and, to stop up the displeasure he hath conceived against your son, there is no fitter matter. How does your ladyship like it?

Count. With very much content, my lord, and I wish it happily effected.

Laf. His highness comes post from Marseilles, of as able body as when he numbered thirty; he will be here to-morrow, or I am deceived by him that in such intelligence hath seldom failed.

Count. It rejoices me, that I hope I shall see him ere I die. I have letters, that my son will be here to night: I shall beseech your lordship, to remain with me till they meet together.

Laf. Madam, I was thinking, with what manners I might safely be admitted.

Count. You need but plead your honourable privilege. Laf. Lady, of that I have made a bold charter; but, I thank my God, it holds yet.

Re-enter Clown.

Clo. O madam, yonder's my lord your son with a patch of velvet on's face: whether there be a scar under it, or no, the velvet knows; but 'tis a goodly patch of velvet: his left cheek is a cheek of two pile and a half, but his right cheek is worn bare.

Laf. A scar nobly got, or a noble scar, is a good livery of honour; so, belike, is that.

Clo. But it is your carbonadoed face.

Laf. Let us go see your son, I pray you; I long to talk with the young noble soldier.

Clo. Faith, there's a dozen of 'em, with delicate fine hats, and most courteous feathers, which bow the head, and nod at every man. [Excunt.

ACT V.

SCENE 1.-Marseilles. A Street.

Enter HELENA, Widow, and DIANA, with two Attendants.

Hel. But this exceeding posting, day and night, Must wear your spirits low: we cannot help it; But, since you have made the days and nights as one, To wear your gentle limbs in my affairs,

Be bold, you do so grow in my requital,

As nothing can unroot you. In happy time;—

Enter a gentle Astringer.

This man may help me to his majesty's ear,

If he would spend his power.-God save you, sir.
Gent. And you.

Hel. Sir, I have seen you in the court of France.
Gent. I have been sometimes there.

Hel. I do presume, sir, that you are not fallen
From the report, that goes upon your goodness;
And therefore, goaded with most sharp occasions,
Which lay nice manners by, I put you to

The use of your own virtues, for the which
I shall continue thankful.

Gent.

What's your will?

Hel. That it will please you

To give this poor petition to the king;

And aid me with that store of power you have,

To come into his presence.

Gent. The king's not here.

Hel.

Gent.

Not here, sir?

Not, indeed:

He hence removed last night, and with more haste
Than is his use.

Wid.

Lord, how we lose our pains!

Hel. All's well that ends well, yet;

Though time seem so advérse, and means unfit.-
I do beseech you, whither has he gone?

Gent. Marry, as I take it, to Rousillon,
Whither I am going.

Hel.
I do beseech you, sir,
Since you are like to see the king before me,
Commend the paper to his gracious hand;
Which, I presume, shall render you no blame,
But rather make you thank your pains for it:
I will come after you, with what good speed
Our means will make us means.

Gent.
This I'll do for you.
Hel. And you shall find yourself to be well thank d,
Whate'er falls more.-We must to horse again:

Go, go, provide.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.-Rousillon.

The inner Court of the

Countess's Palace.

Enter Clown and PAROLLES.

Par. Good monsieur Lavatch, give my lord Lafeu this letter: I have ere now, sir, been better known to you, when I have held familiarity with fresher clothes;

G

but I am now, sir, muddied in fortune's moat, and smell somewhat strong of her strong displeasure.

Clo. Truly, fortune's displeasure is but sluttish, if it smell so strong as thou speakest of: I will henceforth eat no fish of fortune's buttering. Pr'ythee, allow the wind.

Par. Nay, you need not stop your nose, sir; I spake but by a metaphor.

Clo. Indeed, sir, if your metaphor stink, I will stop my nose; or against any man's metaphor. Pr'ythee, get thee farther.

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

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

Enter LAFEU.

Here is a pur of fortune's, sir, or of fortune's cat, (but not a musk-cat,) that has fallen into the unclean fishpond of her displeasure, and, as he says, is muddied withal: Pray you, sir, use the carp as you may; for he looks like a poor, decayed, ingenious, foolish, rascally knave. I do pity his distress in my smiles of comfort, and leave him to your lordship. [Exit Clown.

Par. My lord, I am a man whom fortune hath cruelly scratched.

Laf. And what would you have me to do? 'tis too late to pare her nails now. Wherein have you played 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 business.

Par. I beseech your honour, to hear me one single word.

Laf. You beg a single penny more: come, you shall ha't; save your word.

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

Laf. You beg more than one word then.- Cox' my passion! give me your hand: How does your drum? Par. O my good lord, you were the first that found

me.

Laf. Was I, in sooth ? and I was the first that lost

thee.

Par. It lies in you, my lord, to bring me in some grace, for you did bring me out.

Laf. Out upon thee, knave! dost thou put upon me ut once both the office of God and the devil? one brings

thee in grace, and the other brings thee out. (Trumpets sound.) The king's coming, I know by his trumpets.Sirrah, inquire farther after me; I had talk of you last night though you are a fool and a knave, you shall eat; go to, follow.

Par. I praise God for you.

SCENE III.-The same.

[Exeunt.

A Room in the Countess's
Palace.

Flourish. Enter KING, COUNTESS, LAFEU,
Lords, Gentlemen, Guards, &c.

King. We lost a jewel of her; and our esteem.
Was made much poorer by it: but your son,
As mad in folly, lack'd the sense to know
Her estimation home.

Count.

'Tis past, my liege:

And I beseech your majesty to make it

Natural rebellion, done i' the blaze of youth,
When oil and fire, too strong for reason'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.

This I must say,

Laf.
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 lost a wife,
Whose beauty did astonish the survey

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

King.

Praising what is lost,

Makes the remembrance dear. Well, call him

hither;

We are reconciled, 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 do we bury

The incensing relics of it. Let him approach,
A stranger, no offender; and inform him,
So 'tis our will he should.

Gent.

I shall, my liege.

[Exit Gentleman.

King. What says 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 That set him high in fame. [sent me,

Laf.

Enter BERTRAM.

He looks well on 't.

King. I am not a day of season,

For thou may'st see a sunshine 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.

Ber.

My high-repented blames,

All is whole;

Dear sovereign, pardon to me.
King.
Not one word more of the consumed time.
Let's take the instant 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 stuck my choice upon her, ere my heart
Durst make too bold a herald of my tongue:
Where the impression of mine eye infixing,
Contempt his scornful perspective did lend me,
Which warp'd the line of every other favour;
Scorn'd a fair colour, or express'd it stol'n;
Extended or contracted all proportions,

To a most hideous object: Thence it came,

That she, whom all men praised, and whom myself,
Since I have lost, have loved, was in mine eye
The dust that did offend it.

King.

Well excused:

That thou didst love her, strikes some scores away From the great compt: But love, that comes too late, Like a remorseful pardon slowly carried,

To the great sender turns a sour offence,

Crying. That's good that 's gone: our rash faults
Make trivial price of serious things we have,
Not knowing them, until we know their grave:
Oft our displeasures, to ourselves unjust,
Destroy our friends, and after weep their dust :
Our own love waking cries to see what's done,
While shameful hate sleeps out the afternoon.
Be this sweet Helen's knell, and now forget her.
Send forth your amorous token for fair Maudlin:
The main consents are had; and here we'll stay
To see our widower's second marriage day,