Laf. I must tell thee, sirrah, I write man; to which title age cannot bring thec.

there's news for you; you have a new mistress. Par. I most unfeignedly beseech your lordship to make some reservation of your wrongs: He is my good lord: whom I serve above, is my master. Laf. Who? God?

Par. Ay, sir.

dost thou garter up thy arms o' this fashion? dost Laf. The devil it is, that's thy master. Why make hose of thy sleeves? do other servants so? Thou wert best set thy lower part where thy nose stands. By mine honour, if I were but two hours younger, I'd beat thee: methinks, thou art a gene ral offence, and every man should beat thee. I think, thou wast created for men to breath' 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 pomegrante; you are a vagabond, and no true traveller: you are more saucy with lords, and honourable personages, than the heraldry of your birth and virtue gives you commission. You are not worth another word, else I'd call you knave. I leave you.

Enter Bertram.

[Ex.

Par. What I dare too well do, I dare not do. Laf. I did think thee, for two ordinarics, to be a pretty wise fellow; thou didst make tolerable vent of thy travel; it might pass: yet the scarfs, and the bannerets, about thee, did manifoldly dis- very good; let it be concealed a while. suade me from believing thee a vessel of too great a burden. I have now found thee; when I lose thee again, I care not: yet art thou good for nothing but taking up; and that thou art scarce worth. Par. Hadst thou not the privilege of antiquity

Par. Good, very good; it is so then.-Good,

upon thee,

Laf. Do not plunge thyself too far in anger, lest thou hasten thy trial; which if-Lord have mercy on thee for a hen! So, my good window of lattice, fare thee well; thy casement I need not open, for 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, deserved it.

I

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

Ber. Although before the solemn priest I have

sworn,

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 the wars!
Ber. There's letters from my mother; what the
import is,

I

know not yet.

Par. Ay, that would be known: To the wars, my boy, to the wars!

He wears his honour in a box unseen,

Laf. Yes, good faith, every dram of it; and I That hugs his kicksy-wicksy here at home;

will not bate thee a scruple.

Par. Well, I shall be wiser.

Laf. E'en as soon as thou canst, for thou hast to pull at a smack o' the contrary. If ever thou be'st bound in thy scarf, and beaten, thou shalt find what it is to be proud of thy bondage. I have a desire to hold my acquaintance with thee, or rather my knowledge; that I may say, in the default, he is man I know.

2

a

Par. My lord, you do me most insupportable

vexation.

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

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 stable; we that dwell in't, jades ;
Therefore, to the war!

Ber. It shall be so; 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 durst not speak: His present gift
(Shall furnish me to these Italian fields,

Where noble fellows strike: War is no strife
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 [Exit.'ll send her straight away: To-morrow Par. Well, thou hast a son shall take this dis-I'll to the wars, she to her single sorrow. grace off me; scurvy, old, filthy, scurvy lord!- Par. Why, these balls bound: there's noise in t Well, I must be patient; there is no fettering of Tis hard;

authority. I'll beat him, by my life, if I can meet A young man, married, is a man that's marr'd him with any convenience, an he were double and Therefore away, and leave her bravely; 20: double a lord. I'll have no more pity of his age, The king has done you wrong; but, hush! is s than I would have of-I'll beat him, an if I could but meet him again.

Re-enter Lafeu.

Laf. Sirrah, your lord and master's married,

(1) i. e. While I sat twice with thee at dinner (2) At a need.

[Ersent. SCENE IV.-The same. Another room in the same. Enter Helena and Clown. Hel. My mother greets me kindly: Is she well! Clo. She is not well; but yet she has her health; (3) Exercise. (4) A cant term for a wife. 75) The house made gloomy by discontent.

Par. Bless you, my fortunate lady!

Hel. I hope, sir, I have your good will to have mine own good fortunes.

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 noney, I would she did as you say. Par. Why, I say nothing.

Clo. Marry, you are the wiser man; for many a man's tongue shakes 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 art a knave.

Clo. You should have said, sir, before a knave thou art a knave; that is, before me thou art a knave: this had been truth, sir.

Par. Goto, 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 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; A very serious business calls on him. 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;

Laf. Pray you, sir, who's his tailor?
Par. Sir?
Laf. O, I know him well: Ay, sir; he, sir, is &
good workman, a very good tailor.

Ber. Is she gone to the king? [Aside to Parolles.
Par. She is.

Ber. Will she away to-night?

Par. As you'll have her.

Ber. I have writ my letters, casketted my trea

sure

Given order for our horses; and to-night,
When I should take possession of the bride,
And, ere I do begin,-

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

Ber. Is there any unkindness between my lord and you, monsieur?

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

Laf. You have made shift to run into't, boots and spurs, and all, like him that leap'd 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, though I took him at his prayers. Fare you well, my lord; and believe this of me, There can be no kernel in this light nut; the soul of this man is his clothes: trust him not in matter of heavy consequence; I have kept

Whose want, and whose delay, is strewed with of them tame, and know their natures.-Farewell,

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'
the king,

And make this haste as your own good proceeding,
Strengthen'd with that apology you think
May make it probable need.'
Hel.
What more commands he?
Par. That, having this obtain'd, you presently
Attend his further pleasure.

Hel. In every thing I wait upon his will.
Par. I shall report it so.
Hel.
I pray you.-Come, sirrah.

SCENE V. Another room in the same.
Lafeu and Bertram.

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 lerd, I swear.

Ber. I think so.

Par. Why, do you not know him?

Ber. Yes, I do know him well; and common

speech

Gives him a worthy pass. Here comes my clog.

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
[Exeunt. You must not marvel, Helen, at my course,
Enter Which holds not colour with the time, nor does
The ministration and required effice
On my particular: prepar'd I was not
For such a business; therefore am I found
So much unsettled : This drives me to entreat you
That presently you take your way for home;
And rather muse,' than ask, why I entreat you:
For my respects are better than they seem;
And my appointments have in them a need,

Laf. But, I hope, your lordship thinks not him a soldier.

Ber. Yes, my lord, and of very valiant approof.
Laf. You have it from his own deliverance.
Ber. And by other warranted testimony.
Laj. Then my dial goes not true; I took this
lark for a bunting.2

(1) A specious appearance of necessity.
(2) The bunting nearly resembles the sky-lark;

Greater than shows itself, at the first view,
To you that know them not. This to my mother:
[Giving a letter.
Twill be two days ere I shall see you; so
leave you to your wisdom.
Hel.
Sir, I can nothing say,
But that I am your most obedient servant.
Ber. Come, come, no more of that.
Hel.
And ever shall
With true observance seek to eke out that,
Wherein toward me my homely stars have fail'd
To equal my great fortune.

Ber.

Let that go:

My haste is very great: Farewell; 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 timorous thief, most fain would steal
What law does vouch mine own.

Ber.

What would you have? Hel. Something; and scarce so much:-nothing,

indeed.

I would not tell you what I would: my lord-faith,

yes;

Strangers, and foes, do sunder, and not kiss.
Ber. I pray you, stay not, but in haste to horse.
Hel. I shall not break your bidding, good my
lord.

And all the honours, that can fly from us,
Shall on them settle. You know your places well,
When better fall, for your avails they fell:
To-morrow to the field. [Flourish. Exeunt.
SCENE II.-Rousillon. A room in the Countess's
Palace. Enter Countess and Clown.
Count. It hath happened all as I would have
had it, save, that he comes not along with her.

Clo. By my troth, I take my young lord to be a very melancholy man.

Count. By what observance, I pray you?

Clo. Why, he will look upon his bool, and sing mend the ruff, and sing; ask questions, and sing; pick his teeth, and sing: I know a man that had this trick of melancholy, sold a goodly manor for

a song.

Count. Let me see what he writes, and when he
means to come.
[Opening a letter.
Clo. I have no mind to Isbel, since I was at
court: our old ling, and our Isbels o' the country,
are nothing like your old ling and your Isbels o'
the court: the brains of my cupid's knocked out;
and I begin to love, as an old man loves money.
with no stomach.

Count. What have we here?
Clo. E'en that you have there.

[Exit.

Count. [Reads.] I have sent you a daughter-inlaw: she hath recovered the king, and undone me. Ber. Where are my other men, monsieur ?- I have wedded her, not bedded her; and sworn to Farewell. Exit Helena. make the not eternal. You shall hear, I am run Go thou toward home; where I will never come, away; know it, before the report come. If there Whilet! can shake my sword, or hear the drum:-be breadth enough in the world, I will hold a long Away, and for our flight. distance. My duty to you. Par.

Bravely, coragio! [Exe.

Good my lord,
The reasons of our state I cannot yield,
But like a common and an outward man,'
That the great figure of a council frames
By self-unable motion: therefore dare not
Say what I think of it; since I have found
Myself in my uncertain grounds to fail
As often as I guess'd.
Duke.

Be it his pleasure.

Your unfortunate son,
BERTRAM
This is not well, rash and unbridled boy.
To fly the favours of so good a king;
To pluck his indignation on thy head,
By the misprizing of a maid too virtuous
For the contempt of empire.

Re-enter Clown.

Clo. O madam, yonder is heavy news within, between two soldiers and my young lady. Count. What is the matter?

Clo. Nay, there is some comfort in the news, some comfort; your son will not be killed so soon as I thought he would.

Count. Why should he be kill'd ?

he does: the danger is in standing to't; that's the Clo. So say I, madam, if he run away, as I hear loss of men, though it be the getting of children. Here they come, will tell you more: for my part, I only hear, your son was run away. [Exit Clown. Enter Helena and two Gentlemen.

1 Gent. Save you, good madam.

Hel. Madam, my lord is gone, for ever gone. 2 Gent. F not say so.

Count. Think upon patience.-'Pray you, gen-
tlemen,-

I have felt so many quirks of joy, and grief,
That the first face of neither, on the start,

2 Lord. But I am sure, the younger of our na- Can woman me unto't :-Where is my son, I pray

Thither we bend again. That drive thee from the sportive court, where thou Hel. Look on this letter, madam; here's my Wast shot at with fair eyes, to be the mark passport. Of smoky muskets? O you leaden messengers, [Reads. When thou canst get the ring upon my That ride upon the violent speed of fire, finger, which never shall come off, and show me Fly with false aim; move the still-piercing air, a child begotten of thy body, that I am father to, That sings with piercing, do not touch my lord! then call me husband: but in such a then I write Whoever shoots at him, I set him there;

Whoever charges on his forward breast,
I am the caitiff, that do hold him to it;
And, though I kill him not, I am the cause
His death was so effected. better 'twere,
I met the ravin' lion when he roar'd
With sharp constraint of hunger; better 'twere
That all the miseries which nature owes,
Were mine at once: no, come thou home, Rousillon,
Whence honour but of danger wins a scar,
As oft it loses all; I will be gone:
My being here it is, that holds thee hence:
Shall I stay here to do't? no, no, although
The air of Paradise did fan the house,
And angels offic'd all: I will be gone;
That pitiful rumour may report my flight,
To consolate thine ear. Come, night; end, day!
For, with the dark, poor thief, I'll steal away.

Wid. Nay, come; for if they do approach the city, we shall lose all the sight. Dia. They say, the French count has done most of the great count himself, she is too mean honourable service. To have her name repeated; all her deserving Wid. It is reported, that he has taken their Is a reserved honesty, and that greatest commander; and that with his own hand I have not heard examin'd. he slew the duke's brother. We have lost our la

O, I believe with him, In argument of praise, or to the worth

Alas, poor lady! bour; they are gone a contrary way: bark! you of a detesting lord. 'Tis a hard bondage, to become the wife may know by their trumpets.

Mar. Come, let's return again, and suffice ourselves with the report of it. Well, Diana, take heed of this French earl: the honour of a maid is her name; and no legacy is so rich as honesty.

Wid. A right good creature: wheresoe'er she is, Her heart weighs sadly: this young maid might do A shrewd turn, if she pleas'd. Hel. Wid. I have told my neighbour, how you have How do you mean? been solicited by a gentleman, his companion. May be, the amorous count solicits her Mar. I know that knave; hang him! one Pa- In the unlawful purpose. rolles: a filthy officer he is in those suggestions?

for the young earl.-Beware of them, Diana; their And brokes' with all that can in such a suit promises, enticements, oaths, tokens, and all these Corrupt the tender honour of a maid: engines of lust, are not the things they go under: But she is arm'd for him, and keeps her guard many a maid hath been seduced by them; and In honestest defence.

the misery is, example, that so terrible shows in Enter with drum and colours, a party of the Flothe wreck of maidenhood, cannot for all that dissuade succession, but that they are limed with the twigs that threaten them. I hope, I need not to advise you further; but I hope your own grace So, now they come :will keep you where you are, though there were That is Antonio, the duke's eldest son; no further danger known, but the modesty which That, Escalus. is so lost.

Dia. 'Tis pity he is not honest: Yond's that same knave,

That leads him to these places; were I his lady,

(4) Pilgrims; so called from a staff or bough of palm they were wont to carry.

(5) Because. (6) The exact, the entire truth. (7) Deals with panders.