As mad in folly, lack'd the sense to know Count. 'Tis paft, my Liege; And I beseech your Majefty to make it (39) Natural rebellion, done i'th' blade of youth, When oil and fire, too ftrong for reason's force, O'erbears it, and burns on. King. My honour'd Lady, I have forgiven and forgotten all; Tho' my revenges were high bent upon him, Laf. This I must say, But first I beg my pardon; the young Lord Of richeft eyes; whofe words all ears took captive; King. Praifing what is loft, Makes the remembrance dear. Well call him hither; We're reconcil'd, and the first view shall kill All repetition: let him not ask our pardon. Th' incenfing relicks of it. Let him approach, (39) Natural Rebellion, done i'th' blade of Youth,] If this Reading be genuine, the Metaphor must be from any Grain, or Plant, taking Fire: but, I own, it seems more in Shakespeare's way of Thinking to fuppofe He wrote; Natural Rebellion, done i'th' blaze of Youth, i. e. in the Fervour, Flame, &c. So He has exprefs'd himself, upon a like Occafion, in Hamlet, When the Blood burns, Lends the Tongue Vows. I do know, Ar fo, again, in his Troilus and Creffida; A A ftranger, no offender; and inform him, So 'tis our will he should. Gent. I fhall, my Liege. King. What fays he to your Daughter? Have you fpoke? Laf. All, that he is, hath reference to your High-. nefs. King. Then fhall we have a Match. I have letters fent me, That fet him high in fame. Enter Bertram. Laf. He looks well on't. King. I'm not a day of feason, For thou may'ft see a fun-fhine and a hail Ber. My high-repented Blames, Not one word more of the confumed time, Ber. Admiringly, my Liege. At first ་ King. Well excus'd:--- That thou didst love her, ftrikes fome scores away To the great Sender turns a fowre offence, Count. (40) Which better than the first, O dear heav'n, blefs, Or, ere they meet, in me, O nature, cease! Laf. Come on, my Son, in whom my Houfe's Name Must be digefted: give a favour from you To sparkle in the fpirits of my Daughter, That the may quickly come. By my old beard, And ev'ry hair that's on't, Helen, that's dead, Was a sweet Creature: fuch a ring as this, The laft that e'er fhe took her leave at Court, I saw upon her finger. Ber. Her's it was not. King. Now, pray you, let me fee it. For mine eye, While I was fpeaking, oft was faften'd to't: This ring was mine; and, when I gave it Helen, I bad her, if her fortunes ever ftood (40) Which better than the firft, O dear Heav'n, blefs, Or, e'er they meet, in me, O Nature, ceafe!] I have ventur'd, against the Authority of the printed Copies, to prefix the Countess's Name to these two Lines. The King appears, indeed, to be a Favourer of Bertram: but if Bertram fhould make a bad Husband the fecond Time, why should it give the King fuch mortal Pangs? A fond and disappointed Mother might reasonably not defire to live to fee fuch a Day: and from her the Wish of dying, rather than to behold it, comes with Propriety. Neceffitied Neceffitied to help, that by this token I would relieve her. Had you that craft to reave her Of what should ftead her moft? Ber. My gracious Sovereign, Howe'er it pleases you to take it fo, The ring was never her's. Count. Son, on my life, I've seen her wear it, and fhe reckon'd it At her life's rate. Laf. I'm fure, I faw her wear it. Ber. You are deceiv'd, my Lord, fhe never faw it; In heavy fatisfaction, and would never King. Plutus himself, That knows the tinct and multiplying Medicine, Than I have in this ring. "Twas mine, 'twas Helen's, That you are well acquainted with your felf, (Where you have never come) or fent it us Ber. She never saw it. (41) noble She was, and thought I flood engag'd;] I don't understand this Reading; if We are to underftand, that She thought Bertram engag'd to her in Affection, infnar'd by her Charms, this Meaning is too obfcurely exprefs'd. The Context rather makes me believe, that the Poet wrote, noble She was, and thought I ftood ungag'd; i. e. unengaged; neither my Heart, nor Perfon, difpos'd of. King. Thou fpeak'ft it falfely, as I love mine honour; And mak'ft conject'ral fears to come into me, Which I would fain fhut out; if it should prove That thou art so inhuman - 'twill not prove fo And yet I know not-thou didst hate her deadly, And she is dead; which nothing, but to close Her eyes my félf, could win me to believe, More than to fee this ring. Take him away. [Guards feize Bertram. My fore-paft proofs, howe'er the matter fall, Shall tax my fears of little vanity, Having vainly fear'd too little. Away with him, Ber. If you fhall prove, This ring was ever hers, you fhall as easie Where yet the never was. [Exit Bertram guarded. Enter a Gentleman. King. I'm wrap'd in difmal thinkings. Whether I've been to blame or no, I know not: Who hath for four or five Removes come fhort Vanquish'd thereto by the fair grace and speech The King reads a Letter. Upon his many proteftations to marry me, when his Wife was dead, I blush to say it, he won me. Now is the Count Roufillon a Widower, his vows are forfeited to me, and my Honour's paid to him. He ftole from Florence, taking no leave, and I follow him to this Country for juftice: grant it me, O King, in you it beft lyes; otherwife a feducer flourifhes, and a poor Maid is undone. Diana Capulet. Laf. |