COUNT.

Nay, a mother;
Why not a mother? when I said, a mother,
Methought you saw a serpent: what 's in mother,
That you start at it? I say, I am your mother;
And put you in the catalogue of those
That were enwombed mine.

'Tis often seen,
Adoption strives with nature; and choice breeds
A native slip to us from foreign seeds:
You ne'er oppress'd me with a mother's groan,
Yet I express to you a mother's care: --
God's mercy, maiden! does it curd thy blood,
To say, I am thy mother? What's the matter,
That this distemper'd messenger of wet,
The many-colour'd Iris, rounds thine eye?
Why?- that you are my daughter?
HEL.

COUNT. I say, I am your mother.

HEL. Pardon, madam; The count Rousillon cannot be my brother: I am from humble, he from honour'd name; No note upon my parents, his, all noble: My master, my dear lord he is: and I His servant live, and will his vassal die: He must not be my brother.

COUNT.

Nor I your mother?

HEL. You are my mother, madam; would you

were

(So that my lord, your son, were not my brother,)
Indeed my mother!-or were you both our mothers,
I care no more for, than I do for heaven,
So I were not his sister: can 't no other,
But, I your daughter, he must be my brother?
COUNT. Yes, Helen, you might be my daughter-
in-law;

God shield, you mean it not! daughter, and mother,
So strive upon your pulse: what, pale again?
My fear hath catch'd your fondness: now I see
The mystery of your loneliness, and find
Your salt tears' head. Now to all sense 'tis gross,
You love my son; invention is asham'd,
Against the proclamation of thy passion,
To say, thou dost not: therefore tell me true;
But tell me then, 'tis so:-for, look, thy cheeks
Confess it, th' one to th' other: and thine eyes
See it so grossly shown in thy behaviours,

Then, I confess,

Here on my knee, before high heaven and you,
That before you, and next unto high heaven,
I love your son:-

My friends were poor, but honest; so 's my love:
Be not offended, for it hurts not him,
That he is lov'd of me; I follow him not
By any token of presumptuous suit,
Nor would I have him, till I do deserve him;
Yet never know how that desert should be.
I know I love in vain, strive against hope;
Yet, in this captious and intenible sieve,
I still pour in the waters of my love,
And lack not to lose still; thus, Indian-like,
Religious in mine error, I adore
The sun, that looks upon his worshipper,
But knows of him no more. My dearest madam,
Let not your hate encounter with my love,
For loving where you do: but, if yourself,
Whose aged honour cites a virtuous youth,
Did ever, in so true a flame of liking.
Wish chastely and love dearly, that your Dian
Was both herself and Love; O then, give pity
To her, whose state is such that cannot choose,
But lend and give where she is sure to lose;
That seeks not to find that her search implies,
But, riddle-like, lives sweetly where she dies.
COUNT. Had you not lately an intent, speak truly,
To go to Paris?

HEL. Madam, I had. COUNT. Wherefore? tell true. HEL. I will tell truth; by grace itself, I swear. You know, my father left me some prescriptions Of rare and prov'd effects, such as his reading, And manifest experience, had collected For general sovereignty; and that he will'd me In heedfullest reservation to bestow them, As notes, whose faculties inclusive were, More than they were in note: amongst the rest, There is a remedy, approv'd, set down, To cure the desperate languishings, whereof The king is render'd lost. COUNT.

For Paris, was it? speak.

This was your motive

'Tis our hope, sir,

After well-entered soldiers, to return
And find your grace in health.

KING. No, no, it cannot be, and yet my heart
Will not confess he owes the malady

That doth my life besiege. Farewell, young lords;
Whether I live or die, be you the sons
Of worthy Frenchmen: let higher Italy
(Those 'bated, that inherit but the fall
Of the last monarchy) see that you come
Not to woo honour, but to wed it; when
The bravest questant shrinks, find what you seek,
That fame may cry you loud: I say, farewell.
2 LORD. Health, at your bidding, serve your
majesty!

KING. Those girls of Italy, take heed of them;
They say, our French lack language to deny,
If they demand; beware of being captives,
Before you serve.

Вотн.
Our hearts receive your warnings.
KING. Farewell.-Come hither to me.
[The KING retires to a couch.
I LORD. O my sweet lord, that you will stay be-
hind us!

PAR. 'Tis not his fault, the spark. 2 LORD.

O, 'tis brave wars! PAR. Most admirable; I have seen those wars. BER. I am commanded here, and kept a coil with, Too young, and the next year, and 'tis too early.

PAR. An thy mind stand to 't, boy, steal away bravely.

2 LORD. I am your accessary; and so farewell. BER. I grow to you, and our parting is a tortured body.

I LORD. Farewell, captain.

2 LORD. Sweet monsieur Parolles!

PAR. Noble heroes, my sword and yours are kin. Good sparks and lustrous, a word, good metals. You shall find in the regiment of the Spinii, one captain Spurio, with his cicatrice. an emblem of war, here on his sinister cheek; it was this very sword entrenched it: say to him, I live; and observe his reports for me. 2 LORD. We shall, noble captain.

PAR. Mars dote on you for his novices! [Exeunt Lords.] What will you do?

BER. Stay: the king

PAR. Use a more spacious ceremony to the noble lords; you have restrained yourself within the list of too cold an adieu: be more expressive to them; for they wear themselves in the cap of the time; there, do muster true gait, eat, speak, and move under the influence of the most received star; and though the devil lead the measure, such are to be followed: after them, and take a more dilated farewell.

BER. And I will do so.

PAR. Worthy fellows; and like to prove most sinewy sword-men.

[Exeunt BERTRAM and PAROLLES. Enter LAFEU.

LAF. Pardon, my lord, [Kneeling.] for me and for my tidings.

KING. I'll sue thee to stand up.

[his pardon. LAF. Then here's a man stands, that has brought I would you had kneel'd, my lord. to ask me mercy; And that, at my bidding, you could so stand up.

KING. I would I had; so I had broke thy pate, And ask'd thee mercy for 't.

LAF. Good faith, across: but, my good lord, 'tis thus;

Will you be cur'd of your infirmity?
KING. NO.

LAF. O, will you eat no grapes, my royal fox?
Yes, but you will, my noble grapes, an if
My royal fox could reach them: I have seen
medicine,

a

one

That 's able to breathe life into a stone,
Quicken a rock, and make you dance canary,
With sprightly fire and motion; whose simple touch
Is powerful to araise king Pepin, nay,
To give great Charlemaine a pen in 's hand,
And write to her a love-line.
KING.
What her is this?
LAF. Why, doctor she; my lord, there's
arriv'd,
If you will see her,-now, by my faith and honour,
If seriously I may convey my thoughts
In this my light deliverance, I have spoke
With one, that, in her sex, her years, profession,
Wisdom, and constancy, hath amaz'd me more
Than I dare blame my weakness. Will you see her,
(For that is her demand,) and know her business?
That done, laugh well at me.
KING.
Now, good Lafeu,
Bring in the admiration; that we with thee
May spend our wonder too, or take off thine,
By wond'ring how thou took'st it.
LAF.
And not be all day neither.
KING. Thus he his special nothing ever prologues.

Nay, I'll fit you, [Exit LAFEU.

Re-enter LAFEU; HELENA following.

LAF. Nay, come your ways.
KING.

This haste hath wings indeed.
LAF. Nay, come your ways;
This is his majesty, say your mind to him:
A traitor you do look like, but such traitors

HEL. The rather will I spare my praises towards him;

Knowing him, is enough. On 's bed of death
Many receipts he gave me; chiefly one,
Which, as the dearest issue of his practice,
And of his old experience th' only darling,
He bade me store up, as a triple eye,

Safer than mine own two more dear: I have so;
And, hearing your high majesty is touch'd
With that malignant cause, wherein the honour
Of my dear father's gift stands chief in power,
I come to tender it, and my appliance,
With all bound humbleness.

Thy pains, not us'd, must by thyself be paid:
Proffers, not took, reap thanks for their reward.
HEL. Inspired merit so by breath is barr'd:
It is not so with him that all things knows,
As 'tis with us that square our guess by shows:
But most it is presumption in us. when
The help of heaven we count the act of men.
Dear sir, to my endeavours give consent;
Of heaven, not me, make an experiment.
I am not an impostor, that proclaim
Myself against the level of mine aim,
But know I think, and think I know most sure,
My art is not past power, nor you past cure.
KING. Art thou so confident? within what space
Hop'st thou my cure?

HEL.
The great'st grace lending grace,
Ere twice the horses of the sun shall bring
Their fiery torcher his diurnal ring;
Ere twice in murk and occidental damp
Moist Hesperus hath quench'd his sleepy lamp:
Or four and twenty times the pilot's glass
Hath told the thievish minutes how they pass;
What is infirm, from your sound parts shall fly,
Health shall live free, and sicknesss freely die.
KING. Upon thy certainty and confidence,
What dar'st thou venture?

So stain our judgment, or corrupt our hope,
To prostitute our past-cure malady

To empirics; or to dissever so

Our great self and our credit, to esteem

A senseless help, when help past sense we deem.
HEL. My duty then shall pay me for my pains
I will no more enforce mine office on you;
Humbly entreating from your royal thoughts
A modest one, to bear me back again.

KING. I cannot give thee less, to be call'd grateful:
Thou thought'st to help me, and such thanks I give,
As one near death to those that wish him live:
But, what at full I know, thou know'st no part;
I knowing all my peril, thou no art.

HEL. What I can do, can do no hurt to try,

: Since you set up your rest 'gainst remedy:

He that of greatest works is finisher,

Oft does them by the weakest minister:

So holy writ in babes hath judgment shown,

When judges have been babes. Great floods have flown

From simple sources; and great seas have dried,
When miracles have by the greatest been denied.
Oft expectation fails, and most oft there

Where most it promises; and oft it hits,
Where hope is coldest, and despair most fits.

KING. I must not hear thee; fare thee well, kind

maid;

HEL.

Tax of impudence,-
A strumpet's boldness, a divulged shame,-
Traduc'd by odious ballads; my maiden's name
Sear'd otherwise; ne worse of worst extended,
With vilest torture let my life be ended.
KING. Methinks, in thee some blessed spirit doth
speak

His powerful sound, within an organ weak:
And what impossibility would slay

In common sense, sense saves another way.
Thy life is dear; for all that life can rate
Worth name of life, in thee hath estimate;
Youth, beauty, wisdom, courage, all
That happiness and prime can happy call:
Thou this to hazard, needs must intimate
Skill infinite, or monstrous desperate.
Sweet practiser, thy physic I will try;
That ministers thine own death, if I die.

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;
My low and humble name to propagate
With any branch or image of thy state:
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 blest.-
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 show 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, put 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 brawn-buttock, 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 fore-finger, 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.

CLO. But a trifle neither, in good faith, if the learned should speak truth of it: here it is, and all 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 answer. I pray you, sir, are you a courtier?

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 whipped, 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

COUNT. Not much employment for you: you understand me?

CLO. Most fruitfully; I am there before my legs. COUNT. Haste you again. [Exeunt severally.

SCENE III.-Paris. A Room in the King's Palace. Enter BERTRAM, LAFEU, and PAROLLES.

LAF. They say, miracles are past; and we have our philosophical persons, to make modern and familiar, things supernatural and causeless. Hence is it, that we make trifles of terrors, ensconcing ourselves into seeming knowledge, when we should submit ourselves to an unknown fear.

PAR. Why, 'tis the rarest argument of wonder, that

hath shot out in our latter times. BER. And so 'tis.

LAF. Why, your dolphin is not lustier: 'fore me I speak in respect

PAR. Nay, 'tis strange, 'tis very strange, that is the brief and the tedious of it; and he is of a most facinorous spirit, that will not acknowledge it to be theLAF. Very hand of heaven. PAR. Ay, so I say. LAF. In a most weak

PAR. And debile minister, great power, great transcendence: which should, indeed, give us a further use to be made, than alone the recovery of the king, as to be

LAF. Generally thankful.

PAR. I would have said it; you say well. comes the king.

Here

LAF. Lustique, as the Dutchman says: I'll like a maid the better, whilst I have a tooth in my head: why, he's able to lead her a coranto.

PAR. Mort du Vinaigre! Is not this Helen?

LAF. To be relinquished of the artists,

PAR. So I say; both of Galen and Paracelsus.
LAF. Of all the learned and authentic fellows,-
PAR. Right, so I say.

LAF. That gave him out incurable,

PAR. Why, there 'tis; so say I too.

LAF. Not to be helped,

PAR. Right: as 'twere, a man assured of a-
LAF. Uncertain life, and sure death.

PAR. Just, you say well; so would I have said.
LAF. I may truly say, it is a novelty to the world.
PAR. It is, indeed: if you will have it in showing,
you shall read it in,- -what do ye call there?-
LAF. A showing of a heavenly effect in an earthly

actor.

PAR. That's it I would have said: the very same.

LAF. 'Fore Cod, I think so.

Enter KING, HELENA, and Attendants. KING. Go, call before me all the lords in court. [Exit an Attendant. Sit, my preserver, by thy patient's side; And with this healthful hand, whose banish'd sense Thou hast repeal'd, a second time receive The confirmation of my promised gift, Which but attends thy naming.

Enter several Lords.

Fair maid, send' forth thine eye: this youthful parcel
Of noble bachelors stand at my bestowing,
O'er whom both sovereign power and father's voice
I have to use: thy frank election make,
Thou hast power to choose, and they none to forsake.

ALL. We understand it, and thank heaven for you. HEL. I am a simple maid; and therein wealthiest, That, I protest, I simply am a maid:Please it your majesty, I have done already: The blushes in my cheeks thus whisper me, We blush, that thou should'st choose; but, be refus'd, Let the white death sit on thy cheek for ever; We'll ne'er come there again. KING. Make choice; and see, Who shuns thy love, shuns all his love in me. HEL. Now, Dian, from thy altar do I fly, And to imperial Love, that god most high, Do my sighs stream.-Sir, will you hear my suit? I LORD. And grant it.

HEL.

Thanks, sir; all the rest is mute.

LAF. I had rather be in this choice, than throw ames-ace for my life.

HEL. The honour, sir, that flames in your fair

eyes,

Before I speak, too threat'ningly replies:

Love make your fortunes twenty times above

Her that so wishes, and her humble love! 2 LORD. No better, if you please. HEL. My wish receive, Which great Love grant! and so I take my leave. LAF. Do all they deny her? An they were sons of mine, I'd have them whipped; or I would send them to the Turk, to make eunuchs of.

HEL. Be not afraid [To a Lord.] that I your hand should take,

I'll never do you wrong for your own sake:
Blessing upon your vows! and in your bed

Find fairer fortune, if you ever wed!

LAF. These boys are boys of ice, they 'll none have her: sure, they are bastards to the English; the French ne'er got them.

HEL. You are too young, too happy, and too good, To make yourself a son out of my blood.

4 LORD Fair one, I think not so.

LAF. There's one grape yet,-I am sure thy father drank wine. But if thou be'st not an ass, I am a youth of fourteen; I have known thee already.

HEL. I dare not say, I take you; [To BERTRAM.] but I give

Me and my service, ever whilst I live,

Into your guiding power -This is the man.

KING. Why then, young Bertram, take her, she's

thy wife.

BER. My wife, my liege? I shall beseech your high

I can build up. Strange is it, that our bloods.
Of colour, weight, and heat, pour'd all together,
Would quite confound distinction, yet stand off
In differences so mighty. If she be

All that is virtuous, (save what thou dislik'st,
A poor physician's daughter,) thou dislik'st
Of virtue for the name: but do not so:
From lowest place when virtuous things proceed,
The place is dignified by the doer's deed:
Where great additions swell us, and virtue none,

It is a dropsied honour: good alone

Is good, without a name; vileness is so:

The property by what it is should go,
Not by the title. She is young, wise, fair;
In these to nature she 's immediate heir;
And these breed honour: that is honour's scorn,
Which challenges itself as honour's born,
And is not like the sire: honours thrive,
When rather from our acts we them derive

Than our fore-goers; the mere word 's a slave,
Debosh'd on every tomb; on every grave,
A lying trophy, and as oft is dumb,

Where dust and damn'd oblivion, is the tomb
Of honour'd bones indeed. What should be said?
If thou canst like this creature as a maid,
I can create the rest: virtue, and she,

Is her own dower; honour, and wealth, from me.
BER. I cannot love her, nor will strive to do 't.
KING. Thou wrong'st thyself, if thou should'st
strive to choose.

HEL. That you are well restor'd, my lord, I'm glad;

Let the rest go.

KING. My honour 's at the stake; which to defeat,
I must produce my power. Here, take her hand,
Proud scornful boy, unworthy this good gift,
That dost in vile misprision shackle up

My love, and her desert; that canst not dream,
We, poising us in her defective scale,

Shall weigh thee to the beam; that wilt not know,
It is in us to plant thine honour, where

We please to have it grow. Check thy contempt:
Obey our will, which travails in thy good:
Believe not thy disdain, but presently

Do thine own fortunes that obedient right,
Which both thy duty owes, and our power claims;
Or I will throw thee from my care for ever,
Into the staggers, and the careless lapse

Of youth and ignorance; both my revenge and hate,
Loosing upon thee in the name of justice,
Without all terms of pity. Speak; thine answer.
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 't were, born so.

I take her hand.

BER. KING. Good fortune, and the favour of the king. Smile upon this contráct; 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 you. PAR. Your pleasure, sir?

LAF. Your lord and master did well to make his

recantation.

PAR. Recantation?-My lord?-my master?
LAF. Ay; is it not a language, I speak?

PAR. A most harsh one; and not to be understood without bloody succeeding. My master?

LAF. Are you companion to the count Rousillon? PAR. To any count; to all counts; to what is man. LAF. To what is count's man; count's master is of another style.

PAR. You are too old, sir; let it satisfy you, you are too old.

LAF. I must tell thee, sirrah, I write man; to 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 burthen. 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 a 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

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 kicky-wicky here at home;
Spending his manly marrow in her arms,
Which should sustain the bound and high curvet
Of Mars's 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 capriccio 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 marr'd:

LAF. Who? God?

PAR. Ay, sir.

same.

[Exeunt.

Another Room in the

Enter HELENA and Clown.

HEL. My mother greets me kindly: is she well?

LAF. The devil it is, that 's thy master. Why dost SCENE IV.-The same. 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 but 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 nn's foot: to the wars! BER. There's letters from my mother; what the import is,

I know not yet.

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 'rt 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,

BER. Will she away to-night?

PAR. As you'll have her.

[Aside to PAROLLES.

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, End 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 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 this light nut; the soul of this man is his clothes: trust him not in matter of heavy consequence; I have kept of them tame, and know their natures.-Farewell, monsieur: I have spoken better of you, than 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?

[Exit.

BER. Yes, I do know him well; and common

speech

Gives him a worthy pass.

Here comes my clog.

Truly, she's very well, indeed, but for two things.

Which, as your due, time claims, he does acknowledge;

But puts it off to a compelled restraint;

sweets,

Which they distil now in the curbed time, To make the coming hour o'erflow with joy, And pleasure drown the brim.

HEL.

pray you, make us

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 Whose want, and whose delay, is strewed with 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 I cannot yet find in my heart to repent. Here he comes; friends, I will pursue the amity. Enter PAROLLES. PAR. These things shall be done, sir. [To BERTRAM. LAF. Pray you, sir, who 's his tailor? PAR. Sir? LAF. O, I know him well: ay, sir; he, sir, is a good workman, a very good tailor.

What's his will else? PAR. That you will take your instant leave o' the 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?

PAR. That, having this obtain'd, you presently Attend his further pleasure.

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, therefore am I found

So much unsettled. This drives me to entreat you,

That presently you take 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 see you; so

I leave you to your wisdom.
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 toward me my homely stars have fail'd

To equal my great fortune.
BER.

Let that go:

My haste is very great: farewell; hie home. HEL. Pray, sir, your pardon.

BER.

Well, what would you say?

HEL. I am not worthy of the wealth I owe, Nor dare I say, 'tis mine; and yet it is; But, like a timorous 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: my lord-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, monsierr?-Fare-
well.
[Exit HELENA.
Go thou toward home; where I will never come,
Whilst I can shake my sword, or hear the drum.-
Away, and for our flight.
PAR.

Bravely, coragio! [Exeunt.