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swer the time of request. Virginity, like an old courtier, wears her cap out of fashion; richly suited, but unsuitable: just like the brooch and tooth-pick, which wear not now: Your date is better in your pie and your porridge, than in your cheek: And your virginity, your old virginity, is like one of our French withered pears; it looks ill, it eats dryly; marry, 'tis a withered pear; it was formerly better; marry, yet, 'tis a withered pear: Will you any thing with it?

Hel. Not my virginity yet.

There shall 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 sovereign,
A counsellor, a traitress, and a dear;
His humble ambition, proud humility,
His jarring concord, and his discord dulcet,
His faith, his sweet disaster; with a world
Of pretty, fond, adoptious christendoms,
That blinking Cupid gossips. Now shall he-
I know not what he shall:-God send him

The court's a learning-place;-and he is one-
Par. What one, i'faith?

Hel. That I wish well.-'Tis pity→→→→
Par. What's pity?

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

Enter a Page. Page. Monsieur Parolles, my lord calls for you. [Exit Page. Par. Little Helen, farewell: if I can re. member 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, ra


Par. Why think you so?

Hel. You go so much backward, when you fight.

Par. That's for advantage.

vice 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 [dull.

Our slow designs, when we ourselves are
What power is it, which mounts my love so
That makes me see, and cannot feed mine
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


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Hel. So is running away, when fear propo-Young ses 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 naturalize thee, so thou wilt be capable of a courtier's counsel, and understand what ad

(lord, King. Youth, thou bear'st thy father's face; Frank nature, rather curious than in haste, Hath well composed 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 sound

ness now,

* A quibble on date, which means age, and candied fruit. ti. e., And show by realities what we now must only think. ti. e., Thou wilt comprehend it. Things formed by nature for each other. The citizens of the small republic of which Sienna is the capital.

As when thy father, and myself, in friendship
First try'd 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 hist hand: who were below
He used as creatures of another place; [him
* 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 démonstrate
But goers backward.
[them now
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.

[always say,
King. 'Would, I were with him! He would
(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
Thus his good melancholy oft began, [live,-
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
[ments are
All but new things disdain; whose judg-
Mere fathers of their garments; whose
Expire before their fashions:--This he
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 loved, sir;
They, that least lend it you, shall lack you
[is't, count,
King. I fill a place, I know't. How long
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 sickuess
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.

To repair here signifies to renovate.

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?

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 of my body; for, they say, bearns ** 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? 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 of friends, madam; and I hope to have friends for my wife's sake.

Count.Such friends are thine enemies,knave. Clo. You are shallow, madam; e'en great friends; for the knaves come to do that for me, which I am a-weary of. He, that ears ft my land, spares my team, and gives me leave to inn 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: ergott, 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, howsoe'er their hearts are severed in religion, their heads are both one, they may joll horns together, like any deer i' the herd.

+ His is put for its.

+ Approbation.

Who have no other use of their faculties than to invent new modes of dress.
To be married. ** Children. tt Ploughs.

fo act up to your desires.

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Count. Wilt thou ever be a foul-mouthed | first assault, or ransome afterward: This she and calumnious knave?

Clo. A prophet I, madam; and I speak the truth the next way*:

For I the ballad will repeat,

Which men full true shall find ; Your marriage comes by destiny, Your cuckoo sings by kind. Count. Get you gone, sir; I'll talk with

more anon.

delivered in the most bitter touch of sorrow, that e'er I heard virgin exclaim in: which I held my duty, speedily to acquaint you withal; sithence, in the loss that may happen, it concerns you something to know it.

Count. You have discharged this honestly; keep it to yourself: many likelihoods informed youme of this before, which hung so tottering in the balance, that I could neither believe, nor misdoubt: Pray you, leave me : stall this in your bosom, and I thank you for your honest care: I will speak with you further anon. [Exit Steward.

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

Why the Grecians sacked Troy? Fond donet, done fond,

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

And gave 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-woman, if I were the parson: One in ten, quoth a'! an we might have a good woman born but every blazing star, or at an earthquake, 'twould mend the lottery well; a man may draw his heart out, ere he pluck one.

Count. You'll be gone, sir knave, and do as I command you?

Clo. That man should be at woman's command, and yet no hurt done!-Though honesty be no puritan, yet it will do no hurt; it will wear the surplice of humility over the black gown of a big heart.—I am going, forsooth: the business is for Helen to come hither. Count. Well, now. [Exit Clown. Stew. I know, madam, you love your gen tlewoman entirely.

Count. Faith, I do her father bequeathed her to me; and she herself, without other advantage, may lawfully make title to as much love as she finds: there is more owing her, than is paid; and more shall be paid her, than she'll demand.

Stew. Madam, I was very late more near her than, I think, she wished me alone she was, and did cominunicate to herself, her own words to her own ears; she thought, I dare vow for her, they touched not any stranger sense. Her matter was, she loved your son: Fortune, she said, was no goddess, that had put such difference betwixt their two estates; Love, no god, that would not extend his might, only where qualities were level; Diana, no queen of virgins, that would suffer her poor knight to be surprised, without rescue, in the

• The nearest way.'. + Foolishly done.

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Enter HELENA. Count. Even so it was with me, when I was young: [thorn

If we are nature's, these are ours; this Doth to our rose of youth rightly belong;

Our blood to us, this to our blood is born; It is the show and seal of nature's truth, Where love's strong passion is impress'd in By our remembrances of days foregone, [youth: Such were our faults;-or then we thought them none.

Her eye is sick on't; I observe her now.
Hel. What is your pleasure, madam?
You know, Helen,


am a mother to you.

Hel. Miné honourable mistress.

Nay, a mother;
Why not a mother? When I said, a mother,
Methought you saw a serpent: What's in mother,
That you start at it? I say, I am your mother;
And put you in the catalogue of those
That were enwombed mine: 'Tis often seen,
Adoption strives with nature; and choice breeds
A native slip to us from foreign seeds:
You ne'er oppress'd me with a mother's groan,
Yet I express to you a mother's care:-
God's mercy, maiden! does it curd thy blood,
To say, I am thy mother? What's the matter,
That this distemper'd messenger of wet,
The many-colour'd Iris, rounds thine eye?
Why? that you are my daughter?
That I am not.


Count. I say, I am your mother.
Pardon, madam;
The count Rousillon cannot be my brother:
I am from humble, he from honour'd, name;
No note upon my parents, his all noble:
My master, my dear lord he is; and I
His servant live, and will his vassal die :
He must not be my brother..
Nor I your mother?
Hel. You are my mother, madam; 'Would
you were
(So that my lord, your son, were not my bro-
Indeed, my mother!-or were you both our

I care no more fors, 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 daugh.


wish it equally.

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God shield, you mean it not! daughter, and | Was both herself and love; O then, give pity


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' headt.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, 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.

Good madam, pardon me!
Count. Do you love my son?

Your pardon, noble mistress!

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

Then, I confess,

Here on my knee, before high heaven and you,
That before you, and next unto high heaven,
I love your son :-
My friends were poor, but honest; so's my
Be not offended; for it hurts not him,
That he is lov'd of me I follow him not
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, i
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 ý,
Did ever, in so true a flame of liking,
Wish chastely, and love dearly, that your Dian

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
To go to Paris?

Madam, I had.


Wherefore? tell true.
Hel. I will tell truth; by grage itself, I swear.
You know,my father left me se prescriptions
Of rare and proved effects, such as his reading,
And manifest experience, had collected
For general sovereignty; and that he will'd me
In heedfullest reservation to bestow them,
As notes, whose faculties inclusive were,
More than they were in note¶: amongst the
There is a remedy, approved, set down, [rest,
To cure the desperate languishes, whereof
The king is render'd lost.


This was your motive
For Paris, was it? speak.
[of this;
Hel. My lord your son made me to think
Else Paris, and the medicine, and the king,
Had, from the conversation of my thoughts,
Haply, been absent then.
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 cre-
A poor unlearned virgin, when the schools, [dit
Embowell'd of their doctrine**, have left off
The danger to itself?

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SCENE I. Paris. A Room in the King's | Do not throw from you:-and you, my lord,



Flourish. Enter King, with young
taking leave for the Florentine war;
BERTRAM, PAROLLES, and Attendants.
King. Farewell, young lord, these warlike

• Contend.


Share the advice betwixt you; if both gain
And is enough for both.
The gift doth stretch itself as 'tis received,

1 Lord.

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

The source, the cause of your grief. According to their nature.

i. e., Whose respectable conduct in age proves that you were no less virtuous when young.
i. e., Venus.
Receipts in which greater virtues were enclosed than appeared.

**Exhausted of their skill.



Will not confess he owes the malady

King. No, no, it cannot be; and yet my 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 tt, such are to be followed: after them, and take a more dilated farewell.

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! [them; King. Those girls of Italy, take heed of They say, our French lack language to deny, If they demand: beware of being captives, Before you servei.

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


Ber. I am commanded here, and kept a coil with; [early. Too young, and the next year, and 'tis too Par. An thy mind stand to it, boy, steal away bravely. [smock, Ber. I shall stay here the forehorse to a Creaking my shoes on the plain masonry, Till honour be bought up, and no sword worn, [steal away. But one to dance with! By heaven, I'll 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 for me.

2 Lord. We shall, noble captain. Par. Mars dote on you for his novices! [Exeunt Lords.] 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

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, [Kneeling.] for me and for my tidings.

King. I'll fee thee to stand up. Laf. Then here's a man Stands, that has brought his pardon. I would,


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 1 had broke thy

And ask'd thee mercy for't.
Goodfaith, across #:
But, my good lord, 'tis thus; Will you be
Of your infirmity ?

O, will you eat
No grapes, my royal fox? yes, but you will,
My 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


Is powerful to araise king Pepin, nay,
To give great Charlemain a pen in his hand,
And write to her a love-line.

What her is this?
Laf. Why, doctor she: My lord, there's
one arrived,

If you will see her,-now, by my faith and honour,

If seriously I may convey my thoughts
In this my light deliverance, 1 have spoke
With one, that, in her sex, her years, pro
fession ¶¶,

Wisdom, and constancy, hath amazed me more Than I dare blame my weakness: Will you see her

(For that is her demand,) and know her bu siness?

That done, laugh well at me.
Now, good Lafen,
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.
Nay, I'll fit you,
And not be all day neither. [Exit LAFEU.
King. Thus he his special nothing ever pro-

i. e., Those excepted who possess modern Italy, the remains of the Roman Empire. + Seeker, inquirer. Be not captives before you are soldiers. With a noise, bustle. In Shakspeare's time it was usual for gentlemen to dance with swords on. ¶ They are the foremost in the fashion. ** Have the true military step. tt The dance. skilfully; a phrase taken from the exercise at a quintaine. A female physician. kind of dance. ¶¶ By profession is meant her declaration of the object of her coming.



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