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Clo. Truly, Fortune's difpleasure is but fluttish, if it fmell fo ftrongly as thou fpeak'st of: I will henceforth eat no fish of Fortune's butt'ring. Pr'ythee, allow the wind.

Par. Nay, you need not to stop your nofe, Sir; I fpake but by a metaphor.

Clo. Indeed, Sir, if your metaphor ftink, I will flop my nofe against any man's metaphor. Pry'thee, get thee further.

Par. Pray you, Sir, deliver me this paper.

Clo. Foh! pr'ythee, ftand away; a paper from Fortune's close-ftool, 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 mufk-cat ;) that hath fall'n into the unclean fifhpond of her displeasure, and as he fays, is.muddied withal. Pray you, Sir, ufe the carp as you may; for he looks like a poor, decayed, ingenious, fooli, rafcally knave. (37) I do pity his diftrefs in my miles of comfort, and leave him to your Lordship. Par. My Lord, I am a man whom fortune hath cruelly feratch'd..

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-Laf. And what would you have me to do? 'tis too late to pare hez nails now. Wherein have you play'd the knave with fortune, that she should feratch you, who of herself is a good Lady, and would not have knaves thrive long under her? there's a Quart-deca for you: let the juftices make you and fortune friends; I am for other bufinefs.

ceeded from this because la Chambre bafe was always over the moat and therefore the Clown humoroufly fays, when Parolics is preffing him to deliver his letter to Lord Lafu.- ·Hob! pr'yibe fand away: A paper from Fortune's clofefiool, to give to a nobleman!"

(37) I do pity bis dfirefs in my fmiles of comfort,] This very hue. morous paffage my friend. Mr. Warburton rescued from nonfenfe moft happily, by the infertion of a fingle letter, in the manner have reform'd the text. Thefe fimiles of comfort are ironically meant by the Clown; as much as to fay, you may perceive, how much I think he deferves comfort, by my calling him Fortune's Cat, Carp,. nafcally Knave, &c.

Par.

Par. I befeech your honour, to hear me one fingle word..

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Laf. You beg a fingle penny more come, you shall ha't, fave your word.

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

Laf. You beg more than one word then. Cox' my paffion! give me your hand: hew does your drum k Par. O my good Lord, you were the firft that found

me..

Laf. Was I, infooth and I was the firft, that loft

thee.

Par. It lies in you, my Lord, to bring me in fome grace, for you did bring me out.

Laf Out upon thee, knave! doft 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. [Sound trumpets.] The King's coming, I know, by his trumpets. Sirrah, inquire further after me, I had talk of you last night; tho' you are a fool and a knave, you fhall eat; go to, follow.

Par. I praife God for you.

[Exeunt. Flourish. Enter King, Countess, Lafeu, the two French Lords, with attendants.

King. We loft a jewel of her, (38) our esteem
Was made much poorer by it; but your fon,
As mad in folly, lack'd the fenfe to know.
Her estimation home.

(38)

our esteem...

Was made much poorer by it:] What's the meaning of the King's efteem being made poorer by the lofs of Helen? I think, it can only be understood in one fenfe; and that fenfe won't carry water: i. e. We fuffer'd in our eftimation by her lofs. But how fo? Did the King contribute to her misfortunes? Nothing like it. Or. did he not do all in his power to prevent them? Yes; he married Bertram to her. We must certainly read therefore ;

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Was made much poorer by it:

That's the certain confequence of any one's losing a jewel, for their eftate to be made proportionably poorer according to the value of the

lofs.

Mr. Warburton.

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(39) Natural rebellion, done i'th' blade of youth, When oil and fire, too ftrong for reafon'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 firft I beg my pardon; the young Lord
Didoto his Majesty, his Mother, and his Lady,
Offence of mighty note; but to himself
The greateft wrong of all. He loft a wife,
Whofe beauty did aftonish the furvey

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

King. Praifing what is loft,

Makes the remembrance dear. Well-call him hither
We're reconcil'd, and the first view shall 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 should.

Gent. I fhall, my Liege,

A

(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 feems more in Shakespeare's way of thinking to suppose he wrote;

Natural rebellion done i'tb' blaze of youth,

ie. in the fervour, flame, &c. So he has exprefs'd himfelf, upon a like occafion, in Hamlet,

I do know,

When the blood burns, how prodigal the foul

Lends the tongue vows. Thefe blazes, O my daughter, e

And fo, again, in his Troilus and Creffida;

For Hector, in his blaze of wrath, fubfcribes

To tender objects.-.-.

King. What fays he to your daughter? Have you spoke Laf. All, that he is, hath reference to your Highnefs.1 King. Then fhall we have a match. I have letters fent That fet him high in fame.

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Enter Bertram. 45ở gỗi n40

Laf. He looks well on't.

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King. I'm not a day of feafon,

For thou may'ft fee a fun-fhine and a hail
In me at once; but to the brightest beams

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Distracted clouds give way; fo ftand thou forth,
The time is fair again.

Ber. My high-repented blames,

Dear fovereign, pardon to me,
King. All is whole,

Not one word more of the confumed time,
Let's take the inftant by the forward top;
For we are old, and on our quick'st decrees
Th' inaudible and noiselefs foot of time
Steals, ere we can effect them. You remember
The daughter of this Lord?

Ber. Admiringly, my Liege. At first
I stuck 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 perspective did lend me,
Which warp'd the line of every other favour;
Scorn'd a fair colour, or exprefs'd it foll'n,
Extended or contracted all proportions
To a most hideous object; thence it came,
That fhe, whom all men prais'd, and whom my felf
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 triviabprice of ferious things we have,"
Not knowing them, until we know their grave.
Oft our displeasures, to ourselves unjust
Deftroy 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, v
The main confents are had, and here we'll stay
To fee our widower's fecond marriage-day:

Count. (40) Which better than the firft, O dear heav'n, Or, ere they meet, in me, O nature, ceafe! [blefs, Laf. Come on, my fon, in whom my houfe's name Muft 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 fhould ftead her most ?

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

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(40) Which better than the fift, O dear heav'n bless,

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

Count.

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