Page 1663 - Shakespeare - Vol. 4

ANNE

O, God’s will! Much better
She ne’er had known pomp; thought’t be temporal,
Yet, if that quarrel, Fortune, do divorce

It from the bearer, ’tis a sufferance panging [15]
As soul and body’s severing.

OLD LADY
Alas, poor lady,
She’s a stranger now again.

ANNE
So much the more
Must pity drop upon her: verily,

I swear, ’tis better to be lowly born,
And range with humble livers in content, [20]
Than to be perked up in a glistering grief

And wear a golden sorrow.

OLD LADY

Our content
Is our best having.

ANNE
By my troth and maidenhead,
I would not be a queen.

OLD LADY
Beshrew me, I would,

And venture maidenhead for’t; and so would you, [25]
For all this spice of your hypocrisy.
You that have so fair parts of woman on you
Have too a woman’s heart, which ever yet

Affected eminence, wealth, sovereignty;
Which, to say sooth, are blessings; and which gifts, [30]
Saving your mincing, the capacity
Of your soft cheveril conscience would receive

If you might please to stretch it.