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?
1 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 threateningly 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 they all deny her? An they were sons of mine, I'd have them whipped; or I would send them to the Turk, to make cunuchs 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 Me, and my service, ever whilst I live,

Into your guiding power.-This is the man.

[give

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

thy wife.

Ber. My wife, my liege?

[highness,

1 shall beseech your

In such a business give me leave to use

The help of mine own eyes.

King:

What she has done for me?

Know'st thou not, Bertram.

Yes, my good lord

Ber. But never hope to know why I should marry her. King. Thou know'st, she has raised me from my

sickly bed.

Ber. But follows it, my lord, to bring me down Must answer for your rising? I know her well; She had her breeding at my father's charge:

A poor physician's daughter my wife!-Disdain
Rather corrupt me ever!

King. 'Tis only title thou disdain'st in her, the which
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 dislikest,
A poor physician's daughter,) thou dislikest
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, 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 best thrive,
When rather from our acts we them derive
Than our fore-goers; the mere word's a slave,
Debauch'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 shouldst strive

to choose.

Hel. That you are well restored, my lord, I am 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 'twere, born so.

King.

Take her by the hand. And tell her, she is thine: to whom I promise A counterpoise; if not to thy estate,

A balance more replete.

Ber.
I take her hand.
King. Good fortune, and the favour of the king,
Smile upon this contract; whose ceremony
Shall seem expedient on the new-born brief,
And be perform'd to-night: the solemn feast
Shall more attend upon the coming space,
Expecting absent friends. As thou lovest 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?
[recantation.
Laf. Your lord and master did well to make his
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 burden. 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 of it.

Par. I have not, my lord, deserved it.

Laf. Yes, good faith, every dram of it; and I will not bate thee a scruple.

Par. Well, I shall be wiser.

Laf. E'en as soon as thou canst, for thou hast to pull at a smack o' the contrary. If ever thou be'st bound in thy scarf, and beaten, thou shalt find what it is to be proud of thy bondage. I have a desire to hold my acquaintance with thee, or rather my knowledge; that I may say, in the default, he is a man I know.

Par. My lord, you do me most insupportable vexation. Laf. I would it were helf-pains for thy sake, and my poor doing eternal: for doing I am past; as I will by thee, in what motion age will give me leave.

[Exit.

ווי 1

Par. Well, thou hast a son shall take this disgrace off me; scurvy, old, filthy, scurvy lord. Well, I must be patient; there is no fettering of authority. beat him, by my life, if I can meet him with any convenience, an he were double, and double a lord. have no more pity of his age, than I would have of I'll beat him, an if I could but meet him again.

Re-enter LAFEU.

I'll

Laf. Sirrah, your lord and master's married, there's news for you; you have a new mistress.

Par. I most unfeignedly beseech your lordship to make some reservation of your wrongs: He is my good lord: whom I serve above, is my master.

Laf. Who? God?

Par. Ay, sir.

Laf. The devil it is, that's thy master. Why dost 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 virtues gives you commission. You are not worth another word, else I'd call you knave. I leave you. [Brit.

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 man's foot: To the wars!

Ber. There's letters from my mother; what the imI know not yet.

[port is, 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 kicksy-wicksy 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 of 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:

D