Clo. Truly, fortune's difpleasure is but fluttish, if it fmell fo ftrongly as thou fpeak'it of: I will henceforth eat no fish of fortune's butt'ring. Pr'ythee, allow the wind.

Par. Nay, you need not to ftop your nofe, Sir; I . fpake but by a metaphor.

Clo. Indeed, Sir, if your metaphor flink, I will flop my nose against any man's metaphor. Pr'ythee, get thee further.

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

Clo. Foh! pr'ythee, ftand away; a paper from fortune's clofe fool, to give to a Nobleman! look, here he comes himself.

Enter Lafeu.

Here is a pur of fortune's, Sir, or fortune's cat, (but not a musk-cat ;) that hath fall'n into the unclean fifpond of her difpleasure, and, as he fays, is muddied withal. Pray you, Sir, use the carp as you may; for he looks like a poor, decayed, ingenious, foolish, rafcally knave. (24) I do pity his diftrefs in my fimiles of comfort, and leave him to your Lordship.

Par. My Lord, I am a man whom fortune hath cruelly fcratch'd.

the Carp as you may, &c. In all which Places, 'tis obvious, a Moat, or Pond, is the Allufion. Befides, Parelles smelling ftrong, as he fays, of Fortune's ftrong Displeasure, carries on the fame Image: For as the Moats round old Seats were always replenish'd with Fish, fo the Clown's joke of holding his Nofe, we may prefume, proceeded from This because la Chambre basse was always over the Moat: and therefore the Clown humouroufly fays, when Parolles is preffing him to deliver his Letter to Lord Lafeu. -Fob! pr'ythee, fand away: A Paper from Fortune's Clofeftool, to give to a Nobleman!

(24) I do pity bis Diftrefs in my Smiles of Comfort,] This very humourous Paffage my Friend Mr. Warburton rescued from Nonfenfe moft happily, by the Infertion of a fingle Letter, in the Manner I have reform'd the Text. Thefe Similes of Comfort are ironically meant by the Clown; as much as to fay, you may perceive how much I think he deferves Comfort, by my calling him Fortune's Cat, Carp, rafcally Knave, &c.


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 her felf is a good Lady, and would not have knaves thrive long under her? there's a Quart-d'ecu for you: let the juftices 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 first, that found


Laf. Was I, infooth? and I was the firft, that loft thee.

Par. It lyes 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 last night; tho' you are a fool and a knave, you shall eat; go to, follow.

Par. I praise God for you.

[Exeunt. Flourish. Enter King, Countefs, Lafeu, the two French Lords, with attendants.


King. We loft a jewel of her, (25) our esteem. Was made much poorer by it; but your fon,,



our Efteem

Was made much poorer by it :- -] What's the Meaning of the King's Esteem being made poorer by the Lofs of Helen? I think, it can only be understood in one Sense; and that Sense won't carry Water: i, e. We fuffer'd in our Eftimation by her


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
Natural rebellion, done i'th' blade of youth,
When oil and fire, too strong for reafon's force,
O'erbears it, and burns on.

King. My honour'd Lady,

I have forgiven and forgotten all;

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

Laf. This I muft fay,

But first I beg my pardon; the young Lord
Did to his Majefty, his mother, and his lady,
Offence of mighty note; but to himself
The greatest wrong of all. He loft a wife,
Whole beauty did astonish the furvey

Of richeft eyes; whofe words all ears took captive;
Whofe dear perfection, hearts, that scorp'd to serve,
Humbly call'd miftrefs..

King. Praifing what is loft,

Makes the remembrance dear. Well


We're reconcil'd, and the first view shall kill

All repetition let him not ask our pardon.
The nature of his great offence is dead,
And deeper than oblivion we do bury

Th' incenfing relicks of it. Let him approach,
A ftranger, no offender; and inform him,
So 'tis our will he fhould.

Gent. I fhall, my Liege.

call him

Lofs. But how fo? Did the King contribute to her Misfortunes ? Nothing like it. Or did he not do all in his Power to prevent them? Yes? he married Bertram to her. We must certainly read therefore;

We loft a Jewel of ber; our Estate
Was made much poorer by it:

That's the certain Confcquence of any one's lofing a Jewel, for their Eftate to be made proportionably poorer according to to the Value of the Lofs.

Mr. Warburton.

King. What fays he to your daughter? Have you fpoke

Laf. All, that he is, hath reference to your Highness. King. Then fhall we have a match. I have letters fent me,

That fet him high in fame.

Enter Bretram.

Laf. He looks well on't.

King. I'm not a day of season,

For thou may'ft fee a fun-fhine and a hail
In me at once; but to the brightest beams
Diftracted clouds give way; fo stand thou forth,
The time is fair again.

Ber. My high repented blames,.
Dear Sovereign, pardon to me.
King. All is whole,

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'ft decrees
Th' inaudible and noiselefs 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
Durft 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 ftoll'n :
Extended or contracted all proportions
To a most hideous object: thence it came,
That fhe, whom all men prais'd, and whom myfelf,
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, ftrikes fome fcores away
From the great 'compt; but love, that comes too late,
Like a remorseful pardon flowly carried,

To the great fender turns a fowre offence,



Crying, that's good that is gone: our rafh faults
Make trivial price of ferious things we have,
Not knowing them, until we know their
Oft our difpleafures, to our selves unjust,
Destroy our friends, and, after, weep their duft:
Our own love, waking, cries to fee what's done,
While fhameful hate fleeps out the afternoon.
Be this fweet 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 fee our widower's fecond marriage-day:

Count (25) Which better than the first, O dear heav'n, blefs,

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

Laf. Come on, my.fon, in whom my house's name: Must be digefted: give a favour from you To fparkle in the fpirits of my daughter, That the may quickly come. By my old beard, And ev'ry hair that's on't, Helen, that's dead, Was a fweet creature: fuch a ring as this, The laft that e'er fhe took her leave at court, I faw upon her finger.

Ber. Her's it was not.

King. Now, pray you, let me fee it: For mine eye, While I was fpeaking, oft was faften'd to't.

This ring was mine; and, when I gave it Helen,
I bad her, if her fortunes ever stood

Neceffitied to help, that by this token

I would relieve her. Had you that craft to reave her Of what fhould ftead her moft?

(25) Which better than the first, O dear Heav'n, blefs,

Or, e'er they meet, in me, O Nature, cease!] I have ventur'd, against the Authority of the printed Copies, to prefix the Countess's Name to these two Lines. The King appears, indeed, to be a Favourer of Bertram: but if Bertram fhould make a bad Husband the fecond Time, why fhould it give the King fuch mortal Pangs? A fond and disappointed Mother might reasonably not defire to live to fee fuch a Day: and from her the Wish of dying, rather than to behold it, comes with Propriety.


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