1

ou

ses

What bath been cannot be : Who ever strove

To show her merit, that did miss ber love?
T

The king's disease--my project may deceive me,
But my intents are fix'd, and will not leave me.

[Erit. 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 Florentine and Senoys are by the at

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 A certainty, vouch'd from our cousin Austria, With caution, that the Florentine will move us For speedy aid; wherein our dearest friend Frejudicates the business, and

would seem
To have
fa
1 Lord.

His love and wisdom,
Approv'd so to your majesty, may plead
For amplest credence.
King.

He hath arm'd our answer, rve

And Florence is denied before he comes : fa

Yet, for our gentlemen, that mean to see ice

The Tuscan service, freely have they leave ine

To stand on either part.
Hee
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, poll 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 sup

now, As when thy father, and myself in friendship VOL. III.

с

an111

say ber use Crit.

-ye?
TS
gs.

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 baggish 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 band : 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
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 : 1, 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.

now

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.

[Ereunt. Flourish. 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 enongh 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 aweary of. He, that ears my land, spares my team, and gives me leave to inn the crop: if † 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 : ergo, 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.

Count. Wilt thou ever be a foul-mouthed and calumnions 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 you more anon.

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 done, 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 on 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 com. mand, 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 a big heart.-I am going, forsooth: the business is for Helen to come hither.

[Erit Clown, Count. Well, now.

Stew. I know, madam, you love your gentle. woman 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, thau she'll demand.

Stew. Madam, I was very late more near her than, I think, she wished me! alone she was,