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I'll send her straight away: even to-morrow
I'll to the wars, The 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 marr’d:
Therefore away,

and leave her bravely; go, The king has done you wrong: but, hush! 'tis so. [Exeunt.


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: thanks be given, she's very well, and wants nothing i'th' 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 is not in heav'n, whither god send her quickly! the other, that she's on earth, 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 fortune.

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, fir, before a knave, thou art a knave; and I am before thee that art a knave: this had been truth, sir.

Par. Go to, thou art a witty fool, I have found thee.
Clo. Did


find me in yourself, fir? or were you taught to find me? the search, fir, 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; ;

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 compellid restraint:
Whose want, and whose delay, are strew'd with sweets
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

will take


inftant leave o'th' king,
And make this hafte as your own good proceeding,
Strengthen’d with what apology you think
May make it probable need.

Hel. What more commands he?

Par. That, having this obtain’d, you prefently
Attend his further pleasure.

Hel. In every thing I wait upon his will.
Par. I shall report it so.

[Exit. Par. Come, firrah. [to the clown. [Exit.

Hel. I pray you.


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

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 transgress’d against his valour; and my state that way is dangerous, since I cannot yet find in my heart to repent: here he comes; pray you, make us friends, I will pursue the amity.

Enter Parolles. Par. These things shall be done, sir. Laf. I pray you, sir, who's his tailor ? Par. Sir ?

Laf. O, I know him well, I, sir; he, sir, 's a good workman, a very good tailor. Ber. Is she gone to the king ?

[afide to Parolles. Par. She is. Ber. Will she away to-night? Par. As you'll have her.

Ber. I have writ my letters, casketed my treasure, given order for our horses; and to-night, when I should take possession of the bride and ere I do begin

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

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

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 leap'd into the custard; and out of it you'll run again, rather than suffer question for

Ber. It may be, you have mistaken, him, my lord.
Laf. And shall do so ever, though I took him at’s prayers.
Vol. II.


your residence.

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Fare you well, my lord, and believe this of me, there can be no
kernel in this light nut: the soul of this man is his cloths. Trust
him not in matter of heavy consequence: I have kept of them
tame, and know their natures. Farewel, monsieur, I have spoken
better of


you have or will deserve at my hand, but we must do good against evil.

Par. An idle lord, I swear.
Ber. I think so.
Par. Why, do you not know him?

Ber. Yes, I do know him well, and common speech gives him a worthy pass. Here comes my clog.



Enter Helena.
Hel. I have, sir, as I was commanded from you,
Spoke with the king, and have procur’d his leave
For present parting; only he desires
Some private speech with you.

Ber. I shall obey his will.
You must not marvel, Helen, at my course,
Which holds not colour with the time, nor does
The ministration and required office
On my particular : prepar’d I was not
For such a business; and am therefore found
So much unsettled: this drives me to entreat you,
That presently you


your way for home,
And rather muse, than ask, why I entreat you;
For my respects are better than they seem,
And my appointments have in them a need
Greater than shows itself at the first view,
To you that know them not. This to my mother.

[giving a letter.
'Twill be two days ere I shall fee you; so
I leave you to your wisdom.



you say?

Hel. Sir, I can nothing say,
But that I am your most obedient servant.

Ber. Come, come, no more of that.

Hel. And ever shall
With true observance seek to eke out that
Wherein tow’rd me my homely stars have faild
To equal my great fortune.

Ber. Let that go:
My haste is very great: farewel; hie home.

Hel. Pray, fir, your pardon.
Ber. Well, what would

Hel. I am not worthy of the wealth I owe;
Nor dare I say, 'tis mine; and yet it is;
But, like a tim’rous thief, most fain would steal
What law does vouch mine own.

Ber. What would you have ?

Hel. Something, and scarce so much — nothing, indeed
I would not tell you what I would — 'faith, yes –
Strangers and foes do sunder, and not kiss.

Ber. I pray you, stay not; but in haste to horse.
Hel. I shall not break your bidding, good my lord.

Ber. Where are my other men, monsieur? farewel,
Go thou tow’rd home; where I will never come,

[Exit Hel. Whilft I can shake my sword, or hear the drum: Away, and for our Alight. Par. Bravely, couragio!




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