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Count. "Tis past, my Liege ;
King. My honour'd Lady,
Laf. This I must say,
Gent. I fall, my Liege.
he wrote ;
(39) Natural rebellion, done i'eb' blade of yourby] If this reading be genuine, the metaphor mult be from any grain, or plant, taking tire : but, I own,
it seems more in Slakespeare's way of thinking to suppose
Natural rebellion done i'tb' blaze of yourb, i. e. in the fervour, fame, &c. So he has express’d himself, upon a like occasion, in, Hanilet,
I do know,
Lends the tongue vows. These blazes, O my daughter, &c. And so, again, in his Troilus and Cressida;
For Hestur, in his blaze of wrath, subscribes
King. What says he to your daughter? Have you spoke
King. Then thall we have a match. I have lecters sent
King. I'm not a day of feason,
Ber. My high-repented blames,
King. All is whole,
Ber. Admiringly, my Liege. At first
King. Well excus*d:
Make trivial price of serious things we have,
Count. (40) Which better than the first, Ó dear heav'n, Or, ere they meet, in me, O nature, cease ! [bless,
Laf: Come on, my son, in whom my house's name Must be digefted : give a favour from you To sparkle in the spirits of my daughter, That the may quickly come. By my old beard, And ev'ry hair that's on't, Helen, that's dead, Was a sweet creature: such a ring as this, The last that e'er the took her leave at court, I saw upon her finger.
Ber. Her's it was not. King. Now, pray you, let me see it. For mine eye, While I was speaking, oft was faften'd to't: This ring was mine; and, when I gave it Helen, I bade her, if her fortunes ever ftood Neceflitied to help, that by this token I would relieve her. Had you that craft to reave her Of what should stead her mots
Ber. My gracious Sovereign, Howe'er it pleases you to take it so, The ring was never her’s.
(40) Which better tban tbe first, О dear beav'n bless,
Or, e'er they meer, in me, o nature, cease!) I have venturid, against the authority of the printed copies, to prefix the Countess's name to these two lines. The King appears, indeed, to be a favourer of Bertram: but if Bertram should make a bad husband the fecond time, why should it give the King such mortal pangs ? A fond and disappointed mother might reasonably not defire to live to see fuch a day : and from her the wish of dying, rather than 10 behold it, comes with propriety,
Count.. Son, on my life,
kaf. I'm sure, I saw her wear it.
Ber. You are deceiv’d, my Lord, she never saw it ; In Florence was it from a casement thrown me, Wrap'd in a paper, which containd the name Of her that threw it: (41) Noble she was, and thought I food ungag'd; but when I had subscrib'd To mine own fortune, and inform’d her fully, I could not answer in that course of honour As she had made the overture, the ceaft In heavy fatisfaction, and would never Receive the ring again.
King. Plutus himself, That knows the tinct and multiplying medicine, Hath not in Nature's mystery more science, Than I have in this ring. 'Twas mine, 'twas Helen's
it yow: then if you know, That you are well acquainted with yourself, Confess 'twas hers, and by what rough enforcement You got it from her. She call’d the saints to surety, That he would never put it from her finger, Unless the gave it to yourself in bed, (Where you have never come), or sent it us Upon her great disaster, Ber. She never saw it..
King. Thou speak'it it falsely, as I love mine honours And mak'st conject'ral fears to come into me, Which I would fain shut out; if it should prove That thou art so inhuman--'will not prove
rom And yet I know, not-thou didft hate her deadly,
noble she was,
and thought I food engag'd ;-) I don't understand this reading; if we are to understand, that ihe thought Bertram engag'd to her in affeca tion, insnar'd by her charms, this meaning is too obscurely express’d.. The context rather makes me believe, that the Poet wrote,
noble she was, and thought I stood ungag'd; 1. e. vnengaged: neither my heart, nor person, dispos.'d of.
Ber. If you
And she is dead ; which nothing, but to close
[Guards seize Bertram,
prove, This ring was ever hers, you shall as easy Prove that I husbanded her bed in Florence, Where yet she never was. [Exit Bertram guarded.
Enter a Gentleman.
Gent. Gracious Sovereign,
The King reads a letter. Upon his many protestations to marry me, when his wife was dead, I blush to say it, he won me. Now is the Count Roufillon a widower, his vows are forfeited to me, and may honours paid to him. He stole from Florence, taking no leave, and I follow him to this country for justice : grant it me, O King, in you it best lies; otherwise a seducer flous rijhes, and a poor maid is undone.
Diana Capulet. Laf. I will buy me a son-in-law in a fair, and toll for him. For this, I'll none of him. King. The heavens have thought well on thee, Lafer,