[Flourish. Exeunt.]

SCENE II. Rossillon. A room in the Countess’s palace.

Enter Countess and Clown.

COUNTESS. It hath happen’d all as I would have had it, save that he comes not along with her.

CLOWN. By my troth, I take my young lord to be a very melancholy man.

COUNTESS. By what observance, I pray you?

CLOWN. Why, he will look upon his boot and sing; mend the ruff and sing; ask questions and sing; pick his teeth and sing. I know a man that had this trick of melancholy sold a goodly manor for a song.

COUNTESS. Let me see what he writes, and when he means to come.

[Opening a letter.]

CLOWN. I have no mind to Isbel since I was at court. Our old lings and our Isbels o’ th’ country are nothing like your old ling and your Isbels o’ th’ court. The brains of my Cupid’s knock’d out, and I begin to love, as an old man loves money, with no stomach.

COUNTESS. What have we here?

CLOWN. E’en that you have there.

[Exit.]