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Proud fcornful boy, unworthy this good gift! .
That doft in vile misprision shackle up .
My love, and her desert; that canst not dream,
We poizing us in her defective scale,
Shall weigh thee to the beam; that wilt not know,
It is in us to plant thine honour, where
We please to have it grow, Check thy contempt:
Obey our Will, which travels in thy good;
Believe not thy disdain, but presently
Do thine own fortunes that obedient Right,
Which both thy duty owes, and our power claims:
Or I will throw thee from my care for ever
Into the staggers, and the careless lapse
Of youth and ignorance; my revenge and hate
Loofing upon thee in the name of justice,
Without all terms of pity. Speak thine answer,

Ber. Pardon, my gracious Lord; for I submit
My fancy to your eyes. When I consider,
What great Creation, and what dole of Honour
Flies where you bid; I find, that the, which late
Was in my nobler thoughts most base, is now
The praised of the King; who, so ennobled,
Is, as 'twere, born so.

King. Take her by the hand,
And tell her, she is thine: to whom I promise
A counterpoize; if not in thy estate,
A ballance more repleat.

Ber. I take her hand.

King. Good fortune, and the favour of the King
Smile upon this Contract; whose ceremony
Shall seem expedient on the now-born brief,
And be perform’d to night; the solemn Feast
Shall more attend upon the coming space,
Expecting absent Friends. As thou lov'st her,
Thy love's to me religious; else does err. (Exeunt.

Manent Parolles and Lafeu.
Laf. Do you hear, Monsieur? a word with you.
Par. Your pleasure, Sir ?

Laf. Your Lord and Master did well to make his recantation


Par. Recantation ?



Mafter? Laf. Ay, is it not a language I speak ?

Par. A'moft harsh one, and not to be understood without bloody succeeding. My màster?

Laf. Are you companion to the Count-Rousillon?

Pár. To any Count; to all Counts; to what is man.

Laf. To what is Count's man ; Count's master is of another stile.

Par. You are too old, Sir; let it fatisfie you, you are too old.

Laf. I must tell thee, firrah, I write man; to which title age cannot bring thee.

Par. What I dare too well do, I dare not do.

Laf. I did think thee, for two Ordinaries, to be a pretty wise fellow; thou didst make tolerable vent of thy travel, it might pass; yet the scarfs and the bannerets about thee did manifoldly diffuade me from believing thee a vessel of too great a burthen. I have now found thee; when I lose thee again, I care not: yét art thou good for nothing but taking up, and that thou'rt scarce worth.

Par. Hadft thou noć the privilege of antiquity up

Laf. (23) Do not plunge thy self too far in anger, left thou haften thy tryal, which if,-Lord have mercy on thee for a hen! so, my good window of lattice,

(23) Do not plunge thy self too far in anger, left thou haften thy Tryal; which is, Lord have Mercy on thee for a hen ;] Mr. Rowe and Mr. Pope, either by Inadvertence, or some other Fatality, have blunder'd this Para fage into stark Nonsense. I have restor'd the Reading of the old Folio, and by subjoining the Mark to sew a Break is necessary, have retriev'd the Poet's genuine Sense:

which if Lord have Mercy on thee for a ben! The Sequel of the Sentence is imply'd, not express’d: This Figure the Rhetoricians have calld 'Arooiárnois. A remarkable Instance we have of it in the first Book of Virgil's Æneis. Quos Ego

- fed motos præftat componere Fluétus. So likewise in Terence ; .

Mala mens, malus animus ; quem quidèm Ego le sensero,
Sed quid opus eft verbis ?

Andr. A&t. I. Sc. I, But I shall have Occasion to remark again upon It, when I come to King Lear.


on thee

fare thee well; thy casement I need not open, I took through thee. Give me thy hand.

Par. My Lord, you give me most egregious indig. nity.

Laf. Ay, with all my heart, and thou art worthy of it.

Par. I have not, my Lord, desery'd it.

Laf. Yes, good faith, ev'ry dram of it, and I will not bate thee a scruple.

Par. Well, I shall be wiser sammen

Laf. Ev'n as soon as thou can'st, for thou hast to pull at a Smack o'th' contrary. If ever thou beest bound in thy scarf and beaten, thou shalt find what it is to be proud of thy bondage. I have a desire to hold my acquaintance with thee, or rather my knowledge, that I may say in the default, he is a man I know.

Par. My Lord, you do me most insupportable vexation.

Laf. I would, it were hell-pains for thy fake, and my poor doing eternal : for doing, I am paft , as I will by thee, in what motion age will give me leave.

[Exit. Par. Well, thou hast a Son shall take this disgrace off me'; scurvy, old, filthy, scurvy Lord! — well, I must be patient, there is no fettering of authority. I'll beat him, by my life, if I can meet him with any convenience, an he were double and double a Lord. I'll have no more pity of his age, than I would have of - I'll beat him, an if I could but meet him again.

Re-enter Lafeu. Laf. Şirrah, your Lord and Master's married, there's news for you : you have a new Mistress.

Par. I'moft unfeignedly beseech your Lordship to make some reservation of your wrongs. He, my good Lord, whom I serve above, is

Laf. Who? God?
Pur. Ay, Sir.


my Master.

I leave you.

Laf. The Devil it is, that's thy Mafter. Why dost thou garter up thy arms o' this fashion ? doft make hose of thy Neeves? do other servants so? thou wert best set thy lower part where thy nose stands. By minc honour, if I were but two hours younger, I'd beat thee: methinks, thou art a general offence, and every man should beat thee. I think, thou wast created for men to breathe themselves upon thee.

Par. This is hard and undeserved measure, my Lord.

Laf. Go to, Sir ; you were beaten in Italy for picking a kernel out of a pomegranate ; you are a vaga. bond, and no true traveller : you are more fawcy with Lords and honourable Personages, than the commission of your birth and virtue gives you heraldry. You are not worth another word, else I'd call



[Exit. Enter Bertram. Par. Good, very good, it is so then. Good, very good, let it be conceal'd a while.

Ber. Undone, and forfeited to cares for ever!
Par. What is the matter, fweet heart?

Ber. Although before the solemn Priest I've sworn, I will not bed her,

Par. What? what, sweet heart? · Ber. O my Parolles, they have married me: I'll to the Tuscan wars, and never bed her.

Par. France is a dog-hole, and it no more merits the tread of a man's foot: to th' wars.

Ber. There's letters from my Mother; what the import is, I know not yet.

Par. Ay, that would be known: to th’ wars, my boy, to th' wars. He wears his honour in a box unseen, That hugs his kicksy-wickly here at home; Spending his manly marrow in her arms, Which Thould sustain the Bound and high Curvet Of Mars's fiery Steed: to other Regions France is a stable, we that dwell in't jades, Therefore to th' war.


Ber. It shall be so, I'll send her to my house,
Acquaint my Mother with my hate to her,
And wherefore I am-fled; write to the King
That which I durft not speak. His present gift
Shall furnish me to those Italian fields,
Where noble Fellows ftrike. War is no ftrife
To the dark House, and the detested Wife.

Par. Will this Capricio hold in thee, art sure ?

Ber. Go with me to my chamber, and advise me. I'll send her straight away : to morrow I'll to the wars, the to her single forrow. Par. Why, these balls bound, there's noise in it.

Tis hard; A young Man, married, is a Man that's marrd: Therefore away; and leave her bravely; go, The King has done you wrong: but, hush ! 'tis so.


Enter Helena and Clown.

Hel: -My Mother greets me kindly, is the well?

Clo. She is not well, but yet she has her health ; The's very merry, but yet fhe is not well : but, thanks be given, she's very well, and wants nothing i'ch' world; but


she is not well. Hel. If the be very well, what does she ail, that she's not very well?

Clo. Truly, the's very well, indeed, but for two things.

Hel. What two things?

Clo. One, that she's not in Heav'n, whither God send her quickly; the other, that she's in Earth, from whence God send her quickly!

Enter Parolles.

Par. Bless you, my fortunate Lady.

Hel. I hope, Sir, I have your good will to have mine own good fortune.


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