Laf.

They say, miracles are past; and we have our philosophical persons, to make modern^{5 note}

Par.

Why, 'tis the rarest argument of wonder, that hath shot out in our latter times.

Ber.

And so 'tis.

Laf.

To be relinquished of the artists,—

Par.

So I say; both of Galen and Paracelsus.

Laf.

Of all the learned and authentick fellows^{8 note}

Par.

Right, so I say.

Laf.

That gave him out incurable,—

Par.

Why, there 'tis; so say I too.

Laf.

Not to be helped,—

Par.

Right: as 'twere, a man assured of an—

Laf.

Uncertain life, and sure death.

Par.

Just, you say well; so would I have said.

Laf.

I may truly say, it is a novelty to the world.

Par.

It is, indeed: if you will have it in showing, you shall read it in,—What do you call there^{9 note}

Laf.

A showing of a heavenly effect in an earthly actor^{1 note}.

Par.

That's it I would have said; the very same.

Laf.

Why, your dolphin is not lustier^{2 note}

Par.

Nay, 'tis strange, 'tis very strange, that is the brief and the tedious of it; and he is of a most

facinorous spirit^{3 note}

Laf.

Very hand of heaven.

Par.

Ay, so I say.

Laf.

In a most weak—

Par.

And debile minister, great power, great transcendence: which should, indeed, give us a further use to be made, than alone the recovery of the king^{4 note}

Laf.

Generally thankful.

Par.

I would have said it; you say well: Here comes the king.

Laf.

Lustick, as the Dutchman says^{5 note}

maid the better, whilst I have a tooth in my head: Why, he's able to lead her a coranto.

Par.

Mort du Vinaigre! Is not this Helen?

Laf.

'Fore God, I think so.

King.
Go, call before me all the lords in court.— [Exit an Attendant.
Sit, my preserver, by thy patient's side;
And with this healthful hand, whose banish'd sense
Thou hast repeal'd, a second time receive
The confirmation of my promis'd gift,
Which but attends thy naming. Enter several Lords.
Fair maid, send forth thine eye: this youthful parcel
Of noble bachelors stand at my bestowing,
O'er whom both sovereign power and father's voice^{6 note}
I have to use: thy frank election make;
Thou hast power to choose, and they none to forsake.

Hel.
To each of you one fair and virtuous mistress
Fall, when love please!—marry, to each, but one^{7 note}

Laf.
I'd give bay Curtal^{8 note}, and his furniture,
My mouth no more were broken^{9 note} than these boys',
And writ as little beard.

King.
Peruse them well:
Not one of those, but had a noble father.

Hel.
Gentlemen,
Heaven hath, through me, restor'd the king to health.

All.
We understand it, and thank heaven for you.

Hel.
I am a simple maid; and therein wealthiest,
That, I protest, I simply am a maid:—
Please it your majesty, I have done already:
The blushes in my cheeks thus whisper me,
We blush, that thou should'st choose; but, be refus'd,
Let the white death sit on thy cheek for ever;
We'll ne'er come there again^{1 note}

King.
Make choice; and, see,
Who shuns thy love, shuns all his love in me.

Hel.
Now, Dian, from thy altar do I fly;
And to imperial Love, that god most high,
Do my sighs stream.—Sir, will you hear my suit?

1 Lord.
And grant it.

Hel.
Thanks, sir; all the rest is mute^{2 note}.

Laf.

I had rather be in this choice, than throw ames-ace^{3 note} for my life.

Hel.
The honour, sir, that flames in your fair eyes,
Before I speak, too threateningly replies:
Love make your fortunes twenty times above
Her that so wishes, and her humble love!

2 Lord.
No better, if you please.

Hel.
My wish receive,
Which great love grant! and so I take my leave.

Laf.

Do all they deny her^{4 note}? An they were sons of mine, I'd have them whipped; or I would send them to the Turk, to make eunuchs of.

Hel.
Be not afraid [To a Lord.] that I your hand should take;
I'll never do you wrong for your own sake:
Blessing upon your vows! and in your bed
Find fairer fortune, if you ever wed!

Laf.

These boys are boys of ice, they'll none have her: sure, they are bastards to the English; the French ne'er got them.

Hel.
You are too young, too happy, and too good,
To make yourself a son out of my blood.

4 Lord.

Fair one, I think not so.

Laf.

There's one grape yet^{5 note}

Hel.
I dare not say, I take you; [To Bertram.] but I give
Me, and my service, ever whilst I live,
Into your guiding power.—This is the man.

King.
Why then, young Bertram, take her, she's thy wife.

Ber.
My wife, my liege? I shall beseech your highness,
In such a business give me leave to use
The help of mine own eyes.

King.
Know'st thou not, Bertram,
What she has done for me?

Ber.
Yes, my good lord;
But never hope to know why I should marry her.

King.
Thou know'st, she has rais'd me from my sickly bed.

Ber.
But follows it, my lord, to bring me down
Must answer for your raising? I know her well;
She had her breeding at my father's charge:
A poor physician's daughter my wife!—Disdain
Rather corrupt me ever!

King.
'Tis only title^{6 note} thou disdain'st in her, the which
I can build up. Strange is it, that our bloods,
Of colour, weight, and heat^{7 note}, pour'd all together,
Would quite confound distinction, yet stand off
In differences so mighty: If she be
All that is virtuous, (save what thou dislik'st,
A poor physician's daughter,) thou dislik'st
Of virtue for the name: but do not so:
From lowest place when virtuous things proceed^{8 note},
The place is dignified by the doer's deed:
Where great additions swell^{9 note}

Not by the title. She is young, wise, fair;
In these to nature she's immediate heir^{2 note};
And these breed honour: that is honour's scorn,
Which challenges itself as honour's born,
And is not like the sire^{3 note}

Than our fore-goers: the mere word's a slave,
Debauch'd on every tomb; on every grave,
A lying trophy, and as oft is dumb,
Where dust, and damn'd oblivion, is the tomb
Of honour'd bones indeed. What should be said?
If thou canst like this creature as a maid,
I can create the rest: virtue, and she,
Is her own dower; honour, and wealth, from me.

Ber.
I cannot love her, nor will strive to do't.

King.
Thou wrong'st thyself, if thou should'st strive to choose.

Hel.
That you are well restor'd, my lord, I am glad;
Let the rest go.

King.
My honour's at the stake; which to defeat,
I must produce my power^{5 note}

Proud scornful boy, unworthy this good gift;
That dost in vile misprision shackle up
My love, and her desert; that canst not dream,
We, poizing us in her defective scale,
Shall weigh thee to the beam^{6 note}

: that wilt not know,
It is in us to plant thine honour, where
We please to have it grow: Check thy contempt:
Obey our will, which travails in thy good:
Believe not thy disdain, but presently
Do thine own fortunes that obedient right,
Which both thy duty owes, and our power claims;
Or I will throw thee from my care for ever,
Into the staggers^{7 note}

Ber.
Pardon, my gracious lord; for I submit
My fancy to your eyes: When I consider,

What great creation, and what dole of honour,
Flies where you bid it, I find, that she, which late
Was in my nobler thoughts most base, is now
The praised of the king; who, so ennobled,
Is, as 'twere, born so.

King.
Take her by the hand,
And tell her, she is thine: to whom I promise
A counterpoize; if not to thy estate,
A balance more replete.

Ber.
I take her hand.

King.
Good fortune, and the favour of the king,
Smile upon this contráct; whose ceremony
Shall seem expedient on the now-born brief,
And be perform'd to-night^{8 note}

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^{9 note}

Laf.

Do you hear, monsieur? a word with you.

Par.

Your pleasure, sir?

Laf.

Your lord and master did well to make his recantation.

Par.

Recantation?—My lord? my master?

Laf.

Ay; Is it not a language, I speak?

Par.

A most harsh one; and not to be understood without bloody succeeding. My master?

Laf.
Are you companion to the count Rousillon?

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^{1 note}, 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^{2 note}; 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, deserved it.

Laf.

Yes, good faith, every dram of it; and I 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^{3 note}, 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^{4 note}

Par.

Well, thou hast a son shall take this disgrace off me^{5 note}; 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—I'll beat him, an if I could but meet him again.

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.

Laf.

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

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^{6 note}. You are not worth another word, else I'd call you knave. I leave you.

Enter Bertram.

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?

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,
I know not yet.

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^{7 note}

Ber.
It shall be so; I'll send her to my house,
Acquaint my mother with my hate to her,
And wherefore I am fled; 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 strife
To the dark house, and the detested wife^{8 note}

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^{9 note}


I'll to the wars, she to her single sorrow.

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 so. [Exeunt.

SCENE IV. 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 earth, from whence God send her quickly!

Par.

Bless you, my fortunate lady!

Hel.

I hope, sir, I have your good will to have mine own good fortunes^{1 note}.

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?

Clo.

So that you had her wrinkles, and I her 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, 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 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.

Par.
A good knave, i' faith, and well fed^{2 note}.—
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 acknowledge;
But puts it off to a compell'd restraint^{3 note}

Hel.
What's his will else?

Par.
That you will take your instant leave o' the king,
And make this haste as your own good proceeding,
Strengthen'd with what apology you think
May make it probable need^{5 note}.

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.

Hel.
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 bunting^{6 note}

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.

Par.

These things shall be done, sir.

Laf.

Pray you, sir, who's his tailor?

Par.

Sir?

Laf.

O, I know him well: Ay, sir; he, sir, is a good workman, a very good tailor.

Ber.

Is she gone to the king?

Par.

She is.

Ber.

Will she away to-night?

Par.

As you'll have her.

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

Laf.

A good traveller is something at the latter end of a dinner; but one that lies three-thirds^{7 note}



, and uses a known truth to pass a thousand nothings with, should be once heard, and thrice beaten.— God save you, captain.

Ber.

Is there any unkindness between my lord and you, monsieur?

Par.

I know not how I have deserved to run into my lord's displeasure.

Laf.

You have made shift to run into't, boots and spurs and all, like him that leaped into the custard^{8 note}




; and out of it you'll run again, rather than suffer question for your residence.

Ber.

It may be, you have mistaken him, my lord.

Laf.

And shall do so ever, though I took him at his prayers. Fare you well, my lord; and believe this of me, There can be no kernel in this light nut; the soul of this man is his clothes: trust him not in matter of heavy consequence; I have kept of them tame, and know their natures.—Farewell, monsieur: I have spoken better of you, than you have or will to deserve^{9 note}

Par.

An idle lord, I swear.

Ber.

I think so.

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 you,
Spoke with the king, and have procur'd his leave

For present parting; only, he desires
Some private speech with you.

Ber.
I shall obey his will.
You must not marvel, Helen, at my course,
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 you,
That presently you take your way for home;
And rather muse, than ask, why I entreat you^{1 note}
:
For my respects are better than they seem;
And my appointments have in them a need,
Greater than shows itself, at the first view,
To you that know them not. This to my mother: [Giving a letter.
'Twill be two days ere I shall see you; so
I leave you to your wisdom.

Hel.
Sir, I can nothing say,
But that I am your most obedient servant.

Ber.
Come, come, no more of that.

Hel.
And ever shall
With true observance seek to eke out that,
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 I owe^{2 note};
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.

Ber.
What would you have?

Hel.
Something; and scarce so much:—nothing, indeed.—
I would not tell you what I would: my lord—'faith, yes;—
Strangers, and foes, do sunder, and not kiss.

Ber.
I pray you, stay not, but in haste to horse.

Hel.
I shall not break your bidding, good my lord.

Ber.
Where are my other men, monsieur?—Farewell^{3 note}

Par.
Bravely, coragio! [Exeunt.