Analysis of The Patient Countess. - extracted from Albion's England



Impatience chaungeth smoke to flame, but jealousie is hell;
Some wives by patience have reduc'd ill husbands to live well:
As did the ladie of an earle, of whom I now shall tell.
An earle 'there was' had wedded, lov'd; was lov'd, and lived long
Full true to his fayre countesse; yet at last he did her wrong.
Once hunted he untill the chace, long fasting, and the heat
Did house him in a peakish graunge within a forest great.
Where knowne and welcom'd (as the place and persons might afforde)
Browne bread, whig, bacon, curds and milke were set him on the borde.
A cushion made of lists, a stoole halfe backed with a hoope
Were brought him, and he sitteth down besides a sorry coupe
The poore old couple wisht their bread were wheat, their whig were perry,
Their bacon beefe, their milke and curds were creame, to make him merry.
Mean while (in russet neatly clad, with linen white as swanne,
Herlselfe more white, save rosie where the ruddy colour ranne:
Whom naked nature, not the aydes of arte made to excell)
The good man's daughter sturres to see that all were feat and well.
The earle did marke her and admire such beautie there to dwell.
Yet fals he to their homely fare and held him at a feast;
But as his hunger slaked, so an amorous heat increast.
When this repast was past and thanks and welcome too, he sayd
Unto his host and hostesse, in the hearing of the mayd,
'Yee know,' quoth he, 'that I am lord of this, and many townes;
I also know that you be poore, and I can spare you pownes.
'Soe will I, so yee will consent, that yonder lasse and I
May bargaine for her love; at least doe give leave to trye.
Who needs to know it? nay who dares into my doings pry?'
First they mislike, yet at the length for lucre were misled;
And then the gamesome earle did wowe the damsell for his bed.
He took her in his armes, as yet so coyish to be kist,
As mayds that know themselves belov'd, and yieldingly resist.
In few, his offers were so large she lastly did consent;
With whom he lodged all that night, and early home he went.
He tooke occasion oftentimes in such a sort to hunt.
Whom when his lady often mist, contrary to his wont,
And lastly was informed of his amorous haunt elsewhere;
It greev'd her not a little, though she seem'd it well to beare.
And thus she reasons with herselfe, 'Some fault perhaps in me;
Somewhat is done, that soe he doth: alas! what may it be?
'How may I winne him to myself? He is a man, and men
Have imperfections; it behooves me pardon nature then.
'To checke him were to make him checke, although hee now were chaste:
A man controuled of his wife, to her makes lesser haste.
'If duty then, or daliance may prevayle to alter him;
I will be dutifull and make my self for daliance trim.'
So was she, and so lovingly did entertaine her lord,
As fairer or more faultles none could be for bed or bord.
Yet still he loves his leiman and did still pursue that game,
Suspecting nothing less, than that his lady knew the same:
Wherefore to make him know she knew, she this device did frame:
When long she had been wrong'd, and sought the forsayd meanes in vaine,
She rideth to the simple graunge with bud a slender traine.
She lighteth, entreth, greets them well, and then did looke about her;
The guiltie household knowing her, did wish themselves without her;
Yet, for she looked merily, the lesse they did misdoubt her.
When she had seen the beauteous wench, (then blushing fairnes fairer),
Such beauty made the countesse hold them both excus'd the rather.
Who would not bite at such a bait? thought she: and who (though loth)
So poore a wench, but gold might tempt? sweet errors led them both.
Scarce one in twenty that had bragg'd of proffer'd gold denied,
Or of such yeelding beautie baulkt, but tenne to one, had lied.
Thus thought she: and she thus declares her cause of coming thether:
'My Lord, oft hunting in these partes, through travel, night, or wether,
'Hath often lodged in your house; I thanke you for the same;
For why? it doth him jolly ease to lie so neare his game.
'But, for you have not furniture beseeming such a guest,
I bring his owne, and come myselfe to see his lodging drest.'
With that two sumpters were discharg'd, in which were hangings brave,
Silke coverings, curtens, carpets, plate, and al such turn should have.
When all was handsomly dispos'd, she prayes them to have care
That nothing hap in their default, that might his health impair.
'And, damsell,' quoth shee, 'for it seemes this household is but three,
And for thy parents age, that this small chiefely rest on thee;
'Do me that good, else would to God he hither comes no more.'
So tooke she horse,


Scheme AAABBCDCCEEFFGGAAAHCCCIIJKJLLMMNNOPQRFFGGSSTTUCVVVGGWWWWWXYZZFFVV1 C2 3 QQFF4 5
Poetic Form
Metre 01011111111 11110101110111 1101111111111 1111110111011 1111111111101 1101101110001 1110011010101 1101010101011 11110101011101 0101110111101 0110111010101 011101110111010 110111010111110 11010101110111 111110101011 1101010111111 01110111110101 0111000111111 11111101011101 1111011110011 1111101010111 1011010010101 11111111110101 11011111011111 11111101110101 111011111111 11111111011101 111110111001 010111101111 1100111111111 111101010101 01110011110101 1111111010111 1101010010111 11110101100111 0101011110011 11010101111111 0111011110101 11111111011111 1111111110101 1010101110101 1110111111101 011111101101 110111111101 11110111111 111011001101 1101111111111 11111100110111 01010111110101 1111111110111 1111110101101 1110101110101 1111110111010 0111001101010 11111011110 1111011110110 11010111101010 11111101110111 11011111110111 11010111110101 111111111111 11101101011101 11110011110111 1101011111101 11111101111111 111111001101 1111011111101 1111001010101 11001101011111 111101111111 11010101111101 011111111111 0111011111111 11111111110111 1111
Closest metre Iambic octameter
Characters 4,556
Words 864
Sentences 38
Stanzas 1
Stanza Lengths 75
Lines Amount 75
Letters per line (avg) 48
Words per line (avg) 11
Letters per stanza (avg) 3,573
Words per stanza (avg) 858
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Submitted on May 13, 2011

Modified on March 05, 2023

4:21 min read
61

William Warner

William Warner was an English poet. more…

All William Warner poems | William Warner Books

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    "The Patient Countess. - extracted from Albion's England" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 1 May 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem-analysis/41972/the-patient-countess.---extracted-from-albion%27s-england>.

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