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Than those I shed for him. What was he like?
Par. Save you, fair queen!
Hel. And you, monarch!
Hel. And no.
Par. Are you meditating on virginity? Hel. Ay. You have some stain of soldier in you; let me ask you a question. Man is enemy to virginity; how may we barricado it against him? Par. Keep him out.
Hel. But he assails; and our virginity, though valiant in the defence, yet is weak. Unfold to us some war-like resistance.
Par. There is none: man, sitting down before you, will undermine you and blow you up.
Hel. Bless our poor virginity from underminers and blowers up! Is there no military policy, how virgins might blow up men?
Par. Virginity being blown down, man will quicklier be blown up: marry, in blowing him down again, with the breach yourselves made, you lose your city. It is not politic in the commonwealth of nature to preserve virginity. Loss of virginity is rational increase, and there was never virgin got till virginity was first lost. That you were made of is metal to make virgins. Virginity,
Par. There's little can be said in 't; 'tis against the rule of nature. To speak on the part of virginity is to accuse your mothers, which is most infallible disobedience. He that hangs himself is a virgin virginity murders itself, and should be buried in highways, out of all sanctified limit, as a desperate offendress against nature. ginity breeds mites, much like a cheese, consumes itself to the very paring, and so dies with feeding his own stomach. Besides, virginity is peevish, proud, idle, made of self-love, which is the most inhibited sin in the canon. Keep it not; you cannot choose but lose by 't. Out with 't! within the year it will make itself two, which is a goodly increase, and the principal itself not much the worse. Away with 't.
Hel. How might one do, sir, to lose it to her own liking?
Par. Let me see: marry, ill, to like him that ne'er it likes. 'Tis a commodity will lose the gloss with lying; the longer kept, the less worth: off with 't while 'tis vendible; answer the time of request. Virginity, like an old courtier, wears her cap out of fashion; richly suited, but unsuitable just like the brooch and the toothpick, which wear not now. Your date is better in your pie and your porridge than in your cheek: and your virginity, your old virginity, is like one of our French withered pears; it looks ill, it eats drily; marry, 'tis a withered pear; it was formerly better; marry, yet 'tis a withered pear. Will you any thing with it?
Hel. Not my virginity yet.
There shall your master have a thousand loves,
Hel. That I wish well. "Tis pity-
Hel. That wishing well had not a body in 't, Which might be felt; that we, the poorer born, Whose baser stars do shut us up in wishes, Might with effects of them follow our friends, And show what we alone must think, which never Returns us thanks.
Par. I am so full of businesses I cannot answer thee acutely. I will return perfect courtier; in the which my instruction shall serve to naturalize thee, so thou wilt be capable of a courtier's counsel, and understand what advice shall thrust upon thee; else thou diest in thine unthankfulness, and thine ignorance makes thee away: farewell. When thou hast leisure, say thy prayers; when thou hast none, remember thy friends. Get thee a good husband, and use him as he uses thee: so farewell. Exit.
Hel. Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie Which we ascribe to heaven: the fated sky 230 Gives us free scope; only doth backward pull Our slow designs when we ourselves are dull. What power is it which mounts my love so high; That makes me see, and cannot feed mine eye? The mightiest space in fortune nature brings To join like likes, and kiss like native things. Impossible be strange attempts to those That weigh their pains in sense, and do suppose What hath been cannot be. Who ever strove To show her merit that did miss her love? The king's disease-my project may deceive me, But my intents are fix'd and will not leave me.
Exit. SCENE II.-Paris. A Room in the KING'S Palace.
Flourish of cornets. Enter the KING, with letters; Lords and others attending.
King. The Florentines and Senoys are by the
Have fought with equal fortune, and continue A braving war.
First 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.
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
King. He hath arm'd our answer, And Florence is denied before he comes : Yet, for our gentlemen that mean to see The Tuscan service, freely have they leave To stand on either part. Second Lord. It well may serve A nursery to our gentry, who are sick For breathing and exploit.
What's he comes here? Enter BERTRAM, LAFEU, and PAROLLES. First Lord. It is the Count Rousillon, my good lord, Young Bertram.
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
As when thy father and myself in friendship
He us'd as creatures of another place,
In their poor praise he humbled. Such a man
But goers backward.
His good remembrance, sir, Lies richer in your thoughts than on his tomb; So in approof 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
First Lord. His love and wisdom, 10 Since I nor wax nor honey can bring home, Approv'd so to your majesty, may plead I quickly were dissolved from my hive, For amplest credence. To give some labourers room. Second Lord. You are lov'd, sir; They that least lend it you shall lack you first. King. I fill a place, I know 't. How long is 't,
Mere fathers of their garments; whose constancies Expire before their fashions.' This he wish'd : I, after him, do after him wish too,
count, Since the physician at your father's died? He was much fam'd.
SCENE III.-Rousillon. A Room in the COUNTESS's Palace.
Enter COUNTESS, Steward, and Clown. Count. I will now hear: what say you of this gentlewoman?
Stew. Madam, the care I have had to even your content, I wish might be found in the calendar of my past endeavours; for then we wound our modesty and make foul the clearness of our deservings, when of ourselves we publish them.
Count. What does this knave here? Get you gone, sirrah: the complaints I have heard of you I do not all believe: 'tis my slowness that I do not; for I know you lack not folly to commit them, and have ability enough to make such knaveries yours.
Clo. 'Tis not unknown to you, madam, I am a poor fellow.
Count. Well, sir.
Clo. No, madam, 'tis not so well that I am poor, though many of the rich are damned. But, if I may have your ladyship's good will to go to the world, Isbel the woman and I will do as we
Count. Such friends are thine enemies, knave. Clo. You're shallow, madam, in great friends; for the knaves come to do that for me which I am aweary of. He that ears my land spares my team, and gives me leave to in the crop: if I be his cuckold, he 's my drudge. He that comforts my wife is the cherisher of my flesh and blood; he that cherishes my flesh and blood loves my flesh and blood; he that loves my flesh and blood is my friend: ergo, he that kisses my wife is my friend. If men could be contented to be what they are, there were no fear in marriage; for young Charbon the puritan, and old Poysam the papist, howsome'er their hearts are severed in religion, their heads are both one; they may joll horns together, like any deer i' the herd. 60 Count. Wilt thou ever be a foul-mouthed and calumnious knave?
Clo. A prophet I, madam; and I speak the truth the next way:
Count. What! one good in ten? you corrupt the song, sirrah.
Clo. One good woman in ten, madam; which is a purifying o' the song. Would God would serve the world so all the year! we'd find no fault with the tithe-woman if I were the parson. One in ten, quoth a'! An we might have a good woman born but for every blazing star, or at an earthquake, 'twould mend the lottery well: a man may draw his heart out ere a' pluck one. 94
Count. You'll be gone, sir knave, and do as I command you!
Clo. That man should be at woman's command, and yet no hurt done! Though honesty be no puritan, yet it will do no hurt; it will wear the surplice of humility over the black gown of a big heart. I am going, forsooth: the business is for Helen to come hither. Exit. 102
Count. Well, now.
Stew. I know, madam, you love your gentle. woman entirely.
Count. Faith, I do : her father bequeathed her to me; and she herself, without other advantage, may lawfully make title to as much love as she finds: there is more owing her than is paid, and more shall be paid her than she 'll demand. 110 Stew. Madam, I was very late more near her than I think she wished me: alone she was, and did communicate to herself her own words to her own ears; she thought, I dare vow for her, they touched not any stranger sense. Her matter was, she loved your son: Fortune, she said, was no goddess, that had put such difference betwixt their two estates; Love, no god, that would not extend his might, only where qualities were level; Dian, no queen of virgins, that would suffer her poor knight surprised, without rescue in the first assault or ransom afterward. This she delivered in the most bitter touch of sorrow that e'er I heard virgin exclaim in; which I held my duty speedily to acquaint you withal, sithence in the loss that may happen, it concerns you something to know it.
Count. You have discharged this honestly: keep it to yourself. Many likelihoods informed me of this before, which hung so tottering in the balance that I could neither believe nor misdoubt. Pray you, leave me stall this in your
bosom; and I thank you for your honest care. I will speak with you further anon.
Even so it was with me when I was young:
Doth to our rose of youth rightly belong;
Our blood to us, this to our blood is born:
Her eye is sick on 't: I observe her now.
I am a mother to you.
Hel. Mine honourable mistress.
Then, I confess,
My friends were poor, but honest; so's my love :
The sun, that looks upon his worshipper,
Madam, I had.
Nay, a mother:
Nor I your mother? Hel. You are my mother, madam: would you
If it be not, forswear 't: howe'er, I charge thee,
The state of your affection, for your passions
So strive upon your pulse. What! pale again?
This was your motive
For Paris, was it? speak.
Hel. My lord your son made me to think of this; Else Paris, and the medicine, and the king, 240 Had from the conversation of my thoughts Haply been absent then.
SCENE I.-Paris. A Room in the KING'S Palace. Flourish. Enter the KING, with divers young Lords taking leave for the Florentine war; BERTRAM, PAROLLES, and Attendants.
King. Farewell, young lords: these war-like principles
Do not throw from you: and you, my lords, farewell:
Share the advice betwixt you; if both gain, all
King. No, no, it cannot be; and yet my heart Will not confess he owes the malady That doth my life besiege. Farewell, young lords; Whether I live or die, be you the sons Of worthy Frenchmen: let higher Italy, Those baited that inherit but the fall Of the last monarchy, see that you come Not to woo honour, but to wed it; when The bravest questant shrinks, find what you seek, That fame may cry you loud: I say, farewell. Second Lord. Health, at your bidding, serve your majesty!
King. Those girls of Italy, take heed of them:
Both. Our hearts receive your warnings.
Par. 'Tis not his fault, the spark. Second Lord. O! 'tis brave wars. Par. Most admirable: I have seen those wars. Ber. Iam commanded here, and kept a coil with 'Too young,' and 'the next year,' and 'tis too early.'
Par. An thy mind stand to 't, boy, steal away bravely.
Ber. I shall stay here the forehorse to a smock, Creaking my shoes on the plain masonry, Till honour be bought up and no sword worn
But one to dance with. By heaven! I'll steal
First Lord. There 's honour in the theft.
Ber. I grow to you, and our parting is a tortured body.
First Lord. Farewell, captain.
Second Lord. Sweet Monsieur Parolles ! Par. Noble heroes, my sword and yours are kin. Good sparks and lustrous, a word, good metals: you shall find in the regiment of the Spinii one Captain Spurio, with his cicatrice, an emblem of war, here on his sinister cheek: it was this very sword entrenched it: say to him, I live, and observe his reports for me.
Second Lord. We shall, noble captain. Exeunt Lords. Par. Mars dote on you for his novices! What will ye do?
Ber. Stay; the king
Re-enter KING. PAROLLES and BERTRAM retire.
noble lords; you have restrained yourself within Par. Use a more spacious ceremony to the the list of too cold an adieu : be more expressive to them; for they wear themselves in the cap of the time, there do muster true gait, eat, speak. and move under the influence of the most received star; and though the devil lead the measure, such are to be followed. After them, and take a more dilated farewell.
Ber. And I will do so.
Par. Worthy fellows; and like to prove most sinewy swordmen.
Exeunt BERTRAM and PAROLLES.
Laf. Kneeling. Pardon, my lord, for me and for my tidings.
King. I'll fee thee to stand up. Laf. Then here's a man stands that has bought his pardon.
I would you had kneel'd, my lord, to ask me