steps are heard in the room on the left.--Then a deathly
silence.--They listen in mute terror, until the door of the room opens
slowly, the light from it is cast into the room where they are
sitting, and the Sister of Mercy appears on the threshold, in her
black garments, and bows as she makes the sign of the cross, to
announce the death of the wife. They understand, and, after a moment
of hesitation and fright, silently enter the chamber of death, while
THE UNCLE politely steps aside on the threshold to let the three girls
pass. The blind man, left alone, gets up, agitated, and feels his way
round the table in the darkness._]
THE GRANDFATHER. Where are you going?--Where are you going?--The girls
have left me all alone!
[THE CURTAIN.]
FORTUNE AND MEN'S EYES[53]
_A DRAMA IN ONE ACT_
By JOSEPHINE PRESTON PEABODY
[Footnote 53: Copyright, 1917, by Josephine Preston Peabody.
This play is fully protected under the Copyright law of the
United States and is subject to royalty when produced by
amateurs or professionals. Applications for the right to
produce _Fortune and Men's Eyes_ should be made to Samuel
French, 28 West 38 Street, New York. All rights reserved.]
Josephine Preston Peabody (Mrs. Lionel S. Marks) was born in New York
on May 30, 1874. She attended the Girls' Latin School in Boston and
later went to Radcliffe College. From 1901 to 1903 she taught English
literature at Wellesley College. Her verse, dramatic and lyric, has
made her an outstanding figure in American letters.
_Fortune and Men's Eyes_ (1900), the first of her published plays, is
written in blank verse. _Marlowe_, likewise a study of a great
Elizabethan, _The Wings_, the setting of which is early English, _The
Piper_, a new version of the medieval legend made famous by Browning,
and _The Wolf of Gubbio_, dominated by the lovely figure of St.
Francis of Assisi, are also poetic dramas. Her best known play, _The
Piper_, was awarded the first prize in 1910 in the Stratford-on-Avon
competition in which there were three hundred and fifteen contestants.
It was then produced at the Memorial Theatre at Stratford.
In recent years two playwrights have consulted Shakespeare's sonnets
for dramatic themes; first, Josephine Preston Peabody found in them a
motive for her poetic play, _Fortune and Men's Eyes_, and later George
Bernard Shaw turned them to dramatic account, in his own fashion, in
_The Dark Lady of the Sonnets_. The dramatic situation chosen for
_Fortune and Men's Eyes_ has been read by some Shakespearian scholars
into the familiar dedication of the 1609 edition of the Sonnets, which
runs: "To the only begetter of these ensuing sonnets Mr. W. H. all
happiness and that eternity promised by our ever-living poet wisheth
the well-wishing adventurer in setting forth T. T." The last initials
stand for the name of the publisher, Thomas Thorpe. "Begetter" has
been variously interpreted as inspirer of the Sonnets or as partner in
the commercial enterprise of their publication. "Mr. W. H." has been
more usually identified with William Herbert, earl of Pembroke, though
some have thought that the initials were inverted and referred to
Henry Wriothesly, earl of Southampton, to whom Shakespeare's other
poems were dedicated. If W. H. does refer to the earl of Pembroke, it
is usually held that the "dark lady" is in reality the blond Mistress
Mary Fytton, whose name was coupled with Pembroke's. Whether the
sonnets are in any sense at all autobiographical has also been
endlessly debated. It was admittedly an age when every poet tried his
hand at sonnet sequences and in all these sequences, not excepting
Shakespeare's, there are to be found the same conventional conceits.
But it is generally believed now that the sonnets of Spenser and
Sidney refer to the personal experiences of their authors. It is quite
possible, then, that Shakespeare, too, may have used a literary
convention as a means of personal expression, though it seems
impertinent in any case to question the feeling back of "When in
disgrace with fortune and men's eyes." This brief reference to
conflicting interpretations of the Sonnets shows how material of
dramatic value may lurk even in the purlieus of textual criticism.
Josephine Preston Peabody herself says: "The play was written after
long worship of the W. S. Sonnets, as a method of introspection, to
satisfy my own curiosity concerning the truth of the sonnet theories.
In spite of recurrent threats, by one actor after another, it has
never yet been produced on the professional stage. But it has been
read and recommended for reading, in various colleges, as a picture of
Elizabethan times, and as an interpretation of the Pembroke-Fytton
aspect of the sonnet story."
FORTUNE AND MEN'S EYES
_"When in disgrace with Fortune and men's eyes" ..._
Sonnet xxix.
CHARACTERS
WILLIAM HERBERT, _son of the Earl of Pembroke._
SIMEON DYER, _a Puritan._
TOBIAS, _host of "The Bear and The Angel."_
WAT BURROW, _a bear-ward._
DICKON, _a little boy, son to TOBIAS._
CHIFFIN, _a ballad-monger._
A PRENTICE.
A PLAYER, _master W. S. of the Lord Chamberlain's Company._
MISTRESS MARY FYTTON, _a maid-of-honor to Queen Elizabeth._
MISTRESS ANNE HUGHES, _also of the Court._
TAVERNERS AND PRENTICES.
_Time represented: An afternoon in the autumn of the year 1599._
_SCENE._--_Interior of "The Bear and the Angel," South London. At
back, the center entrance gives on a short alley-walk which joins the
street beyond at a right angle. To right and left of this doorway,
casements. Down, on the right, a door opening upon the inn-garden; a
second door on the right, up, leading to a tap-room. Opposite this,
left, a door leading into a buttery. Opposite the garden-door, a large
chimney-piece with a smoldering wood-fire. A few seats; a lantern
(unlighted) in a corner. In the foreground, to the right, a long and
narrow table with several mugs of ale upon it, also a lute._
_At one end of the table WAT BURROW is finishing his ale and holding
forth to the PRENTICE (who thrums the lute) and a group of taverners,
some smoking. At the further end of the table SIMEON DYER observes
all with grave curiosity. TOBIAS and DICKON draw near. General noise._
PRENTICE [_singing_].
_What do I give for the Pope and his riches!
I's my ale and my Sunday breeches;
I's an old master, I's a young lass,
And we'll eat green goose, come Martinmas!
Sing Rowdy Dowdy,
Look ye don't crowd me
I's a good club,
--So let me pass!_
DICKON.
Again! again!
PRENTICE. _Sing Rowdy--_
WAT [_finishing his beer_]. Swallow it down.
Sling all such froth and follow me to the Bear!
They stay for me, lined up to see us pass
From end to end o' the alley. Ho! You doubt?
From Lambeth to the Bridge!
TAVERNERS. } {'Tis so; ay.
PRENTICES. } {Come, follow! Come.
WAT. Greg's stuck his ears
With nosegays, and his chain is wound about
Like any May-pole. What? I tell ye, boys,
Ye have seen no such bear, a Bear o' Bears,
Fit to bite off the prophet, in the show,
With seventy such boys!
[_Pulling DICKON's ear_]. Bears, say you, bears?
Why, Rursus Major, as your scholars tell,
A royal bear, the greatest in his day,
The sport of Alexander, unto Nick--
Was a ewe-lamb, dyed black; no worse, no worse.
To-morrow come and see him with the dogs;
He'll not give way,--not he!
DICKON. To-morrow's Thursday!
To-morrow's Thursday!
PRENTICE. Will ye lead by here?
TOBIAS.
Ay, that would be a sight. Wat, man, this way!
WAT.
Ho, would you squinch us? Why, there be a press
O' gentry by this tide to measure Nick
And lay their wagers, at a blink of him,
Against to-morrow! Why, the stairs be full.
To-morrow you shall see the Bridge a-creak,
The river--dry with barges,--London gape,
Gape! While the Borough buzzes like a hive
With all their worships! Sirs, the fame o' Nick
Has so pluckt out the gentry by the sleeve,
'Tis said the Queen would see him.
TOBIAS. } {Ay, 'tis grand.
DICKON. } {O-oh, the Queen?
PRENTICE.
How now? Thou art no man to lead a bear,
Forgetting both his quality and hers!
Drink all; come, drink to her.
TOBIAS. Ay, now.
WAT. To her!--
And harkee, boy, this saying will serve you learn:
"The Queen, her high and glorious majesty!"
SIMEON [_gravely_].
Long live the Queen!
WAT. Maker of golden laws
For baitings! She that cherishes the Borough
And shines upon our pastimes. By the mass!
Thank her for the crowd to-morrow. But for her,
We were a homesick handful of brave souls
That love the royal sport. These mouthing players,
These hookers, would 'a' spoiled us of our beer--
PRENTICE.
Lying by to catch the gentry at the stairs,--
All pressing to Bear Alley--
WAT. Run 'em in
At stage-plays and show-fooleries on the way.
Stage-plays, with their tart nonsense and their flags,
Their "Tamerlanes" and "Humors" and what not!
My life on't, there was not a man of us
But fared his Lent, by reason of their fatness,
And on a holiday ate not at all!
TOBIAS [_solemnly_].
'Tis so; 'tis so.
WAT. But when she heard it told
How lean the sport was grown, she damns stage-plays
O' Thursday. So: Nick gets his turn to growl!
PRENTICE.
As well as any player.
[_With a dumb show of ranting among the TAVERNERS._]
WAT. Players?--Hang them!
I know 'em, I. I've been with 'em.... I was
As sweet a gentlewoman in my voice
As any of your finches that sings small.
TOBIAS. 'Twas high.
[_Enter THE PLAYER, followed by CHIFFIN, the ballad-monger. He is
abstracted and weary._]
WAT [_lingering at the table_].
I say, I've played.... There's not one man
Of all the gang--save one.... Ay, there be one
I grant you, now!... He used me in right sort;
A man worth better trades.
[_Seeing THE PLAYER._]
--Lord love you, sir!
Why, this is you indeed. 'Tis a long day, sir,
Since I clapped eyes on you. But even now
Your name was on my tongue as pat as ale!
You see me off. We bait to-morrow, sir;
Will you come see? Nick's fresh, and every soul
As hot to see the fight as 'twere to be--
Man Daniel, baited with the lions!
TOBIAS. Sir,
'Tis high ... 'tis high.
WAT. We show him in the street
With dogs and all, ay, now, if you will see.
THE PLAYER.
Why, so I will. A show and I not there?
Bear it out bravely, Wat. High fortune, man!
Commend me to thy bear.
[_Drinks and passes him the cup._]
WAT. Lord love you, sir!
'Twas ever so you gave a man godspeed....
And yet your spirits flag; you look but palely.
I'll take your kindness, thank ye.
[_Turning away._]
In good time!
Come after me and Nick, now. Follow all;
Come boys, come, pack!
[_Exit WAT, still descanting. Exeunt most of the TAVERNERS, with the
PRENTICE. SIMEON DYER draws near THE PLAYER, regarding him gravely.
CHIFFIN sells ballads to those who go out. DICKON is about to follow
them, when TOBIAS stops him._]
TOBIAS.
What? Not so fast, you there;
Who gave you holiday? Bide by the inn;
Tend on our gentry.
[_Exit after the crowd._]
CHIFFIN. Ballads, gentlemen?
Ballads, new ballads?
SIMEON [_to THE PLAYER._]
With your pardon, sir,
I am gratified to note your abstinence
From this deplorable fond merriment
Of baiting of a bear.
THE PLAYER. Your friendship then
Takes pleasure in the heaviness of my legs.
But I am weary I would see the bear.
Nay, rest you happy; malt shall comfort us.
SIMEON.
You do mistake me. I am--
CHIFFIN. Ballad, sir?
"How a Young Spark would Woo a Tanner's Wife,
And She Sings Sweet in Turn."
SIMEON [_indignantly_].
Abandoned poet!
CHIFFIN [_indignantly_].
I'm no such thing! An honest ballad, sir,
No poetry at all.
THE PLAYER.
Good, sell thy wares.
CHIFFIN.
"A Ballad of a Virtuous Country-Maid
Forswears the Follies of the Flaunting Town"--
And tends her geese all day, and weds a vicar.
SIMEON.
A godlier tale, in sooth. But speak, my man;
If she be virtuous, and the tale a true one,
Can she not do't in prose?
THE PLAYER. Beseech her, man.
'Tis scandal she should use a measure so.
For no more sin than dealing out false measure
Was Dame Sapphira slain.
SIMEON. You are with me, sir;
Although methinks you do mistake the sense
O' that you have read.... This jigging, jog-trot rime,
This ring-me-round, debaseth mind and matter,
To make the reason giddy--
CHIFFIN [_to THE PLAYER_].
Ballad, sir?
"Hear All!" A fine brave ballad of a Fish
Just caught off Dover; nay, a one-eyed fish,
With teeth in double rows.
THE PLAYER. Nay, nay, go to.
CHIFFIN.
"My Fortune's Folly," then; or "The True Tale
Of an Angry Gull;" or "Cherries Like Me Best."
"Black Sheep, or How a Cut-Purse Robbed His Mother;"
"The Prentice and the Dell!"... "Plays Play not Fair,"
Or how a _gentlewoman's_ heart was took
By a player that was king in a stage-play....
"The Merry Salutation," "How a Spark
Would Woo a Tanner's Wife!" "The Direful Fish"--
Cock's passion, sir! not buy a cleanly ballad
Of the great fish, late ta'en off Dover coast,
Having two heads and teeth in double rows....
Salt fish catched in fresh water?...
'Od's my life!
What if or salt or fresh? A prodigy!
A ballad like "Hear All!" And me and mine,
Five children and a wife would bait the devil,
May lap the water out o' Lambeth Marsh
Before he'll buy a ballad. My poor wife,
That lies a-weeping for a tansy-cake!
Body o' me, shall I scent ale again?
THE PLAYER.
Why, here's persuasion; logic, arguments.
Nay, not the ballad. Read for thine own joy.
I doubt not but it stretches, honest length,
From Maid Lane to the Bridge and so across.
But for thy length of thirst--
[_Giving him a coin._]
That touches near.
CHIFFIN [_apart_].
A vagrom player, would not buy a tale
O' the Great Fish with the twy rows o' teeth!
Learn you to read! [_Exit._]
SIMEON.
Thou seemest, sir, from that I have overheard,
A man, as one should grant, beyond thy calling....
I would I might assure thee of the way,
To urge thee quit this painted infamy.
There may be time, seeing thou art still young,
To pluck thee from the burning. How are ye 'stroyed,
Ye foolish grasshoppers! Cut off, forgotten,
When moth and rust corrupt your flaunting shows,
The Earth shall have no memory of your name!
DICKON.
Pray you, what's yours?
SIMEON. I am called Simeon Dyer.
[_There is the sudden uproar of a crowd in the distance. It continues
at intervals for some time._]
} Hey, lads?
PRENTICES. } Some noise beyond: Come, cudgels, come!
} Come on, come on, I'm for it.
[_Exeunt all but THE PLAYER, SIMEON, and DICKON._]
SIMEON.
Something untoward, without: or is it rather
The tumult of some uproar incident
To this ... vicinity?
THE PLAYER. It is an uproar
Most incident to bears.
DICKON. I would I knew!
THE PLAYER [_holding him off at arm's length_].
Hey, boy? We would have tidings of the bear:
Go thou, I'll be thy surety. Mark him well.
Omit no fact; I would have all of it:
What manner o' bear he is,--how bears himself;
Number and pattern of ears, and eyes what hue;
His voice and fashion o' coat. Nay, come not back,
Till thou hast all. Skip, sirrah!
[_Exit DICKON._]
SIMEON. Think, fair sir.
Take this new word of mine to be a seed
Of thought in that neglected garden plot,
Thy mind, thy worthier part. But think!
THE PLAYER. Why, so;
Thou hast some right, friend; now and then it serves.
Sometimes I have thought, and even now sometimes,
... I think.
SIMEON [_benevolently_]. Heaven ripen thought unto an harvest!
[_Exit._]
[THE PLAYER _rises, stretches his arms, and paces the floor,
wearily._]
THE PLAYER [_alone_].
Some quiet now.... Why should I thirst for it
As if my thoughts were noble company?
Alone with the one man of all living men
I have least cause to honor....
I'm no lover,
That seek to be alone!... She is too false--
At last, to keep a spaniel's loyalty.
I do believe it. And by my own soul,
She shall not have me, what remains of me
That may be beaten back into the ranks.
I will not look upon her.... Bitter Sweet.
This fever that torments me day by day--
Call it not love--this servitude, this spell
That haunts me like a sick man's fantasy,
With pleading of her eyes, her voice, her eyes--
It shall not have me. I am too much stained:
But, God or no God, yet I do not live
And have to bear my own soul company,
To have it stoop so low. She looks on Herbert.
Oh, I have seen. But he,--he must withstand.
He knows that I have suffered,--suffer still--
Although I love her not. Her ways, her ways--
It is her ways that eat into the heart
With beauty more than Beauty; and her voice
That silvers o'er the meaning of her speech
Like moonshine on black waters. Ah, uncoil!...
He's the sure morning after this dark dream;
Clear daylight and west wind of a lad's love;
With all his golden pride, for my dull hours,
Still climbing sunward! Sink all loves in him!
And cleanse me of this cursed, fell distrust
That marks the pestilence....
_'Fair, kind, and true.'_
Lad, lad. How could I turn from friendliness
To worship such false gods?--
There cannot thrive a greater love than this,
'Fair, kind, and true.' And yet, if She were true
To me, though false to all things else;--one truth,
So one truth lived--. One truth! O beggared soul
--Foul Lazarus, so starved it can make shift
To feed on crumbs of honor!--Am I this?
[_Enter ANNE HUGHES. She has been running in evident terror, and
stands against the door looking about her._]
ANNE.
Are you the inn-keeper?
[_THE PLAYER turns and bows courteously._]
Nay, sir, your pardon.
I saw you not... And yet your face, methinks,
But--yes, I'm sure....
But where's the inn-keeper?
I know not where I am, nor where to go.
THE PLAYER.
Madam, it is my fortune that I may
Procure you service. [_Going towards the door. The uproar
sounds nearer._]
ANNE. Nay! what if the bear--
THE PLAYER.
The bear?
ANNE.
The door! The bear is broken loose.
Did you not hear? I scarce could make my way
Through that rank crowd, in search of some safe place.
You smile, sir! But you had not seen the bear,--
Nor I, this morning. Pray you, hear me out,--
For surely you are gentler than the place.
I came ... I came by water ... to the Garden,
Alone, ... from bravery, to see the show
And tell of it hereafter at the Court!
There's one of us makes count of all such 'scapes
('Tis Mistress Fytton). She will ever tell
The sport it is to see the people's games
Among themselves,--to go _incognita_
And take all as it is not for the Queen,
Gallants and rabble! But by Banbury Cross,
I am of tamer mettle!--All alone,
Among ten thousand noisy watermen;
And then the foul ways leading from the Stair;
And then ... no friends I knew, nay, not a face.
And my dear nose beset, and my pomander
Lost in the rout,--or else a cut-purse had it:
And then the bear breaks loose! Oh, 'tis a day
Full of vexations, nay, and dangers too.
I would I had been slower to outdo
The pranks of Mary Fytton.... You know her, sir?
THE PLAYER.
If one of my plain calling may be said
To know a maid-of-honor. [_More lightly._] And yet more:
My heart has cause to know the lady's face.
ANNE [_blankly_].
Why, so it is.... Is't not a marvel, sir,
The way she hath? Truly, her voice is good....
And yet,--but oh, she charms; I hear it said.
A winsome gentlewoman, of a wit, too.
We are great fellows; she tells me all she does;
And, sooth, I listen till my ears be like
To grow for wonder. Whence my 'scape, to-day!
Oh, she hath daring for the pastimes here;
I would--change looks with her, to have her spirit!
Indeed, they say she charms Someone, by this.
THE PLAYER.
Someone....
ANNE. Hast heard?
Why sure my Lord of Herbert.
Ay, Pembroke's son. But there I doubt,--I doubt.
He is an eagle will not stoop for less
Than kingly prey. No bird-lime takes him.
THE PLAYER. Herbert....
He hath shown many favors to us players.
ANNE.
Ah, now I have you!
THE PLAYER. Surely, gracious madam;
My duty; ... what besides?
ANNE. This face of yours.
'Twas in some play, belike. [_Apart._] ... I took him for
A man it should advantage me to know!
And he's a proper man enough.... Ay me!
[_When she speaks to him again it is with encouraging condescension._]
Surely you've been at Whitehall, Master Player?
THE PLAYER [_bowing_].
So.
ANNE. And how oft? And when?
THE PLAYER. Last Christmas tide;
And Twelfth Day eve, perchance. Your memory
Freshens a dusty past.... The hubbub's over.
Shall I look forth and find some trusty boy
To attend you to the river?
ANNE. I thank you, sir.
[_He goes to the door and steps out into the alley, looking up and
down. The noise in the distance springs up again._]
[_Apart._] 'Tis not past sufferance. Marry, I could stay
Some moments longer, till the streets be safe.
Sir, sir!
THE PLAYER [_returning_].
Command me, madam.
ANNE. I will wait
A little longer, lest I meet once more
That ruffian mob or any of the dogs.
These sports are better seen from balconies.
THE PLAYER.
Will you step hither? There's an arbored walk
Sheltered and safe. Should they come by again,
You may see all, an't like you, and be hid.
ANNE.
A garden there? Come, you shall show it me.
[_They go out into the garden on the right, leaving the door shut.
Immediately enter, in great haste, MARY FYTTON and WILLIAM HERBERT,
followed by DICKON, who looks about and, seeing no one, goes to
setting things in order._]
MARY.
Quick, quick!... She must have seen me. Those big eyes,
How could they miss me, peering as she was
For some familiar face? She would have known,
Even before my mask was jostled off
In that wild rabble ... bears and bearish men.
HERBERT.
Why would you have me bring you?
MARY. Why? Ah, why!
Sooth, once I had a reason: now 'tis lost,--
Lost! Lost! Call out the bell-man.
DICKON [_seriously_]. Shall I so?
HERBERT.
Nay, nay; that were a merriment indeed,
To cry us through the streets! [_To MARY._] You riddling charm.
MARY.
A riddle, yet? You almost love me, then.
HERBERT.
Almost?
MARY.
Because you cannot understand.
Alas, when all's unriddled, the charm goes.
HERBERT.
Come, you're not melancholy?
MARY. Nay, are you?
But should Nan Hughes have seen us, and spoiled all--
HERBERT.
How could she so?
MARY. I know not ... yet I know
If she had met us, she could steal To-day,
Golden To-day.
HERBERT. A kiss; and so forget her.
MARY.
Hush, hush,--the tavern-boy there.
[_To DICKON._] Tell me, boy,--
[_To HERBERT._] Some errand, now; a roc's egg!
Strike thy wit.
HERBERT.
What is't you miss? Why, so. The lady's lost
A very curious reason, wrought about
With diverse broidery.
MARY. Nay, 'twas a mask.
HERBERT.
A mask, arch-wit? Why will you mock yourself
And all your fine deceits? Your mask, your reason,
Your reason with a mask!
MARY. You are too merry.
[_To DICKON._] A mask it is, and muffler finely wrought
With little amber points all hung like bells.
I lost it as I came, somewhere....
HERBERT. Somewhere
Between the Paris Gardens and the Bridge.
MARY.
Or below Bridge--or haply in the Thames!
HERBERT.
No matter where, so you do bring it back.
Fly, Mercury! Here's feathers for thy heels. [_Giving coin._]
MARY [_aside_].
Weights, weights! [_Exit DICKON._]
[_HERBERT looks about him, opens the door of the taproom, grows
troubled. She watches him with dissatisfaction, seeming to warm her
feet by the fire meanwhile._]
HERBERT [_apart_].
I know this place. We used to come
Together, he and I ...
MARY [_apart_]. Forgot again.
O the capricious tides, the hateful calms,
And the too eager ship that would be gone
Adventuring against uncertain winds,
For some new, utmost sight of Happy Isles!
Becalmed,--becalmed ... But I will break this calm.
[_She sees the lute on the table, crosses and takes it up, running her
fingers over the strings very softly. She sits._]
HERBERT.
Ah, mermaid, is it you?
MARY. Did you sail far?
HERBERT.
Not I; no, sooth. [_Crossing to her._]
Mermaid, I would not think.
But you--
MARY.
I think not. I remember nothing.
There's nothing in the world but you and me;
All else is dust. Thou shalt not question me;
Or if,--but as a sphinx in woman-shape:
And when thou fail'st at answer, I shall turn,
And rend thy heart and cast thee from the cliff.
[_She leans her head back against him, and he kisses her._]
So perish all who guess not what I am!...
Oh, but I know you: you are April-Days.
Nothing is sure, but all is beautiful!
[_She runs her fingers up the strings, one by one, and listens,
speaking to the lute._]
Is it not so? Come, answer. Is it true?
Speak, sweeting, since I love thee best of late,
And have forsook my virginals for thee.
_All's beautiful indeed and all unsure?_
_"Ay"_ ... (Did you hear?) _He's fair and faithless? "Ay."_
[_Speaking with the lute._]
HERBERT.
Poor oracle, with only one reply!--
Wherein 'tis unlike thee.
MARY. _Can he love aught
So well as his own image in the brook,
Having once seen it?_
HERBERT. Ay!