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