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Hel. To each of you one fair and virtuous mis

tress

Fall, when love please!-marry, to each, but one!
Laf. I'd give bay Curtal, and his furniture,
My mouth no more were broken than these boys',
And writ as little beard.

King.

Peruse them well:

Not one of those, but had a noble father.

Hel. Gentlemen,

Heaven hath, through me, restor'd the king to

health.

All. We understand it, and thank heaven for

you.

Hel. I am a simple maid; and therein wealthiest, That, I protest, I simply am a maid:——

Please it your majesty, I have done already:
The blushes in my cheeks thus whisper me,

We blush, that thou should'st choose; but, be refus'd,
Let the white death sit on thy cheek for ever;

We'll ne'er come there again.

King.

Make choice; and, see,

Who shuns thy love, shuns all his love in me.
Hel. Now, Dian, from thy altar do I fly;
And to imperial Love, that god most high,
Do my sighs stream.-Sir, will you hear my suit?
1 Lord. And grant it.

Hel.

Thanks, sir; all the rest is mute. Laf. I had rather be in this choice, than throw ames-ace for my life.

Hel. The honour, sir, that flames in your fair

eyes,

Before I speak, too threat'ningly replies:

Love make your fortunes twenty times above
Her that so wishes, and her humble love!

2 Lord. No better, if you please.

Hel. My wish receive, Which great love grant! and so I take my leave.

Laf. Do all they deny her? An they were sons of mine, I'd have them whipp'd; or I would send them to the Turk, to make eunuchs of.

Hel. Be not afraid [To a Lord.] that I 'your hand should take;

I'll never do you wrong for your own sake:
Blessing upon your vows! and in your bed
Find fairer fortune, if

you ever wed!

Laf. These boys are boys of ice, they'll none have her: sure, they are bastards to the English; the French ne'er got them.

Hel. You are too young, too happy, and too good, To make yourself a son out of my blood.

4 Lord. Fair one, I think not so.

Laf. There's one grape yet,-I am sure, thy father drank wine.-But if thou be'st not an ass, I am a youth of fourteen; I have known thee already. Hel. I dare not say, I take you; [To Bertram.] but I give

Me, and my service, ever whilst I live,

Into your guiding power. This is the man. King. Why then, young Bertram, take her, she's thy wife.

Ber. My wife, my liege? I shall beseech your highness,

In such a business give me leave to use

The help of mine own eyes.

King.

Know'st thou not, Bertram,

What she has done for me?

Ber.

Yes, my good lord; But never hope to know why I should marry her. King. Thou know'st, she has rais'd me from my sickly bed.

Ber. But follows it, my lord, to bring me down Must answer for your raising? I know her well; She had her breeding at my father's charge: A poor physician's daughter my wife!-Disdain Rather corrupt me ever!

King. Tis only title thou disdain'st in her, the

which

I can build up. Strange is it, that our bloods,
Of colour, weight, and heat, pour'd all together,
Would quite confound distinction, yet stand off
In differences so mighty: If she be

All that is virtuous, (save what thou dislik'st,
A poor physician's daughter,) thou dislik'st
Of virtue for the name: but do not so:
From lowest place when virtuous things proceed,
The place is dignified by the doer's deed:
Where great additions swell, and virtue none,
It is a dropsied honour: good alone

Is good, without a name; vileness is so:
The property by what it is should go,
Not by the title. She is young, wise, fair;

In these to nature she's immediate heir;

And these breed honour: that is honour's scorn,
Which challenges itself as honour's born,
And is not like the sire: Honours best thrive,
When rather from our acts we them derive

Than our fore-goers: the mere word's a slave,
Debauch'd on every tomb; on every grave,
A lying trophy; and as oft is dumb,

Where dust, and damn'd oblivion, is the tomb
Of honour'd bones indeed. What should be said?
If thou canst like this creature as a maid,

I can create the rest: virtue, and she,

Is her own dower; honour, and wealth, from me. Ber. I cannot love her, nor will strive to do't. King. Thou wrong'st thyself, if thou should'st strive to choose.

Hel. That you are well restor'd, my lord, I am glad; Let the rest go.

King. My honour's at the stake; which to defeat,
I must produce my power: Here, take her hand,
Proud scornful boy, unworthy this good gift;
That dost 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 travails 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; both my revenge and hate,
Loosing 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 it, I find, that she, 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 to thy estate,

A balance more replete.

Ber.

I take her hand.

King. Good fortune, and the favour of the king, Smile upon this contráct; 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 King, Bertram, Helena, Lords, and Attendants.

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?- My lord? my master?
Laf. Ay; Is it not a language, I speak?

Par. A most harsh one; and not to be understood without bloody succeeding. My master? Laf. Are you companion to the count Rousillon? Par. To any count; to all counts; to what is man. Laf. To what is count's man; count's master is of another style.

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