Or I will throw thee from my care for ever, Into the staggers, and the careless lapse [hate, Of youth and ignorance; both my revenge and Loosing upon thee in the name of justice, Without all terms of pity: Speak; thine an

swer.

Ber. Pardon, my gracious lord; for I submit My fancy to your eyes: When I consider, What great creation, and what dole of honour, Flies where you bid it, I find, that she, which late

Was in my nobler thoughts most base, is now
The praised of the king; who, so ennobled,
Is, as 'twere, born so.

King. Take her by the hand,

And tell her, she is thine: to whom I promise
A counterpoize; if not to thy estate,
A balance more replete.

Ber. I take her hand.

King. Good fortune, and the favour of the king,

Smile upon this contract; whose ceremony Shall seem expedient on the now-born brief, And be perform'd to-night: the solemn feast Shall more attend upon the coming space, Expecting absent friends. As thou lov'st her, Thy love's to me religious; else, does err.

[Exeunt KING, BERTRAM, HELENA, LORDS, and Attendants. Laf. Do you hear, monsieur? a word with

Laf. To what is count's man; count's master is of another style. Pur. You are too old, Sir; let it satisfy you, you are too old.

to

Laf. I must tell thee, sirrah, I write man which title age cannot bring thee. Par. What I dare too well do, I dare not do. Laf. I did think thee, for two ordinaries, 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 dissuade 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 upon thee,

Laf. Do not plunge thyself too far in anger, lest thou hasten thy trial; which if-Lord have mercy on thee for å 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.
Laf. Yes, good faith, every dram of it; and

I will not bate thee a scruple.

Pur. Well, I shall be wiser.

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 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. [Exit.

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. 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.

I'll

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?
Par. Ay, Sir.

Laf. The devil it is, that's thy master. Why dost thou garter up thy arms o' this fashion? dost 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 hut two hours younger, I'd 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. [Exit.

Enter BERTRAM.

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 is the matter, sweet heart? Ber. Although before the solemn priest I have sworn, I 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,
That hugs his kicksy-wicksy; here at home:
Spending his manly marrow in her arms,

Of Mars' 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 those 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 I'll send her straight away: To-morrow [me. I'll to the wars, she to her single sorrow.

Pur. Why, these balls bound; there's noise in it.-Tis hard;

A young man, married, is a man that's marr'd: Therefore away, and leave her bravely; go: The king has done you wrong; but, hush! 'tis

so.

[Exeunt.

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 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.-O, 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 rite of love, Which, as your due, time claims, he does acknowledge;

But puts it off by a compell'd restraint; Whose want, and whose delay, is strewed

with sweets,

The house made gloomy by discontent.

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, [ing, And make this haste as your own good proceedStrengthen'd with what apology you think May make it probable need.*

Hel. What more commands he?
Pur. 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.

[Exeunt. SCENE V.-Another Room in the same.

Enter LAFEU and BERTRAM. 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. Laf. Then my dial goes not true; I took this lark for a bunting.t

Ber. I do assure you, my lord, he is very great in knowledge, and accordingly valiant. Laf. I have then sinned against his experience, and transgressed against his valour; and my state that way is dangerous, since 1 cannot yet find in my heart to repent. Here he comes; I pray you, make us friends, I will pursue the amity.

treasure,

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

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

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

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

Laf. You have made shift to run into't, boots and spurs and all, like him that leaped 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 clothes: trust him not in matter of heavy conthis light nut; the soul of this man is his sequence; I have kept of them tame, and know their natures.-Farewell, monsieur: I have

A specious appearance of necessity.

The bunting nearly resembles the sky-lark; but has little or no song, which gives estimation to the sky-lark.

Enter HELENA and two GENTLEMEN.

1 Gen. Save you, good madam. Hel. Madam, my lord is gone, for ever gone. 2 Gen. Do not say so.

Count. Think upon patience.-'Pray you, gentlemen,

I have felt so many quirks of joy, and grief,
That the first face of neither, on the start,
Can woman* me unto't:-Where is my son, I
pray you?

2 Gen. Madam, he's gone to serve the duke of Florence: [came, We met him thitherward; from thence we And, after some despatch in hand at court, Thither we bend again.

Hel. Look on his letter, madam; here's my passport.

[Reads.] When thou canst get the ring upon my finger, which never shall come off, and show me a child begotten of thy body, that I am father to, then call me husband: but in such a then I write a never. This is a dreadful sentence.

Count. Brought you this letter, gentlemen? 1 Gen. Ay, madam; [pains. And, for the contents' sake, are sorry for our Count. I pr'ythee, lady, have a better cheer; If thou engrossest all the griefs are thine,‡ Thou robb'st me of a moiety: He was my son; But I do wash his name out of my blood, And thou art all my child.-Towards Florence

is he?

1 Gen. Indeed, good lady, The fellow has a deal of that, too much, Which holds him much to have.

Count. You are welcome, gentlemen, I will entreat you, when you see my son, To tell him, that his sword can never win The honour that he loses : more I'll entreat you Written to bear along.

2 Gen. We serve you, madam, In that and all your worthiest affairs.

Count. Not so, but as we change our courteWill you draw near? [sies.* [Exeunt COUNTESS and GENTLEMEN. Hel. Till I have no wife, I have nothing in France.

Nothing in France, until he has no wife!
Thou shalt have none, Rousillon, none in
France,

Then hast thou all again. Poor lord! is't I
That chase thee from thy country, and expose
Those tender limbs of thine to the event
Of the none-sparing war? and is it I [thou
That drive thee from the sportive court, where
Wast shot at with fair eyes, to be the mark
Of smoky muskets? O you leaden messengers,
That ride upon the violent speed of fire,
Fly with false aim; move the still-piercing air,
That sings with piercing, do not touch my lord!
Whoever shoots at him, 1 set him there;
Whoever charges on his forward breast,
I am the caitill, that do hold him to it;
And, though I kill him not, I am the cause
His death was so affected: better 'twere,
I met the ravint 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 keeps 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.

[Exit.

Might you not know, she would do as she has done,

By sending me a letter? Read it again.
Stew. I am Saint Jaques' pilgrim, thither gone;
Ambitious love hath so in me offended,
That bare-foot plod I the cold ground upon,
With sainted vow my faults to have amended.
Write, write, that, from the bloody course of war,
My dearest master, your dear son may hie;
Bless him at home in peace, whilst I from far,
His name with zealous fervour sanctify:
His taken labours bid him me forgive;
1, his despiteful Juno,* sent him forth
From courtly friends, with camping foes to live,
Where death and danger dog the heels of worth:
He is too good and fair for death and me;
Whom I myself embrace, to set him free.
Count. Ah, what sharp stings are in her

mildest words!

Rinaldo, you did never lack advicet so much,
As letting her pass so; had I spoke with her,
I could have well diverted her intents,
Which thus she hath prevented.
Stew. Pardon me, madam:

If I had given you this at over-night,
She might have been o'erta'en; and yet she
Pursuit would be in vain.
[writes,

Count. What angel shall

Bless this unworthy husband ? he cannot thrive, Unless her prayers, whom Heaven delights to hear,

And loves to grant, reprive him from the wrath
Of greatest justice.-Write, write, Rinaldo,
To this unworthy husband of his wife;
Let every word weigh heavy of her worth,
That he does weight too light: my greatest
grief,

Though little he do feel it, set down sharply.
Despatch the most convenient messenger:--
When, haply, he shall hear that she is gone,
He will return; and hope I may, that she,
Hearing so much, will speed her foot again,
Led hither by pure love: which of them both
Is dearest to me, I have no skill in sense
To make distinction:-Provide this messen-

Wid. It is reported that he has taken their greatest commander; and that with his own hand he slew the duke's brother. We have lost our labour; they are gone a contrary way: hark: you 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 maid is her name; and no legacy is so rich as honesty.

a

panion.

a one?

Hel. But by the ear, that hears most nobly His face I know not. [of him: Dia. Whatsoe'er he is, He's bravely taken here. He stole from France, As 'tis reported, for the king had married him Against his liking: Think you it is so? Hel. Ay, surely, mere the truth;|| I know his lady.

Dia. There is a gentleman, that serves the
Reports but coarsely of her.
[count,
Hel. What's his name?
Dia. Monsieur Parolles.
Hel. O, I believe with him,
In argument of praise, or to the worth
Of the great count himself, she is too mean
To have her name repeated; all her deserving
Is a reserved honesty, and that

I have not heard examin'd.
Dia. Alas, poor lady!
"Tis a hard bondage, to become the wife
Of a detesting lord.

Wid. A right good creature: wheresoe'er she is, Her heart weighs sadly: this young maid might A shrewd turn, if she pleas'd. [do her