And wore us out of act. It much repairs2 me
To talk of your good father: In his youth
He had the wit, which I can well observe
To-day in our young lords; but they may jest,
Till their own scorn return to them unnoted,
Ere they can hide their levity in honour3.
So like a courtier, contempt nor bitterness
Were in his pride or sharpness: if they were,
His equal had awak'd them; and his honour,
Clock to itself, knew the true minute when
Exception bid him speak, and, at this time,
His tongue obey'd his 5 hand: who were below him
He us'd as creatures of another place;
And bow'd his eminent top to their low ranks,
Making them proud of his humility,

In their poor praise he humbled: Such a man
Might be a copy to these younger times;

Which, follow'd well, would démonstrate them now
But goers
backward.

Ber.

His good remembrance, sir,

Lies richer in your thoughts, than on his tomb;

2 To repair in these plays generally signifies to renovate. Thus, in Cymbeline :

'O disloyal thing

That should'st repair my youth.'

3 That is, 6 cover petty faults with great merit:' honour does not stand for dignity of rank or birth, but acquired reputation. This is an excellent observation (says Johnson), jocose follies, and slight offences, are only allowed by mankind in him that overpowers them by great qualities.'

4 Nor was sometimes used without reduplication. He was so like a courtier, that there was in his dignity of manner nothing contemptuous, and in his keenness of wit nothing bitter. If bitterness or contemptuousness ever appeared, they had been awakened by some injury, not of a man below him, but of his equal.

5 His for its.

So in approof lives not his epitaph,
As in your royal speech.

King. 'Would, I were with him! He would al

ways say,

(Methinks I hear him now; his plausive words
He scatter'd not in ears, but grafted them,
To grow there, and to bear)-Let me not live,-
Thus his good melancholy oft began,

On the catastrophe and heel of pastime,
When it was out,-let me not live, quoth he,
After my flame lacks oil, to be the snuff
Of younger spirits, whose apprehensive senses
All but new things disdain; whose judgments are
Mere fathers of their garments; whose constancies
Expire before their fashions:This he wish'd:
I, after him, do after him wish too,

Since I nor wax, nor honey, can bring home,
I quickly were dissolved from my hive,

To give some labourers room.

2 Lord.

You are lov'd, sir;

They, that least lend it you, shall lack you first. King. I fill a place, I know't.—How long is't,count, Since the physician at your father's died?

He was much fam'd.

Ber.

Some six months since, my lord. King. If he were living, I would try him yet;Lend me an arm;-the rest have worn me out With several applications :-nature and sickness Debate it at their leisure. Welcome, count; My son's no dearer.

Ber.

Thank your majesty.
[Exeunt. Flourish.

6 The approbation of his worth lives not so much in his epitaph

as in your royal speech.

7 Who have no other use of their faculties than to invent new modes of dress.

8 So in Macbeth:

'Death and nature do contend about them.'

VOL. III.

Y

SCENE III. Rousillon.

A Room in the Countess's Palace.

Enter Countess, Steward, and Clown1. Count. I will now hear: what say you of this gentlewoman?

Stew. Madam, the care I have had to even your content, I wish might be found in the calendar of my past endeavours; for then we wound our modesty, and make foul the clearness of our deservings, when of ourselves we publish them.

Count. What does this knave here? Get you gone, sirrah: The complaints, I have heard of you, I do not all believe; 'tis my slowness, that I do not: for, I know, you lack not folly to commit them, and have ability enough to make such knaveries yours. Clo. "Tis not unknown to you, madam, I am a poor fellow.

Count. Well, sir.

Clo. No, madam, 'tis not so well, that I am poor; though many of the rich are damned: But, if I may have your ladyship's good will to go to the world 3, Isbel the woman and I will do as we may. Count. Wilt thou needs be a beggar? Clo. I do beg your goodwill in this case. Count. In what case?

1 The Clown in this comedy is a domestic fool of the same kind as Touchstone. Such fools were, in the poet's time, maintained in all great families to keep up merriment in the house. Cartwright, in one of the copies of verses prefixed to the works of Beaumont and Fletcher, censures such dialogues as this, and that between Olivia and the Clown in Twelfth Night:

Shakspeare to thee was dull, whose best jest lies
I'th' lady's questions, and the fool's replies,

Old fashion'd wit, which walk'd from town to town
In trunk-hose, which our fathers called the clown.'
2 To act up to your desires.
3 To be married.

Clo. In Isbel's case, and mine own.

Service is

no heritage: and, I think, I shall never have the blessing of God, till I have issue of my body; for, they say, bearns are blessings.

4

Count. Tell me thy reason why thou wilt marry.

Clo. My poor body, madam, requires it: I am driven on by the flesh; and he must needs go, that the devil drives.

Count. Is this all your worship's reason?

Clo. Faith, madam, I have other holy reasons, such as they are.

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 marry, that I may repent.

Count. Thy marriage, sooner than thy wickedness. Clo. I am out of friends, madam; and I hope to have friends for my wife's sake.

Count. Such friends are thine enemies, knave. Clo. You are shallow, madam; e'en great friends; for the knaves come to do that for me, which I am a-weary of. He, that ears 5 my land, spares my team, and gives me leave to inn the crop: if I be his cuckold, he's my drudge: He, that comforts my wife, is the nourisher of my flesh and blood; he, that cherishes my flesh and blood, loves my flesh and blood; he, that loves my flesh and blood, is my friend: ergo, he that kisses my wife, is my friend. If men could be contented to be what they are, there were no fear in marriage: for young Charbon the puritan, and old Poysam 7 the papist, howsoe'er their hearts are severed in religion, their heads are both 4 Children. 6 Therefore.

5 Ploughs.

7 Malone conjectures that we should read, Poisson the papist,' alluding to the custom of eating fish on fast days: as Charbon the puritan alludes to the fiery zeal of that sect. It is much in Shakspeare's manner to use significant names.

one, they may joll horns together, like any deer i'the herd.

Count. Wilt thou ever be a foul-mouthed and calumnious knave?

Clo. A prophet I, madam; and I speak the truth the next way8:

For I the ballad will repeat,

Which men full true shall find;
Your marriage comes by destiny,
Your cuckoo sings by kind9.

Count. Get you gone, sir; I'll talk with

anon.

you more

Stew. May it please you, madam, that he bid Helen come to you; of her I am to speak.

Count. Sirrah, tell my gentlewoman, I would speak with her; Helen I mean.

Clo. Was this fair face the cause, quoth she,

Why the Grecians sacked Troy?

Fond done 10, done fond,

[Singing.

Count. What, one good in ten; you corrupt the song, sirrah.

Clo. One good woman in ten, madam; which is 8 The readiest way. 9 i. e. nature.

10 Foolishly done. 11 The name of Helen brings to the Clown's memory this fragment of an old ballad; something has escaped him it appears, for Paris' was king Priam's only joy,' as Helen was Sir Paris's. According to two fragments quoted by the commentators.