Clo. Faith, Sir, he has an English name: but his phifnomy is more honour'd in France than there. Laf. What Prince is that?

Clo. The black Prince, Sir, alias the Prince of Darknefs, alias the Devil.

Laf. Hold thee, there's my purfe; I give thee not this to feduce thee from thy Mafter thou talk'st of, ferve him ftill.

Clo. I'm a woodland fellow, Sir, that always lov'd a great fire; and the Master I speak of ever keeps a good fire; but, fure, he is the Prince of the world, let his Nobility remain in's Court. I am for the House with the narrow gate, which I take to be too little for Pomp to enter: fome, that humble themfelves, may; but the many will be too chill and tender, and they'll be for the flow'ry way that leads to the broad gate, and the great fire.

Laf. Go thy ways, I begin to be a weary of thee, and I tell thee fo before, becaufe I would not fall out with thee. Go thy ways, let my horses be well look'd to, without any tricks.

Clo. If I put any tricks upon 'em, they fhall be jades' tricks, which are their own right by the law of Nature.

Laf. A fhrewed knave, and an unhappy.

[Exit.

Count. So he is. My Lord, that's gone, made himfelf much sport out of him: by his authority he remains here, which he thinks is a patent for his fauciness; and, indeed, he has no pace, but runs where he will.

Laf. I like him well, 'tis not amifs; and I was about to tell you, fince I heard of the good Lady's death, and that my Lord your Son was upon his return home, I mov'd the King, my Mafter, to speak in the behalf of my Daughter; which, in the minority of them both, his Majefty, out of a self-gracious remembrance, did first propose; his Highness hath promis'd me to do it ; and to ftop up the displeasure

he

he hath conceived against your fon, there is no fitter matter. How do's your Ladyfhip like it?

Count. With very much content, my Lord, and I wifh it happily effected.

Laf. His Highness comes poft from Marseilles, of as able a body as when he number'd thirty; he will be here to-morrow, or I am deceiv'd by him that in fuch intelligence hath seldom fail'd.

Count. It rejoices me, that hope, that I fhall fee him ere I die. I have letters, that my fon will be here to night: I fhall befeech your Lordship to remain with me 'till they meet together.

Laf. Madam, I was thinking with what manners L might fafely be admitted.

Count. You need but plead your honourable privilege.

Laf. Lady, of that I have made a bold charter; but, I thank my God, it holds yet.

Enter Clown.

Clo. O, Madam, yonder's my Lord, your fon, with a patch of velvet on's face; whether there be a scar under't, or no, the velvet knows, but 'tis a goodly patch of velvet; his left cheek is a cheek of two pile and a half, but his right cheek is worn bare.

Count. A fcar nobly got, or a noble scar, is a good livery of honour. So, belike, is that.

*

Clo. But it is your carbinado'd face.

Laf. Let us go fee your fon, I pray you: I long to talk with the young noble foldier.

Clo. 'Faith, there's a dozen of 'em with delicate fine hats and moft courteous feathers, which bow the head, and nod at every man.

[Exeunt.

But it is your carbonado'd face.] Mr. Pope reads it carbinado'd, which is right. The Joke, fuch as it is, confifts in the Allufion to a Wound made with a Carabine; Arms, which Henry IV. had made famous, by bringing into Use amongst his Horse.

ACT V. SCENE I.

The Court of France, at Marseilles.

Enter Helena, Widow, and Diana, with two Attendants. HELENA.

UT this exceeding pofting day and night Muft wear your spirits low; we cannot help it. But fince you've made the days and nights as one, To wear your gentle limbs in my affairs; Be bold, you do fo grow in my requital,

As nothing can unroot you. In happy time,

Enter a Gentleman.

This man may help me to his Majesty's ear,

If he would spend his power.

Gent. And you.

God fave you, Sir.

Hel. Sir, I have feen you in the court of France. Gent. I have been fometimes there.

Hel. I do prefume, Sir, that you are not fallen From the report that goes upon your goodness; And therefore, goaded with moft fharp occafions Which lay nice manners by, I put you to The ufe of your own virtues, for the which I fhall continue thankful.

Gent. What's your will?

Hel. That it will please you

To give this poor petition to the King;

And aid me with that ftore of power you have,

To come into his presence.

Gent. The King's not here.

Hel. Not here, Sir?

Gent. Not, indeed.

He hence remov'd last night, and with more hafte Than is his use.

Wid. Lord, how we lofe our pains!

Hel.

Hel: All's well, that ends well yet,

Tho' time seem so adverse, and means unfit:
I do befeech you, whither is he gone?
Gent. Marry, as I take it, to Roufillon,
Whither I'm going.

Hel. I befeech you, Sir,

Since you are like to fee the King before me,
Commend this paper to his gracious hand;
Which, I prefume, fhall render you no blame,
But rather make you thank your pains for it.
I will come after you with what good speed
Our means will make us means.

Gent. This I'll do for you.

Hel. And you shall find yourself to be well thank'd, What-e'er falls more. We muft to horse again. Go, go, provide.

Par.

G

SCENE II.

Changes to Roufillon.

Enter Clown, and Parolles.

[Exeunt.

OOD Mr. Levatch, give my Lord Lafeu this letter; I have ere now, Sir, been better known to you, when I have held familiarity with fresher clothes; but I am now, Sir, muddied in fortune's moat, and smell somewhat ftrong of her strong displeasure.

Clo. Truly, fortune's displeasure is but fluttish, if it smell fo ftrongly as thou speak'ft of: I will henceforth eat no fifh of fortune's butt'ring. Pr'ythee, allow the wind.

Par. Nay, you need not to ftop your nofe, Sir; I fpake but by a metaphor.

Clo. Indeed, Sir, if your metaphor ftink, I will stop my nose against any man's metaphor. Pr'ythee, get thee further.

Par. Pray you, Sir, deliver me this paper.
M 5

Clo.

Clo. Foh! pr'ythee, ftand away; a paper from fortune's close-ftool, to give to a Nobleman! look here he comes himself.

Enter Lafeu.

Here is a pur of fortune's, Sir, or fortune's cat, (but not a mufk-cat;) that hath fall'n into the unclean fishpond of her displeasure, and, as he fays, is muddied withal. Pray you, Sir, ufe the carp as you may; for he looks like a poor, decayed, ingenious, foolish, rascally knave. I do pity his distress in my fimilies of comfort, and leave him to your Lordship.

Par. My Lord, I am a man whom fortune hath cruelly fcratch'd.

Laf. And what would you have me to do ? 'tis too late to pare her nails now. Wherein have you play'd the knave with fortune, that she should scratch you, who of herself is a good Lady, and would not have knaves thrive long under her? there's a Quart-d'ecu for you: let the juftices make you and fortune friends; I am for other business.

Par. I beseech your honour, to hear me one fingle word.

Laf. You beg a fingle penny more: come, you fhall ha't, fave your word.

Par. My name, my good Lord, is Parolles.

Laf. You beg more than one word then. Cox' my paffion! give me your hand: how does your drum?

Par. O my good lord, you were the firft that found me.

Laf. Was I, infooth? and I was the first that loft thee.

Par. It lies in you, my lord, to bring me in fome grace, for you did bring me out.

Laf. Out upon thee, knave! doft thou put upon

me at once both the office of God and the Devil? one brings thee in grace, and the other brings thee out. [Sound Trumpets.] The King's coming, I know, by