Parolles.
Par.
Good 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 cloaths; 1 notebut I am now, Sir, muddied in fortune's
moat, and smell somewhat strong of her strong
displeasure.
Clo.
Truly, fortune's displeasure is but sluttish, if
it smell so strongly as thou speak'st of: I will henceforth
eat no fish of fortune's butt'ring. Pr'ythee,
allow the wind.
Par.
Nay, you need not to stop your nose, Sir; I
spake but by a metaphor.
Clo.
2 note
Indeed, Sir, if your metaphor stink, I will
stop my nose against any man's metaphor. Pr'ythee,
get thee further.
-- 98 --
Par.
Pray you, Sir, deliver me this paper.
Clo.
Foh! pr'ythee, stand away; a paper from
fortune's close-stool, 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 musk-cat;) that hath fall'n into the unclean
fishpond of her displeasure, and, as he says, is muddied
withal. Pray you, Sir, use the carp as you may;
for he looks like a poor, decayed, ingenious, foolish,
rascally knave. 3 noteI do pity his distress in my similies
of comfort, and leave him to your Lordship.
Par.
My Lord, I am a man whom fortune hath
cruelly scratch'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 justices make you and fortune friends;
I am for other business.
-- 99 --
Par.
I beseech your honour, to hear me one single
word.
Laf.
You beg a single penny more: come, you
shall ha't, save your word.
Par.
My name, my good Lord, is Parolles.
Laf.
You beg more than one word then. Cox'
my passion! give me your hand: how does your
drum?
Par.
O my good lord, you were the first that
found me.
Laf.
Was I, insooth? and I was the first that lost
thee.
Par.
It lies in you, my lord, to bring me in some
grace, for you did bring me out.
Laf.
Out upon thee, knave! dost 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
his trumpets. Sirrah, inquire further after me, I had
talk of you last night; tho' you are a fool and a
knave, you shall eat; go to, follow.
Par.
I praise God for you.
[Exeunt.
Alexander Pope [1747], The works of Shakespear in eight volumes. The Genuine Text (collated with all the former Editions, and then corrected and emended) is here settled: Being restored from the Blunders of the first Editors, and the Interpolations of the two Last: with A Comment and Notes, Critical and Explanatory. By Mr. Pope and Mr. Warburton (Printed for J. and P. Knapton, [and] S. Birt [etc.], London) [word count] [S11301].
