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your birth and virtue gives you commission. You are not worth another word, elle I'd call you knave. I


leave you.



Enter Bertram.

Par. Good, very good, it is so then. Good, ve- , ry good, let it be conceal'd a while.

Ber. Undone, and forfeited cares for ever!
Par. What is the matter, sweet heart?

Ber. Although before the folemn priest I've sworn,
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-wickly here at home;
Spending his manly marrow in her arms,
Which should sustain the bound and high curvet
Of Mars's fiery steed : to other regions
France is a ftable, we that dwell in 't jades,
Therefore to th' war.

Ber. It shall be fo, I'll send her to my house,
Acquaint my mother with my hate to her,
And wherefore I am fled; write to the King
That which I durft not speak. His prefent gift
Shall furnish me to those Italian fields,
Where noble fellows strike. War is no ftrife
To the dark house, and the detested wife.

Par. Will this capricio hold in thee, art sure ?

Ber. Go with me to my chamber, and advise me.
I'll send her straight away : to-morrow
I'll to the wars, she to her fingle forrow.
Par. Why, these bails bound, there's noise in it.-

Tis hard;
A young man married, is a man that's marrd:

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Therefore away, and leave her bravely; go,
The King hath done you wrong: but, huih! 'tis fo.


SCENE IX. Enter Helena and Clown.
Hel. My mother greets me kindly, is she well?

Clo. She is not well, but yet she has her health; she's very merry, but yet she is not well: but, thanks be given, she's very well, and wants nothing i'th' world; but yet

she is not well. Hel. If she be very well, what does she ail, that she's not very well?

Cl.. 'Truly, she's very well, indeed, but for two things.

Hel. What two things?

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

Enter Parolles.
Par. Bless 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 still. O, my knave, how does my

old lady? Clo. So that you had her wrinkles and I her money, I would she did as you fay.

Par. Why, I say nothing.

Clo. Marry, you are the wiser man; for many a man's tongue speaks out his master's undoing. To say 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.

Glo. You should have faid, Sir, before a knare 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 search, Sir, was profitable, and

A very

much fool may you find in you, even to the world's pleasure, and the increase of laughter.

Par. A good knave, i’faith, and well fed. Madam, my Lord will go away to night,

ferious business calls on him. The great prerogative and rite of love, Which, as your due, time claims, he does acknowBut puts it off by a compellid reftraint :

Whose want and whose delay is strew'd with sweets
Which they distil now in the curbed time,
To make the coming hour o’erflow with joy,
And pleasure drown the brim.

Hel. What's his will else ?
Par. That you will take your instant leave o'th'

And make this haite as your own good proceeding;
Strengthen’d with what apolcsy you think
May make it probable need. .

Hel. What more commands he ?

Par. That having this obtain'd, you prefently
Attend his further pleafure.

Hel. In every thing I wait upon his will.
Par. I shall report it so.

[Exit Parolles. Hel. I pray you.----Come, firrah. [To Clown.

[Exeunt. SCENE X. Enier Lafeu and Bertram. Laf. But I hope your Lordship thinks not him a soldier.

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

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

Ber. I do assure you, my Lord, he is very great in knowledge, and accordingly valan.

Laf. I have then finnud against his experience, and tranfgress’d against his valour; and my state that way is dangerous, since I canaor yet find in my hcart to repent. Here he comes; I pray you, make us friends, I will pursue the inity.

God save you,

Enter Parolles,
Par. These things shall be done, Sir.
Laf. I pray you, Sir, who's his tailor?
Par. Sir ?

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

Ber. Is she gone to the King ? [Afide to Parolles.
Par. She is.
Ber. Will she away to-night?
Par. As you'll have her.

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

Laf. A good traveller is something at the latter end of a dinner; but one that Iyes three thirds, and uses a known truth to pass a thousand nothings with, should be once heard, and thrice beaten.Captain.

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

Par. I know not how I have deserved to run into my Lord's displeasure.

Laf. You have made shift to run into 't, boots and spurs and all, like him that leapt into the custard; and out of it you'll run again, rather than suffer question for your residence.

Ber., It may be you have mistaken him, my Lord.

Laf. And shall do so ever, tho' I took him at's prayers. Fare you well, my Lord; and believe this of me, there can be no kernel in this light nut : the foul of this man is his cloaths. Trust him not in matter of heavy consequence. I have kept of them tame, and know their natures. Farewel, Monsieur ; I have spoken better of you, than you have or will deserve at my hand, but we must do good against evil. [Exit. Par. An idle Lord, I swear.Ber. I think so. Par. Why, do you not know him?

Ber. Yes, I know him well, and common speech Gives him a worthy pass. Here comes my clog.

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SCENE XI. Enter Helena.
Hel. I have, Sir, as I was commanded from you,
Spoke with the King, and have procur'd his leave
For present parting ; only he desires
Some private speech with you.

Ber. I shall obey his will.
You must not marvel, Helen, at my course,
Which holds not colour with the time ; nor does
The ministration and required office
On my particular. Prepar'd I was not
For such a business; therefore am I found
So much unsettled : this drives me to intreat you,
That presently you take your way for home,
And rather muse, than ask, why I intreat you ;
For my respects are better than they seem,
And my appointments have in them a need
Greater than shews itself at the first view,
To you that know them not. This to my mother.

[Giving a letter.
"Twill be two days ere I shail fee you, so
I leave you to your wisdom.

Hel. Sir, I can nothing fay,
But that I am your most obedient servant.

Ber. Come, come, no more of that.

Hel. And ever shall
With true observance feek to eke out that,
Wherein tow’rd me my homely stars have fail'd,
To equal my great fortune.

Ber. Let that
My hafte is very great. Farewel; hie home.

Hel. Pray, Sir, your pardon.
Ber. Well, what would you say?

Hel. I am not worthy of the wealth I owe :
Nor dare I say, 'tis mine, and yet it is;
But, like a tim'rous thief, most fain would steal
What law does vouch mine own.
Ber. What would you

have ?
Hel. Something, and scarce so much-nothing, in-

deedI would not tell you what I would, my Lord—'faith,

yes ;


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