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with lying; the longer kept, the less worth: off The mightiest space in fortune nature brings with't, while 'tis vendible : answer the time of To join like likes, and kiss like native things. request. Virginity, like an old courtier, wears her Impossible be strange attempts to those cap out of fashion; richly suited, but unsuitable : That weigh their pains in sense; and do suppose, just like the brooch and the tooth-pick, which wear What hath been cannot be. Who ever strove
Your date is better in your pie and your To show her merit, that did miss her love? porridge, than in your cheek : and your virginity, The king's disease-my project may deceive me. your old virginity, is like one of our French with But my intents are fix'd, and will not leave me. ered pears: it looks ill, it eats dryly; marry, 'tis a
[E.cit. withered pear; it was formerly better; marry, yet, ‘tis a withered pear. Will you any thing with it? Hel. Not my virginity yet.
SCENE II.- Paris. A Room in the King's Palace. There shall your master have a thousand loves,
Flourish of cornets. Enter the King of France, A mother, and a mistress, and a friend,
with leiters; Lords and others attending. A phenix, captain, and an enemy, A guide, a goddess, and a sovereign,
King. The Florentines and Senoys are by th' A counsellor, a traitress, and a dear;
ears; His humble ambition, proud humility,
Have fought with equal fortune, and continue His jarring concord, and his discord dulcet,
A braving war. His faith, his sweet disaster; with a world
1 Lord. So 'tis reported, sir. Of pretty, fond, adoptious christendoms,
King. Nay, 'tis most credible: we here receive it That blinking Cupid gossips. Now shall he A certainty, vouch'd from our cousin Austria, I know not what he shall :-God send him well! - With caution, that the Florentine will move us The court's a learning-place ;—and he is one For speedy aid ; wherein our dearest friend Par. What one, i'faith?
Prejudicates the business, and would seem Hel. That I wish well.—'Tis pity
To have us make denial. Par. What's pity ?
His love and wisdom, Hel. That wishing well had not a body in't,
Approv'd so to your majesty, may plead Which might be felt; that we, the poorer born,
For amplest credence. Whose baser stars do shut us up in wishes,
He hath arm'd our answer, Might with effects of them follow our friends,
And Florence is denied before he comes : And show what we alone must think; which never Yet, for our gentlemen, that mean to see Returns us thanks.
The Tuscan service, freely have they leave
To stand on either part.
It may well serve Page. Monsieur Parolles, my lord calls for you. A nursery to our gentry, who are sick
[Erit Page. For breathing and exploit. Par. Little Helen, farewell: if I can remember King.
What's he comes here? thee, I will think of thee at court. Hel. Monsieur Parolles, you were born under a
Enter BERTRAM, LAFEU, and PAROLLES. charitable star.
1 Lord. It is the count Rousillon, my good lord, Par. Under Mars.
Young Bertram. Hel. I especially think, under Mars.
King. Youth, thou bear'st thy father's face; Par. Why under Mars ?
Frank nature, rather curious than in haste, Hel. The wars have so kept you under, that
Hath well compos'd thee. Thy father's moral parts must needs be born under Mars.
May'st thou inherit too! Welcome to Paris. Par. When he was predominant.
Ber. My thanks and duty are your majesty's. Hel. When he was retrograde, I think, rather. King. I would I had that corporal soundness Par. Why think you so ? Hel. You go so much backward when you fight. As when thy father, and myself, in friendship Par. That's for advantage.
First tried our soldiership. He did look far Hel. So is running away, when fear proposes the Into the service of the time, and was safety: but the composition that your valour and Discipled of the bravest: he lasted long; fear makes in you is a virtue of a good wing, and I But on us both did haggish age steal on, like the wear well.
And wore us out of act. It much repairs me Par. I am so full of businesses, I cannot answer To talk of your good father. In his youth thee acutely. I will return perfect courtier; in the He had the wit, which I can well observe which my instruction shall serve to naturalize thee, To-day in our young lords; but they may jest, so thou wilt be capable of a courtier's counsel, and Till their own scorn return to them unnoted, understand what advice shall thrust upon thee; else | Ere they can hide their levity in honour : thou diest in thine unthankfulness, and thine igno So like a courtier, contempt nor bitterness rance makes thee away: farewell. When thou Were in his pride, or sharpness; if they were, hast leisure, say thy prayers; when thou hast none, His equal had awak'd them; and his honour, remember thy friends. Get thee a good husband, Clock to itself, knew the true minute when and use him as he uses thee: so farewell. [Erit. i Exception bid him speak, and at this time Hel. Our remedies ost in ourselves do lie,
His tongue obey'd his hand : who were below him Which we ascribe to heaven: the fated sky He us'd as creatures of another place, Gives us free scope ; only, doth backward pull And bow'd his eminent top to their low ranks, Our slow designs, when we ourselves are dull. Making them proud of his humility, What power is it which mounts my love so high; In their poor praise he humbled. Such a man That makes me see, and cannot feed mine eye? Might be a copy to these younger times,
Which, follow'd well, would demonstrate them Expire before their fashions.”—This he wish'd;
I, after him, do after him wish too, But goers backward.
Since I nor wax, nor honey, can bring home, Ber.
His good remembrance, sir, I quickly were dissolved from my hive,
You are lor'd, sir; As in your royal speech.
They, that least lend it you, shall lack you first. King. 'Would I were with him! He would King. I fill a place, I know't.—How long is't always say,
count, (Methinks, I hear him now; his plausive words Since the physician at your father's died ? He scatter'd not in ears, but grafted them,
He was much fam'd. To grow there, and to bear,)—“Let me not live,"'
Some six months since, my lord. This his good melancholy oft began,
King. If he were living, I would try him yet:On the catastrophe and heel of pastime,
Lend me an arm :—the rest have worn me out When it was out, “ let me not live," quoth he, With several applications : nature and sickness “ After my flame lacks oil, to be the snuff
Debate it at their leisure. Welcome, count; Of younger spirits, whose apprehensive senses My son's no dearer. All but new things disdain; whose judgments are Ber.
Thank your majesty. Mere fathers of their garments; whose constancies
SCENE III.-Rousillon. A Room in the Countess's Count. May the world know them?
Clo. I have been, madam, a wicked creature, as
you and all flesh and blood are; and, indeed, I do Enter CountESS, Steward, and Clown.
marry that I may repent. Count. I will now hear: what say you of this Count. Thy marriage, sooner than thy wickedgentlewoman?
ness. Stew. Madam, the care 1 have had to even your Clo. I am out o' friends, madam; and I hope to content, I wish might be found in the calendar of have friends for my wife's sake. my past endeavours; for then we wound our mod Count. Such friends are thine enemies, knave. esty, and make foul the clearness of our deservings, Clo. You are shallow, madam; e'en great friends ; when of ourselves we publish them.
for the knaves come to do that for me, which I am Count. What does this knave here? Get you a-weary of. He, that ears my land, spares my gone, sirrah : the complaints I have heard of you, I team, and gives me leave to inn the crop : if I be do not all believe: 'tis my slowness, that I do not; his cuckold, he's my drudge. He that comforts for I know you lack not folly to commit them, and my wife is the cherisher of my flesh and blood; he have ability enough to make such knaveries yours. that cherishes my flesh and blood loves my flesh Clo. 'Tis not unknown to you, madam, I am a and blood; he that loves my flesh and blood is my
friend : ergo he that kisses my wife is my friend. Count. Well, sir.
If men could be contented to be what they are. Clo. No, madam; 'tis not so well, that I am | there were no fear in marriage ; for young Charbon poor, though many of the rich are damned. But, the puritan, and old Poysam the papist, howif I may have your ladyship’s good-will to go to the some'er their hearts are severed in religion, their world, Isbel, the woman, and I will do as we may. heads are both one; they may joll horns together, Count. Wilt thou needs be a beggar ?
like any deer i' the herd. Clo. I do beg your good-will in this case.
Count. Wilt thou ever be a foul-mouthed and Count. In what case ?
calumnious knave? Clo. In Isbel's case, and mine own. Service is Clo. A prophet I, madam; and I speak the truth no heritage; and, I think, I shall never have the the next way: blessing of God, till I have issue of my body, for they
For I the ballad will repeat, say, barnes are blessings. Count. Tell me thy reason why thou wilt marry.
Which men full true shall find ;
Your marriage comes by destiny, Clo. My poor body, madam, requires it: I am
Your cuckoo sings by kind. driven on by the flesh, and he must needs go, that the devil drives.
Count. Get you gone, sir: I'll talk with you more Count. Is this all your worship’s reason ?
Clo. Faith, madam, I have other holy reasons, Stew. May it please you, madam, that he bid such as they are.
Helen come to you: of her I am to speak.
Count. Sirrah, tell my gentlewoman, I would Where love's strong passion is impress'd in youth: speak with her; Helen I mean.
By our remembrances of days foregone,
Such were our faults; or then we thought thra
Her eye is sick on't: I observe ber now.
Hel. What is your pleasure, madam!
You bnow. Her
I am a mother to you.
Hel. Mine honourable mistress.
Nay, a mother
Why not a mother? When I said, a mother. There's yet one good in ten.
Methought you saw a serpent: what's in moth:
That you start at it? I say, I am your mother. Count. What! one good in ten? you corrupt the And put you in the catalogue of those
That were enwombed mine. 'Tis often seen, Clo. One good woman in ten, madam, which is Adoption strives with nature; and choice breeds a purifying o’the song.
Would God would serve A native slip to us from foreign seeds : the world so all the year! we'd find no fault with You ne'er oppress'd me with a mother's gruan, the tythe-woman, if I were the parson. One in ten, Yet I express to you a mother's care.quoth a'! an we might have a good woman born God's mercy, maiden! does it curd thy blood, but on every blazing star, or at an earthquake, | To say, I am thy mother? What's the matter. 'twould mend the lottery well : a man may draw That this distemper'd messenger of wet, his heart out, ere he pluck one.
The many-colour’d Iris, rounds thine eye!Count. You'll be gone, sir knave, and do as I Why, that you are my daughter? command you ?
That I am not. Clo. That man should be at woman's command, Count. I say, I am your mother. and yet no hurt done !— Though honesty be no Hel.
Pardon, madar puritan, yet it will do no hurt; it will wear the The count Rousillon cannot be my brother: surplice of humility over the black gown of a big I am from humble, he from honour'd name; heart.--I am going, forsooth: the business is for No note upon my parents, his all noble : Helen to come hither.
[Erit. My master, my dear lord he is; and I Count. Well, now.
His servant live, and will his vassal die. Stew. I know, madam, you love your gentlewo- He must not be my brother. man entirely.
Nor 1 your mother! Count. Faith, I do: her father bequeathed her to Hel. You are my mother, madam: would te me; and she herself, without other advantage, may lawfully make title to as much love as she finds: (So that my lord, your son, were not my brother there is more owing her than is paid, and more Indeed, my mother -or were you both our mother: shall be paid her than she'll demand.
I care no more for, than I do for heaven, Stew. Madam, I was very late more near her So I were not his sister. Can't no other, than, I think, she wished me: alone she was, and But, I your daughter, he must be my brother! did communicate to herself, her own words to her Count. Yes, Helen, you might be my daughter own ears; she thought, I dare vow for her, they
in-law. touched not any stranger sense.
Her matter was, God shield, you mean it not! daughter and mother she loved your son: fortune, she said, was no god. So strive upon your pulse. What, pale again? dess, that had put such difference betwixt their two My fear hath catch'd your fondness : Now I see estates; love, no god, that would not extend his The mystery of your loneliness, and find might, only where qualities were level; Diana, no Your salt tears' head. Now to all sepse 'tis gruss. queen of virgins, that would suffer her poor knight You love my son : invention is ashamd, to be surprised, without rescue, in the first assault, Against the proclamation of thy passion, or ransom afterward. This she delivered in the To say, thou dost not : therefore tell me true; most bitter touch of sorrow, that e'er I heard virgin But tell me then, 'tis so:—for, look, thy cheeks exclaim in; which I held my duty speedily to Confess it, th' one to the other; and thine eyes acquaint you withal, sithence in the loss that inay See it so grossly shown in thy behaviours, happen it concerns you something to know it. That in their kind they speak it : only sin,
Count. You have discharged this honestly : keep And hellish obstinacy tie thy tongue, it to yourself. Many likelihoods informed me of That truth should be suspected. Speak, is't so! this before, which hung so tottering in the balance, If it be so, you have wound a goodly clue; that I could neither believe, nor misdoubt. Pray If it be not, forswear't: howe'er, I charge thee, you, leave me : stall this in your bosom, and I thank As heaven shall work in me for thine avail, you for your honest care. I will speak with you To tell me truly, further anon.
(Exit Steward. Hel. Good madam, pardon me.
Count. Do you love my son ?
Your pardon, noble mistras, Count. Even so it was with me, when I was Count. Love you my son ? young :
Do not you love him, madam! If ever we are nature's, these are ours; this Count. Go not about: my love hath in't a bond. thorn
Whereof the world takes note. Come, come Doth to our rose of youth rightly belong;
disclose Our blood to us, this to our blood is born ; The state of your affection, for your passions It is the show and seal of nature's truth,
Have to the full appeach'd.
More than they were in note. Amongst the rest,
The king is render'd lost. My friends were poor, but honest; so's my love: Count.
This was your motive Be not offended, for it hurts not him,
For Paris, was it ? speak. That he is lov'd of me. I follow him not
Hel. My lord, your son, made me to think of By any token of presumptuous suit; Nor would I have him, till I do deserve him, Else Paris, and the medicine, and the king, Yet never know how that desert should be.
Had, from the conversation of my thoughts, I know I love in vain, strive against hope;
Haply been absent then. Yet, in this captious and intenible sieve,
But think you, Helen, I still pour in the waters of my love,
If you should tender your supposed aid, And lack not to lose still. Thus, Indian-like, He would receive it? He and his physicians Religious in mine error, I adore
Are of a mind; he, that they cannot help him, The sun, that looks upon his worshipper,
They, that they cannot help. How shall they credit But knows of him no more. My dearest madam, A poor unlearned virgin, when the schools, Let not your hate encounter with my love,
Embowell'd of their doctrine, have left off For loving where you do: but, if yourself,
The danger to itself? Whose aged honour cites a virtuous youth,
There's something in't, Did ever, in so true a flame of liking,
More than my father's skill, which was the greatest Wish chastely, and love dearly, that your Dian Of his profession, that his good receipt Was both herself and love, O! then, give pity Shall, for my legacy, be sanctified To her, whose state is such, that cannot choose By the luckiest stars in heaven : and, would your But lend and give where she is sure to lose ;
honour That seeks not to find that her search implies, But give me leave to try success, I'd venture But, riddle-like, lives sweetly where she dies. The well-lost life of mine on his grace's cure,
Count. Had you not lately an intent, speak truly, By such a day, and hour. To go to Paris ?
Dost thou believe't ? Hel. Madam, I had.
Hel. Ay, madam, knowingly. Count.
Wherefore ? tell true. Count. Why, Helen, thou shalt have my leave, Hel. I will tell truth; by grace itself, I swear.
and love, You know, my father left me some prescriptions Means, and attendants, and my loving greetings Of rare and prov'd effects, such as his reading To those of mine in court. I'll stay at home, And manifest experience had collected
And pray God's blessing into thy attempt. For general sovereignty; and that he will'd me Be gone to-morrow; and be sure of this, In heedfull'st reservation to bestow them,
What I can help thee to thou shalt not miss. As notes, whose faculties inclusive were