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nerets 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'rt scarce worth.

Par. Hadst thou not the privilege of antiquity upon thee

Laf. Do not plunge thyself too far in anger, left 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, I look thro' 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, deferv'd it.

Laf. Yes, good faith, ev'ry dram of it; and I will not 'bate thee a scruple.

Par. Well, I shall be wiser

Laf. Ev'n as soon as thou can'st, for thou haft to pull at a smack o'th' 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, s he is a man I know.

Par. My Lord, you do me most insupportable vexation.

Laf. I would, it were hell-pains for thy fake, 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.

taking up, ] To take up, is to contradict, to call to account, as well as to pick off the ground.

s in the default,) That is, at a need,

for doing I am pall; as I will by ihue, in what motion Y 4


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, an he were double and double a Lord. I'll have no more pity of his age, than I would have of —l'll beat 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, my good Lord, whom I serve above, is my master.

Laf. Who? God?
Par. Ay, Sir.

Laf. The devil it is, that's thy master. Why doft thou garter up thy arms o’this fashion ? dost make hose of thy sleeves ? do other servants fo? 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 : mechinks, thou art a general offence, and every man should beat theę. I think, thou wast created for men to breathe themselves upon thee.

ne will give me leave. ] Here is groundless. The conceit which is a line lost after pal; fo that it is fo thin that it might well escape fiould be distinguished by a break a hafty reader, is in the word with asterisks. The very words falt, I am past, as I will be pait of the loft line it is imposible by tbre. to retrieve; but the sense is ob 7 Well, thou hast a fer fra!! vious enough. For doing I am take this disgrace of me:} This pat; age has deprived me of the poet makes Paruliès speak much of my force and vigour, alone; and this is nature. A yet I have itill enough to Mew coward would try to hide his the world I can do myself right, poltroonry even from I will hy thee, in tuhat motiin An ordinary writer would have (or in the best manner] age will been giad of such an opportunity sive me leave.

WARBURTON. to bring him to confeffion. This suspicion of a chasm



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 sawcy 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


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Enter Bertram.
Par. Good, very good, it is so then.—Good, very
good, let it be conceal'd a while.

Ber. Undone, and forfeited to cares for ever!
Par. What is the matter, sweet heart?

Ber. Although before the folemn Priest I've sworn,
I will not bed her.

Par. What? what, sweet heart?

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 th' wars.

Ber. There's letters from my mother; what the im-
port is, I know not yet.
Par. Ay, that would be known: to th' wars, my

boy, to th' wars.
He wears his honour in a box, unseen,
That hugs his kickfy-wickly 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 th' war.

Ber. It shall be so, I'll send her to my house,

% In former copies :

heraldry.] Sir Tho. Hanmer re than the commillion of stored it. 5our birth and virtue gives you


Acquaint my mother with my hate to her,
And wherefore I am Aed; write to the King
That which I durst not speak. His present gift
Shall furnish me to those Italian fields,
Where noble fellows strike. War is no ftrife
To the dark house, 9 and the detested wife.

Par. Will this capricio hold in thee, art sure ?

Ber. Go with me to my chamber, and advise me. I'll send her straight away : to-morrow I'll to the wars, she to her single forrow. Par. Why, these balls bound, there's noise in it.

'Tis hard; A young man, married, is a man that's marrd: Therefore away, and leave her bravely; go, The King has done you wrong: but, huh! 'tis fo.


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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’th' 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

Hel. What two things ?

Clo. One, that she's not in heav'n, whither God send her quickly; the other, that she's in earth, from whence God send her quickly!

9 To the dark boule,-) The paring to combat, dark house is a house made gloomy So Frown'd the mighty combaby discontent. Milton says of

tants, that Hell death and the king of Hell pre Grew darker at ibeir frown,


Enter Parolles.

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Par. Bless you, my fortunate Lady!

Hel. I hope, Sir, I have your good will to have mine own good fortune.

Par. You had my prayers to lead them on; and to keep them on, have them ftill. O, my knave, how does my old lady?

Clo. So that you had her wrinkles and I her mony, 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, and to have nothing, is to be a great part of your title ; which is within a very little of nothing.

Par. Away, thou’rt a knave.

Clo. You should have said, Sir, before a knave, th'art a knave; that's, before me th’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.

Par. A good knave, i'faith, and well fed.
Madam, my Lord will go away to night,

serious business calls on him.
The great prerogative and rite of love,
Which, as your due, time claims, he does acknowledge;
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’erflow with joy,

"Who want, and whose de- fuppose, are compliments and

lay, &c.] The sweets with professions of kindness. which this want are firewed, I


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