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SCENE II.-Paris.-A Room in the KING's Palace. Flourish of Cornets.-Enter the King of FRANCE
with Letters; Lords and others attending. King. The Florentines and Senoys* are by the ears; Have fought with equal fortune, and continue A braving war.
1 Lord. So 'tis reported, Sir.
King. Nay, 'tis most credible; we here receive it A certainty, vouch'd from our cousin Austria, With caution, that the Florentine will move us For speedy aid; wherein our dearest friend Prejudicates the business, and would seem To have us make denial.
1 Lord. His love and wisdom,
Approved so to your majesty, may plead
King. He hath arm'd our answer,
And Florence is denied before he comes:
2 Lord. It may well serve
A nursery to our gentry, who are sick
King. What's he comes here?
Enter BERTRAM, LAFEU and PAROLLES.
1 Lord. It is the count Rousillon, my good jord, Young Bertram.
King. Youth, thou bear'st thy father's face; Frank nature, rather curious than in haste,
Hath well composed thee. Thy father's moral parts May'st thou inherit too! Welcome to Paris.
Ber. My thanks and duty are your majesty's. King. would I had that corporal soundness now, As when thy father, and myself, in friendship First tried our soldiership! He did look far Into the service of the time, and was Discipled of the bravest: he lasted long; But on us both did haggish age steal on, And wore us out of act. It much repairs + me To talk of your good father: in his youth He had the wit, which I can well observe
The citizens of the small republic of which Sienna is the capital.
To repair here signifies to renovate,
To-day in our young lords; but they may jest,
And bow'd his eminent top to their low ranks,
In their poor praise he humbled: such a man
Which, follow'd well, would démonstrate them now
Ber. His good remembrance, Sir,
Lies richer in your thoughts, than on his tomb;
As in your royal speech.
King. 'Would, I were with him! He would always say,
(Methinks, I hear him now; his plausive words
On the catastrophe and heel of pastime,
Of younger spirits, whose apprehensive senses
2 Lord. You are loved, Sir;
They, that least lend it you, shall lack yon first. King. I fill a place, I know't.-How long is't, count,
Since the physician at your father's died?
Ber. Some six months since, my lord.
King. If he were living, I would try him yet;—
* His is put for its.
+ Approbation. Who have no other use of their faculties than to invent new modes of dress.
Lend me an arm ;-the rest have worn me out
Ber. Thank your majesty.
SCENE III-Rousillon.-A Room in the
Enter COUNTESS, STEWARD, and CLOWN.
Count. I will now hear: what say you of this gentlewoman?
Stew. Madam, the care I have had to even your content, I wish might be found in the calendar of my past endeavours; for then we wound our modesty, and make foul the clearness of our deservings, when of ourselves we publish them.
Count. What does this knave here? Get you gone, sirrah: the complaints, I have heard of you, I do not all believe; 'tis my slowness, that I do not for, I know, you lack not folly to commit them, and have ability enough to make such knaveries yours.
Clo. Tis not unknown to you, madam, I am a poor fellow,
Count. Well, Sir,
Clo. No, madam, 'tis not so well, that I am poor though many of the rich are damn'd: but, if I may have your ladyship's good-will to go to the world, Isbel the woman and I will do as we may. Count. Wilt thou needs be a beggar?
Clo. I do beg your good-will in this case.
Clo. In Isbel's case, and mine own. Service is no heritage and, I think, I shall never have the blessing of God, till I have issue of my body; for they say, bearns are blessings.
Count. Tell me thy reason why thou wilt marry. Clo. My poor body, madam, requires it: I am driven on by the flesh; and he must needs go, that the devil drives.
Count. Is this all your worship's reason?
Clo. Faith, madam, I have other holy reasons, such as they are.
Count. May the world know them?
Clo. I have been, madam, a wicked creature, as
To act up to your desires.
you and all flesh and blood are; and, indeed, I do marry, that I may repent.
Count. Thy marriage, sooner than thy wickedness. Clo. I am out of friends, madam; and I hope to have friends for my wife's sake.
Count. Such friends are thine enemies, knave. Clo. You are shallow, madam, e'en great friends; for the knaves come to do that for me, which I am a-weary of. He, that ears my land, spares my team, and gives me leave to inn the crop: if I be his cuckold, he's my drudge. He that comforts my wife, is the cherisher of my flesh and blood; he, that cherishes my flesh and blood, loves my flesh and blood; he that loves my flesh and blood, is my friend: ergo, he that kisses my wife, is my friend. If men could be contented to be what they are, there were no fear in marriage; for young Charbon the puritan, and old Poysam the papist, howsoe'er their hearts are sever'd in religion, their heads are both one, they may joll horns together, like any deer i' the herd.
Count. Wilt thou ever be a foul-mouth'd and calumnious knave?
Clo. A prophet I, madam; and I speak the truth the next way:
For I the ballad will repeat,
Which mea full true shall find;
Your marriage comes by destiny.
Your cuckoo sings by kind.
Count. Get you gone, Sir; I'll talk with you more
Stew. May it please you, madam, that he bid Helen come to you; of her I am to speak.
Count. Sirrah, tell my gentlewoman, I would speak with her; Helen I mean.
Clo. Was this fair face the cause, quoth she,
Why the Grecians sacked Troy?
Fond done, done fond,
Was this king Priam's joy.
* Ploughs. The nearest way. Foolishly done.
Count. What, one good in ten? Yon corrupt the song, sirrah.
Clo. One good woman in ten, madam; which is a purifying o' the song:-'Would God would serve the world so all the year! We'd find no fault with the tythe-woman, if I were the parson :-One in ten, quoth a'! An we might have a good woman born but every blazing star, or at an earthquake, 'twonld mend the lottery well; a man may draw his heart out, ere he pluck one.
Count. You'll be gone, Sir knave, and do as I command you?
Clo. That man should be at woman's command, and yet no hurt done!-Though honesty be no puritan, yet it will do no hurt; it will wear the surplice of humility over the black gown of a big heart.-I am going, forsooth: the business is for Helen to come hither. [Exit Clown.
Count. Well, now.
Stew. I know, madam, you love your gentlewoman entirely.
Count. Faith, I do her father bequeath'd her to me; and she herself, without other advantage, may lawfully make title to as much love as she finds: there is more owing her, than is paid; and more shall be paid her than she'll demand.
Stew. Madam, I was very late more near her than, I think, she wish'd me: alone she was, and did communicate to herself, her own words to her own ears; she thought, I dare vow to her, they touch'd not any stranger sense. Her matter was, she loved your son-Fortune, she said, was no goddess, that had put such difference betwixt their two estates; love, no god, that would not extend his might, only where qualities were level; Diana, no queen of virgins, that would suffer her poor knight to be surprised, without rescue, in the first assault, or ransom afterward :-This she deliver'd in the most bitter touch of sorrow, that e'er I heard virgin exclaim in which I held my duty, speedily to acquaint you withal; sithence, in the loss that may happen, it concerns, you something to know it.
Count. You have discharged this honestly; keep it to yourself: many likelihoods inform'd me of this before, which hung so tottering in the balance, that I could neither believe, nor misdoubt:-Pray you, leave me: stall this in your bosom, and I