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 politic 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 loft, may be ten times found; by being ever kept, it is ever lost; 'tis too cold a companion: away with't. Hel. I will stand for't a little, though therefore I die a virgin. ८ Par. There's little can be faid in't; 'tis against the rule of nature. To speak on the part of virginity, is to accuse your mother; which is most infallible difobedience. As he that hangs himself, so is a virgin : Virginity murthers itself, and should be buried in highways out of all fanctified limit, as a defperate offendress against nature. Virginity breeds mites, ' much like a cheese; confumes itself to the very paring, and fo dies with feeding its own stomach. Befides, 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 fee. Marry, ill, to like him that ne'er it likes. 'Tis a commodity will lose the glofs with lying. The longer kept, the less worth; off with't while 'tis vendible. Answer the time of request. Virginity, like an old courtier, wears her cap out of fathion; richly futed, but unfutable: just like the brooch and the tooth-pick, 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 'tis a wither'd pear. Will you any thing with it? ter; ; Hel. Not my virginity yet. Hel. That I wish well-'tis pity Par. What's pity? Hel. That wishing well had not a body in't Enter Page. Page. Monfieur 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. Monfieur Parolles, you were born under a charitable star. Par. Under Mars, I. Hel. I especially think under Mars. Par. Why under Mars? Hel. The wars have kept you fo under, that you must needs be born under Mars. Par. When he was predominant. Hel. You go fo much backward, when you fight. A phœnix, captain, and an enemy; : i L Par. That's for advantage. Hel. So is running away, when fear proposes safety: but the compofition, that your valour and fear makes in you, is a virtue of a good ming; and I like the wear well. Par. I am fo full of businesses, as I cannot anfwer 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 under stand what advice shall thrust upon thee; elfe thou diest in thine unthankfulness, and thine ignorance makes thee away: farewel. When thou hast leifure, fay thy prayers; when thou hast none, remember thy friends; get thee a good husband, and use him as he ufes thee: fo farewel. [Exif : "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 flow 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. Whoever strove 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. [Exit. Changes to the court of France. Flourish cornets. Enter the king of France with letiers, and divers attendants. King. The Florentines and Senoys are by th' ears; Have fought with equal fortune, and continue A braving war. I Lord. So 'tis reported, Sir. VOL. III. King. King. Nay, 'tis most credible; we here receive it, I Lord. His love and wisdom, King. He hath arm'd our anfwer; 2 Lord. It may well ferve King. What's he comes here? Enter Bertram, Lafeu, and Parolles. I Lord. It is the Count Roufillon, my good Lord, Young Bertram. King. Youth, thou bear'st thy father's face. Frank nature, rather curious than in hafte, Hath well compos'd thee. Thy father's moral parts May'st thou inherit too! Welcome to Paris. Ber. My thanks and duty are your Majesty's. King. I would I had that corporal foundness now, As when thy father and myself in friendship First try'd our foldiership: he did look far Into the service of the time, and was Discipled of the brav'st. He lasted long; But on us both did haggish age fteal 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 obferve To-day in our young lords; but they may jest, Till their own scorn return to them unnoted, Ere they can hide their levity in honour: So like a courtier, no contempt or bitterness Were in him; pride or sharpnefs, if there were, His equal had awak'd them; and his honour, A Clock Y r Clock to itself, knew the true minute when Making them proud; and his humility, Which, follow'd well, would now demonstrate them But goers backward. 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, (Since I nor wax nor honey can bring home) 2 Lord. You're loved, Sir; They that least lend it you, shall lack you first. King. I fill a place, I know't. How long is't, Count, Since the physician at your father's died? Ber. Some fix months fince, my Lord. King. If he were living, I would try him yet; Lend me an arm; --- the rest have worn me out With feveral applications; nature and fickness Debate it at their leisure. Welcome, Count, My fon's no dearer. Ber. Thank your Majesty. [Flourish. Exeunt. : |