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yet, 'tis a wither'd pear: Will you any thing with
Hel. Not my virginity yet.
There shall your master have a thousand loves,
I know not what he shall:-God send him well!—
Hel. That I wish well.-'Tis pity——
Par. What's pity?
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, And show what we alone must think; which never Returns us thanks.
Enter a Page.
Page. Monsieur Parolles, my lord calls for [Exit Page.
Par. Little Helen, farewel: 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?
Hel. The wars have so kept you under, that you must needs be born under Mars.
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.
Hel. So is running away, when fear proposes the safety: But the composition, that your valour and fear makes in you, is a virtue of a good wing, and I like the wear well.
Par. I am so full of businesses, I cannot answer thee acutely: I will return perfect courtier; in the which, my instruction shall serve to naturalize thee, so thou wilt be capable of a courtier's counsel, and understand what advice shall thrust upon thee; else thou diest in thine unthankfulness, and thine ignorance makes thee away: farewel. When thou hast leisure, say thy prayers; when thou hast none, remember thy friends: get thee a good husband, and use him as he uses thee: so farewel. [Exit.
Hel. Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie, Which we ascribe to heaven: the fated sky Gives us free scope; only, doth backward pull Our slow designs, when we ourselves are dull. What power is it, which mounts my love so high; That makes me see, and cannot feed mine eye? The mightiest space in fortune nature brings To join like likes, and kiss like native things.
Impossible be strange attempts, to those
PARIS. A ROOM IN THE KING'S PALACE.
Flourish of cornets. Enter the King of France, with letters; Lords and others attending.
King. The Florentines and Senoys are by the ears; Have fought with equal fortune, and continue A braving war. 1 Lord.
So 'tis reported, sir.
King. Nay, 'tis most credible; we here receive it A certainty, vouch'd from our cousin Austria, 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.
His love and wisdom,
1 Lord. Approv'd so to your majesty, may plead For amplest credence.
And Florence is denied before he comes:
It may well serve
He hath arm'd our answer,
A nursery to our gentry, who are sick
What's he comes here?
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 May'st 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 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 honour. So like a courtier, contempt nor bitterness Were in his pride or sharpness; if they were, His equal had awak'd them; and his honour, 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 us'd as creatures of another place; And bow'd his eminent top to their low ranks,
Making them proud of his humility,
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 al
(Methinks, I hear him now; his plausive words
Since the physician at your father's died?