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Whate'er the course, the end is the renown.
Laf. A shrewd knave and an unhappy.
SCENE V.-Rousillon. A Room in the COUNTESS's himself much sport out of him: by his authority
Enter COUNTESS, LAFEU, and Clown.
Laf. No, no, no; your son was misled with a snipt-taffeta fellow there, whose villanous saffron would have made all the unbaked and doughy youth of a nation in his colour: your daughterin-law had been alive at this hour, and your son here at home, more advanced by the king than by that red-tailed humble-bee I speak of.
Count. I would I had not known him; it was the death of the most virtuous gentlewoman that ever nature had praise for creating. If she had partaken of my flesh, and cost me the dearest groans of a mother, I could not have owed her a more rooted love.
Laf. 'Twas a good lady, 'twas a good lady: we may pick a thousand salads ere we light on such another herb.
not fall out with thee. Go thy ways: let my horses be well looked to, without any tricks. 61 Clo. If I put any tricks upon 'em, sir, they shall be jades' tricks, which are their own right by the law of nature. Exit.
Laf. Who's that? a Frenchman?
Clo. Faith, sir, a' has an English name; but his phisnomy is more hotter in France than there. Laf. What prince is that?
Clo. The black prince, sir; alias, the prince of darkness; alias, the devil.
Laf. Hold thee, there's my purse. I give thee not this to suggest thee from thy master thou talkest of: serve him still.
Clo. I am a woodland fellow, sir, that always loved a great fire; and the master I speak of ever keeps a good fire. But, sure, 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: some that humble themselves may; but the many will be too chill and tender, and they'll be for the flowery way that leads to the broad gate and the great fire.
Laf. Go thy ways, I begin to be aweary of thee; and I tell thee so before, because I would
Laf. I like him well; 'tis not amiss. And I was about to tell you, since I heard of the good lady's death, and that my lord your son was upon his return home, I moved the king my master to speak in the behalf of my daughter; which, in the minority of them both, his majesty, out of a self-gracious remembrance, did first propose. His highness hath promised me to do it; and to stop up the displeasure he hath conceived against your son, there is no fitter matter. How does your ladyship like it?
Count. With very much content, my lord; and I wish it happily effected.
Laf. His highness comes post from Marseilles, of as able body as when he numbered thirty: he will be here to-morrow, or I am deceived by him that in such intelligence hath seldom failed.
Count. It rejoices me that I hope I shall see him ere I die. I have letters that my son will be here to-night: I shall beseech your lordship to remain with me till they meet together.
Laf. Madam, I was thinking with what manners I might safely 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.
Clo. At your service.
Laf. No, no, no.
Laf. A scar nobly got, or a noble scar, is a
Clo. Why, sir, if I cannot serve you, I can good livery of honour; so belike is that. serve as great a prince as you are.
Clo. But it is your carbonadoed face.
Laf. Let us go see your son, I pray you : I long to talk with the young noble soldier.
Clo. Faith, there's a dozen of 'em, with delicate fine hats and most courteous feathers, which bow the head and nod at every man. Exeunt.
Clo. Omadam! yonder 's my lord your son with a patch of velvet on 's face: whether there be a scar under it 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.
SCENE I.-Marseilles. A Street.
Enter HELENA, Widow, and DIANA, with two
Hel. But this exceeding posting, day and
Must wear your spirits low; we cannot help it:
To wear your gentle limbs in my affairs,
carp as you may, for he looks like a poor, decayed, ingenious, foolish, rascally knave. I do pity his distress in my similes of comfort, and leave him to your lordship.
Par. My lord, I am a man whom fortune hath cruelly scratched.
Laf. And what would you have me to do? 'Tis too late to pare her nails now. have you played 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'écu for you. Let the justices make you and fortune friends; I am for other business.
Here is a purr of fortune's, sir, or of fortune's cat, but not a musk-cat, that has fallen into the unclean fishpond of her displeasure, and, as he says, is muddied withal. Pray you, sir, use the
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, in sooth? 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. Trumpets sound. The king's coming; I know by his trumpets. Sirrah, inquire further after me; I had talk of you last night: though you are a fool and a knave, you shall eat: go to, follow. Par. I praise God for you.
SCENE III.-The Same. A Room in the COUNTESS's Palace.
Flourish. Enter KING, COUNTESS, LAFEU, Lords, Gentlemen, Guards, etc.
King. We lost a jewel of her, and our esteem Was made much poorer by it: but your son, As mad in folly, lack'd the sense to know Her estimation home.
"Tis past, my liege; And I beseech your majesty to make it Natural rebellion, done i' the blaze of youth; When oil and fire, too strong for reason's force, O'erbears it and burns on. King.
My honour'd lady, I have forgiven and forgotten all Though my revenges were high bent upon him, And watch'd the time to shoot.
This I must say,- 11
Laf. But first I beg my pardon,-the young lord Did to his majesty, his mother, and his lady, Offence of mighty note, but to himself The greatest wrong of all: he lost a wife Whose beauty did astonish the survey Of richest eyes, whose words all ears took captive, Whose dear perfection hearts that scorn'd to serve Humbly call'd mistress.
King. Praising what is lost Makes the remembrance dear. Well, call him hither;
We are reconcil'd, and the first view shall kill All repetition. Let him not ask our pardon:
King. I am not a day of season,
For thou may'st see a sunshine and a hail
My high-repented blames, Dear sovereign, pardon to me. King.
All is whole; Not one word more of the consumed time. Let's take the instant by the forward top, For we are old, and on our quick'st decrees The inaudible and noiseless foot of time Steals ere we can effect them. You remember The daughter of this lord? Ber. Admiringly, my liege. At first I stuck my choice upon her, ere my heart Durst make too bold a herald of my tongue, Where the impression of mine eye infixing, Contempt his scornful perspective did lend me, Which warp'd the line of every other favour; Scorn'd a fair colour, or express'd it stolen ; Extended or contracted all proportions To a most hideous object: thence it came That she, whom all men prais'd, and whom myself, Since I have lost, have lov'd, was in mine eye The dust that did offend it.
That thou didst love her, strikes some scores away
From the great compt. But love, that comes too late,
Like a remorseful pardon slowly carried,
faults Make trivial price of serious things we have, 60 Not knowing them until we know their grave: Oft our displeasures, to ourselves unjust, Destroy our friends and after weep their dust: Our own love waking cries to see what's done, While shameful hate sleeps out the afternoon. Be this sweet Helen's knell, and now forget her. Send forth your amorous token for fair Maudlin: The main consents are had; and here we'll stay To see our widower's second marriage-day. Count. Which better than the first, Ŏ dear heaven, bless!
Son, on my life,
I have seen her wear it; and she reckon'd it
Whoever gave it you. Then, if you know
You got it from her. She call'd the saints to surety,
That she would never put it from her finger
She never saw it.
And mak'st conjectural fears to come into me
Here's a petition from a Florentine,
King. Upon his many protestations to marry me when his wife was dead, I blush to say it, he won me. Now is the Count Rousillon a widower: his vows are forfeited to me, and my honour's paid to him. He stole from Florence, taking no leave, and 1 follow him to his country for justice. Grant it me, O king! in you it best lies; otherwise a seducer flourishes, and a poor maid is undone. DIANA CAPILET.
Laf. I will buy me a son-in-law in a fair, and toll for this: I'll none of him.
King. The heavens have thought well on thee,
To bring forth this discovery. Seek these suitors:
Now, justice on the doers!
King. I wonder, sir, sith wives are monsters to you,
And that you fly them as you swear them lordship, Yet you desire to marry.
Re-enter Gentleman, with Widow and DIANA. What woman's that? Dia. I am, my lord, a wretched Florentine, Derived from the ancient Capilet: My suit, as I do understand, you know, And therefore know how far I may be pitied. Wid. I am her mother, sir, whose age and honour Both suffer under this complaint we bring, And both shall cease, without your remedy. King. Come hither, count; do you know these
Ber. She's none of mine, my lord.
If you shall marry,
That she which marries you must marry me; Either both or none.
Laf. Your reputation comes too short for my daughter: you are no husband for her.
Ber. My lord, this is a fond and desperate
Till your deeds gain them: fairer prove your honour
Than in my thought it lies.
Good my lord,
King. What say'st thou to her?
She's impudent, my lord;
Count. He blushes, and 'tis it : Of six preceding ancestors, that gem Conferr'd by testament to the sequent issue, Hath it been ow'd and worn. This is his wife : That ring's a thousand proofs. King.
Methought you said
You saw one here in court could witness it.
And boarded her i' the wanton way of youth.
The same upon your finger.
Dia. And this was it I gave him, being a-bed. King. The story then goes false you threw it him
Out of a casement.
I have spoke the truth. Re-enter Attendant with PAROLLES. Ber. My lord, I do confess the ring was hers. King. You boggle shrewdly, every feather starts you. Is this the man you speak of?
Ay, my lord.
Not fearing the displeasure of your master,
Dia. Good mother, fetch my bail.
King. Come, come, to the purpose: did he love this woman?
The jeweller that owes the ring is sent for,
Par. Faith, sir, he did love her; but how?
Par. He did love her, sir, as a gentleman He knows himself my bed he hath defil'd,
Re-enter Widow, with HELENA.
King. How is that?
Par. He loved her, sir, and loved her not. King. As thou art a knave, and no knave. What an equivocal companion is this!
Par. I am a poor man, and at your majesty's command.
Laf. He's a good drum, my lord, but a naughty orator.
Dia. Do you know he promised me marriage? Par. Faith, I know more than I'll speak. King. But wilt thou not speak all thou knowest ?
Par. Yes, so please your majesty. I did go between them, as I said; but more than that, he loved her, for indeed he was mad for her, and talked of Satan, and of limbo, and of Furies, and I know not what yet I was in that credit with them at that time, that I knew of their going to bed, and of other motions, as promising her marriage, and things that would derive me ill will to speak of: therefore I will not speak what I know.
King. Thou hast spoken all already, unless thou canst say they are married but thou art too fine in thy evidence; therefore, stand aside. This ring, you say, was yours?
Dia. It was not given me, nor I did not buy it.
I found it not.
King. If it were yours by none of all these ways, How could you give it him?
I never gave it him.
Dia. It might be yours or hers, for aught I know.
I'll never tell you.
King. Take her away.
Dia. Because he 's guilty, and he is not guilty. He knows I am no maid, and he 'll swear to 't:
Hel. No, my good lord; "Tis but the shadow of a wife you see; The name and not the thing. Both, both. O! pardon. Hel. O my good lord! when I was like this maid,
I found you wondrous kind. There is your ring:
This is done :
Will you be mine, now you are doubly won? Ber. If she, my liege, can make me know this clearly,
I'll love her dearly, ever, ever dearly.
Hel. If it appear not plain and prove untrue,
Laf. Mine eyes smell onions; I shall weepanon. To PAROLLES. Good Tom Drum, lend me a handkercher: so, I thank thee. Wait on me home, I'll make sport with thee: let thy courtesies alone, they are scurvy ones.
King. Let us from point to point this story
To make the even truth in pleasure flow.
Choose thou thy husband, and I'll pay thy dower;
SPOKEN BY THE KING.
The king's a beggar now the play is done: