which my instruction shall serve to naturalize 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. [Exit.

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't which mounts my love so high; That makes me see, and cannot feed mine eye? The mightiest space in nature fortune 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 th' ears; Have fought with equal fortune, and continue A braving war.

1 Lord.

So 'tis reported, sir.

King. Nay, 'tis 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.

King.

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 may well serve A nursery to our gentry, who are sick For breathing and exploit.

King.

What's he comes here? Enter BERTRAM, LAFEU, and PAROLLES. 1 Lord. It is the count Rousillon, my good lord, Young Bertram.

King. 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 May'st 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 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 demonstrate them now
But goers backward.

Ber.
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,"-
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. 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: '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, 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?

He must not be my brother.
Count.
Nor I your mother?
Hel. You are my mother, madam: would you were
(So that my lord, your son, were not my brother)
Indeed, my mother!-or were you both our mothers,
I care no more for, than I do for heaven,
So I were not his sister. Can't no other,
But, I your daughter, he must be

my brother?
Count. Yes, Helen, you might be my daughter-in-law.
God shield, you mean it not! daughter, and mother,
So strive upon your pulse. What, pale again?
My fear hath catch'd your fondness: Now I see
The mystery of your loneliness, and find
Your salt tears' head. Now to all sense 'tis gross,
You love my son: invention is asham'd,
Against the proclamation of thy passion,

To say,
thou dost not: therefore tell me true;
But tell me then, 'tis so:-for, look, thy cheeks
Confess it, th' one to the other; and thine eyes
See it so grossly shown in thy behaviours,
That in their kind they speak it: only sin,
And hellish obstinacy tie thy tongue,

That truth should be suspected. Speak, is't so?
If it be so, you have wound a goodly clue;
If it be not, forswear't: howe'er, I charge thee,
As heaven shall work in me for thine avail,
To tell me truly.

Hel. Good madam, pardon me. Count. Do you love my son? Hel. Count. Love you my son? Hel. Do not you love him, madam? Count. Go not about: my love hath in't a bond, Whereof the world takes note. Come, come, disclose The state of your affection, for your passions Have to the full appeach'd.

Your pardon, noble mistress.

Hel. Then, I confess, [Kneeling. Here on my knee, before high heaven and you, That before you, and next unto high heaven,

By any token of presumptuous suit;

Nor would I have him, till I do deserve him,
Yet never know how that desert should be.
I know I love in vain, strive against hope;
Yet, in this captious and intenible sieve,
I still pour in the waters of my love,
And lack not to lose still. Thus, Indian-like,
Religious in mine error, I adore

The sun, that looks upon his worshipper,

But knows of him no more. My dearest madam,
Let not your hate encounter with my love,
For loving where you do: but, if yourself,

Whose aged honour cites a virtuous youth,
Did ever, in so true a flame of liking,
Wish chastely, and love dearly, that your Dian
Was both herself and love, O! then, give pity
To her, whose state is such, that cannot choose
But lend and give where she is sure to lose;
That seeks not to find that her search implies,
But, riddle-like, lives sweetly where she dies.
Count. Had you not lately an intent, speak truly,
To go to Paris?
Hel.

Madam, I had.

Count. Wherefore? tell true. Hel. I will tell truth, by grace itself I swear. You know, my father left me some prescriptions Of rare and prov'd effects, such as his reading And manifold experience had collected For general sovereignty; and that he will'd me In heedfull'st reservation to bestow them, As notes, whose faculties inclusive were More than they were in note. Amongst the rest, There is a remedy approv'd, set down To cure the desperate languishings whereof The king is render'd lost.

Count.

For Paris, was it? speak.

This was your motive

Hel. My lord, your son, made me to think of this; Else Paris, and the medicine, and the king, Had, from the conversation of my thoughts, Haply been absent then.

Count. But think you, Helen, If you should tender your supposed aid, He would receive it? He and his physicians Are of a mind; he, that they cannot help him, They, that they cannot help. How shall they credit A poor unlearned virgin, when the schools, Embowell'd of their doctrine, have left off The danger to itself?

Hel.

There's something in't, More than my father's skill, which was the greatest Of his profession, that his good receipt

Shall, for my legacy, be sanctified

By the luckiest stars in heaven: and, would your

honour

Hel. Ay, madam, knowingly.

Count. Why, Helen, thou shalt have my leave, and love,

Means, and attendants, and my loving greetings
To those of mine in court. I'll stay at home,

And pray God's blessing unto thy attempt.

Be gone to-morrow; and be sure of this,

What I can help thee to thou shalt not miss. [Exeunt.

SCENE I.-Paris. A Room in the KING'S Palace. Flourish. Enter KING, with young Lords taking leave for the Florentine war; BERTRAM, PAROLLES, and Attendants.

King. Farewell, young lords. These warlike principles Do not throw from you :-and you, my lords, farewell. Share the advice betwixt you; if both gain all, The gift doth stretch itself as 'tis receiv'd, And is enough for both.

1 Lord.

"Tis our hope, sir, After well-enter'd soldiers, to return And find your grace in health.

King. No, no, it cannot be; and yet my heart Will not confess he owes the malady That doth my life besiege. Farewell, young lords; Whether I live or die, be you the sons Of worthy Frenchmen: let higher Italy (Those 'bated, that inherit but the fall Of the last monarchy) see, that you come

Not to woo honour, but to wed it: when
The bravest questant shrinks, find what you seek,
That fame may cry you loud. I say, farewell.

2 Lord. Health, at your bidding, serve your majesty!
King. Those girls of Italy, take heed of them.
They say, our French lack language to deny,
If they demand: beware of being captives,
Before you serve.
Both.

Our hearts receive your warnings. King. Farewell.-Come hither to me. [The KING retires to a couch. 1 Lord. O, my sweet lord, that you will stay behind us! Par. 'Tis not his fault, the spark. 2 Lord. O, 'tis brave wars! Par. Most admirable: I have seen those wars. Ber. I am commanded here, and kept a coil with; "Too young," and "the next year," and "'tis too early.' Par. An thy mind stand to't, boy, steal away bravely. Ber. I shall stay here the forehorse to a smock, Creaking my shoes on the plain masonry, Till honour be bought up, and no sword worn, But one to dance with. By heaven! I'll steal away. 1 Lord. There's honour in the theft. Par.

Commit it, count. 2 Lord. I am your accessary; and so farewell. Ber. I grow to you, and our parting is a tortured body.

1 Lord. Farewell, captain.

2 Lord. Sweet monsieur Parolles!

Par. Noble heroes, my sword and yours are kin. Good sparks, and lustrous, a word, good metals :-you shall find in the regiment of the Spinii, one captain Spurio, with his cicatrice, an emblem of war, here on his sinister cheek: it was this very sword entrenched it: say to him, I live, and observe his reports of me. 2 Lord. We shall, noble captain. [Exeunt Lords. Par. Mars dote on you for his novices !-What will you do?

Ber. Stay; the king[Seeing him rise. Par. Use a more spacious ceremony to the noble lords you have restrained yourself within the list of too cold an adieu: be more expressive to them; for they wear themselves in the cap of the time: there do muster true gait; eat, speak, and move under the influence of the most received star; and though the devil lead the measure, such are to be followed. After them, and take a more dilated farewell.

Ber. And I will do so.

Par. Worthy fellows, and like to prove most sinewy sword-men. [Exeunt BERTRAM and PAROLLES. Enter LAFEU.

Laf. Pardon, my lord, for me and for my tidings. [Kneeling. King. I'll see thee to stand up. Laf. Then here a man stands, that has brought his pardon. [Rising. I would, you had kneel'd, my lord, to ask me mercy, And that, at my bidding, you could so stand up. King. I would I had; so I had broke thy pate, And ask'd thee mercy for't.

Laf. Goodfaith, across. But, my good lord, 'tis thus:
Will you be cur'd of your infirmity?
King. No.

Laf. O! will you eat no grapes, my royal fox?
Yes, but you will, aye, noble grapes, an if
My royal fox could reach them.

I have seen

A medicine that's able to breathe life into a stone,
Quicken a rock, and make you dance canary
With spritely fire and motion; whose simple touch
Is powerful to upraise king Pepin, nay,

To give great Charlemaine a pen in's hand,
To write to her a love-line.
King.

If

What her is this?

Laf. Why, doctor she. My lord, there's one arriv'd, you will see her:-now, by my faith and honour, If seriously I may convey my thoughts

In this my light deliverance, I have spoke
With one, that in her sex, her years, profession,
Wisdom, and constancy, hath amaz'd me more
Than I dare blame my weakness. Will you see her,
(For that is her demand) and know her business?
That done, laugh well at me.
King.
Now, good Lafeu,
Bring in the admiration, that we with thee
May spend our wonder too, or take off thine
By wond'ring how thou took'st it.
Laf.

Nay, I'll fit you,
And not be all day neither.
[Exit LAFEU.
King. Thus he his special nothing ever prologues.
Re-enter LAFEU, with HELENA.

Laf. Nay, come your ways.
King.

This haste hath wings, indeed.

Laf. Nay, come your ways.

This is his majesty, say your mind to him :
A traitor you do look like; but such traitors
His majesty seldom fears. I am Cressid's uncle,
That dare leave two together. Fare you well. [Exit.
King. Now, fair one, does your business follow us?
Hel. Ay, my good lord. Gerard de Narbon was my
father;

In what he did profess well found.
King.
I knew him.
Hel. The rather will I spare my praises towards him;
Knowing him, is enough. On's bed of death
Many receipts he gave me; chiefly one,
Which, as the dearest issue of his practice,
And of his old experience th' only darling,
He bad me store up as a triple eye,
Safer than mine own two, more dear. I have so;
And, hearing your high majesty is touch'd
With that malignant cause, wherein the honour
Of my dear father's gift stands chief in power,
I come to tender it, and my appliance,
With all bound humbleness.
King.

We thank you, maiden ;
But may not be so credulous of cure:
When our most learned doctors leave us, and
The congregated college have concluded
That labouring art can never ransom nature
From her inaidable estate, I say, we must not
So stain our judgment, or corrupt our hope,
To prostitute our past-cure malady
To empirics; or to dissever so
Our great self and our credit, to esteem
A senseless help, when help past sense we deem.
Hel. My duty, then, shall pay me for my pains:
I will no more enforce mine office on you;
Humbly entreating from your royal thoughts
A modest one, to bear me back again.

King. I cannot give thee less, to be call'd grateful.
Thou thought'st to help me, and such thanks I give,
As one near death to those that wish him live;
But what at full I know thou know'st no part,
I knowing all my peril, thou no art.

Hel. What I can do, can do no hurt to try,
Since you set up your rest 'gainst remedy.
He that of greatest works is finisher,

Oft does them by the weakest minister:
So holy writ in babes hath judgment shown,

When judges have been babes. Great floods have flown

From simple sources; and great seas have dried,
When miracles have by the greatest been denied.
Oft expectation fails, and most oft there
Where most it promises; and oft it hits,
Where hope is coldest, and despair most fits.

King. I must not hear thee: fare thee well, kind maid.
Thy pains, not us'd, must by thyself be paid:
Proffers, not took, reap thanks for their reward.

Hel. Inspired merit so by breath is barr'd.
It is not so with him that all things knows,
As 'tis with us that square our guess by shows;
But most it is presumption in us, when

The help of heaven we count the act of men.
Dear sir, to my endeavours give consent;
Of heaven, not me, make an experiment.
I am not an impostor, that proclaim
Myself against the level of mine aim;

But know I think, and think I know most sure,
My art is not past power, nor you past cure.
King. Art thou so confident? Within what space
Hop'st thou my cure?

Hel.
The greatest grace lending grace,
Ere twice the horses of the sun shall bring
Their fiery torcher his diurnal ring;
Ere twice in murk and occidental damp
Moist Hesperus hath quench'd his sleepy lamp;
Or four and twenty times the pilot's glass
Hath told the thievish minutes how they pass,
What is infirm from your sound parts shall fly,
Health shall live free, and sickness freely die.
King. Upon thy certainty and confidence,
What dar'st thou venture?

Hel.
Tax of impudence,
A strumpet's boldness, a divulged shame,
Traduc'd by odious ballads; my maiden's name
Sear'd otherwise; ne worse of worst extended,
With vilest torture let my life be ended.

King. Methinks, in thee some blessed spirit doth speak,
His powerful sound within an organ weak;
And what impossibility would slay

In common sense, sense saves another way.
Thy life is dear; for all, that life can rate
Worth name of life, in thee hath estimate;
Youth, beauty, wisdom, courage, honour, all
That happiness in prime can happy call:
Thou this to hazard, needs must intimate
Skill infinite, or monstrous desperate.
Sweet practiser, thy physic I will try,
That ministers thine own death, if I die.

Hel. If I break time, or flinch in property

Of what I spoke, unpitied let me die;

And well deserv'd. Not helping, death's my fee;
But, if I help, what do you promise me?
King. Make thy demand."
Hel.
But will you make it even?
King. Ay, by my sceptre, and my hopes of heaven.
Hel. Then shalt thou give me with thy kingly hand
What husband in thy power I will command:
Exempted be from me the arrogance

To choose from forth the royal blood of France,
My low and humble name to propagate
With any branch or image of thy state;
But such a one, thy vassal, whom I know
Is free for me to ask, thee to bestow.

King. Here is my hand; the premises observ'd,
Thy will by my performance shall be serv'd:
So make the choice of thy own time; for I,
Thy resolv'd patient, on thee still rely.
More should I question thee, and more I must,
Though more to know could not be more to trust,

Enter COUNTESS and Clown.

Count. Come on, sir: I shall now put you to the height of your breeding.

Clo. I will show myself highly fed, and lowly taught. I know my business is but to the court.

Count. To the court! why, what place make you special, when you put off that with such contempt? But to the court!

Clo. Truly, madam, if God have lent a man any manners, he may easily put it off at court: he that cannot make a leg, put off's cap, kiss his hand, and say nothing, has neither leg, hands, lip, nor cap; and, indeed, such a fellow, to say precisely, were not for the court. But, for me, I have an answer will serve all

men.

Count. Marry, that's a bountiful answer, that fits all questions.

Clo. It is like a barber's chair, that fits all buttocks; the pin-buttock, the quatch-buttock, the brawn-buttock, or any buttock.

Count. Will your answer serve fit to all questions? Clo. As fit as ten groats is for the hand of an attorney, as your French crown for your taffata punk, as Tib's rush for Tom's forefinger, as a pancake for Shrove-Tuesday, a morris for May-day, as the nail to his hole, the cuckold to his horn, as a scolding quean to a wrangling knave, as the nun's lip to the friar's mouth; nay, as the pudding to his skin.

Count. Have you, I say, an answer of such fitness for all questions?

Clo. From below your duke, to beneath your constable, it will fit any question.

Count. It must be an answer of most monstrous size, that must fit all demands.

Clo. But a trifle neither, in good faith, if the learned should speak truth of it. Here it is, and all that belongs to't: ask me, if I am a courtier; it shall do you no harm to learn.

Count. To be young again, if we could. I will be a fool in question, hoping to be the wiser by your answer. pray you, sir, are you a courtier ?

I

Clo. O Lord, sir!-there's a simple putting off.More, more, a hundred of them.

Count. Sir, I am a poor friend of yours, that loves

Clo. O Lord, sir!-Nay, put me to't, I warrant you.
Count. You were lately whipped, sir, as I think.
Clo. O Lord, sir!-Spare not me.

Count. Do you cry, "O Lord, sir," at your whipping, and "spare not me?" Indeed, your "O Lord, sir," is very sequent to your whipping: you would answer very well to a whipping, if you were but bound to't.

Clo. I ne'er had worse luck in my life, in my-"0 Lord, sir." I see, things may serve long, but not serve

ever.

Count. I play the noble housewife with the time, to entertain it so merrily with a fool.

Clo. O Lord, sir!-why, there't serves well again. Count. An end, sir: to your business. Give Helen this,