Do thee all rights of service. Dia. Ay, so you serve us, How have I sworn! Change it, change it; Dia. When midnight comes, knock at my chamber thee. My mother told me just how he would woo, [Exit. SCENE III.-The Florentine Camp. Enter the two French Lords, and two or three Soldiers. 1 Lord. You have not given him his mother's letter? 1 Lord. He has much worthy blame laid upon him, 2 Lord. He hath perverted a young gentlewoman the hath given her his monumental ring, and thinks 2 Lord. Merely our own traitors. And as in the 2 Lord. We will not meddle with him till he come; 2 Lord. I hear there is an overture of peace. 2 Lord. Let it be forbid, sir! so should I be a great 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 and ill together: our virtues would be proud if our faults whipped them not; and our crimes would despair if they were not cherished by our virtues. Enter a Servant. How now? where 's your master? Serv. He met the duke in the street, sir, of whom 2 Lord. They shall be no more than needful there, 1 Lord. They cannot be too sweet for the king's 2 Lord. If the business be of any difficulty, and 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 de ceived me, like a double-meaning prophesier. M Ast. Not here, sir? house with the narrow gate, which I take to be too | And aid me with that store of power you have, little for pomp to enter: some that humble them-To come into his presence. selves may; but the many will be too chill and ten- Ast. The king 's not here. der, and they 'll be for the flowery way, that leads Hel. 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. of nature. Clo. If I put any tricks upon 'em, sir, they shall be jades' tricks; which are their own right by the law [Exit. 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; 't is 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 propose: his highness hath promised me to do it: and, 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: I shall beseech your lordship to remain with me till they meet together.. 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 is he gone? Ast. Marry, as I take it, to Rousillon; Whither I am going. I do beseech you, sir, Hel. Since you are like to see the king before me, Commend the paper to his gracious hand; Which I presume shall render you no blaine, But rather make you thank your pains for it: I will come after you, with what good speed Our means will make us means. Ast. 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. Par. Good monsieur Lavatch, give my lord Lafeu this letter: I have ere now, sir, been better known to you, when I have held familiarity with fresher clothes; but I am now, sir, muddied in fortune's mood, and smell somewhat strong of her strong displeasure. Clo. Truly, fortune's displeasure is but sluttish, if it smell so strongly as thou speakest of: I will henceforth eat no fish of fortune's buttering. Prithee allow the wind. Laf. Madam, I was thinking with what manners I might safely be admitted. [lege. Par. Nay, you need not to stop your nose, sir; I privi-spake but by a metaphor. Count. You need but plead your honourable Laf Lady, of that I have made a bold charter; but, I 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 't is 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. ACT V. SCENE I.-Marseilles. A Street. Hel. But this exceeding posting, day and night, This man may help me to his majesty's ear, Hel. Sir, I have seen you in the court of France. Hel. I do presume, sir, that you are not fallen Ast. What's your will? Hel. That it will please you To give this poor petition to the king; Clo. Indeed, sir, if your metaphor stink, I will stop my nose; or against any man's metaphor. Prithee get thee further. Par. Pray you, sir, deliver me this paper. tune's close-stool to give to a nobleinan! Look, Clo. Foh, prithee stand away; A paper from forhere 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 died withal: Pray you, sir, use the carp as you may; fish-pond of her displeasure, and, as he says, is mudfor he looks like a poor, decayed, ingenious, foolish, rascally knave. I do pity his distress in my similes of comfort, and leave him to your lordship. [Exit. Par. My lord, I am a man whom fortune hath cruelly scratched. Laf. And what would you have me to do? 't is 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: Let the justices make you and fortune friends; I am for other business. [word. Par. I beseech your honour to hear me one single 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 word then.-Cox' my passion! give me your hand: How does your drum? Par. O my good lord, you were the first that found [thee. Laf. Was I, in sooth? and I was the first that lost Par. It lies in you, my lord, to bring me in some grace, for you did bring me out. me. 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, follow. Par. I praise God for you. [Exeunt. Palace. SCENE III.-The same. A Room in the Countess's | The main consents are had; and here we ll stay Flourish. Enter King, Countess, Lafeu, Lords, Gentlemen, Guards, &c. 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. 'T is 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, I have forgiven and forgotten all; Though my revenges were high bent upon him, And watch'd the time to shoot. Laf. This I must But first I beg my pardon,-The young lord Did to his majesty, his mother, and his lady, Offence of mighty note; but to himself The greatest wrong of all: he lost a wife Whose beauty did astonish the survey [bless! Laf. Come on, my son, in whom my house's name I saw upon her finger. Ber. Hers it was not. Ber. I would relieve her: Had you that craft, to reave say,-Of what should stead her most? [her My gracious sovereign, Howe'er it pleases you to take it so, The ring was never hers. Of richest eyes; whose words all ears took captive; We are reconcil'd, and the first view shall kill him I shall, my liege. [Exit. King. What says he to your daughter? have you spoke? Laf. All that he is hath reference to your highness. My high-repented blames, Dear sovereign, pardon to me. King. All is whole; Not one word more of the consumed time. Ber. Admiringly, my liege: at first I stuck my choice upon her, ere my heart Count. Son, on my life, I have seen her wear it; and she reckon'd it honour, And mak'st conjectural fears to come into me, Ber. My fore-past proofs, howe'er the matter fall, King. I am wrapp'd in dismal thinkings. Who hath, for four or five removes, come short To tender it herself. I undertook it, King. [Reads.] Upon his many protestations to marry me, when his wife was dead, I blush to say it, he won me. Now is the count Rousillon a widower; his vows are forfeited to me, and my honour's paid to him. He stole from Florence, taking no leave, and I follow him to his country for justice: Grant it me, O king? in you it best lies; otherwise a seducer flourishes, | And I had that which any inferior might [Lafeu, Now, justice on the doers! King. I wonder, sir, since wives are monsters to you, And that you fly them as you swear them lordship, Laf. Your reputation [to Bertram] comes too short ness Lay a more noble thought upon mine honour, Count. He blushes, and 't is his: Of six preceding ancestors, that gem Methought, you said, What of him? He's quoted for a most perfidious slave, With all the spots o' the world tax'd and debosh'd; Whose nature sickens but to speak a truth: Am I or that, or this, for what he 'll utter, That will speak anything? King. She hath that ring of yours. Ber. I think she has certain it is I lik'd her, And boarded her i' the wanton way of youth: She knew her distance, and did angle for me, Madding my eagerness with her restraint, As all impediments in fancy's course Are motives of more fancy; and, in fine, Her insuit coming with her modern grace, Subdued me to her rate: she got the ring; Dia. I must be patient; You, that have turn'd off a first so noble wife, I pray you yet, May justly diet me. (Since you lack virtue I will lose a husband,) Send for your ring, I will return it home, Ber. I have it not. And give me mine again. King. What ring was yours, I pray you? Dia. Sir, much like the same upon your finger. King. Know you this ring? this ring was his of late. Dia. And this was it I gave him, being a-bed. King. The story then goes false, you threw it him Out of a casement. Dia. I have spoke the truth. Enter Parolles. Ber. My lord, I do confess the ring was hers. King. You boggle shrewdly, every feather starts Is this the man you speak of? [you.Dia. Ay, my lord. King. Tell me, sirrah, but tell me true, I charge Not fearing the displeasure of your master, [you, (Which, on your just proceeding I'll keep off,) By him, and by this woman here, what know you? Par. So please your majesty, my master hath been an honourable gentleman; tricks he hath had in him which gentlemen have. King. Come, come, to the purpose: Did he love this woman? Par. 'Faith, sir, he did love her But how? Par. He loved her, sir, and loved her not. Par. I am a poor man, and at your majesty's command. [orator. Laf. He's a good drum, my lord, but a naughty Dia. Do you know he promised me marriage? Par. 'Faith, I know more than I'll speak. King. But wilt thou not speak all thou know'st? Par. Yes, so please your majesty: I did go between them, as I said; but more than that, he loved her,-for, indeed, he was mad for her, and talked of Satan, and of limbo, and of furies, and I know not what yet I was in that credit with them at that time, that I knew of their going to bed; and of other motions, as promising her marriage, and things which would derive me ill will to speak of, therefore I will not speak what I know. King. Thou hast spoken all already, unless thou canst say they are married: But thou art too fine in thy evidence; therefore stand aside.—This ring, you say, was yours? Dia. Ay, my good lord. King. Where did you buy it? or who gave it you? Dia. It was not given me, nor I did not buy it. King. Who lent it you? Dia. It was not lent me neither. King. Where did you find it then? Dia. I found it not. King. This ring was mine, I gave it his first wife. I'll never tell you. King. Take her away. while? Dia. Because he 's guilty, and he is not guilty: I am either maid, or else this old man's wife. King. Re-enter Widow, with Helena. Is there no exorcist Beguiles the truer office of mine eyes? Is 't real that I see? Hel. No, my good lord; 'T is but the shadow of a wife you see, The name, and not the thing. Ber. Both, both; O, pardon! Hel. O, my good lord, when I was like this maid, I found you wond'rous kind. There is your ring, And, look you, here 's your letter; This it says, 'When from my finger you can get this ring, And are by me with child,' &c.-This is done: Will you be mine, now you are doubly won? Ber. If she, my liege, can make me know this clearly, I'll love her dearly, ever, ever dearly. King. Let us from point to point this story know, (Advancing.) [Flourish. The king's a beggar, now the play is done : All is well ended, if this suit be won, That you express content; which we will pay, With strife to please you, day exceeding day: Ours be your patience then, and yours our parts; Your gentle hands lend us, and take our hearts. [Exeunt. ACT I. SCENE I.-An Apartment in the Duke's Palace. Enter Duke, Curio, Lords; Musicians attending. Duke. If music be the food of love, play on. Give me excess of it; that surfeiting, The appetite may sicken, and so die. That strain again;-it had a dying fall: O, it came o'er my ear like the sweet sound That breathes upon a bank of violets, Stealing, and giving odour.-Enough; 'Tis not so sweet now as it was before. O, spirit of love, how quick and fresh art thou! That, notwithstanding thy capacity Receiveth as the sea, nought enters there, Of what validity and pitch soe'er, But falls into abatement and low price, no more; Even in a minute! so full of shapes is fancy, That it alone is high-fantastical. Cur. Will you go hunt, my lord? Duke. What, Curio? Cur. The hart. The element itself, till seven years' heat, Duke. O, she that hath a heart of that fine frame, SCENE II.-The Sea-coast. Enter Viola, Captain, and Sailors. Vio. What country, friends, is this? Cap. This is Illyria, lady. Vio. And what should I do in Illyria? My brother he is in Elysium. [sailors? Perchance he is not drown'd:-What think you, Cap. It is perchance that you yourself were sav'd. Vio. O my poor brother! and so, perchance, may [chance, he be. Cap. True, madam; and, to comfort you with Assure yourself, after our ship did split, When you, and those poor number sav'd with you, |