King.
The Florentines and Senoys are by th' ears;
Have fought with equal fortune, and continue
A braving war.

1 Lord.
So 'tis reported, Sir.

King.
Nay, 'tis most credible; we here receive it,
A certainty vouch'd from our cousin Austria;
With caution, that the Florentine will move us
For speedy aid; wherein our dearest friend
Prejudicates the business, and would seem
To have us make denial.

1 Lord.
His love and wisdom,
Approv'd so to your Majesty, may plead
For ample credence.

King.
He hath arm'd our answer;
And Florence is deny'd, before he comes:
Yet, for our gentlemen that mean to see
The Tuscan service, freely have they leave
To stand on either part.

2 Lord.
It may well serve
A nursery to our gentry, who are sick
For breathing and exploit.

King.
What's he comes here? Enter Bertram, Lafeu and Parolles.

1 Lord.

It is the count Rousillon, my good lord, young Bertram.

King.
Youth, thou bear'st thy father's face.
Frank nature, rather curious than in haste,

Hath well compos'd thee. Thy father's moral parts
May'st thou inherit too! Welcome to Paris.

Ber.
My thanks and duty are your Majesty's.

King.
I would, I had that corporal soundness now,
As when thy father and myself in friendship
First try'd our soldiership: he did look far
Into the service of the time, and was
Discipled of the brav'st. He lasted long;
But on us both did ^{3 note}haggish age steal on,
And wore us out of act. It much repairs me
To talk of your good father; in his youth
He had the wit, which I can well observe
To day in our young lords; but they may jest,
Till their own scorn return to them unnoted,
^{4 note}
Ere they can hide their levity in honour:
^{5 note}

So like a courtier, no contempt or bitterness
Were in him; pride or sharpness, if there were,
His equal had awak'd them; and his honour,
Clock to itself, knew the true minute when
Exceptions bid him speak; and at that time
His tongue obey'd his hand. Who were below him

^{6 note}He us'd as creatures of another place,
And bow'd his eminent top to their low ranks;
^{7 note}

Ber.
His good remembrance, Sir,
Lies richer in your thoughts, than on his tomb;
So in approof ^{8 note}lives not his epitaph,
As in your royal speech.

King.
'Would, I were with him! he would always say,
(Methinks, I hear him now; his plausive words
He scatter'd not in ears, but grafted them
To grow there, and to bear;) Let me not live,—
(Thus his good melancholy oft began,
On the catastrophe and heel of pastime,
When it was out,) let me not live, (quoth he,)
After my flame lacks oil; to be the snuff
Of younger spirits, whose apprehensive senses
All but new things disdain; whose judgments are
Meer fathers of their garments; whose constancies
Expire before their fashions:—this he wish'd.
I, after him, do after him wish too,
(Since I nor wax, nor honey, can bring home,)
I quickly were dissolved from my hive.

To give some ^{9 note}labourer room.

2 Lord.
You're loved, Sir;
They, that least lend it you, shall lack you first.

King.
I fill a place, I know't. How long is't, count,
Since the physician at your father's died?
He was much fam'd.

Ber.
Some six months since, my lord.

King.
If he were living, I would try him yet;—
Lend me an arm;—the rest have worn me out
With several applications; nature and sickness
Debate it at their leisure. Welcome, count,
My son's no dearer.

Ber.
Thank your Majesty. [Flourish. Exeunt.

Previous section

Next section