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The praised of the King; who, fo enobled,
Is, as 'twere, born fo..

King. Take her by the hand,

And tell her, she is thine: to whom I promise
A counterpoize; if not in thy eftate,.
A ballance more repleat..

Ber. I take her hand..

King. Good fortune, and the favour of the King
Smile upon this contract; whofe ceremony
Shall feem expedient on the now-born brief,
And be perform'd to-night; the folemn feaft:
Shall more attend upon the coming fpace,
Expecting abfent friends. As thou lov'ft her,
Thy love's to me religious ;; elfe does err..

Manent Parolles and Lafeu..

[Exeuni

Laf. Do you hear, Monfieur? a word with you.
Par. Your pleasure, Sir?.

Laf. Your Lord and mafter did well to make his re

cantation..

Par. Recantation ?-my Lord? my mafter?

Laf. Ay, is it not a language I fpeak?

Par. A moft harsh one, and not to be understood without bloody fucceeding. My mafter?

Laf. Are you companion to the Count Roufillon?

Par. To any Count; to all Counts; to what is man. Laf. To what is Count's man; Count's mafter is of another ftile.

Par. You are too old, Sir; let it fatisfy you, you are too old.

Laf. I muft tell thee, firrah, I write man; to which title age cannot bring thee.

Par. What I dare too well do, I dare not do..

Laf. I did think thee, for two ordinaries, to be a pretty wife fellow; thou didst make tolerable vent of thy travel, it might pafs; yet the fcarfs and the bannerets about thee did manifoldly diffuade me from believing thee a veffel of too great a burden. I have now found thee; when I lofe thee again, I care not:: yet art thou good for nothing but taking up, and that shou'rt fcarce worth.

Par

Par. Hadft thou not the privilege of antiquity upon thee

Laf. (23) Do not plunge thyfelf too far in anger, left thou haften thy tryal; which if,-Lord have mercy on thee for a hen! fo, my good window. of lattice, fare thee well; thy cafement I need not open, I look through thee. Give me thy hand.

Par. My Lord, you give me most egregious indignity. Laf. Ay, with all my heart, and thou art worthy

of it.

Par. I have not, my Lord, deferv'd it.

Laf. Yes, good faith, ev'ry dram of it; and I will not bate thee a scruple.

Par. Well, 1 fhall be wifer

Laf. Ev'n as foon as thou can't, for thou haft to pull at a fmack o' th' contrary. If ever thou beeft. bound in thy fcarf and beaten, thou shalt find what it is to be proud of thy bondage. I have a defire to hold my acquaintance with thee, or rather my knowledge, that I may fay in the default, he is a man I know.

Par. My Lord, you do me, moft infupportable: vexation..

Laf. I would, it were hell-pains for thy fake,. and my poor doing eternal: for doing, I am past;: as I will by thee, in what motion age will give me leave. [Exit.

(23) Do not plunge thyself too far in anger, left thou baften thy tryal ;, which is, Lard bave mercy on thee for a ben ;] Mr. Rowe and Mr. Pope, either by inadvertence, or fome other fatality, have blunder': this paffage into ftark nonfenfe. I have reftor'd the reading of the old folio, and by fubjoining the mark to fhew a break is necessary, have retriev'd the poet's genuine fense:

--which if-Lord have mercy on thee for a ben!

The fequel of the fentence is imply'd, not exprefs'd: This figure the rhetoricians have call'd 'Arenas. A remarkable inftance we have of it in the first book of Virgil's Æneis.

Quos Ego-fed motos præftat componere Fluctus,

So likewife in Terence ;

Mala mens, malus animus; quem quidem Ego fi fenfero,-
Sed quid opus eft verbis ?

Andr. A I. Sc. I..

But I fhall have occafion to remark again upon it, when I come to King Lear

Pars

Par. Well, thou haft a fon fhall take this difgrace off me; fcurvy, old, filthy, fcurvy Lord!-well, I mu✯ be patient, there is no fettering of authority. I'll beat him, by my life, if I can meet him with any convenie ence, an he were double and double a Lord. I'll have no more pity of his age, than I would have of——l'Il· 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 Lordship to make fome reservation of your wrongs. He, my good Lord, whom I ferve above, is my master.

Laf. Who? God?

Par. Ay, Sir.

thou wert

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? best 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, elfe 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 prieft I've fworn,

I will not bed her.

Par

Par. What? what, fweet heart?

Ber. O my Parolles, they have married' me: P11 to the Tufcan 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 should fuftain 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 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 those Italian fields,

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

Par. Will this capricio hold in thee, art fure?
Ber. Go with me to my chamber, and advise me..
I'll fend her straight 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 Clowns.

[Exeunt.

Hel. My mother greets me kindly, is the well?

Clo. She is not well, but yet he has her health; fhe'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 fhe is not well..

Hel. If fhe be very well, what does fhe ail, that fhie'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 fhe'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 till. O, my knave, how does my old Lady?

Clo. So that you had her wrinkles and I her money,, I would, he did, as you-fay.

Par. Why, I fay nothing.

Clo. Marry, you are the wifer man; for many a man's tongue fhakes out his mafter'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 pleasure, and the encrease of laughter.

Par. A good knave, i'faith, and well fed.. Madam, my Lord will go away to-night, ferious bufinefs calls on him.

A very

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:

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

To

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