I come to tender it, and my appliance, King. We thank you, maiden; But may not be so credulous of cure, That labouring art can never ransom Nature To empirics; or to dissever so Our great self and our credit, to esteem A senseless help, when help past sense we deem. King. I cannot give thee less, to be call'd grate. ful: Thou thought'st to help me; and such thanks I give Hel. What I can do can do no hurt to try, Oft does them by the weakest minister: So holy writ in babes hath judgment shewn, From simple sources; and great seas have dried, King. I must not hear thee; fare thee well, kind maid; Thy pains, not us'd, must by thyself be paid : Hel. Inspired Merit so by breath is barr'd: The help of Heaven we count the act of men. I am not an impostor, that proclaim But know I think, and think I know most sure, Hel. The greatest grace lending grace, Ere twice in murk and occidental damp Hel. Tax of impudence, A strumpet's boldness, a divulged shame King. Methinks in thee some blessed spirit doth speak, His powerful sound within an organ weak: In common sense, sense saves another way. That happiness and prime can happy call: Hel. If I break time, or flinch in property Of what I spoke, unpitied let me die; And well deserv'd. Not helping, death's my fee; But, if I help, what do you promise me? King. Make thy demand. Hel. But will you make it even? King. Ay, by my sceptre, and my hopes of Heaven! Hel. Then shalt thou give me, with thy kingly hand, What husband in thy power I will command: Exempted be from me the arrogance To choose from forth the royal blood of France, But such a one, thy vassal, whom I know Is free for me to ask, thee to bestow. King. Here is my hand; the premises observ'd, Thy will by my performance shall be serv'd; So make the choice of thy own time, for I, Thy resolv'd patient, on thee still rely. More should I question thee, and more I must, Though more to know could not be more to trust From whence thou cam'st, how tended on, . But rest Unquestion'd welcome, and undoubted bless'd. ; Give me some help here, ho! If thou proceed As high as word, my deed shall match thy deed. [Flourish. Exeunt. SCENE II. Rousillon. A Room in the COUNTESS's Palace. Enter COUNTESS and Clown. Count. Come on, sir; I shall now put you to the height of your breeding. Clo. I will shew myself highly fed, and lowly taught: I know my business is but to the Court. Count. To the Court? why, what place make you special, when you put off that with such contempt – But to the Court? Clo. Truly, Madam, if God have lent a man any manners, he may easily put it off at Court; he that cannot make a leg, pull off 's cap, kiss his hand, and say nothing, has neither leg, hands, lip, nor cap; and, indeed, such a fellow, to say precisely, were not for the Court: but for me, I have an answer will serve all men. Count. Marry, that's a bountiful answer that fits all questions. Clo. It is like a barber's chair, that fits all buttocks; the pin-buttock, the quatch-buttock, the brawnbuttock, or any buttock. Count. Will your answer serve fit to all questions? Clo. As fit as ten groats is for the hand of an attorney, as your French crown for your taffata punk, as Tib's rush for Tom's forefinger, as a pancake for Shrove-Tuesday, a morris for May-day, as the nail to his hole, the cuckold to his horn, as a scolding quean to a wrangling knave, as the nun's lip to the friar's mouth; nay, as the pudding to his skin. Count. Have you, I say, an answer of such fitness for all questions? Clo. From below your duke to beneath your constable; it will fit any question. Count. It must be an answer of most monstrous size that must fit all demands. good faith, if the Here it is, and all Clo. But a trifle neither, in learned should speak truth of it. that belongs to 't: ask me if I am a courtier; it shall do you no harm to learn. Count. To be young again, if we could, I will be a fool in question, hoping to be the wiser by your -I pray you, sir, are you a courtier ? answer Clo. O Lord, sir. There's a simple putting off; more, more, a hundred of them. Count. Sir, I am a poor friend of yours, that loves you. Clo. O Lord, sir. —Thick, thick, spare not me. Count. I think, sir, you can eat none of this homely meat. Clo. O Lord, sir. — Nay, put me to 't, I warrant you. Count. You were lately whipp'd, sir, as I think. Clo. O Lord, sir. Spare not me. Count. Do you cry "O Lord, sir," at your whipping, and " spare not me"? Indeed, your “O Lord, sir," is very sequent to your whipping; you would answer very well to a whipping if you were but bound to 't. Clo. I ne'er had worse luck in my life in my “O Lord, sir:" I see things may serve long, but not serve ever. Count. I play the noble housewife with the time, To entertain it so merrily with a Fool. |