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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 a man I know.
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.
[Erit. Par. Well, thou hast a son shall take this disgrace off me; scurvy, old, filthy, scurvy lord ! Well, I must be patient; there is no fettering of authority. I'll beat him, by my life, if I can meet him with any convenience, an he were double and double a lord. I'll have no more pity of his age, 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, 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?
Laf. The devil it is, that's thy master. Why dost thou garter up thy arms o' this fashion? dost make
in the default,] That is, at a need.
for doing I am past; as I will by thee, in what motion age will give me leave.] Mr. Édwards has, I think, given the true meaning of Lafeu's words. “I cannot do much, says Lafeu; doing I am past, as I will by thee in what motion age will give me leave ; i. e. as I will pass by thee as fast as I am able :- and he immediately goes out. It is a play on the word past : the conceit indeed is poor, but Shakspeare plainly meant it.” MALONE.
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, rà beat thee: methinks, thou art a general offence, and every man should beat thee. I think, thou wast created for men to breathe 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 pomegranate; 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.
Par. Good, very good; it is so then.--Good, very good; let it be concealed a while.
Ber. Undone, and forfeited to cares for ever!
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,
That hugs his kicksy-wicksy' here at home;
Ber. It shall be so; I'll send her to my house,
Par. Will this capricio hold in thee, art sure ?
Ber. Go with me to my chamber, and advise me. I'll send her straight away: To-morrow I'll to the wars, she to her single sorrow. Par. Why, these balls bound; there's noise in it.
"Tis hard ; A young man, married, is a man that's marrd: Therefore away, and leave her bravely; go : The king has done you wrong: but, hush! 'tis so.
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:
'That hugs his kicksy-wicksy, &c.] Sir T. Hanmer, in his Glossary, observes, that kicksy-wicksy is a made word in ridicule and disdain of a wife.
* To the dark-house,] The dark house is a house made gloomy by discontent.
she's very merry ; but yet she is not well: but thanks be given, she's very well, and wants nothing i’the world; but yet she is not well.
Hel. If she be very well, what does she ail, that she's not very well?
Clo. Truly, she's very well, indeed, but for two things.
Hel. What two things ?
Clo. One, that she's not in heaven, whither God send her quickly! the other, that she's in earth, from whence God send her quickly!
Enter PAROLLES. 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.—0, my knave ! How does my old lady?
Clo. So that you had her wrinkles, and I her money, 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’rt 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. Go to, 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 right of love, Which, as your due, time claims, he does acknow.
ledge; But puts it off by a compelld restraint ; Whose want, and whose delay, is strewed with
What's his will else?
king, And make this haste as your own good proceeding, Strengthen'd with what apology you think May make it probable need.” Hel.
What more commands he?
I pray you.-Come, sirrah.
Another Room in the same.
Enter LAFEU and BERTRAM. Laf. But, I hope, your lordship thinks not him a soldier.
3 probable need.) A specious appearance of necessity,