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PAR. Little Helen, farewell : if I can remember thee, I will think of thee at

court. HEL. Monsieur Parolles, you were born under a charitable star. Par. Under Mars, I. HEL. I especially think, under Mars. PAR. Why under Mars ? Hel. The wars have so kept you under, that you must needs be born under

Mars. Par. When he was predominant. HEL. When he was retrograde, I think, rather. Par. Why think you so ? Hel. You go so much backward when you fight. PAR. That's for advantage. HEL. So is running away, when fear proposes the safety: But the composition

that your valour and fear makes in you is a virtue of a good wing, and I like

the wear well. Par. I am so full of businesses I cannot answer thee acutely: I will return

perfect courtier; in the which, my instruction shall serve to naturalise thee, so thou wilt be capable of a courtier's counsel, and understand what advice shall thrust upon thee; else thou diest in thine unthankfulness, and thine ignorance makes thee away: farewell. When thou hast leisure, say thy prayers; when thou hast none, remember thy friends: get thee a good husband, and use him as he uses thee: so farewell.


. HEL. Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie,

Which we ascribe to Heaven; the fated sky
Gives us free scope; only, doth backward pull
Our slow designs, when we ourselves are dull.
What power is it which mounts my love so high ;
That makes me see, and cannot feed mine eye?
The mightiest space in fortune nature brings
To join like likes, and kiss like native things.
Impossible be strange attempts to those
That weigh their pains in sense; and do suppose
What hath been cannot be: Who ever strove
To show her merit that did miss her love?
The king's disease—my project may deceive me,
But my intents are fix'd, and will not leave me.

[Exit. SCENE II.- Paris. A Room in the King's Palace.

Flourish of cornets. Enter the KING OF FRANCE, with letters ; Lords and

others attending. KING. The Florentines and Senoys are by the ears;

Have fought with equal fortune, and continue

A braving war. 1 LORD.

So 't is reported, sir.
King. Nay, 't is most credible; we here receive it

A certainty, vouch'd from our cousin Austria,
With caution, that the Florentine will move us
For speedy aid ; wherein our dearest friend
Prejudicates the business, and would seem

To have us make denial. 1 LORD.

His love and wisdom, Approv'd so to your majesty, may plead

For amplest credence.

He hath arm'd our answer,
And Florence is denied before he comes;
Yet, for our gentlemen that mean to see
The Tuscan service, freely have they leave

To stand on either part. 2 LORD.

It well may serve A nursery to our gentry, who are sick

For breathing and exploit. King.

What 's he comes here?


1 LORD. It is the count Rousillon, my good lord,

Young Bertram.

Youth, thou bear'st thy father's face ;
Frank Nature, rather curious than in haste,
Hath well compos'd thee. Thy father's moral parts

Mayst thou inherit too! Welcome to Paris.
BER. My thanks and duty are your majesty's.
King. I would I had that corporal soundness now,

As when thy father and myself, in friendship,
First tried our soldiership! He did look far
Into the service of the time, and was
Discipled of the bravest : he lasted long;
But on us both did haggish age steal on,
And wore us out of act. It much repairs 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 honour.
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 handa : 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 b: Such a man
Might be a copy to these younger
Which, follow'd well, would demonstrate them now

But goers backward.

His good remembrance, sir,
Lies richer in your thoughts than on his tomb;
So in approof lives not his epitaph,

As in your royal speech.
KING. 'Would I were with him! He would always 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,”
This 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 it.—How long is 't, count,

Since the physician at your father's died ?
He was much fam'd.

* The metaphor of a "clock” is continued; his tongue, in speaking what "exception" bade him, obeyed the hand of honour's clock-his hand being put for its hand.

Malone deems the construction to be, " in their poor praise he being humbled."


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.

Thank your majesty.

[Exeunt. Flourish.

SCENE III.-Rousillon. A Room in the Countess's Palace.

Enter COUNTESS, Steward, and Clown.

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; 't is 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 5. Clo. 'T is not unknown to you, madam, I am a poor fellow. COUNT. Well, sir. Clo. No, madam, 't is 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 a,

Isbel the woman and I will do as we may. Count. Wilt thou needs be a beggar? Clo. I do beg your good-will in this case. Count. In what case ? 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 o' my body; for, they say,

barnes are blessings. 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?

* In · Much Ado about Nothing' (Act II., Scene 1), Beatrice says, “ Thus goes every one to the world but I.” The commentators explain the phrase of Beatrice by the Clown's speech in the text, and say that "to go to the world” is to be married. It appears to us that the Clown asks his freedom when he begs her ladyship’s "good-will to go to the world." The domestic fool was ordinarily in the condition of a slave, and was sold or given away. The Clown here adds, “ Service is no heritage." And yet, “ to go to the world” may also mean to marry—as we still say, to settle in the world. A son or daughter, having the paternal leave to marry, goes to the world, in the sense of encountering its responsibilities.

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 o' friends, madam; and I hope to have friends for my wife's sake. Count. Such friends are thine enemies, knave. Clo. You 're shallow, madam, in great friends a; for the knaves come to do that for me, which I

am a-weary

of. He that ears my land spares my team, and gives me leave to in the crop: If I be his cuckold, he's my drudge: He that comforts my wife is the cherisher 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 the papist, howsome'er their hearts are severed in religion, their heads are both one,—they may jowl horos

together, like any deer i' the herd. Count. Wilt thou ever be a foul-mouth'd and calumnious knave? Clo. A prophet I, madam; and I speak the truth the next wayb:

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

[Singing. Was this fair face the cause, quoth she,

Why the Grecians sacked Troyo ?
Fond done, done fond,

Was this king Priam's joy?
With that she sighed as she stood,
With that she sighed as she stood,

this sentence then ;
Among nine bad if one be good,
Among nine bad if one be good,

There 's yet one good in ten.

Count. What, one good in ten ? you corrupt the song, sirrah.
Clo. One good woman in ten, madam, which is a purifying o' the song: "Would

God would serve the world so all the year! we 'd find no fault with the tithe

In great friends. So the original. The modern reading is e'en great friends. Surely no alteration is necessary; the meaning clearly being-You are shallow in the matter of great friends.

The next way—the nearest way. · The mention of Helen is associated in the mind of the Clown with some popular ballad on the war of Troy.

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