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Par. Well, thou hast a fon shall take this disgrace off me?; fcurvy, 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'il beat him, an if I could but meet him again,

Re-enter Lafeu.

Lof. Sirrah, your Lord and Master's married, there's news for you: you have a new mistress.

Par. I molt unfeignedly beseech your Lordship to make some reservation of your wrongs. He, my good Lord, whom I serve above, is my master.

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

Lof. The devil it is, that's thy master. Why doit thou garter up thy arms o'this fashion ? daft make hose of thy neeves ? 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: methinks, thou art a general offence, and every man should beat thee. I think, thou wast created for men to breathe themselves

upon

thee.

age will give me leave.] Here is groundless. The conceit, which is a line lost after past ; so that it is to thin that it might well elfhould be distinguished by a break cape a hasty reader, is in the with asterisks. The very words word past; I am paft, as I will of the lost line it is imposible be pait buhte. to retrieve; but the senle is ob

Ź

Well, thon baft a fon fball vious' enough. For doing I am take this disgrace of me :) This fal; age has deprived me of the poet makes Paroilei speak much of my force and vigour, alone ; and this is nature. yet I have itill enough to thew coward woula try to hide his the worid I can do myself right poltroonry even frim himself. a. I will by thee, in what motion An ordinary writer would have [or in the best manner] age will been glad of such an opportunity give me leuve.

WAR BURTON. to bring him to confeilion. This lipicion of a chalm

VARBURTON.

Por.

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 vaga. bond, and no true traveller: you are more fawcy 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.

[Exit.

SCENE VIII.

Enter Bertram. Par. Good, very good, it is so then.-Good, very good, let it be conceai'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 import is, I know not yet. Por. Ay, that would be known: to th’ wars, my

boy, to th' wars.
He wears his honour in a box, unseen,
That hugs his kicksy-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. Ii fhall be so, I'll send her to my house,
8 In former copies :

heraldry) Sir Tho. Hanmer rethan the commission of fored it. your birth and virtue gives you

Acquaint

Acquaint my mother with my hate to her,
And wherefore I am Aled'; write to the King
That which I durft not speak His present gift
Shall furnish me to those Italian fields,
Where noble fellows strike. War is no ftrife
To the dark house, 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 l'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 marr'd: Therefore away, and leave her bravely; go, The King has done you wrong: but, hush! 'tis fo.

[Exeunt.

SCENE IX.

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 verry 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 the ail, that
The'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 heav'n, whither God send her quickly : the other, that she's in earth, from whence God send her quickly!

9 To the dark house,-) The paring to combat, dark bcuse is a house made gloomy So frown'd be mighty combaby discontent. Milion says of

tants, that Hell seuth and the king of Hell pre

Grow darker at their frown,

Enter

Enter Parolles.

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 ticle; 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 knaye : this had been truth, Sir.

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

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, A very serious business calls on him. 'The great prerogative and rite of love, Which, as your due, time claims, he does acknowlege; But puts it off by a compelld restraint: Whose want, and whose deiay, 'is alrew'd with sweets Which they distil now in the curbed time, To make the coming hour o’erflow with joy,

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* W bose want, and whose de- fuppose, are compliments and

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

And

And pleasure drown the brim.

Tel. What's his will elle ?

Par. That you will take your inftant leave o'ch'King, And make this harte as your own good proceeding; Strengthen’d with what apology, you think, May m..e je probable need ?:

Hil. 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 1o.

[Exit Parolles, Hel. I pray you-Come, Sirrah. To Clown.

(Exeunt.

SCEN E X.

Enter Lafeu and Bertram.

Laf. But, I hope, your Lordship thinks not him a soldier.

Ber. Yes, my Lord, and of very valiant approof.
Lof. 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 bunting.

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 transgressd againit 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 anity.

Enter Parolles.

Par. Tliese things fall be done, Sir.
Laf. I pray you, Sir, who's his taylor ?

2

froballe nied.] A specious appearance of necesity.

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