Par. Well, thou hast a fon fhall take this difgrace off me; fcurvy, old, filthy, fcurvy Lord!-well, I muft be patient, there is no fettering of authority. I'll beat him, by my life, if I can meet him with any convenience, an he were double and double a Lord. I'll have no more pity of his age, than I would have of→→→→ I'll beat him, an if I could but meet him again.

Re-enter Lafeu.'

Laf. Sirrah, your Lord and master's married, there's news for you: you have a new mistress.

Par. I moft unfeignedly befeech your Lordfhip to make some reservation of your wrongs. He, my good Lord, whom I ferve above, is my master.

Laf. Who God?

Par. Ay, Sir.

Laf. The devil it is, that's thy mafter. Why doft thou garter up thy arms o' this fashion? doft make hofe of thy fleeves? do other fervants fo? thou wert beft fet thy lower part where thy nofe ftands. By mine. honour, if I were but two hours younger, I'd beat thee: methinks, thou art a general offence, and every man should beat thee. I think, thou waft created for men to breathe themselves upon thee.

Par. This is hard and undeserved measure, my Lord. Laf. Go to, Sir; you were beaten in Italy for picking a kernel out of a pomegranate; you are a vagabond, and no true traveller: you are more faucy with Lords and honourable perfonages, than the commiffion of your birth and virtue gives you heraldry. You are not worth another word, else I'd call you knave. I leave you. [Exit..

Enter Bertram.

Par. Good, very good, it is fo then.-Good, very good, let it be conceal'd awhile.

Ber. Undone, and forfeited to cares for ever?

Par. What is the matter, fweet heart ?

Ber. Although before the folemn priest I've fworn,

I will not bed her.

Par. What? what, sweet heart?

Ber. O my Parolles, they have married me: I'll to the Tuscan wars, and never bed her.

Par. France is a dog-hole, and it no more merits the tread of a man's foot: to th' wars.

Ber. There's letters from my mother; what the import is, I know not yet.

Par. Ay, that would be known to th' wars, my boy, to th' wars.

He wears his honour in a box unfeen,

That hugs his kickfy-wickfy here at home;
Spending his manly marrow in her arms,
Which fhould fuftain the bound and high curvet
Of Mars's fiery fteed: to other regions
France is a ftable, we that dwell in't jades,
Therefore to th' war.

Ber. It fhall be fo, I'll fend her to my houfe,
Acquaint my mother with my hate to her,
And wherefore I am fled; write to the King
That which I durft not fpeak. His prefent gift
Shall furnish me to thofe Italian fields,

Where noble fellows ftrike. War is no ftrife
To the dark house, and the detefted wife.

Par. Will this capricio hold in thee, art fure? Ber. Go with me to my chamber, and advise me. I'll fend her ftraight away: to-morrow

-I'll to the wars, the to her fingle forrow.

Par. Why, thefe balls bound, there's noife in it.'Tis hard;

A young man, married, is a man that's marr'd:
Therefore away, and leave her bravely; go,
The King has done you wrong: but, huh! 'tis fo.

Enter Helena and Clown.

[Exeunt.

Hel. My mother greets me kindly, is the well? Clo. She is not well, but yet fhe has her health; she's very merry, but yet fhe is not well: but, thanks be given, fhe's very well, and wants nothing i' th' world; but yet she is not well..

Hela

Hel. I fhe be very well, what does fhe ail, that fhe's not very well?

Clo. Truly, fhe's very well, indeed, but for two things. Hel. What two things?

Clo. One, that she's not in heav'n, whither God fend her quickly; the other, that she's in earth, from whence God fend her quickly!

Enter Parolles.

Par. Blefs you, my fortunate Lady.

Hel. I hope, Sir, I have your good will to have mine own good fortune.

Par. You had my prayers to lead them on; and to keep them on, have them ftill. O, my knave, how does my old Lady?

you

Clo. So that ħad her wrinkles and I her money, I would, fhe did, as you say.

Par. Why, I fay nothing.

Clo. Marry, you are the wifer man; for many a man's tongue fhakes out his master's undoing: to fay nothing, to do nothing, to know nothing, and to have nothing, is to be a great part of your title; which is within a very little of nothing.

Par. Away, thou'rt a knave.

Clo. You fhould have faid, Sir, before a knave, th'art a knave; that's, before me th'art a knave: this had been truth, Sir.

Par. Go to, thou art a witty fool, I have found thee. Clo. Did you find me in yourself, Sir? or were you taught to find me? the fearch, Sir, was profitable, and much fool may you find in you, even to the world's pleafure, and the encrease of laughter.

Par. A good knave, i' faith, and well fed.
Madam, my Lord will go away to-night,
A very ferious bufiness calls on him.
The great prerogative and rite of love,

Which, as your due, time claims, he does acknowledge;
But puts it off by a compell'd restraint:

Whofe want, and whofe delay, is ftrew'd with fweets Which they diftil now in the curbed time,

Τα

To make the coming hour o'erflow with joy,
And pleasure drown the brim.

Hel. What's his will elfe?

Par. That you will take your inftant leave o' th' King, And make this hafte as your own good proceeding; Strengthen'd with what apology, you think, May make it probable need.

Hel. What more commands he?

Par. That having this obtain'd, you presently

Attend his further pleasure.

Hel. (24) In every thing I wait upon his will.
Par. I fhall report it so.

Hel. I pray you.-Come, firrah.

Enter Lafeu and Bertram.

[Exit Par. [To Clown. [Exeunt.

Laf. But, I hope, your Lordship thinks not him a foldier.

Ber. Yes, my Lord, and of very valiant approof.
Laf. You have it from his own deliverance.
Ber. And by other warranted teftimony.

Laf. Then my dial goes not true; I took this lark for a bunting.

Ber. do affure you, my Lord, he is very great in knowledge, and accordingly valiant.

Laf. I have then finned against his experience, and tranfgrefs'd againft his valour; and my ftate that way is dangerous, fince I cannot yet find in my heart to repent: here he comes; I pray you, make us friends, I will purfue the amity,"

Enter Paroiles.

Par. These things fhall be done, Sir,

(24) Hel. In every thing I wait upon bis will.

Par. I fhall report it fo.

Hel. I pray you come, firrah.] The pointing of Helen's laft fhort fpeech ftands thus abfurdly, through all the editions. My regulation reftores the true meaning Upon Parolles faying, he shall report it fo; Helena is intended to reply, I pray you, do fo; and then, turning to the Clown, the more familiarly addreffes him, and bids him come along with her.

Laf

Laf. I pray you, Sir, who's his taylor?
Par. Sir?

Laf. O, I know him well; I, Sir, he, Sir's, a good workman, a very good taylor.

Ber. Is fhe gone to the King?
Par. She is.

Ber. Will he away to-night?
Par. As you'll have her.

[Afide to Parolles.

Ber. I have writ my letters, cafketed my treasure, given order for our horfes; and to-night, when I hould take poffeffion of the bride-and ere I do begin

Laf. A good traveller is fomething at the latter end of a dinner; but one that lyes three thirds, and ufes a known truth to pafs a thoufand nothings with, fhould be once heard and thrice beaten-God fave you, Captain.

Ber. Is there any unkindness between my Lord and you, Monfieur?

Par. I know not, how I have deferved to run into my Lord's difpleasure.

Laf. (25) You have made shift to run into't, boots and fpurs and all, like him that leapt into the custard; and out of it you'll run again, rather than fuffer queftion for your refidence.

Ber. It may be, you have mistaken him, my Lord. Laf. And fhall do fo ever, tho' I took him at's prayers. Fare you well, my Lord, and believe this

(25) You have made shift to run into't, boots and fpurs and all, like bim that leapt into the custard.] This odd allufion is not introduc'd, without a view to fatire. It was a foolery practis'd at city-entertainments, whilft the Jefler or Zany was in vogue, for him to jump into a large deep cuftard; fet for the purpose, to fet on a quantity of barren fpectators to laugh; as our poet fays in his Hamlet. I do not advance this without fome authority: and a quotation from Ben Jonson will very well explain it.

He ne'er will be admitted there, where Vennor comes.
He may, perchance, in tail of a Sherriff's dinner,
Skip with a rhyme o' th' table, from new-nothing;
And take his Almaine leap into a custard,
Shall make my Lady Mayoress and her fifters
Laugh all their hoods over their shoulders.

Devil's an Afs, A& I. Sc. I.

of