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I pr'ythee, do not strive against my vows:
I was compell'd to her; but I love thee
By love's own sweet constraint, and will for ever
Do thee all rights of service.

Dia. Ay, so you serve us,

Till we serve you: but when you have our roses,
You barely leave our thorns to prick ourselves,
And mock us with our bareness.

Ber. How have I sworn?

SCENE III. The Florentine camp. Enter the two French Lords, and two or three Soldiers.

1 Tord. You have not given him his mother's letter? 2 Lord. I have delivered it an hour since: there is something in't, that stings his nature; for, on the reading it, he changed almost into another man.

I Lord. He has much worthy blame laid upon him, for shaking off so good a wife, and so sweet a lady.

Dia. 'Tis not the many oaths, that make the truth; 2 Lord. Especially he hath incurred the everlasting But the plain single vow, that is vow'd true.

What is not holy, that we swear not by,

displeasure of the king, who had even tuned his bounty to sing happiness to him. I will tell you a thing,

But take the Highest to witness. Then, pray you, but you shall let it dwell darkly with you.

tell me,

If I should swear by Jove's great attributes,
Ilov'd you dearly, would you believe my oaths,
When I did love you ill? this has no holding,
To swear by him, whom I protest to love,
That I will work against him. Therefore, your oaths
Are words, and poor conditions; but unseal'd;
At least, in my opinion.

Ber. Change it, change it!

Be not so holy-cruel! love is holy;
And my integrity ne'er knew the crafts,

That you do charge men with. Stand no more off,
But give thyself unto my sick desires,

Who then recover: say, thou art mine, and ever
My love, as it begins, shall so perséver.

Dia. I see, that men make hopes, in such affairs,
That we'll forsake ourselves. Give me that ring!
Ber. I'll lend it thee, my dear, but have no power
To give it from me.

Dia. Will you not, my lord?

Ber. It is an honour 'longing to our house,
Bequeathed down from many ancestors;
Which were the greatest obloquy i'the world
In me to lose.

Dia. Mine honour's such a ring:
My chastity's the jewel of our house,
Bequeathed down from many ancestors;
Which were the greatest obloquy in the world
In me to lose. Thus your own proper wisdom
Brings in the champion honour on my part,
Against your vain assault.

Ber. Here, take my ring!

My house, mine honour, yea, my life be thine,
And I'll be bid by thee.

Dia. When midnight comes, knock at my chamber
window;

I'll order take, my mother shall not hear.
Now will I charge you in the band of truth,
When you have conquer'd my yet maiden bed,
Remain there but an hour, nor speak to me:
My reasons are most strong, and you shall know them,
When back again this ring shall be deliver'd:
And on your finger, in the night, I'll put
Another ring; that, what in time proceeds,
May token to the future our past deeds.
Adieu, till then; then, fail not! You have won
A wife of me, though there my hope be done.

Ber. A heaven on earth I have won by wooing thee.

[Exit. Dia. For which live long to thank both heaven and me!

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My mother told me just, how he would woo,
As if she sat in his heart; she says, all men
Have the like oaths: he had sworn to marry me,
When his wife's dead; therefore I'll lie with him,
When I am buried. Since Frenchmen are so braid,
Marry that will, I'll live and die a maid:
Only, in this disguise, I think't no sin
To cozen him, that would unjustly win.

1 Lord. When you have spoken it, 'tis dead, and I am the grave of it.

2 Lord. He hath perverted a young gentlewoman here in Florence, of a most chaste renown: and this night he fleshes his will in the spoil of her honour: he hath given her his monumental ring, and thinks himself made in the unchaste composition.

1 Lord. Now, God delay our rebellion as we are ourselves, what things are we!

2 Lord. Merely our own traitors. And as, in the common course of all treasons, we still see them reveal themselves, till they attain to their abhorred ends; so he, that in this action contrives against his own nobility, in his proper stream o'erflows himself.

1 Lord. Is it not meant damnable in us, to be trumpeters of our unlawful intents? We shall not then have his company to-night?

2 Lord. Not till after midnight; for he is dieted to his hour.

1 Lord. That approaches apace: I would gladly have him see his company anatomized; that he might take a measure of his own judgements, wherein so curiously he had set this counterfeit.

2 Lord. We will not meddle with him, till he come; for his presence must be the whip of the other.

1 Lord. In the mean time, what hear you of these wars?

2 Lord. I hear, there is an overture of peace. 1 Lord. Nay, I assure you, a peace concluded. 2 Lord. What will count Rousillon do then? will he travel higher, or return again into France?

1 Lord. I perceive, by this demand, you are not altogether of his council.

2 Lord. Let it be forbid, sir! so should I be a great deal of his act.

1 Lord. Sir, his wife, some two months since, fled from his house; her pretence is a pilgrimage to Saint Jaques le grand; which holy undertaking, with most austere sanctimony, she accomplished: and, there residing, the tenderness of her nature became as a prey to her grief; in fine, made a groan of her last breath, and now she sings in heaven.

2 Lord. How is this justified?

1 Lord. The stronger part of it by her own letters; which makes her story true, even to the point of her death: her death itself, which could not be her office to say, is come, was faithfully confirmed by the rector of the place.

2 Lord. Hath the count all this intelligence? 1 Lord. Ay, and the particular confirmations, point from point, to the full arming of the verity.

2 Lord. I am heartily sorry, that he'll be glad of this. 1 Lord. How mightily, sometimes, we make us comforts of our losses!

2 Lord. And how mightily, some other times, we drown our gain in tears! The great dignity, that his valour hath here acquired for him, shall at home be encountered with a shame as ample.

1 Lord. The web of our life is of a mingled yarn, good [Exit. and ill together: our virtues would be proud, if our

faults whipped them not; and our crimes would de-knot of his scarf, and the practice in the chape of his spair, if they were not cherished by our virtues. — dagger. Enter a Servant.

How now? where's your master? Serv. He met the duke in the street, sir, of whom he hath taken a solemn leave;his lordship will next morning for France. The duke hath offered him letters of commendations to the king.

2 Lord. They shall be no more than needful there, if they were more than they can commend. Enter BERTRAM.

1 Lord. They cannot be too sweet for the king's tartness. Here's his lordship now.-How now, my lord, is't not after midnight?

Ber. I have to-night despatched sixteen businesses, a month's length a-piece, by an abstract of success: I have conge'd with the duke, done my adieu with his nearest; buried a wife, mourned for her; writ to my lady mother, I am returning; entertained my convoy; and, between these main parcels of despatch, effected many nicer needs; the last was the greatest, but that I have not ended yet.

2 Lord. If the business be of any difficulty, and this morning your departure hence, it requires haste of your lordship.

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Ber. I mean the business is not ended, as fearing to hear of it hereafter. But shall we have this dialogue between the fool and the soldier?-Come, bring forth this counterfeit module ! He has deceived me, like a double-meaning prophecier.

2 Lord. Bring him forth! [Exeunt Soldiers.] He has sat in the stocks all night, poor gallant knave. Ber. No matter; his heels have deserved it, in usurp ing his spurs so long. How does he carry himself?

1 Lord. I have told your lordship already, the stocks carry him. But, to answer you as you would be understood, he weeps, like a wench that had shed her milk: he hath confessed himself to Morgan, whom he supposes to be a friar, from the time of his remembrance, to this very instant disaster of his setting i'the stocks: and what think you he hath confess'd?

Ber. Nothing of me, has he?

2 Lord. His confession is taken, and it shall be read to his face: if your lordship be in't, as, I believe, you are, you must have the patience to hear it.

Re-enter Soldiers, with PAROLLES.

Ber. A plague upon him! muffled! he can say nothing of me; hush! hush!

2 Lord. Hoodman comes!-Porto tartarossa. 1 Sold. He calls for the tortures; what will you say without 'em?

Par. I will confess what I know, without constraint; if ye pinch me, like a pasty, I can say no more. 1 Sold. Bosko chimurcho.

2 Lord. Boblibindo chicurmurco.

1 Sold. You are a merciful general. - Our general bids you answer to what I shall ask you out of a note. Par. And truly, as I hope to live.

1 Sold. First demand of him, how many horse the duke is strong. What say you to that?

Par. Five or six thousand; but very weak and unserviceable: the troops are all scattered, and the commanders very poor rogues, upon my reputation and credit, and as I hope to live.

1 Sold. Shall I set down your answer so? Par. Do; I'll take the sacrament on't, how and which way you will.

Ber. All's one to him. What a past-saving slave

is this!

1 Lord. You are deceived, my lord; this is monsieur Parolles, the gallant militarist, (that was his own phrase,) that had the whole theoric of war in the

2 Lord. I will never trust a man again, for keeping his sword clean; nor believe, he can have every thing in him, by wearing his apparel neatly. 1 Sold. Well, that's set down.

Par. Five or six thousand horse, I said,-I will say true, or thereabouts, set down,-for I'll speak truth. 1 Lord. He's very near the truth in this.

Ber. But I con him no thanks for't, in the nature he delivers it.

Par. Poor rogues, I pray you, say. 1 Sold. Well, that's set down. Par. I humbly thank you, sir: a truth's a truth, the 1 Sold. Demand of him, of what strength they are rogues are marvellous poor. a-foot. What say you to that? hour, I will tell true. Let me see: Spurio a hundred Par. By my troth, sir, if I were to live this present and fifty, Sebastian so many, Corambus so many, Jaques so many; Guiltian, Cosmo, Ludowick, and Gratii, two hundred and fifty each: mine own company, Chitopher, Vaumond, Bentii, two hundred and fifty each: so that the muster-file, rotten and sound, upon my life, amounts not to fifteen thousand poll; half of which they shake themselves to pieces. dare not shake the snow from off their cassocks, lest Ber. What shall be done to him?

1 Lord. Nothing, but let him have thanks. Demand of him my conditions, and what credit I have with the

duke.

1 Sold. Well, that's set down. You shall demand Frenchman: what his reputation is with the duke, of him, whether one captain Dumain be i'the camp, a what his valour, honesty, and expertness in wars ; or whether he thinks, it were not possible, with wellWhat say you to this? what do you know of it? weighing sums of gold, to corrupt him to a revolt. of the intergatories. Demand them singly! Par. I beseech you, let me answer to the particular 1 Sold. Do you know this captain Dumain? Par. I know him: he was a botcher's 'prentice in sheri's fool with child; a dumb innocent, that could Paris, from whence he was whipped for getting the not say him nay. [Dumain lifts up his hand in anger. Ber. Nay, by your leave, hold your hands; though I know, his brains are forfeit to the next tile that falls. 1 Sold. Well, is this captain in the duke ofFlorence's camp?

Pur. Upon my knowledge he is, and lousy.

1 Lord. Nay, look not so upon me; we shall hear of your lordship anon.

1 Sold. What is his reputation with the duke? Par. The duke knows him for no other but a poor officer of mine; and writ to me this other day, to turu him out o'the band. I think, I have his letter in my pocket.

1 Sold. Marry, we'll search.

Par. In good sadness, I do not know; either it is there, or it is upon a file, with the duke's other letters, in my tent.

1 Sold. Here 'tis; here's a paper. Shall I read it to you?

Par. I do not know, if it be it, or no.
Ber. Our interpreter does it well.
1 Lord. Excellently.

1 Sold. Dian. The count's a fool, and full of gold,― Par. That is not the duke's letter, sir; that is an advertisement to a proper maid in Florence, one Diana, to take heed of the allurement of cue count Rousillon, a foolish idle boy, but, for all that, very ruttish: I pray you, sir, put it up again!

1 Sold. Nay, I'll read it first, by your favour.

Par. My meaning in't, I protest, was very honest in the behalf of the maid; for I knew the young count to be a dangerous and lascivious boy, who is a whale to virginity, and devours up all the fry it finds. Ber. Damnable, both sides rogue!

the outruns any lackey; marry, in coming on he has the cramp.

1 Sold. If your life be saved, will you undertake to betray the Florentine?

Par. Ay,and the captain of his horse,count Rousillon. 1 Sold. Then he swears oaths, bid him drop gold, 1 Sold. I'll whisper with the general, and know his and take it;

After he scores, he never pays the score:

pleasure.

Par. I'll no more drumming; a plague of all drums! Half won, is match well made; match, and well Only to seem to deserve well, and to beguile the supmake it;

He ne'er pays after debts, take it before;
And say, a soldier, Dian, told thee this,
Men are to mell with, boys are not to kiss:
For count of this, the count's a fool, I know it,
Who pays before, but not when he does owe it.

Thine, as he vow'd to thee in thine ear,

PAROLLES. Ber. He shall be whipped through the army, with this rhyme in his forehead.

position of that lascivious young boy, the count, have I run into this danger. Yet, who would have suspected an ambush, where I was taken?

[Aside.

Sold. There is no remedy, sir, but you must die. The general says, you, that have so traitorously discovered the secrets of your army, and made such pestiferous reports of men very nobly held, can serve the world for no honest use; therefore you must die.Come, headsman, off with his head!

Par O Lord, sir, let me live, or let me see my death! / Sold. That you shall, and take your leave of all your friends. [Unmuffling him.

2 Lord. This is your devoted friend, sir, the mani-1
fold linguist, and the armipotent soldier.
Ber. I could endure any thing before, but a cat, and
now he's a cat to me.

1 Sold. I perceive, sir, by the general's looks, we shall be fain to hang you.

Par. My life, sir, in any case: not that I am afraid to die; but that, my offences being many, I would repent out the remainder of nature, let me live, sir, in a dungeon, i'the stocks, or anywhere, so I may live! 1 Sold. We'll see what may be done, so you confess freely; therefore, once more to this captain Dumain! You have answered to his reputation with the duke, and to his valour; what is his honesty?

Par. He will steal, sir, an egg out of a cloister; for rapes and ravishments he parallels Nessus. He professes not keeping of oaths; in breaking them, he is stronger than Hercules. He will lie, sir, with such volubility, that you would think, truth were a fool: drunkenness is his best virtue; for he will be swinedrunk; and in his sleep he does little harm, save to his bed-clothes about him; but they know his conditions, and lay him in straw. I have but little more to say, sir, of his honesty he has every thing, that au honest man should not have; what an honest man should have, he has nothing.

1 Lord. I begin to love him for this.

Ber. For this description of thine honesty? A pox upon him for me, he is more and more a cat.

---

1 Sold. What say you to his expertness in war? Par. Faith, sir, he has led the drum before the English tragedians, to belie him I will not, and more of his soldiership I know not; except, in that country, he had the honour to be the officer at a place called Mile-end, to instruct for the doubling of files: I would do the man what honour I can, but of this I am not

certain.

1 Lord. He hath out-villained villainy so far, that the rarity redeems him.

Ber. A pox on him! he's a cat still.

1 Sold. His qualities being at this poor price, I need not ask you, if gold will corrupt him to revolt. Par. Sir, for a quart d'ecu he will sell the fee-simple of his salvation, the inheritance of it, and cut the entail from all remainders, and a perpetual succession for it perpetually.

So, look about you; know you any here?
Ber. Good-morrow, noble captain!

2 Lord. God bless you, captain Parolles!
1 Lord. God save you, noble captain !
|_2 Lord. Captain, what greeting will you to my
Lafeu? I am for France.

lord

1 Lord. Good captain, will you give me a copy of the sonnet you writ to Diana in behalf of the count Rousillon? An I were not a very coward, I'd compel it of you; but fare you well! [Exeunt Bertram, Lords, etc. 1 Sold. You are undone, captain: all but your scarf, that has a knot on't yet.

Par. Who cannot be crushed with a plot?
1 Sold. If you could find out a country, where but wo-
men were that had received so much shame, you might
begin an impudent nation. Fare you well, sir; I am for
France, too; we shall speak of you there. [Exit.
Par. Yet am I thankful: if my heart were great,
'Twould burst at this: Captain I'll be no more;
But I will eat and drink, and sleep as soft,
As captain shall: simply the thing I am
Shall make melive. Who knows himself a braggart,
Let him fear this; for it will come to pass,
That every braggart shall be found an ass.
Rust, sword! cool, blushes! and, Parolles, live
Safest in shame! being fool'd, by foolery thrive!
There's place, and means, for every man alive.
I'll after them.

I

[Exit.

SCENE IV.-Florence. A room in the Widow's house.
Enter HELENA, Widow, and DIANA.

Hel. That you may well perceive, I have not wrong'd
you,

One of the greatest in the Christian world
Shall be my surety; 'fore whose throne, 'tis necdful,
Ere I can perfect mine intents, to kneel.
Time was, I did him a desired office,
Dear almost as his life; which gratitude
Through flinty Tartar's bosom would keep forth,
And answer, thanks: I duly am inform'd,
His grace is at Marseilles; to which place
We have convenient convoy. You must know,
am supposed dead: the army breaking,
My husband hies him home; where, heaven aiding,

1 Sold. What's his brother, the other captain Du-And by the leave of my good lord the king,
main?

2 Lord. Why does he ask him of me?

1 Sold. What's he?

Par. E'en a crow of the same nest; not altogether so great, as the first in goodness, but greater a great deal in evil. He excels his brother for a coward, yet his brother is reputed one of the best that is. In a retreat,

We'll be, before our welcome.

Wid. Gentle madam,

You never had a servant, to whose trust
Your business was more welcome.
Hel. Nor you, mistress,

Ever a friend, whose thoughts more truly labour
To recompense your love; doubt not, but heaven

Hath brought me up to be your daughter's dower,
As it hath fated her to be my motive
And helper to a husband. But O strange men!
That can such sweet use make of what they hate,
When saucy trusting of the cozen'd thoughts
Defiles the pitchy night! so lust doth play
With what it loaths, for that which is away.
But more of this hereafter!-You, Diana,
Under my poor instructions yet must suffer
Something in my behalf.

Dia. Let death and honesty

Go with your impositions, I am yours,
Upon your will to suffer.

Hel. Yet, I pray you,

But with the word, the time will bring on summer,
When briars shall have leaves as well as thorns,
And be as sweet as sharp. We must away;
Our waggon is prepar'd, and time revives us.
All's well that ends well: still the fine's the crown;
Whate'er the course, the end is the renown. [Exeunt.

SCENE V. - Rousillon. A room in the Countess's

his nobility remain in his court! I am for the house with the narrow gate, which I take to be too little for pomp to enter: some, that humble themselves, may; but the many will be too chill and tender; and they'll be for the flowery way, that leads to the broad gate, and the great fire.

Laf. Go thy ways, I begin to be a-weary of thee; and I tell thee so before, because I would not fall out with thee. Go thy ways; let my horses be well looked to, without any tricks!

Clo. If I put any tricks upon 'em, sir, they shall bó jades 'tricks; which are their own right by the law of [Exit.

nature.

Laf. A shrewd knave, and an unhappy!

Count. So he is. My lord, that's gone, made himself much sport out of him; by his authority he remains here, which he thinks is a patent for his sauciness; and,indeed, he has no pace, but runs where he will. Laf. I like him well; 'tis not amiss: and I was about to tell you, since I heard of the good lady's death, and that my lord your son was upon his return home, I moved the king, my master, to speak in the behalf of my daughter; which, in the minority of them both, his majesty, out of a self-gracious remembrance, did first Laf. No, no, no, your son was misled with a snipt-propose: his highness hath promised me to do it; and, taffata fellow there, whose villainous saffron would have made all the unbaked and doughy youth of a nation in his colour: your daughter-in-law had been alive at this hour; and your son here at home, more advanced by the king, than by that red-tailed humblebee I speak of.

palace.

Enter Countess, LAFEU, and Clown.

Count. I would, I had not known him! it was the death of the most virtuous gentlewoman, that ever nature had praise for creating: if she had partaken of my flesh, and cost me the dearest groans of a mother, I could not have owed her a more rooted love.

Laf. 'Twas a good lady, 'twas a good lady: we may pick a thousand salads, ere we light on such another herb.

Clo. Indeed, sir, she was the sweet marjoram of the salad, or, rather the herb of grace. Laf. They are not salad-herbs, you knave, they are nose-herbs.

Clo. I am no great Nebuchadnezzar, sir, I have not much skill in grass.

Laf. Whether dost thou profess thyself; a knave, or a fool?

Clo. A fool, sir, at a woman's service, and a knave at

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great a prince, as you are.

Laf. Who's that? a Frenchman?

to stop up the displeasure he hath conceived against your son, there is no fitter matter. How does your ladyship like it?

Count. With very much content, my lord, and I wish it happily effected.

Laf. His highness comes post from Marseilles, of as able body, as when he numbered thirty; he will be here to-morrow, or I am deceived by him that in such intelligence hath seldom failed.

Count. It rejoices me, that I hope I shall see him ere I die. I have letters, that my son will be here to-night: shall beseech your lordship, to remain with me till they meet together.

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Laf. Madam, I was thinking, with what manners I might safely be admitted.

Count. You need but plead your honourable privilege.

I

Laf. Lady, of that I have made a bold charter; but,
thank my God, it holds yet.
Re-enter Clown.

Clo. O madam, yonder's my lord your son with a patch of velvet on's face; whether there be a scar under it, or no, the velvet knows; but 'tis a goodly patch of velvet his left cheek is a cheek of two pile and a half, but his right cheek is worn bare.

Laf. A scar nobly got, or a noble scar, is a good livery of honour; so, belike, is that. Clo. But it is your carbonadoed face. Laf. Let us go see your son, I pray you; I long to talk with the young noble soldier.

Clo. 'Faith, there's a dozen of 'em, with delicate fine hats,and most courteous feathers, which bow the head, and nod at every man. [Exeunt.

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Clo. 'Faith, sir, he has an English name; but his Enter HELENA, Widow, and DIANA, with two At

phisnomy is more hotter in France, than there. Laf. What prince is that?

Clo. The black prince, sir; alias, the prince of darkness; alias, the devil.

Laf. Hold thee, there's my purse. I give thee not this to suggest thee from thy master thou talk'st of;

tendants.

Hel. But this exceeding posting, day and night, Must wear your spirits low: we cannot help it; But, since you have made the days and nights as one, To wear your gentle limbs in my affairs, Be bold, you do so grow in my requital, As nothing can unroot you. In happy time;Clo. I am a woodland fellow, sir, that always loved Enter a gentle Astringer. a great fire; and the master I speak of, ever keeps a This man may help me to his majesty's ear, good fire. But, sure, he is the prince of the world, let If he would spend his power.- God save you, sir!

serve him still.

Gent. And you!
Hel. Sir, I have seen you in the court of France.
Gent. I have been sometimes there.

Hel. I do presume, sir, that you are not fallen
From the report, that goes upon your goodness;
And therefore, goaded with most sharp occasions,
Which lay nice manners by, I put you to

The use of your own virtues, for the which
I shall continue thankful.

Gent. What's your will?

Hel. That it will please you

To give this poor petition to the king,

And aid me with that store of power you have,
To come into his presence.

Gent. The king's not here.

Hel. Not here, sir?
Gent. Not, indeed:

He hence remov'd last night, and with more haste,
Than is his use.

Wid. Lord, how we lose our pains!
Hel. All's well that ends well, yet,
Though time seem so adverse, and means unfit.-
I do beseech you, whither has he gone?
Gent. Marry, as I take it, to Rousillon;
Whither I am going.

Hel. I do beseech you, sir,

Since you are like to see the king before me,
Commend the paper to his gracious hand;
Which, I presume, shall render you no blame,
But rather make you thank your pains for it:
I will come after you, with what good speed
Our means will make us means.

Gent. This I'll do for you.

Hel. And you shall find yourself to be well thank'd, Whate'er falls more.-We must to horse again;Go, go, provide.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.—Rousillon. The inner court of the Countess's palace.

Enter Clown and PAROLLES.

Let the justices make you and fortune friends; I am for other business.

Par. I beseech your honour, to hear me one single word.

Laf. You beg a single penny more: come, you shall ha't; save your word.

Par. My name, my good lord, is Parolles.

Laf. You beg more than one word then.-Cox' my passion! give me your hand! How does your drum? Par. O my good lord, you were the first that found me. Laf. Was I,in sooth? and I was the first that lost thee. Par. It lies in you, my lord, to bring me in some grace, for you did bring me out.

Laf. Out upon thee, knave! dost thou put upon me at once both the office of God and the devil? one brings thee in grace, and the other brings thee out. [Trumpets sound.] The king's coming, I know by his trumpets. Sirrah, inquire further after me; I had talk of you last night: though you are a fool and a knave, you shall eat; go to, fellow. Par. I praise God for

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you.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III. The same. A room in the Countess's

I

palace.

Flourish. Enter King, Countess, LAFEU, Lords,
Gentlemen, Guards, etc.

King. We lost a jewel of her; and our esteem
Was made much poorer by it: but your son,
As mad in folly, lack'd the sense to know
Her estimation home.

Count. 'Tis past, my liege:

And I beseech your majesty to make it
Natural rebellion, done i'the blaze of youth,
When oil and fire, too strong for reason's force,
O'erbears it, and burns on.
King. My honour'd lady,
have forgiven and forgotten all;
Though my revenges were high bent upon him,
And watch'd the time to shoot.
Laf. This I must say,

Par. Good monsieur Lavatch, give my lord Lafeu But first I beg my pardon. - The young lord this letter: I have ere now, sir, been better known to Did to his majesty, his mother, and his lady, you, when I have held familiarity with fresher clothes; Offence of mighty note; but to himself but I am now, sir, muddied in fortune's moat, and The greatest wrong of all: he lost a wife, smell somewhat strong of her strong displeasure. Whose beauty did astonish the survey Clo. Truly, fortune's displeasure is but sluttish, if Of richest eyes, whose words all ears took captive, it smell so strong as thou speakest of: I will hence- Whose dear perfection, hearts, that scorn'd to serve, forth eat no fish of fortune's buttering. Pr'ythee, al-Humbly call'd mistress. low the wind.

Par. Nay, you need not stop your nose, sir; Ispake but by a metaphor.

Clo. Indeed, sir, if your metaphor stink, I will stop my nose; or against any man's metaphor. Pr'ythee, get thee further!

Par. Pray you, sir, deliver me this paper! Clo. Foh, pr'ythee, stand away! A paper from fortune's close-stool to give to a nobleman! Look, here he comes himself.

Enter LAFEU.

Here is a pur of fortune's, sir, or of fortune's cat, (but not. a musk-cat,) that has fallen into the unclean fishpond of her displeasure, and, as he says, is muddied withal. Pray you, sir, use the carp as you may; for he looks like a poor, decayed, ingenious, foolish, rascally knave. I do pity his distress in my smiles of comfort, and leave him to your lordship. [Exit Clown. Par. My lord, I am a man, whom fortune hath cruelly scratched.

Laf. And what would you have me to do? 'tis too late to pare her nails now. Wherein have you played the knave with fortune, that she should scratch you, who of herself is a good lady, and would not have knaves thrive long under her? There's a quart d'ecu for you.

King. Praising what is lost,

Makes the remembrance dear.-Well, call him hither!-
We are reconcil'd, and the first view shall kill
All repetition. - Let him not ask our pardon!
The nature of his great offence is dead,
And deeper than oblivion do we bury
The incensing relics of it: let him approach,
A stranger, no offender; and inform him,
So 'tis our will he should!
Gent. I shall, my liege.

[Exit Gentleman. King. What says he to your daughter? have you spoke?

sent me,

Laf. All that he is hath reference to your highness.
King. Then shall we have a match. I have letters
That set him high in fame.
Enter BERTRAM.
Laf. He looks well on't.
King. I am not a day of season,
For thou may'st see a sun-shine and a hail
In me at once: but to the brightest beams
Distracted clouds give way; so stand thou forth,
The time is fair again.

Ber. My high-repented blames,
Dear sovereign, pardon to me!

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