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all livelihood from her cheek. No more of this, Helena, go to, no more ; left it be rather thought you affect a forrow, than to have it.

Hel. I do affect a sorrow, indeed, but I have it too.

Laf. Moderate lamentation is the right of the dead, excessive grief the enemy to the living.

Count.°(2) If the living be not enemy to the grief, the excess makes it soon mortal.

Ber. Madam, I desire your holy wishes.
Laf. How understand we that?
Count. Be thou bleit, Bertram, and succeed thy fa-

In manners as in shape ! thy blood and virtue
Contend for empire in thee, and thy goodness
Share with thy birth-right! Love all, trust a few,
Do wrong to none : be able for thine enemy
Rather in power, than use; and keep thy friend
Under thy own life's key : be check for filence,
But never tax'd for speech. What heav'n more will,
That thee may furnish, and my prayers pluck down,
Fall on thy head! Farewel, my lord ;
'Tis an unseason'd courtier, good my lord,
Advise him.

Laf. He cannot want the best,
That shall attend his love.
Count. Heav'n bless him! Farewel, Bertram.

Exit Countess. Ber. [to Hel.] The best wishes, that can be forg'd in your thoughts, be servants to you! Be comfortable to my mother, your mistress, and make much of her.

Laf. Farewel, pretty lady, you must hold the credit of your father.

[Exeunt Bertram and Lafeu.

(2) If the living be Enemy to the Grief, the Excess makes it soon mortal.] This seems very obscure ; but the addition of a Negative perfe&ly dispels all the Mift. If the Living be not Enemy, &c. Excessive Grief is an Enemy to the Living, says Lafeu : Yes, replies the Countess; and if the Living be not Enemy to the Grief, (i, e. strive to conquer it,] the Excess makes it soon mortal.

Mr, Warburton. A 4

Hel. great tears

Hel. Oh, were that all !.

I think not on my father ; And these


his remembrance more,
Than those I shed for him. What was he like?
I have forgot him. My imagination
Carries no favour in it, but my Bertram's.
I am undone ; there is no living, none,
If Bertram be away. It were all one,
That I should-love a bright partic'lar ftar,
And think to wed it ; he is so above me :
In his bright radiance and collateral light
Must I be comforted, not in his sphere.
Th' ambition in my love thus plagues itself;
The hind, that would be mated by the lion,
Muit die for love. 'Twas pretty, tho' a plague,
To see him every hour ; to fit and draw
His arched brows, his hawking eye, his curls,
In our heart's table: heart, too capable
Of every line and trick of his sweet favour !
But now he's gone, and my idolatrous fancy
Must sanctify his relicks. Who comes here?

Enter Parolles.
One, that goes with him : I love him for his fake,
And yet I know him a notorious liar ;
Think him a great way fool, solely a coward ;
Yet these fix'd evils fit fo fit in him,
That they take place, when virtue's steely bones
Look bleak in the cold wind ; full oft we see
Cold wisdom waiting on superfluous folly.

Par. Save you, fair Queen.
Hel. And you, Monarch.
Par. No.
Hel. And, no.
Par. Are you meditating on virginity ?

Hel. Ay : you have some stain of soldier in you ; let me ask you a question. Man is enemy to virginity, how may we barricado it against him ?

Par. Keep him out.
Hel. But he affails; and our virginity, tho' valiant,

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in the defence yet is weak: unfold to us some warlike resistance.

Par. There is none: man, setting down before you, will undermine you, and blow you up.

Hel. Bless our poor virginity from underminers and blowers up! - Is there 'no military policy, how virgins might blow up men ?

Par. Virginity being blown down, man will quicklier be blown up: marry, in blowing him down again, with the breach yourselves made, you lose your city. It is not politick in the commonwealth of nature, to preserve virginity. Loss of virginity is rational increase and there was never virgin got, ’till virginity was first loft. That, you were made of, is metal to make virgins. Virginity, by being once loit, may be ten times found : by being ever kept, it is ever loft ; 'tis too cold a companion : away with’t.

Hel. I will stand for't a little, though therefore I die a virgin.

Par. There's little can be said in't ; 'tis against the rule of nature. . To speak on the part of virginity, is to' accuse your mother; which is most infallible disobedience. He, that hangs himself, is a virgin : virginity murthers itself, and Thould be buried in highways out of all fanctified limit, as a desperate offendress against nature. Virginity breeds mites, much like a cheese ; consumes itself to the very paring, and so dies with feeding its own ftomach. Besides, virginity is peevish, proud, idle, made of self-love, which is the most prohibited fin in the canon. Keep it not, you cannot chufe but lose by't. Out with't; within ten years it will make itself two, which is a goodly increase, and the principal itself not much the worse. Away with't.

Hel. How might one do, Sir, to lose it to her own liking?

Par. Let me see. Marry, ill, to like him that ne'er it likes. 'Tis a commodity will lose the glofs with lying. The longer kept, the less worih: off with’t, while 'tis vendible. Anlwer the time of request. Virginity, like




an old courtier, wears her cap out of fashion: richly suted, but unfutable ; just like the brooch and the toothpick, which we wear not now: your date is better in your pye and your porridge, than in your cheek; and your virginity, your old virginity, is like one of our French wither'd pears; it looks ill, it eats drily; marry, 'tis a wither'd pear: it was formerly better; marry, yet 'cis a wither'd

pear. Will you any thing with it?
Hel. Not my virginity yet.
There shall your maiter have a thousand loves,
A mother, and a mistress, and a friend,
A phenix, captain, and an enemy,
A guide, a goddess, and a sovereign,
A counsellor, a traitress, and a dear;
His humble ambition, proud humility ;
His jarring concord ; and his discord dulcet ;
His faith, his sweet disaster; with a world
Of pretty fond adoptious christendoms,
That blinking Cupid gossips. Now shall he
I know not, what he shall- -God send him well!
The court's a learning place --- and he is one

Par. What one, i'faich?
Hel. That I wilh well

e'tis pity Par. What's pity ?

Hel. That wishing well had not a body in't,
Which might be felt; that We the poorer born,
Whose baser stars do fhut us up in wishes,
Might with effects of them follow our friends :
And thew what we alone must think, which never
Returns us thanks.

Enter Page.
Page. Monsieur Parolles,
My lord calls for you.

[Exit Page. Par. Little Helen, farewel ; if I can remember thee, I will think of thee at court.

Hel. Monsieur Parolles, you were born under a charitable ftar.

Par. Under Mars, I.
Hel. I especially think, under Mars.

Par, Par. Why under Mars?

Hel. The wars have kepe you so under, that you must needs be born under Mars.

Par. When he was predominant.
Hel. When he was retrograde, I think, rather.
Par. Why think you fo?
Hel. You go fo much backward, when you fight.

Par. That's for advantage. 'Hel. So is running away, when fear proposes safety: but the composition, that your valour and fear makes in you, is a virtue of a good wing, and I like the wear well.

Par. I am so full of businesses, as I cannot answer thee acutely: I will return perfect courtier ; in the which, my instruction shall serve to naturalize thee, so thou wilt be capable of courtier's counsel, and understand what advice shall thrust upon thee ; else thou dieft in thine unthankfulness, and thine ignorance makes thee away; farewel. When thou haft leisure, say thy prayers ; what thou hast none, remember thy friends ; get thee a good husband, and use him as he uses thee : so farewel.

Hel. Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie,
Which we ascribe to heav'n. The fated sky
Gives us free scope ; only, doth backward pull
Our slow designs, when we ourselves are dull

What power is it, which mounts my love so high,
That makes me fee, and cannot feed mine eye?
The mightiest space in fortune nature brings
To join like likes; and kiss, like native things.
Impossible be strange attempts, to those
That weigh their pain in sense; and do suppose,
What hath been, cannot be. Who ever firove
To shew her merit, that did miss her love ?
The King's disease--- my project may deceive me,
But my intents are fix'd, and will not leave me.


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