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all livelihood from her cheek. No more of this, Helena, go to, no more; left it be rather thought you affect a forrow, than to have it.

Hel. I do affect a forrow, indeed, but I have it too. Laf. Moderate lamentation is the right of the dead, exceffive grief the enemy to the living.

Count. (2) If the living be not enemy to the grief, the excess makes it foon mortal.

Ber. Madam, I defire your holy wishes.
Laf. How understand we that?

Count. Be thou bleit, Bertram, and fucceed thy father

In manners as in fhape! thy blood and virtue
Contend for empire in thee, and thy goodness
Share with thy birth-right! Love all, truft a few,
Do wrong to none: be able for thine enemy
Rather in power, than ufe; and keep thy friend
Under thy own life's key: be check'd for filence,
But never tax'd for fpeech. What heav'n more will,
That thee may furnish, and my prayers pluck down,
Fall on thy head! Farewel, my lord ;i

'Tis an unfeafon'd courtier, good my lord,
Advife him.

Laf. He cannot want the best,

That fhall attend his love.

Count. Heav'n blefs him! Farewel, Bertram.

[Exit Countess: Ber. [to Hel.] The best wishes, that can be forg'd in your thoughts, be fervants to you! Be comfortable to my mother, your miftrefs, and make much of her.

Laf. Farewel, pretty lady, you must hold the credit of your father. [Exeunt Bertram and Lafeu.

(2) If the living be Enemy to the Grief, the Excefs makes it foon mertal.] This feems very obfcure; but the Addition of a Negative perfectly dispels all the Mist. If the Living be not Enemy, &c. Exceffive Grief is an Enemy to the Living, fays Lafen: Yes, replies the Countess; and if the Living be not Enemy to the Grief, [i. e. ftrive to conquer it,] the Excels makes it foon mortal. Mr, Warburton.

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Hel. Oh, were that all!


I think not on my

And thefe great tears grace his remembrance more,
Than thofe I fhed for him. What was he like?
I have forgot him. My imagination
Carries no favour in it, but my Bertram's.
I am undone; there is no living, none,
If Bertram be away.

It were all one,
That I fhould love a bright partic'lar ftar,
And think to wed it; he is fo above me :
In his bright radiance and collateral light
Muft I be comforted, not in his sphere.
Th' ambition in my love thus plagues itself;
The hind, that would be mated by the lion,
Muft die for love. 'Twas pretty, tho' a plague,
To fee him every hour; to fit and draw
His arched brows, his hawking eye, his curls,
In our heart's table: heart, too capable
Of every line and trick of his fweet favour!
But now he's gone, and my idolatrous, fancy
Muft fanctify his relicks. Who comes here ?
Enter Parolles.

One, that goes with him: I love him for his fake,
And yet I know him a notorious liar;

Think him a great way fool, folely a coward;
Yet thefe fix'd evils fit fo fit in him,

That they take place, when virtue's fteely bones
Look bleak in the cold wind; full oft we fee
Cold wisdom waiting on fuperfluous folly.

Par. Save you, fair Queen.

Hel. And you, Monarch.

Par. No.

Hel. And, no.

Par. Are you meditating on virginity?

Hel. Ay you have fome ftain of foldier in you; let me ask you a queftion. Man is enemy to virginity, how may we barricado it against him?

Par. Keep him out.

Hel. But he affails; and our virginity, tho' valiant,

in the defence yet is weak: unfold to us fome warlike refiftance.

Par. There is none: man, fetting down before you, will undermine you, and blow you up.

Hel. Blefs our poor virginity from underminers and blowers up! Is there no military policy, how virgins

might blow up men?

Par. Virginity being blown down, man will quicklier be blown up: marry, in blowing him down again, with the breach yourfelves made, you lofe your city. It is not politick in the commonwealth of nature, to preferve virginity. Lofs of virginity is rational increafe; and there was never virgin got, 'till virginity was first loft. That, you were made of, is metal to make virgins. Virginity, by being once loft, may be ten times found: by being ever kept, it is ever loft; 'tis too cold a companion away with't.

Hel. I will ftand for't a little, though therefore I die a virgin.

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Par. There's little can be faid in't; 'tis against the rule of nature. To fpeak on the part of virginity, is to accufe your mother; which is moft infallible difobedience. He, that hangs himself, is a virgin virginity murthers itself, and fhould be buried in highways out of all fanctified limit, as a defperate offendrefs against nature. Virginity breeds mites, much like a cheefe; confumes itfelf to the very paring, and fo dies with feeding its own ftomach. Befides, virginity is peevish, proud, idle, made of felf-love, which is the moft prohibited fin in the canon. Keep it not, you cannot chufe but lofe by't. Out with't; within ten years it will make itself two, which is a goodly increase, and the principal itself not much the worfe. Away


Hel. How might one do, Sir, to lofe it to her own liking?

Par. Let me fee. Marry, ill, to like him that ne'er it likes. 'Tis a commodity will lofe the glofs with lying. The longer kept, the lefs worth: off with't, while 'tis vendible. Anfwer the time of request. Virginity, like

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an old courtier, wears her cap out of fashion: richly futed, but unfutable; juft like the brooch and the toothpick, which we wear not now: your date is better in your pye and your porridge, than in your cheek; and your virginity, your old virginity, is like one of our French wither'd pears; it looks ill, it eats drily; marry, 'tis a wither'd pear: it was formerly better; marry, yet 'tis a wither'd pear. Will you any thing with it?

Hel. Not my virginity yet.

There fhall your master have a thousand loves,
A mother, and a mistress, and a friend,
A phoenix, captain, and an enemy,
A guide, a goddess, and a fovereign,
A counsellor, a traitress, and a dear;
His humble ambition, proud humility;
His jarring concord; and his discord dulcet;
His faith, his fweet difafter; with a world
Of pretty fond adoptious chriftendoms,
That blinking Cupid goffips.
I know not, what he fhall-
The court's a learning place-
Par. What one, i'faith?
Hel. That I wish well-
Par. What's pity?

Now shall he

-God fend him well!-
and he is one

'tis pity

Hel. That wishing well had not a body in't,
Which might be felt; that We the poorer born,
Whose baser stars do fhut us up in wishes,
Might with effects of them follow our friends:
And fhew what we alone must think, which never
Returns us thanks.

Enter Page.

Page. Monfieur Parolles,

My lord calls for you.

[Exit Page.

Par. Little Helen, farewel; if I can remember thee, I will think of thee at court.

Hel. Monfieur Parolles, you were born under a charitable ftar.

Par. Under Mars, I.

Hel. I especially think, under Mars.


Par. Why under Mars?

Hel. The wars have kept you fo under, that needs be born under Mars.

Par. When he was predominant.

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Hel. When he was retrograde, I think, rather.
Par. Why think you fo?

Hel. You go fo much backward, when you fight.
Par. That's for advantage.

Hel. So is running away, when fear proposes fafety: but the compofition, that your valour and fear makes in you, is a virtue of a good wing, and I like the wear well.


Par. I am fo full of bufineffes, as I cannot answer thee acutely I will return perfect courtier; in the which, my inftruction fhall ferve to naturalize thee, so thou wilt be capable of courtier's counfel, and understand what advice fhall thruft upon thee; elfe thou dieft in thine unthankfulnefs, and thine ignorance makes thee away; farewel. When thou haft leisure, fay thy prayers; when thou haft none, remember thy friends; get thee a good husband, and use him as he ufes thee: fo farewel. [Exit.

Hel. Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie,
Which we afcribe to heav'n. The fated sky
Gives us free scope; only, doth backward pull
Our flow defigns, when we ourselves are dull.
What power is it, which mounts my love fo high,
That makes me fee, and cannot feed mine eye?
The mightiest space in fortune nature brings
To join like likes; and kifs, like native things.
Impoffible be strange attempts, to those
That weigh their pain in fense; and do fuppofe,
What hath been, cannot be. Who ever ftrove
To fhew her merit, that did mifs her love?
The King's difeafe-my project may deceive me,
But my intents are fix'd, and will not leave me.



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