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 honour cites a virtuous youth,
Did ever, in so true a flame of liking,
Wish chastly, and love dearly, that your Dian
Was both herself and love; O then, give pity
To her, whose state is such, that 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.

Madam, I had.

Wherefore? tell true,
Hel. I will tell truth; 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.

This was your motive

Count.

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 credit
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 honour

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 belisve'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,

ACT II.

SCENE I.-Paris. A room in the King's palace.

Flourish. Enter King, with young Lords taking leave for the Florentine war; BERTRAM, PAROLLES, and Attendants.

King. Farewell, young lord, these warlike principles Do not throw from you:-and you, my lord, farewell:Share the advice betwixt you; if both gain all, The gift doth stretch itself as 'tis receiv'd, And is enough for both.

1 Lord.

It is our hope, sir,

After well-enter'd soldiers, to return

And find your grace in health.

King. No, no, it cannot be; and yet my heart Will not confess he owes the malady

That doth my life besiege. Farewell, young lords;
Whether I live or die, be you the sons

Of worthy Frenchmen: let higher Italy
(Those 'bated, that inherit but the fall
Of the last monarchy,) see, that you come
Not to woo honour, 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 retires to a couch. 1 Lord. O my sweet lord, that you will stay behind

us!

Par. 'Tis not his fault; the spark

2 Lord. O, 'tis brave wars! Par. 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 honour be bought up, and no sword worn, But one to dance with! By heaven, I'll steal away. 1 Lord. There's honour in the theft.

Par.

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 !

Par. 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 entrenched it: say to him, I live; and observe his reports for me. 2 Lord. We shall, noble captain.

Par. Mars dote on you for his novices! [Exeunt Lords.] What will you do?

Ber. Stay; the king

[Seeing 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 lead the measure, such are to be followed: after them, and take a more dilated farewell.

Ber. And I will do so.

Par. Worthy fellows; and like to prove most sinewy sword-men. [Exeunt BERTRAM and PAROLLES.

Enter LAFEU.

Laf. Pardon, my lord, [Kneeling.] for me and for my

tidings.

King. I'll fee thee to stand up.

Laf.

Then here's a man Stands, that has brought his pardon. I would, you 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 :

But, my good lord, 'tis thus; Will you be cur'd

Of your infirmity ?

King.

Laf.

No.

O, will you eat

will,

No grapes, my royal fox? yes, but you
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 spritely fire and motion; whose simple touch
Is powerful to araise king Pepin, nay