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her praise in. The remembrance of her father never approaches her heart, but the tyranny of her sorrows takes all livelihood from her cheek. No more of this, Helena, 'go to, no more; lest it be rather thought you affect a sorrow, than to have.

Hel. I do affect a sorrow indeed, but I have it too. Laf. Moderate lamentation is the right of the dead, excessive grief the enemy to the living.

Count. If the living be enemy to the grief, the excess makes it soon mortal.

ALL'S WELL THAT
THAT ENDS WELL

KING OF FRANCE.
DUKE OF FLORENCE.
BERTRAM, Count of Rousillon.
LAFEU, an old Lord.

PAROLLES, a follower of Bertram.
Several young French Lords, that serve with Ber-

tram in the Florentine War.

Servants to the Countess of Rousillon.
SCENE-partly in France, and partly in Tuscany.

Steward,
Clown,

PERSONS REPRESENTED.

A Page.

COUNTESS OF ROUSILLON, Mother to Bertram.
HELENA, a Gentlewoman protected by the Countess
An old Widow of Florence.
DIANA, Daughter to the Widow.
VIOLENTA, Neighbors and Friends to the Widow
Lords attending on the King; Officers, Soldiers,
&c., French and Florentine.

ACT I.

SCENE I-Rousillon. A room in the Countess'
Palace.
Enter BERTRAM, the COUNTESS of ROUSILLON,
HELENA, and LAFEU, in mourning.

Countess. In delivering my son from me, I bury a second husband.

Ber. And I, in going, madam, weep o'er my father's death anew: but I must attend his majesty's command, to whom I am now in ward, evermore in subjection,

Laf. You shall find of the king a husband, madam;-you, sir, a father: He that so generally is at all times good, must of necessity hold his virtue to you; whose worthiness would stir it up where it wanted, rather than lack it where there is such abundance.

Count. What hope is there of his majesty's amendment?

Laf. He hath abandoned his physicians, madam; under whose practices he hath persecuted time with hope; and finds no other advantage in the process but only the losing of hope by time.

Count. This young gentlewoman had a father, (0, that had! how sad a passage 'tis!) whose skill was almost as great as his honesty; had it stretched so far, would have made nature immortal, and death should have play for lack of work. Would for the king's sake, he were living! I think, it would be the death of the king's disease.

Laf. How called you the man you speak of. madam?

Lef. A fistula, my lord.
Ber. I heard not of it before.

Count. He was famous, sir, in his profession, and
it was his great right to be so: Gerard de Narbon.
Laf. He was excellent, indeed, madam; the king
very lately spoke of him, admiringly, and mourn-
inzly; he was skilful enough to have lived still, if
knowledge could be set up against mortality.
Ber. What is it, my good lord, the king lan-
guishes of?

Lef. I would, it were not notorious.-Was this gentlewoman the daughter of Gerard de Narbon? Count. His sole child, my lord; and bequeathed to my overlooking. I have those hopes of her good, that her education promises: her dispositions she inherits, which make fair gifts fairer; for where an unclean mind carries virtuous qualities, there commendations go with pity, they are virtues and raitors too; in her they are the better for their simpleness: she derives her honesty, and achieves her goodness. Laf. Your commendations, madam, get from her

tears.

Coun!. 'Tis the best brine a maiden can season
Under his particular care, as my guardian.

Ber. Madam, I desire your holy wishes. Laf. How understand we that

Count. Be thou blest, Bertram! and succeed thy father

In manners, as in shape! thy blood, and virtue,
Contend for empire in thee; and thy goodness
Share with thy birth-right! Love all, trust a few,
Do wrong to none: be able for thine enemy
Rather in power, than use; and keep thy friend
Under thy own life's key: be check'd for silence,
But never tax'd for speech. What heaven more will,
That thee may furnish, and my prayers pluck down,
Fall on thy head! Farewell.-My lord,
'Tis an unseason'd courtier; good my lord,
Advise him.

Laf

He cannot want the best That shall attend his love. Count. Heaven bless him!-Farewell, Bertram. Exit COUNTESS. Ber. The best wishes that can be forged in your thoughts, [To HELENA.] be servants to you! Be comfortable to my mother, your mistress, and make much of her.

Laf. Farewell, pretty lady: You must hold the credit of your father.

[Exeunt BERTRAM and LAFEU. Hel. O, were that all!-I think not on my father; And these great tears grace his remembrance more Than those I shed for him. What was he like? I have forgot him: my imagination Carries no favor in it, but Bertram's. I am undone; there is no living, none, If Bertram be away. It were all one, That I should love a bright particular star, And think to wed it, he is so above me: In his bright radiance and collateral light Must I be comforted, not in his sphere. The ambition in my love thus plagues itself: The hind that would be mated by the lion, Must die for love. "Twas pretty, though a plague To see him every hour; to sit and draw His arched brows, his hawking eye, his curls, In our heart's table; heart, too capable Of every line and trick of his sweet favor: But now he's gone, and my idolatrous fancy Must sanctify his relics. Who comes here? Peculiarity of feature.

Countenanca

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Hel. And no.

Par. Are you meditating on virginity?

Hel. Ay. You have some stain of soldier in you; let me ask you a question: Man is enemy to virginity; how may we barricado it against him?

Par. Keep him out.

Hel. But he assails; and our virginity, though valiant in the defence, yet is weak: unfold to us some warlike resistance.

And show what we alone must think; which never
Returns us thanks.

Enter a Page. Page. Monsieur Parolles, my lord calls for you. [Exit Page. Par. Little Helen, farewell: If I can remember thee, I will think of thee at court.

Hel. Monsieur Parolles, you were born under a charitable star.

Par. Under Mars, I.

Hel. I especially think under Mars.

Par. Why under Mars?

must needs be born under Mars.
Hel. The wars have so kept you under, that you

Par. When he was predominant.

Hel. When he was retrograde, I think, rather.
Par. Why think you so?

Hel. You go so much backward, when you fight.
Par. That's for advantage.

Par. There is none; man, sitting down before you, will undermine you, and blow you up.

Hel. Bless our poor virginity from underminers, and blowers up!-Is there no military policy, how virgins might blow up men?

Par. I am so full of business, I cannot answer Par. Virginity, being blown down, man will thee acutely: I will return perfect courtier; in the quicklier be blown up: marry, in blowing him which, my instruction shall serve to naturalize thee, down again, with the breach yourselves made, you understand what advice shall thrust upon thee; else so thou wilt be capable of a courtier's counsel, and lose your city. It is not politic in the common-thou diest in thine unthankfulness, and thine ignowealth of nature, to preserve virginity. Loss of virginity is rational increase; and there was never virgin got, till virginity was first lost. were made of, is metal to make virgins. Virginity, That, you by being once lost, may be ten times found: by being ever kept, it is ever lost; 'tis too cold a companion; away with it.

hast leisure, say thy prayers; when thou hast none, rance makes thee away: farewell. When thou and use him as he uses thee: so farewell. [Exil. remember thy friends: get thee a good husband,

Hel. I will stand for't a little, though therefore die a virgin.

Par. There's little can be said in't; 'tis against the rule of nature. To speak on the part of virginity, is to accuse your mothers: which is most infallible disobedience. He that hangs himself, is a virgin virginity murders itself; and should be buried in highways, out of all sanctified limit, as a desperate offendress against nature. Virginity breeds mites, much like a cheese; consumes itself to the very paring, and so dies with feeding his own stomach. Besides, virginity is peevish, proud, idle,

sin

safety: But the composition, that your valor and Hel. So is running away, when fear proposes the fear makes in you, is a virtue of a good wing, and I

like the wear well.

Hel. Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie,

Which we ascribe to heaven; the fated sky
Our slow designs, when we ourselves are dull.
Gives us free scope; only, doth backward pull
That makes me see, and cannot feed mine eye?"
What power is it, which mounts my love so high,
The mightiest space in fortune nature brings
To join like likes, and kiss like native things,
Impossible be strange attempts, to those
That weigh their pains in sense; and do suppose,
What hath been cannot be: Who ever strove
To show her merit, that did miss her love?
The king's disease-my project may deceive me,

But my intents are fix'd, and will not leave me.

[Exit. A Room in the King's Palace.

Hel. That wishing well had not a body in't,
Which might be felt: that we, the poorer born,
Whose baser stars do shut us up in wishes,
Might with effects of them follow our friends,

made of self-love, which is the most inhibited
in the canon. Keep it not: you cannot choose but
lose by't; Out with't: within ten years it will make
itself ten, which is a goodly increase: and the prin-
cipal itself not much the worse: Away with't.

Hel. How might one do, sir, to lose it to her own liking?

Par. Let me see: Marry, ill, to like him that
ne er it likes. 'Tis a commodity will lose the gloss
with lying; the longer kept, the less worth: off
with't, while 'tis vendible: answer the time of re-
quest. Virginity, like an old courtier, wears her
cap out of fashion; richly suited, but unsuitable:
just like the brooch and toothpick, which wear not
now: Your date is better in your pie and your
porridge, than in your cheek: And your virginity.
your old virginity, is like one of our French with-
ered pears; it looks ill, it eats dryly: marry, 'tis a
withered pear; it was formerly better; marry, yet,
'tis a withered pear; Will you any thing with it?
Hel. Not my virginity yet.
There shall your master have a thousand loves,
A mother, and a mistress, and a friend,
A phoenix, captain, and an enemy,
A guide, a goddess, and a sovereign,
A counsellor, a traitress, and a dear;
His humble ambition, proud humility,
His jarring concord, and his discord dulcet,
His faith, his sweet disaster; with a world
Of pretty, fond, adoptious Christendoms,
That blinking Cupid gossips. Now shall he-

I know not what he shall;-God send him well!-
The court's a learning place;-and he is one-
Par. What one, i'faith?

Hel. That I wish well.-'Tis pity
Par. What's pity?

SCENE II.-Paris.

Flourish of Cornets.

Enter the KING OF FRANCE with letters; Lords and others attending. King. The Florentines and Senoys' are by the Have fought with equal fortune, and continue A braving war. 1 Lord.

ears;

So 'tis reported, sir.

A certainty, vouch'd from our cousin Austria,
King. Nay, 'tis most credible; we here receive it
With caution, that the Florentine will move us
For speedy aid; wherein our dearest friend
Prejudicates the business, and would seem
To have us make denial.

1 Lord.

His love and wisdom,
Approv'd so to your majesty, may plead
For amplest credence.

King.

He hath arm'd our answer,
And Florence is denied before he comes:
Yet, for our gentlemen, that mean to see
The Tuscan service, freely have they leave
To stand on either part.

2 Lord.

It may well serve
A nursery to our gentry, who are sick
For breathing and exploit.

King.

What's he comes hero?
Enter BERTRAM, LAFEU, and PAROLLES.
1 Lord. It is the count Rousillon, my good lord,
Young Bertram.

King. Youth, thou bear'st thy father's face;
Frank nature, rather curious than in haste,
Hath well compos'd thee. Thy father's moral parts
Mayst thou inherit too! Welcome to Paris.

Ber. My thanks and duty are your majesty's.
King. I would I had that corporal soundness now
As when thy father, and myself, in friendship
Things formed by nature for each other.

The citizens of the small republic of which Sienna is

Forbidden.

A quibble on date, which means age, and candied fruit. the capital.

First try'd our soldiership! He did look far
Into the service of the time, and was
Discipled of the bravest: he lasted long.
But on us both did haggish age steal on,
And wore us out of act. It much repairs me
To talk of your good father: In his youth
He had the wit, which I can well observe
To-day in our young lords; but they may jest
Till their own scorn return to them unnoted,
Ere they can hide their levity in honor.

So like a courtier, contempt nor bitterness
Were in his pride or sharpness; if they were,
His equal had awak'd them; and his honor,
Clock to itself, knew the true minute when
Exception bid him speak, and, at this time,
His tongue obey'd his hand: Who were below him
He used as creatures of another place;
And bow'd his eminent top to their low ranks,
Making them proud of his humility,
In their poor praise he humbled: Such a man
Might be a copy to these younger times;
Which, follow'd well, would démonstrate them now
But
goers backward.
Ber.

His good remembrance, sir,
Lies richer in your thoughts, than on his tomb;
So in approof lives not his epitaph,
As in your royal speech.
King. Would, I were with him! He would
always say,

Methinks, I hear him now; his plausive words
He scatter'd not in ears, but grafted them,
To grow there, and to bear,)--Let me not live
Thus his good melancholy oft began,

On the catastrophe and heel of pastime,
When it was out.-let me not live, quoth he,
After my flame lacks oil, to be the snuff
of younger spirits, whose apprehensive senses
All but new things disdain; whose judgments are
Mere fothers of their garments; whose constancies
Expire before their fashions;- -This he wish'd:

1. after him, do after him wish too,
Since I nor wax, nor honey, can bring home,
I were dissolved from my hive,

To give some laborers room.

2 Lord. You are lov'd, sir: They, that least lend it you, shall lack you first. Kong. I fill a place. I know't.-How long is't, count, Since the physician at your father's died? He was much fam'd.

Ber. Some six months since, my lord. King. If he were living, I would try him yet;Lend me an arm;-the rest have worn me out With several applications: nature and sickness Debate it at their leisure. Welcome, count; My son's no dearer.

Ber.

Thank your majesty. [Exeunt. Flourish. SCENE III-Rousillon. A Room in the Countess's Palace.

Enter COUNTESS, Steward, and Clown. Count. I will now hear: what say you of this gentlewoman?

Count. Well, sir.

Clo. No, madam, 'tis not so well, that I am poor; though many of the rich are damned: But, if I may have your ladyship's good will to go to the world, Isbel the woman and I will do as we may.

Count. Wilt thou needs be a beggar?
Clo. I do beg your good will in this case.
Count. In what case?

Cin. In Isbel's case, and mine own. Service is 40 heritage: and, I think, I shall never have the blessing of God, till I have issue of my body; for, they say, bearns are blessings.

• Approbation.

To be married.

Count. Tell me the reason why thou wilt marry Clo. My poor body, madain, requires it: I am driven on by the flesh; and he must needs go, that the devil drives.

To act up to your desires. 2 Children.

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ness.

Clo. I am out of friends, madam; and I hope to have friends for my wife's sake.

Count. Such friends are thine enemies, knave. Clo. You are shallow, madam; e'en great friends; for the knaves come to do that for me, which I am a-weary of. He, that ears my land, spares my team, and gives me leave to inn the crop: if I be his cuckold, he's my drudge: He, that comforts my wife, is the cherisher of my flesh and blood; he, that cherishes my flesh and blood, loves my flesh and blood; he, that loves my flesh and blood, is my friend: ergo, he that kisses my wife, is my friend. If man could be contented to be what they are, there were no fear in marriage; for young Charbon the puritan, and old Poysam the papist, howso'eer their hearts are several in religion, their heads are both one, they may joll horns together, like any deer i' the herd.

Count. Wilt thou ever be a foul-mouthed and calumnious knave?

Clo. A prophet I, madam; and I speak the truth the next way: 5

For I the ballad will repeat,

Which men full true shall find;
Your marriage comes by destiny,
Your cuckoo sings by kind.

Count. Get you gone, sir; I'll talk with you

Stew. Madam, the care I have had to even your content, I wish might be found in the calendar of my past endeavors; for then we wound our modesty, and make foul the clearness of our deserv-out ere he pluck one. ings, when of ourselves we publish them.

Count. What does this knave here? Get you gone, sirrah: The complaints, I have heard of you, I do not all believe: tis my slowness, that I do not: for, I know you lack not folly to commit them, and have ability enough to make such knaveries yours. Cin. Tis not unknown to you, madam, I am a poor fellow.

more anon.

Stew. May it please you, madam, that he bid Helen come to you; of her I am to speak.

Count. Sirrah, tell my gentlewoinan, I would speak with her; Helen I mean.

Clo. Was this fair face the cause, quoth she,

Why the Grecians sacked Troy? Fond done, done fond,

Was this King Priam's joy With that she sighed as she stood, With that she sighed as she stood,

(Singing.

And gave this sentence then;
Among nine bad if one be good,
Among nine bud if one be good,
There's yet one good in ten.

Count. What, one good in ten? you corrupt the song, sirrah.

Clo. One good woman in ten, Madam; which is a purifying o' the song: 'Would God serve the world so all the year? we'd find no fault with the tythe-woman, if I were the person: One in ten, quoth a'! an we might have a good woman born but every blazing star, or at an earthquake, 'twould mend the lottery well; a man may draw his heart

Count. You'll be gone, sir knave, and do as I command you?

Clo. That man should be at woman s command, and yet no hurt done!-Though honesty be no puritan, yet it will do no hurt; it will wear the surplice of humility over the black gown of a big heart. I am going, forsooth: the business is for Helen to come hither. [Exit Clown.

Count. Well, now. Stew. I know, madam, you love your gentlewoman entirely.

Count. Indeed, I do; her father bequeathed her to me; and she herself, without other advantage, may lawfully make title to as much love as she finds: there is more owing her, than is paid; and more shall be paid her, than she'll demand.

Stew. Madam, I was very late more near her than. I think, she wished me: alone she was, and did communicate to herself, her own words to her own ears; she thought, 1 dare vow for her, they a Ploughs.

• Therefore.

The nearest way. C Foolishly done.

touched not any stranger sense. Her matter was. she loved your son: Fortune, she said, was no goddess, that had put such difference betwixt their two estates; Love, no god, that would not extend his might, only where qualities were level: Diana, no queen of virgins, that would suffer her poor knight to be surprised, without rescue, in the first assault, or ransom afterwards: This she delivered in the most bitter touch of sorrow, that e'er I heard virgin exclaim in which I held my duty, speedily to acquaint you withal; sithence, in the loss that may happen, it concerns you something to know it.

Count. You have discharged this honestly: keep it to yourself: many likelihoods informed me of this before, which hung so tottering in the balance, that I could neither believe, nor misdoubt: Pray you, leave me; stall this in your bosom, and I thank you for your honest care: I will speak with you further anon. [Exit Steward.

Then I confess,
Here on my knee, before high heaven and you,
That before you, and next unto high heaven,
I love your son :-
My friends were poor, but honest; so's my love.
Be not olended: for it hurts not him,
That he is lov'd of me: I follow him not
By any token of presumptuous suit:
Nor would I have him, till I do deserve him ;
Yet never know how that desert should be
I know I love in vain, strive against hope;
Yet, in this captious and intenible sieve,
I still pour in the waters of my love,
And lack not to lose still thus, Indian-like,
Religious in mine error, I adore
The sun, that looks upon his worshipper,
But knows of him no more. My dearest madam,
Let not your hate encounter with my love,
For loving where you do: but, if yourself,
Whose aged honor cites a virtuous youth,
Did ever, in so true a flame of liking,

Madam, I had.

You know, Helen, Wish chastely, and love dearly, that your Dian
Was both herself and love; O then, give pity
To her, whose state is such it cannot choose
But lend and give, where she is sure to lose;
That seeks not to find that her search implies,
But, riddle-like, lives sweetly where she dies.
Count. Had you not lately an intent, speak truly
To go to Paris!
Hel.
Count.
Wherefore? tell true
Hel. I will tell true; by grace itself, I swear.
You know, my father left me some prescriptions
Of rare and prov'd effects, such as his reading,
And manifest experience, had collected
For general sovereignty; and that he will'd me
In heedfullest reservation to bestow them,
As notes, whose faculties inclusive were
More than they were in note: amongst the rest,
There is a remedy, approv'd, set down,
To cure the desperate languishes, whereof
The king is render'd lost.

Count.

Enter HELENA.

Count. Even so it was with me, when I was young; If we are nature's, these are ours: his thorn Doth to our rose of youth rightly belong;

Our blood to us, this to our blood is born;
It is the show and seal of nature's truth,
Where love's strong passion is impress'd in youth:
By our remembrances of days foregone,
Such were our faults:-or then we thought them

none.

Her eye is sick on't; I observe her now.

Hel. What is your pleasure, madam?
Count.

I am a mother to you.
Hel. Mine honorable mistress.
Count.

Nay a mother;

Why not a mother? When I said, a mother,
Methought you saw a serpent! What's in mother,
That you start at it? I say, I am your mother;
And put you in the catalogue of those
That were enwombed mine: 'Tis often seen,
Adoption strives with nature; and choice breeds
A native slip to us from foreign seeds:
You ne'er oppress d me with a mother's groan,
Yet I express to you a mother's care:
God's mercy, ma.den! does it curd thy blood,
To say I am thy mother? What's the matter,
That this distemper d messenger of wet,
The many color'd Iris, rounds thine eye?
Why? -that you are my daughter?

Hel.

That I am not.
Count. I say, I am your mother.
Hel.
Pardon, madam;
The count Rousillon cannot be my brother:
I am from humble, he from honor'd name;
No note upon my parents, his all noble:
My master, my dear lord he is; and I
His servant live, and will his vassal die:
He must not be my brother.

Count.
Nor I your mother?
Hel. You are my mother, madam;
'Would you

were

(So that my lord, your son, were not my brother,)
Indeed, my mother!-or were you both our mothers,
I care no more for, than I do for heaven,
So I were not his sister: Can't no other,
But I, your daughter, he must be my brother?
Count. Yes, Helen, you might be my daughter,
in-law;

God shield, you mean it not! daughter, and mother
So strive upon your pulse: What, pale again?
My fear hath catch'd your fondness: Now I see
The mystery of your loneliness, and find
Your salt tears' head. Now to all sense 'tis gross,

You love my son; invention is asham`d,
Against the proclamation of thy passion,
To say thou dost not: therefore tell me true;
But tell me then, 'tis so;-for, look, thy cheeks
Confess it, one to the other; and thine eyes
See it so grossly shown in thy behaviors,
That in their kind they speak it; only sin
And hellish obstinacy tie thy tongue,
That truth should be suspected: Speak, is't so?
If it be so, you have wound a goodly clue;
If it be not, forswear't: how eer, I charge thee,

Your pardon noble mistress

As heaven shall work in me for thine avail,
To tell me truly.
Hel.
Good madam, pardon me!
Count. Do you love my son?
Hel.
Count. Love, you my son
Hel.
Do not you love him, madam?
Count. Go not about; my love hath in't a bond,
Whereof the world takes note: come, come, disclose
The state of your affection; for your passions
Have to the full approach'd.
Hel.

Since, te. I care as much for: I wish it equally. • Contend. Thy source, the cause of your grief.

This was your motive

For Paris, was it? speak.

Hel. My lord, your son, made me to think of this:

Else Paris, and the medicine, and the king,
Had, from the conversation of my thoughts,
Haply, been absent then.

Count.
But think you, Helen,
If you
should tender your supposed aid,
He would receive it! He and his physicians
Are of a mind; he, that they cannot help him:
They, that they cannot help: How shall they credi:
A poor unlearned virgin, when the schools,
Embowell'd of their doctrine, have left off
The danger to itself!

Hel.

There's something hints,
More than my father's skill, which was the greatest
of his profession, that his good receipt
Shall, for my legacy, be sanctified

By the luckiest stars in heaven: and, would your
honor

But give me leave to try success, I'd venture
The well-lost life of mine on his grace's cure,
By such a day and hour.

Count.

Dost thou believe 't! Hel. Ay, madam, knowingly. Count. Why, Helen, thou shalt have my leave, and love, Means, and attendants, and my loving greetings To those of mine in court; I'll stay at home, And pray God's blessing into thy attempt: Be gone to-morrow; and be sure of this, What I can help thee to, thou shalt not miss. [Exeunt * Exhausted of their skill.

2 Appearance.

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Of the last monarchy) see, that you come
Not to woo honor, but to wed it; when
The bravest questant shrinks, find what you seek,
That fame may cry you loud: I say, farewell.

2 Lord. Health, at your bidding, serve your majesty!

King. Those girls of Italy, take heed of them; They say, our French lack language to deny, If they demand: beware of being captives, Before you serve. Both. Our hearts receive your warnings. King. Farewell.-Come hither to me. The KING relires to a couch. 1 Lord. O my sweet lord, that you will stay be

hind us!

Par. 'Tis not his fault; the spark

2 Lord. O, 'tis brave wars. Pur. Most admirable: I have seen those wars. Ber. I am commanded here, and kept a coil with

Too young, and the next year, and 'tis too early. Par. An thy mind stand to it, boy, steal away bravely.

Ber. I shall stay here the forehorse to a smock, Creaking my shoes on the plain masonry, Till honor be bought up, and no sword worn, But one to dance with? By heaven, I'll steal away. 1 Lord. There's honor in the theft. Pr. Commit it, count. 2 Lord. I am your accessary; and so farewell. Ber. I grow to you, and our parting is a tortured body.

1 Lord. Farewell, captain.

2 Lord. Sweet monsieur Parolles!

Pir. Noble heroes, my sword and yours are kin. Good sparks and lustrous, a word, good metals:-You shall find in the regiment of the Spinii, one Captain Spurio, with his cicatrice, an emblem of war here on his sinister cheek; it was this very sword entrenend it: say to him, I live; and observe his reports for me.

Lord. We shall, noble captain. Pur. Mars dote on you for his novices! [Exeunt Lords.) What will you do?

Br. Stay: the kingSeeing him rise. Par. Use a more spacious ceremony to the noble lords; you have restrained yourself within the list of too cold an adieu: be more expressive to them; for they wear themselves in the cap of the time: there, do muster true gait, eat, speak, and move. under the influence of the most received star; and though the devil led the measure, such are to be followed: after them, and take a more dilated faiewell.

Br. And I will do so.

Par. Worthy fellows; and like to prove most newy sword-men.

[Exeunt BERTRAM and PAROLLES. Le. The Roman empire. Secker, enquirer. Be not captives before you are soldiers. In a bustle. They are the foremost in the fashion. Have the true and military step.

1 The dance.

Enter LAFEU.

Luf. Pardon, my lord, [Kneeling.] for me and for my tidings.

King. I'll fee thee to stand up. Laf. Stands, that has brought his pardon. I would, you Then here's a man Had kneel'd, my lord, to ask me mercy; and That, at my bidding, you could so stand up. King. I would I had; so I had broke thy pate And ask'd thee mercy for t.

Laf.

Goodfaith, across :2 But, my good lord, 'tis thus; Will you be cur'd Of your infirmity? King.

Laf.

No.

O, will you eat No grapes, my royal fox? yes, but you will, My noble grapes, an if my royal fox Could reach them: I have seen a medicine, That's able to breathe life into a stone: Quicken a rock, and make you dance canary, With sprightly fire and motion whose simple touch Is powerful to araise king Pepin, nay, To give great Charlemain a pen in his hand,

And write to her a love-line.

King.

What her is this?

Luf. Why, doctor she: My lord, there's one arIf you will see her,-now, by my faith and honor, riv'd,

If seriously I may convey my thoughts
In this my light deliverance, I have spoke
With one, that in her sex, her years, profession,
Wisdom, and constancy, hath amaz'd me more
Than I dare blame my weakness: Will you see her,
(For that is her demand,) and know her business?
That done, laugh well at me.
King.
Now, good Lafeu,
Bring in the admiration; that we with thee
May spend our wonder too, or take off thine,
By wondering how thou look'st it.

Laf. Nay Ill fit you, And not be all day neither. [Exit LAFEU. King. Thus he his special nothing ever prologues.

Re-enter LAFEU with HELENA.

Laf. Nay, come your ways. King. This haste hath wings indeed. Laf. Nay, come your ways; This is his majesty, say your mind to him: A traitor you do look like: but such traitors His majesty seldom fears: I am Cressid's uncle, That dare leave two together; fare you well. [Exit, King. Now, fair one, e, does your business follow us? Hel. Ay, my good lord. Gerard de Narbon was My father; in what he did profess, well found. King. I knew him.

Hel. The rather will I spare my praises towards him; Knowing him, is enough. On his bed of death Many receipts he gave me; chiefly one, Which, as the dearest issue of his practice, And of his old experience the only darling, He bade me store up, as a triple eye, Safer than mine own two, more dear; I have so: And hearing your high majesty is touch d With that malignant cause wherein the honor Of my dear father's gift stands chief in power, I come to tender it, and my appliance, With all bound humbleness.

King. We thank you, maiden, But may not be so credulous of cure,When our most learned doctors leave us; and The congregated college have concluded That laboring art can never ransom nature From her inaidable estate,-I say we must not So stain our judgment, or corrupt our hope. To prostitute our past-cure malady To empirics; or to dissever so

ur great self and our credit, to esteem

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