Shall seem expedient on the now-born brief,
And be perform'd to-night: the solemn feast
Shall more attend upon the coming space,
Expecting absent friends. As thou lov'st her,
Thy love's to me religious; else, does err.

[Exeunt King, Bertram, Helena, Lords,
and Attendants.

dost thou garter up thy arms o' this fashion 7
dost make hose of thy sleeves 7 do other ser
vants so? Thou wert best set thy lower part
where thy nose stands. By mine honour, if I
were but two hours younger, I'd beat thee: me
thinks, thou art a general offence, and every
man should beat thee. I think thou wast cre

Laf. Do you hear monsieur ? a word with you.ated for men to breathe themselves upon thee
Par. Your pleasure, sir?
Laf. Your lord and master did well to make
his recantation.

Par. Recantation 7 My lord? my master?
Laf. Ay; Is it not a language, I speak?
Par. A most harsh one; and not to be under
stood without bloody succeeding. My master?
Laf. Are you companion to the count Rousil-
Jon?

Par. To any count; to all counts; to what is man?

Laf. To what is count's man: count's master is of another style.

Par. You are too old, sir; let it satisfy you,

you are too old.

Laf. I must tell thee, sirrah, I write man; to which title age cannot bring thee.

Par. What I dare too well do, I dare not do. Laf. I did think thee, for two ordinaries, to be a pretty wise fellow; thou didst make tolerable vent of thy travel; it might pass: yet the scarfs, and the bannerets, about thee, did manifoldly dissuade me from believing thee a vessel of too great a burden. I have now found thee; when I lose thee again, I care not: yet art thou good for nothing but taking up; and that thou art scarce worth.

Par. Hadst thou not the privilege of antiquity upon thee,

Laf. Do not plunge thyself too far in anger, lest thou hasten thy trial; which if-Lord have mercy on thee for a hen! So, my good window of lattice, fare thee well; thy casement I need not open, for I look through thee. Give me thy hand. Par. My lord, you give me most egregious indignity.

Laf Ay, with all my heart; and thou art worthy of it.

Par. I have not, my lord, deserv'd it.

Par. This is hard and undeserved measure, my lord.

Laf. Go to, sir; you were beaten in Italy for picking a kernel out of a pomegranate; you are a vagabond, and no true traveller: you are more saucy with lords, and honourable personages, than the heraldry of your birth and virtue gives you commission. You are not worth another word, else I'd call you knave. I leave you.

Enter Bertram.

[Exit.

Par. Good, very good; it is so then.-Good,
very good; let it be concealed a while.
Ber. Undone, and forfeited to cares for ever!
Par. What is the matter, sweet heart?
Ber. Although before the solemn priest I have

sworn,

I will not bed her.

Par. What? what, sweet heart 7
Ber. O my Parolles, they have married me:-
I'll to the Tuscan wars, and never bed her.
Par. France is a dog-hole, and it no more
merits

The tread of a man's foot: to the wars!
Ber. There's letters from my mother; what
the import is,
know not yet.

I

Par. Ay, that would be known: To the wars,
my boy, to the wars!

He wears his honour in a box unseen,
That hugs his kicksy-wicksy here at home;
Spending his manly marrow in her arms,
Which should sustain the bound and high curvet
Of Mars's fiery steed: To other regions!
France is a stable: we, that dwell in't, jades;
Therefore, to the war!

Ber. It shall be so; I'll send her to my house,
Acquaint my mother with my hate to her,

Laf. Yes, good faith, every dram of it; and I And wherefore I am fled; write to the king will not bate thee a scruple.

Par. Well, I shall be wiser.

Laf. E'en as soon as thou canst, for thou hast to pull at a smack o' the contrary. If ever thou be'st bound in thy scarf, and beaten, thou shalt find what it is to be proud of thy bondage. I have a desire to hold my acquaintance with thee, or rather my knowledge; that I may say, in the default, he is a man I know.

Par. My lord, you do me most insupportable

vexation.

Laf. I would it were hell-pains for thy sake, and my poor doing eternal for doing I am past; as I will by thee, in what motion age will give me leave. Exit.

Par. Well, thou hast a son shall take this disgrace off me; scurvy, old, filthy, scurvy lord!Well, I must be patient; there is no fettering of authority. I'll beat him by my life, if I can meet him with any convenience, and he were double and double a lord. I'll have no more pity of his age, than I would have of-I'll Leat him, an if I could but meet him again.

Re-enter Lafeu.

Laf. Sirrah, your lord and master's married, there's news for you; you have a new mistress. Par. I most unfeignedly beseech your lordship to make some reservation of your wrongs: He is my good lord: whom I serve above, is my

master.

Laf. Who? God?

Par. Ay, sir.

That which I durst not speak: His present gift
Shall furnish me to those Italian fields,
Where noble fellows strike: War is no strife
To the dark house, and the detested wife.
Par. Will this capricio hold in thee, art sure 7
Ber. Go with me to my chamber, and advise

The same. Another Room in the same.

Enter Helena and Clown.

Hel. My mother greets me kindly: Is she well? Clo. She is not well; but yet she has her health; she's very merry; but yet she is not well: but thanks be given, she's very well, and wants nothing i' the world; but yet she is not well.

Hel. If she be very well, what does she ail, that she's not very well?

Clo Truly, she's very well, indeed, but for two things.

Hel. What two things?

Clo. One, that she's not in heaven, whither God send her quickly! the other, that she's in

Laf. The devil it is, that's thy master. Why earth, from whence God send her quickly!

Enter Parolles.

Par. Bless you, my fortunate lady! Hel. I hope, sir, I have your good will to have mine own good fortunes.

Par. You had my prayers to lead them on: and to keep them on, have them still.-O, my knave! How does my old lady?

Ber. Will she away to-night?
Par. As you will have her.

treasure,

Ber. I have writ my letters, casketed my
Given order for our horses, and to-night,
When I should take possession of the bride,-
And, ere I do begin,-

Clo. So that you had her wrinkles, and I her, Laf. A good traveller is something at the money, I would she did as you say. Par. Why, I say nothing.

Clo. Marry, you are the wiser man; for many a man's tongue shakes out his master's undoing: To say nothing, to do nothing, to know nothing, your title; which is within a very little of and to have nothing, is to be a great part of nothing;

Par. Away, thou'rt a knave.

Clo. You should have said, sir, before a knave thou art a knave; that is, before me thou art a knave: this had been truth, sir.

Par. Go to, thou art a witty fool, I have found thee.

Clo. Did you find me in yourself, sir? or were you taught to find me? The search, sir, was profitable; and much fool may you find in you, even to the world's pleasure, and the increase of laughter.

latter end of a dinner; but one that lies three-
thirds, and uses a known truth to pass a thou
sand nothings with, should be once heard, and
thrice beaten-God save you, captain.
Ber. Is there any unkindness between my
into my lord's displeasure.
lord and you, monsieur 7
Par. I know not how I have deserved to run

Laf. You have made shift to run into't, boots and spurs and all, like him that leap'd into the custard and out of it you'll run again, rather than suffer question for your residence. Ber. It may be, you have inistaken him, my lord.

Laf. And shall do so ever, though I took him at his prayers. Fare you well, my lord; and this light nut; the soul of this man is his believe this of me. There can be no kernel in

clothes: trust him not in matter of heavy consequence; I have kept of them tame, and know their natures.-Farewell, monsieur: 1 have spoken better of you, than you have or will deserve at my hand; but we must do good

Par. A good knave, i' faith, and well fed.-
Madam, my lord will go away to-night;
A very serions business calls on him.
The great prerogative and rite of love.
Which, as your due, time claims, he does ac- against evil.
knowledge;

But puts it off by a compell'd restraint;

Whose want, and whose delay, is strew'd with

sweets,

Which they distil now in the curbed time,
To make the coming hour o'e: flow with joy,
And pleasure drown the brim.
Hel.

What's his will else 71 Par. That you will take your instant leave o' the king,

And make this baste as your own good pro-
ceeding,
Strengthen'd with what apology you think
May make it probable need.

Hel,

What more commands he
Par. That, having this obtain'd, you presently
Attend his further pleasure.

Hel. In every thing I wait upon his will.
Par. I shall report it so.
H.L.

I pray you.-Come, sirrah.
[Exeunt.
SCENE V. Another Room in the same.
Enter Lafeu and Bertram.

Laf. But, I hope your; lordship thinks not

him a soldier.

Ber. Yes, my lord, and of very valiant approof.

Laf. You have it from his own deliverance.
Ber. And by other warranted testimony.
Laf. Then my dial goes not true; I took this
lark for a hunting."

Ber. I do assure you, my lord, he is very
great in knowledge, and accordingly valiant.
Laf. I have then sinned against his experience,
and transgressed against his valour; and my
state that way is dangerous, since I cannot yet
find in my heart to repent. Here he comes; I
pray you, make us friends, I will pursue the
amity.
Enter Parolles.

Par. These things shall be done, sir.
[To Bertram.
Laf. Pray you, sir, who's his tailor?
Par. Sir?

Par. An idle lord, I swear.
Ber I think so.

(Exit.

Par. Why, do you not know him?
Ber. Yes, I do know him well; and common
speech
Gives him a worthy pass.
Here comes my clog.
Enter Helena.

Hel. I have, sir, as I was commanded from
Spoke with the king, and have procur'd his leave
you,
For present parting: only, he desires
Some private speech with yo

Ber.

You must not marvel, Helen, at iny course,
I shall obey his will.
Which holds not colour with the time, nor does
The ministration and required office

On my particular: prepar'd I was not
For such a business; therefore am I found
So much unsettled: This drives me to entreat

yon,

That presently you take your way for home;
And rather muse, than ask, why I entreat you:
And my appointments have in them a need,
For my respects are better than they seem,
Greater than shows itself at the first view,
To you that know thein not. This to my mother:
Giving a letter.
"Twill be two days ere I shall see you; so
Hel.
I leave you to your wisdom.
Sir, I can nothing say,
But that I am your most obedient servant.
Ber. Come, come, no more of that.
With true observance seek to eke out that,
Hel.
And ever shall
Wherein toward me my homely stars have fail'd
To equal my great fortune.

Ber. Let that go:

My haste is very great: Farewell; hie home.
Hel. Pray, sir, your pardon.

Ber.

Well, what would you say?
Hel. I am not worthy of the wealth Towe;
Nor dare I say, 'tis mine; and yet it is;
But, like a timorous thief most fain would steal
What law does vouch mine own.

What would you have? Hel. Something; and scarce so muchnothing, indeed.

Laf. O, I know him well: Ay, sir; he, sir, is Ber.
a good workman, a very good tailor.
Ber. Is she gone to the king?
Par. She is.

Aside to Parolles.

I would not tell you what I would: my lord'faith, yes;

|world, I will hold a long distance. My duty Your unfortunate son,

Strangers, and foes, do sunder, and not kiss.
Ber. I pray you stay not, but in haste to horse. to you.
Hel. I shall not break your bidding, good my
lord.

Ber. Where are my other men, monsieur ?
Farewell.
(Exit Helena.
Go thou toward home; where I will never come,
Whilst I can shake my sword, or hear the

drum:

Away, and for our flight.

Par.

Bravely, coragio!
[Exeunt.

A Room in the Duke's Palace.

Flourish. Enter the Duke of Florence, attend
ed; two French Lords, and others.
Duke. So that, from point to point, now have
you heard

The fundamental reasons of this war;
Whose great decision hath much blood let forth,
And more thirsts after.

1 Lord.

Holy seems the quarrel
Upon your grace's part; black and fearful
On the opposer.

Duke. Therefore we marvel much, our cousin
France

Would, in so just a business, shut his bosom
Against our borrowing prayers.
2 Lord.

Good my lord,
The reasons of our state I cannot yield,
But like a common and an outward man,
That the great figure of a council frames
By self-unable motion: therefore dare not
Say what I think of it; since I have found
Myself in my uncertain grounds to fail
As often as I guess'd.

Duke.

Be it his pleasure.

2 Lord. But I am sure, the younger of our

well;

When better fall, for your avails they fell:
To-morrow to the field. Flourish. Exeunt.

SCENE II. Rousillon.

A Room in the Countess's Palace.
Enter Countess and Clown.
Count. It hath happened all as I would have
had it, save, that he comes not along with her.
Clo. By ny troth, I take my young lord to be
a very melancholy man.

Count. By what observance, I pray you?
Clo. Why, he will look upon his boot, and
sing; mend the ruff, and sing; ask questions,
and sing; pick his teeth, and sing: I know a
man that had this trick of melancholy, sold a
goodly manor for a song.

Count. Let me see what he writes, and when he means to come. Opening a letter. Clo. I have no mind to Isbel, since I was at court; our old ling and our Isbels o' the country are nothing like your old ling and your Isbels 6 the court: the brains of my Cupid's knocked out; and begin to love, as an old man loves money, with no stomach.

Count. What have we here? Clo. E'en that you have there. [Exit. Count. Reads.] I have sent you a daughterin-law: she hath recovered the king, and undone me. I have wedded her, not bedded her; and sworn to make the not eternal. You shall hear, I am run away; know it, before the repart come. If there be breadth enough in the

BERTRAM.

This is not well, rash and unbridled boy,
To fly the favours of so good a king
To pluck his indignation on thy head,
By the misprizing of a maid too virtuous
For the contempt of empire.

Re-enter Clown.

Clo. O madam, yonder is heavy news within, between two soldiers and my young lady. Count. What is the matter?

Clo. Nay, there is some comfort in the news, some comfort; your son will not be killed so soon as I thought he would.

Count. Why should he be killed 7

hear he does: the danger is in standing to't
Clo. So say i, madam, if he run away, as I
that's the loss of men, though it be the getting
of children. Here they come, will tell you
more: for my part, I only hear, your son was
run away.
[Erit Clown.

Enter Helena and two Gentlemen.

1 Gent. Save you, good madam.
Hel. Madam, my lord is gone, for ever gone.
2 Gent. Do not say so.

Count. Think upon patience.-'Pray you, gen-
tlemen,-

I have felt so many quirks of joy, and grief,
That the first face of neither, on the start,
Can woman me unto't:-Where is my son, 1
pray you?

2 Gent. Madam, he's gone to serve the duke
of Florence:

We met him thitherward; from thence we came,
And, after some despatch in hand at court,
Thither we bend again.

Hel. Look on his letter, madam; here's my
passport.

[Reads. When thou canst get the ring upon
my finger, which never shall come off, and
show me a child begotten of thy body, that I
am father to, then call me husband: but in
such a then I write a never.

This is a dreadful sentence !
Count. Brought you this letter, gentlemen?
Ay, madam;
And, for the contents' sake, are sorry for our
pains.

1 Gent.

Count. I pr'ythee, lady, have a better cheer; If thou engrossest all the griefs are thine, Thou robb'st me of a moiety: He was my son; But I do wash his name out of my blood, And thou art all my child.-Towards Florence is he? 2 Gent. Ay, madam.

Count.

And to be a soldier?
2 Gent. Such is his noble purpose: and, be-
lieve't,

The duke will lay upon him all the honour
That good convenience claims.
Count.

Return you thither ? 1 Gent. Ay, madam, with the swiftest wing of speed.

Hel. Reads. Till I have no wife, I have nothing in France.

'Tis bitter!

Count. Find you that there ?

Hel.

Ay, madam. I Gent. "Tis but the boldness of his hand, hap ly, which

His heart was not consenting to.
Count. Nothing in France, until he have no

wife !

There's nothing here, that is too good for him,"
But only she; and she deserves a lord,
That twenty such rude boys might tend upon,
And call her hourly, mistress. Who was with

him?

SCENE V. Without the Walls of Florence. afar off. Enter an old Widow of Florence, Diana, Violenta, Mariana, and other Citizens.

Wid. Nay, come; for if they do approach the city, we shall lose all the sight.

Dia. They say, the French count has done most honourable service.

Wid. It is reported that he has taken their greatest commander; and that with his own hand he slew the duke's brother. We have lost our labour; they are gone a contrary way: hark! you may know by their trumpets.

Mar. Come, let's return again, and suffice ourselves with the report of it. Well, Diana, take heed of this French earl: the honour of a maid [Exeunt. is her name; and no legacy is so rich as honesty.

Enter, with Drum and Colours, a party of the
Florentine Army, Bertram, and Parolles.
Wid.
Mar. The gods forbid else!
That is Antonio, the duke's eldest son;
So, now they come ;-
That, Escalus.

Which is the Frenchman 7

Hei

Wid. I have told my neighbour, how you have been solicited by a gentleman his companion. Mar. I know that knave; hang him! one Parolles: a filthy officer he is in those suggestions for the young earl.-Beware of them, Diana; their promises, enticements, oaths, tokens, and all these engines of lust, are not the things they Hel. go under: many a maid hath been seduced by Dia. them; and the misery is, example, that so terri- That with the plume: 'tis a most gallant fellow; ble shows in the wreck of maidenhood, cannot I would he lov'd his wife: if he were honester, for all that dissuade succession, but that they He were much goodlier :-is't not a handsome are limed with the twigs that threaten them. I hope, I need not to advise you further; but, I hope, your own grace will keep you where you are, though there were no further danger known, but the modesty which is so lost. Dia. You shall not need to fear me. Enter Helena, in the dress of a Pilgrim. Wid. I hope so.-Look, here comes a pilgrim;| I know she will lie at my house: thither they send one another: I'll question her.God save you, pilgrim! Whither are you bound? Hel. To Saint Jaques le grand.

?

Where do the palmers lodge, I do beseech you
Wid. At the saint Francis here, beside the

Reports but coarsely of her.
Hel.

Dia. Monsieur Parolles.
Hel

What's his name?

O, I believe with him,
In argument of praise, or to the worth

Of the great count himself, she is too mean
To have her name repeated; all her deserving
Is a reserved honesty, and that
I have not heard examin'd.
Dia.

Alas, poor lady!
'Tis a hard bondage, to become the wife
Of a detesting lord.
Wid. Ay, right; good creature, wheresoe'er

she is,
Her heart weighs sadly this young maid might
do her

A shrewd turn, if she pleas'd.
Hel.

How do you mean?
May be, the amorous count solicits her
In the unlawful purpose.

Wid.

He does, indeed;

And brokes with all that can in such a suit
Corrupt the tender honour of a maid:
But she is arm'd for him, and keeps her guard
In honestest defence.

Hel

Dia.

Hel.

like him well. gentleman ?

"Tis pity, he is not honest. Yond's that

same knave,

That leads him to these places; were I his lady,
I'd poison that vile rascal.
Which is he?
Dia. That jack-an-apes with scarfs: Why is
he melancholy 7

Hel. Perchance he's hurt i' the battle.
Par. Lose our drum! well.

Mar. He's shrewdly vex'd at something: Look,
he has spied us.
Wid. Marry, hang you!

Mar. And your courtesy for a ring carrier!
[Exeunt Bertram, Parolles, Officers,
and Soldiers.

bring you

Wid. The troop is past: Come, pilgrim, I will
Where you shall host; of enjoin'd penitents
There's four or five, to great Saint Jaques bound,
Already at my house.
Hel.
I humbly thank you:
Please it this matron, and this gentle maid,
To eat with us to-night, the charge, and thanking,
Shall be for me; and, to requite you further,
I will bestow some precepts on this virgin,
Worthy the note.

Both.

SCENE VI.

We'll take your offer kindly [Exeunt Camp before Florence. Enter Bertram, and the two French Lords. 1 Lord. Nay, good my lord, put him to't; let him have his way.

2 Lord. If your lordship find him not a hilding, hold me no more in your respect. 1 Lord. On my life, my lord, a bubble.

Ber. Do you think I am so far deceived in him? 1 Lord. Believe it, my lord, in mine own direct knowledge, without any malice, but to speak of him, as my kinsman, he's a most notable coward, an infinite and endless liar, an hourly promise-breaker, the owner of no one good quality worthy your lordship's entertainment.

2 Lord. It were fit you knew him; lest, reposing too far in his virtue. which he hath not, he might, at some great and trusty business, in a main danger, fail you.

Ber. I would, I knew in what particular action to try him.

2 Lord. None better than to let him fetch off his drum, which you hear him so confidently undertake to do.

1 Lord. 1, with a troop of Florentines, will suddenly surprise him; such I will have, whom, 1 am sure. he knows not from the enemy: we will bind and hoodwink him so, that he shall suppose no other but that he is carried into the leaguer of the adversaries, when we bring him to our tents: Be but your lordship present at his examination; if he do not, for the promise of his life, and in the highest compulsion of base fear, offer to betray you, and deliver all the intelligence in his power against you, and that with the divine forfeit of his soul upon oath, never trust my judgment in any thing.

2 Lord. O. for the love of laughter let him fetch his drum; he says, he has a stratagem for't: when your lordship sees the bottom of his success in't, and to what metal this counterfeit lump