Count. "Tis paft, my Liege;

And I beseech your Majesty to make it

(39) Natural rebellion, done i'th' blade of youth,, When oil and fire, too ftrong for reason's force, O'erbears it, and burns on.

King. My honour'd Lady,

I have forgiven and forgotten all;

Tho' my revenges were high bent upon him,
And watch'd the time to shoot.

Laf. This I must say,

But first I beg my pardon; the young Lord
Did to his Majefty, his Mother, and his Lady,
Offence of mighty note; but to himself
The greatest wrong of all. He lost a wife,
Whole beauty did astonish the furvey

Of richeft eyes; whofe words all ears took captive;
Whofe dear perfection, hearts, that fcorn'd to ferve,
Humbly call'd mistress,

King. Praifing what is loft,

Makes the remembrance dear. Well-call him hither
We're reconcil'd, and the firft view fhall kill

All repetition: let him not afk our pardon.
The nature of his great offence is dead,
And deeper than oblivion we do bury

Th' incenfing relicks of it. Let him approach,
A ftranger, no offender; and inform him,
So 'tis our will he fhould.

Gent. I fhall, my Liege.

(39) Natural rebellion, done i'th blade of youth,] If this reading be genuine, the metaphor must be from any grain, or plant, taking fire: but, I own, it seems more in Shakespeare's way of thinking to suppose he wrote;

Natural rebellion done i'tb' blaze of youth,,

i. e. in the fervour, flame, &c. So he has exprefs'd himself, upon a like occafion, in Hamlet,

I do know,

When the blood burns, how prodigal the foul

Lends the tongue vows. These blazes, O my daughter, &.

And fo, again, in his Troilus and Creffida;

For Hector, in his blaze of wrath, fubfcribes

To tender objects.-----.

King.

King. What fays he to your daughter? Have you spoke ? Laf. All, that he is, hath reference to your Highness. King. Then fhall we have a match. I have letters fent That fet him high in fame. [me,

Enter Bertram.

Laf. He looks well on't.

King. I'm not a day of feason,

For thou may't fee a fun-fhine and a hail
In me at once; but to the brightest beams
Distracted clouds give way; fo ftand thou forth,
The time is fair again.

Ber. My high-repented blames,
Dear fovereign, paidon to me.

King All is whole,

Not one word more of the confumed time,
Let's take the inflant by the forward top;

For we are old, and on our quick'ft decrees
Th' inaudible and noifelefs foot of time
Steals, ere we can effect them. You remember
The daughter of this Lord ?

Ber. Admiringly, my Liege. At first
I ftuck my choice upon her, ere my heart
Durft make too bold a herald of my tongue:
Where the impreffion of mine eye enfixing,
Contempt his fcornful perfpective did lend me,
Which warp'd the line of every other favour;
Scorn'd a fair colour, or exprefs'd it floll'n,
Extended or contracted all proportions
To a most hideous object: thence it came,
That fhe, whom all men prais'd, and whom myfelf,
Since I have loft, have lov'd, was in mine eye
The duft that did offend it.

King. Well excus'd:

That thou didst love her, ftrikes fome fcores away From the great 'compt; but love, that comes too late, Like a remorseful pardon flowly carried,

To the great fender turns a four offence,

Crying, that's good that is gone: our rafh faults

Make

Make trivial price of ferious things we have,
Not knowing them, until we know their grave.
Oft our difpleafures, to ourselves unjuft

Destroy our friends, and, after, weep their duft:
Our own love, waking, cries to fee what's done,
While fhameful hate fleeps out the afternoon.
Be this fweet Helen's knell; and now, forget her.
Send forth your amorous token for fair Maudlin,
The main confents are had, and here we'll flay
To fee our widower's fecond marriage-day :
Count. (40) Which better than the first, Ó dear heav'n,
Or, ere they meet, in me, O nature, cease! [blefs,
Laf. Come on, my fon, in whom my houfe's name
Must be digefted: give a favour from you
To fparkle in the fpirits of my daughter,
That he may quickly come. By my old beard,
And ev'ry hair that's on't, Helen, that's dead,
Was a fweet creature: fuch a ring as this,
The laft that e'er fhe took her leave at court,
I faw upon her finger.

Ber. Her's it was not.

King. Now, pray you, let me fee it. For mine eye, While I was fpeaking, oft was faften'd to't :

This ring was mine; and, when I gave it Helen,
I bade her, if her fortunes ever stood
Neceffitied to help, that by this token

I would relieve her. Had you that craft to reave her
Of what should ftead her most?

Ber. My gracious Sovereign, Howe'er it pleafes you to take it so, The ring was never her's.

(40) Which better than the firft, O dear heav'n blefs,

Or, e'er they meet, in me, O nature, cease!] I have ventur'd, against the authority of the printed copies, to prefix the Countess's name to these two lines. The King appears, indeed, to be a fayourer of Bertram: but if Bertram fhould make a bad husband the fecond time, why fhould it give the King fuch mortal pangs? A fond and disappointed mother might reafonably not defire to live to fee fuch a day and from her the wifh of dying, rather than to behold it, comes with propriety.

Count

Count. Son, on my life,

I've feen her wear it, and fhe reckon❜d it
At her life's rate.

Laf. I'm fure, I faw her wear it.

Ber. You are deceiv'd, my Lord, fhe never faw it In Florence was it from a cafement thrown me, Wrap'd in a paper, which contain❜d the name Of her that threw it: (41) Noble fhe was, and thought I ftood ungag'd; but when I had fubfcrib'd To mine own fortune, and inform'd her fully, I could not answer in that courfe of honour As fhe had made the overture, she ceaft In heavy fatisfaction, and would' never Receive the ring again.

King. Plutas himself,

That knows the tinct and multiplying medicine,
Hath not in Nature's mystery more science,

Than I have in this ring. 'Twas mine, 'twas Helen's
Whoever gave it you: then if you know,

That you are well acquainted with yourself,
Confefs 'twas hers, and by what rough enforcement
You got it from her. She call'd the faints to furety,
That he would never put it from her finger,

Unless the gave it to yourself in bed,

(Where you have never come) or fent it us Upon her great difafter,

Ber. She never faw it..

King. Thou fpeak'ft it falfely, as I love mine honour And mak'ft conject'ral fears to come into me, Which I would fain fhut out; if it fhould prove That thou art fo inhuman-'twill not prove foAnd yet I know not-thou didst hate her deadly,

(51)

,་

noble fhe was, and thought

I food engag'd ;] I don't understand this reading; if we are to understand, that he thought Bertram engag'd to her in affection, infnar'd by her charms, this meaning is too obfcurely exprefs'd. The context rather makes me believe, that the Poet wrote,

I ftood ungag'd;

noble fhe was, and thought

i, e. unengaged: neither my heart, nor perfon, difpos'd of.

And

And fhe is dead; which nothing, but to clofe
Her eyes myself, could win me to believe,
More than to fee this ring. Take him away.

[Guards feixe Bertram. My fore-paft proofs, howe'er the matter fall, Shall tax my fears of little vanity,

Having vainly fear'd too little. Away with him,
We'll fift this matter further.

Ber. If you fhall prove,

This ring was ever hers, you fhall as eafy
Prove that I husbanded her bed in Florence,

Where yet she never was.

[Exit Bertram guarded.

Enter a Gentleman.

King. I'm wrap'd in dismal thinkings.

Gent. Gracious Sovereign,

Whether I've been to blame or no, I know not :
Here's a petition from a Florentine,

Who hath for four or five removes come fhort
To tender it herself. I undertook it,

Vanquish'd thereto by the fair grace and speech
Of the poor fuppliant, who by this, I know,
Is here attending: her bufinefs looks in her
With an importing vifage, and fhe told me,
In a fweet verbal brief, it did concern
Your Highness with herself.

The King reads a letter.

Upon his many proteftations to marry me, when his wife was dead, I blush to say it, he won me. Now is the Count Roufillon a widower, his vows are forfeited to me, and my honours paid to him. He ftole from Florence, taking no leave, and I follow him to this country for justice: grant it me, O King, in you it beft lies; other wife a feducer flourijbes, and a poor maid is undone.

Diana Capulet.

Laf. I will buy me a fon-in-law in a fair, and toll for him. For this, I'll none of him.

King. The heavens have thought well on thee, Lafeu,

To