SCEN E II.

Roufillon.

Enter Clown and Parolles.

Par. Good Mr. Lavatch, give my lord Lafeu this letter: I have ere now, fir, been better known to you, when I have held familiarity with fresher clothes; but I am now, fir, muddy'd in fortune's moat, and fmell fomewhat ftrong of her ftrong difpleasure..

Clo. Truly, fortune's displeasure is but fluttish, if it fmell so strongly as thou speak'ft of: I will henceforth eat no fish of fortune's buttering. Pr'ythee, 'allow the wind. Par. Nay, you need not to stop your nose, sir; I spake but by a metaphor.

Clo. Indeed, fir, if your metaphor ftink, I will stop my nofe; or against any man's metaphor. Pr'ythee, get thee further.

Par. Pray you, fir, deliver me this paper.

Clo. Foh! pr'ythee, stand away; A paper from fortune's close-stool to give to a nobleman! Look, here he comes himself.

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Enter Lafeu.

Here is a pur of fortune's, fir, or of fortune's cat, (but not a musk-cat) that has fallen into the unclean fishpond of her displeasure, and, as he fays, is muddy'd withal: Pray you, fir, use the carp as you may; for he looks like a poor, decay'd, ingenious, foolish, rafcally

muddy'd in fortune's moat,]-fortune's mood-under the frowns of fortune. allow the wind.]—stand to windward of me. * pur of fortune's,]-kitten-pus.

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knave. I do pity his distress in 'my fimilies of comfort, and leave him to your lordship. [Exit Clown. Par. My lord, I am a man whom fortune hath cruelly fcratch'd.

Laf. And what would you have me to do? 'tis too late to pare her nails now. Wherein have you play'd the knave with fortune, that she should scratch you, who of herself is a good lady, and would not have knaves thrive long under her? There's a quart d'ecu for you: Let the justices make you and fortune friends; I am for other bufinefs.

Par. I beseech your honour, to hear me one fingle

word.

Laf. You beg a fingle penny more: come, you fhall ha't; fave your word.

Par. My name, my good lord, is Parolles.

Laf. You beg more than "one word then.-Cox' my paffion! give me your hand :-How does your drum?

Par. O my good lord, you were the firft that found me. Laf. Was I, in footh? and I was the first that loft thee. Par. It lies in you, my lord, to bring me in fome grace, for you did bring me out.

Laf. Out upon thee, knave! doft thou put upon me at once both the office of God and the devil? one brings thee in grace, and the other brings thee out. [Sound trumpets.] The king's coming, I know by his trumpets. Sirrah, inquire further after me; I had talk of you laft night: though you are a fool and a knave, you fhall eat; go to, follow.

1

Par. I praise God for you.

[Exeunt.

my families of comfort,]-those comfortable epithets which I have just bestowed upon him (ironically)-in my fmiles.

one word then.]-Parolles-words.

SCENE

Flourish. Enter King, Countefs, Lafeu, Lords, Attendants, &c.

King. We loft a jewel of her; and " our esteem Was made much poorer by it: but your fon,

As mad in folly, lack'd the fenfe to know • Her eftimation home.

Count. 'Tis paft, my liege:

And I beseech your majesty to make it

P

Natural rebellion, done i' the blaze of youth;
When oil and fire, too ftrong for reafon's force,
O'erbears it, and burns on.

King. My honour'd lady,

I have forgiven and forgotten all:

Though my revenges were high bent upon him,
And watch'd the time to shoot.

Laf. This I must say,

But first I beg my pardon,-The young lord
Did to his majesty, his mother, and his lady,
Offence of mighty note; but to himself
The greatest wrong of all: he loft a wife,
Whose beauty did aftonish the furvey

Of richest eyes; whofe words all ears took captive;
Whose dear perfection, hearts that scorn'd to serve,
Humbly call'd mistress.

King. Praifing what is loft,

Makes the remembrance dear.-Well, call him hi

ther;

We are reconcil'd, and the firft view shall kill

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our efteem]-our own dignity fuffered through Bertram's misconduct.

• Her eftimation home. ]-The full extent of her worth.

blade.

a richeft]-moft discerning.

All

All repetition: Let him not ask our pardon;
The nature of his great offence is dead,
And deeper than oblivion we do bury
The incenfing relicks of it: let him approach,
'A stranger, no offender; and inform him,
So 'tis our will he should.

Gent. I fhall, my liege.

King. What fays he to your daughter? have you spoke? Laf. All that he is hath reference to your highness. King. Then shall we have a match. I have letters

fent me,

That fet him high in fame.

Enter Bertram.

Laf. He looks well on't.

King. I am not a day of feason,
For thou may'st see a fun-fhine and a hail
In me at once: But to the brightest beams
Distracted clouds give way; so stand thou forth,
The time is fair again.

Not one word more of the confumed time.

Let's take the inftant by the forward top;
For we are old, and on our quick'st decrees
The inaudible and noiseless foot of time
Steals, ere we can effect them: You remember
The daughter of this lord?

Ber. Admiringly, my liege: at first
I ftuck my choice upon her, ere my heart

repetition:]-recollection of what is past.

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A ftranger, no offender ;]-As though I was unacquainted with his guilt. a day of feafon,]-made up altogether of fair weather. high-repented]-deeply, fincerely.

Durft

Durst make too bold a herald of my tongue :
Where the impreffion of mine eye enfixing,
Contempt his fcornful perspective did lend me,
Which warp'd the line of every other favour:
* Scorn'd a fair colour, or exprefs'd it stol❜n ;
Extended or contracted all proportions,

W

To a most hideous object: Thence it came,

That she, whom all men prais'd, and whom myself,
Since I have loft, have lov'd, was in mine eye
The duft that did offend it.

King. Well excus'd:

That thou doft love her, strikes fome scores away
From the great compt: But love, that comes too late,
Like a remorseful pardon flowly carried,

To the great fender turns a four offence,
Crying, That's good that's gone: our rash faults
Make trivial price of ferious things we have,
Not knowing them until we know their grave:
Oft our displeasures, to ourselves unjust,
Deftroy our friends, and after weep their duft:

Our old love waking cries to fee what's done,
While shameful hate fleeps out the afternoon.
Be this sweet Helen's knell, and now forget her.
Send forth your amorous token for fair Maudlin;
The main confents are had; and here we'll stay
To see our widower's fecond marriage-day.

Count. Which better than the first, O dear heaven bless!

Or, ere they meet, in me, O nature, cease!

Laf. Come on, my fon, in whom my houfe's name Must be digested, give a favour from you,

w warp'd the line of every other favour :]-diftorted the features of every other face,

Scorn'd a fair colour, or exprefs'd it ftol'n;]-Taught me to treat disdainfully, or afcribe to art, the faireft complexions.

Y Our own.

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