Ber. I do affure you, my Lord, he is very great in knowledge, and accordingly valiant.

Laf. I have then finned against his experience, and tranfgrefs'd against his valour; and my ftate that way is dangerous, fince I cannot yet find in my heart to repent: here he comes; I pray you, make us friends, I will pursue the amity.

Enter Parolles.

Par. These things fhall be done, Sir..
Laf I pray you, Sir, who's his taylor?

Par. Sir?

Laf. O, I know him well; I, Sir, he, Sir's; a good workman, a very good taylor.

Ber. Is fhe gone to the King?

Par. She is.

Ber. Will fhe away to night?
Par. As you'll have her.

[Afide to Parolles.

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Bar. I have writ my letters, casketed my treasure, given order for our horfes; and to night, when I. fhould take poffefsion of the bride


and ere I do

Laf. A good traveller is fomething at the latter endof a dinner; but one that lyes three thirds, and uses a known truth to pass a thousand nothings with, fhould be once heard, and thrice beatenGod fave you.


Ber. Is there any unkindness between my Lord and you, Monfieur?

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

Laf. (17) You have made shift to run into't, boots and fpurs and all, like him that leapt into the custard;

Boots and Spurs and
This odd Allufion is

(17) You have made shift to run into't, all, like him that leapt into the Custard.] not introduc'd without a View to Satire. It was a Foolery practis'd at City-Entertainments, whilst the Fester or Zeny was in Vogue, for him to jump into a large deep Custard: fet for the Purpose, to fet on a Quantity of barren Spectators to laugh; ; as our Poet fays in his Hamlet.


and out of it you'll run again, rather than suffer question for your refidence.

Ber. It may be, you have mistaken him, my Lord. Laf. And thall do fo ever, tho' I took him at's prayers. Fare you well, my Lord, and believe this of me, there can be no kernel in this light nut: the foul of this man is his clothes. Truft him not in matter of heavy confequence: I have kept of them tame, and know their natures. Farewel, Monfieur, I have spoken better of you, than you have or will deferve at my hand, but we muft do good against evil. [Exit.

Par. An idle lord, I swear..

Ber. I think fo.

Par. Why, do you not know him?

Ber. Yes, I know him well, and common speech Gives him a worthy pafs. 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 prefent parting; only, he defires

Some private fpeech with you.

Ber. I fhall 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 fuch a business; therefore am I found
So much unfettled: this drives me to intreat you,
That presently you take your way for home,
And rather mufe, than ask, why I intreat you;
For my respects are better than they seem,
And my appointments have in them a need
Greater than fhews itself at the first view,
Το you that know them not. This to my mother.

[Giving a letter "Twill be two days ere I fhall fee you, fo

I leave you to your wisdom.

Hel. Sir, I can nothing fay,

But that I am your most obedient fervant.


Ber. Come, come, no more of that.

Hel. And ever shall

With true obfervance feek to eke out That,
Wherein tow'rd me my homely ftars have fail'd
To equal my great fortune.

Ber. Let That go:

My baste is very great.

Farewel; 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 fay, '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



I would not tell you what I would, my Lord- 'faith,


Strangers and foes do funder, and not kifs.

Ber. I pray you, ftay not: but in hafte to horfe. Hel. (18) I fhall not break your bidding, good my Lord. [Exit Helena. Ber. Where are my other men, Monfieur ?-farewel. Go thou tow'r'd home, where I will never come, Whilst I can shake my fword, or hear the drum : Away, and for our flight.

Par. Bravely, Couragio!


(18) Hel. I shall not break your Bidding, good my Lord: Where are my other Men? Monfieur, farewel. Ber. Go thou toward home, where I will never come,} What other Men is Helen here enquiring after? Or who is She fuppos'd to ask for them? The old Countefs, 'tis certain, did not fend her to the Court without fome Attendants: but neither the Clown, nor any of her Retinue, are now upon the Stage: Bertram, observing Helen to linger fondly, and wanting to shift her off, puts on a Shew of Hafte, asks Parolles for his Servants, and then gives his Wife an abrupt Dismiffion.



SCENE, the Duke's Court in Florence.

Flourish. Enter the Duke of Florence, two French Lords, with Soldiers.


So that, from point to point, now have you heard

The fundamental reafons of this war,

Whofe great decifion hath much blood let forth,

And more thirsts after.

I Lord. Holy feems the quarrel

Upon your Grace's part; but black and fearful

On the oppofer.

Duke. Therefore we marvel much, our coufin France Would, in so just a business, shut his bofom

Against our borrowing prayers.

2 Lord. Good my Lord,

The reasons of our state I cannot yield,
But like a common and an outward man,
That the great figure of a council frames
By felf-unable motion; therefore dare not
Say what I think of it, fince I have found
Myfelf in my incertain grounds to fail
As often as I guest.

Duke. Be it his pleasure.

2 Lord. But I am fure, the younger of our nation, That furfeit on their ease, will day by day

Come here for phyfick.

Duke. Welcome shall they be:

And all the honours, that can fly from us,

Shall on them fettle. You know your places well.'
When better fall, for your avails they fell;
To-morrow, to the field.



SCENE changes to Roufillon, in France.

Enter Countefs, and Clown.

Count. IT hath happen'd, all as I would have had it; fave, that he comes not along with her.

Clo. By my troth, I take my young Lord to be a very melancholy man.

Count. By what obfervance, I pray you ?

Clo. Why, he will look upon his boot, and fing; mend his ruff, and fing; ask queftions, and fing; pick his teeth, and fing. I knew a man that had this trick of melancholy, fold a goodly manor for a fong.

to come.

Count. Let me fee what he writes, and when he means [Reads the letter: Clo. I have no mind to Isbel, fince I was at court. Our old ling, and our Isbels o'th' country, are nothing like your old ling, and your Isbels o'th' court: the brain of my Cupid's knock'd out; and I begin to love, as an old man loves mony, with no ftomach.

Count. What have we here?

Cle. E'en That you have there.

Countess reads a letter.


I have fent you a daughter-in-law: fhe bath recovered the King, and undone me. I have wedded her, not bedded her; and fworn to make the not eternal. You shall hear, I am run away; know it, before the report come. If there be breadth enough in the world, I will hold a long distance. My duty to you.

Your unfortunate Son,


This is not well, rash and unbridled boy,
To fly the favours of fo good a King,

To pluck his indignation on thy head;
By the mifprizing of a maid, too virtuous
For the contempt of empire.


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