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Clown. 'Faith, there's a dozen of 'em, with delicate fine hats, and most courteous feathers, which bow the head, and nod at every man.
ACT V. SCENE I.
Marseilles. A Street.
Enter HELENA, Widow, and DIANA, with two Attendants.
Hel. But this exceeding posting, day and
Must wear your spirits low: we cannot help it; But, since you have made the days and nights
To wear your gentle limbs in my affairs,
Enter a gentle Astringer.
This man may help me to his majesty's ear,
Gent. And you.
Hel. Sir, I have seen you in the court of France.
Gent, I have been sometimes there.
Hel. I do presume, sir, that you are not
From the report that goes upon your goodness And therefore, goaded with most sharp occa sions,
Which lay nice manners by, I put you to
The use of your own virtuès, for the which
Hel. That it will please you
To give this poor petition to the king;
Gent. The king's not here.
Hel. Not here, sir?
He hence remov'd last night, and with more
"Than is his use.
Wid. Lord, how we lose our pains!
Hel. I do beseech you, sir,
Since you are like to see the king before me,
Gent. This I'll do for you.
Hel. And you shall find yourself to be well
What-e'er falls more.-We must to horse again ;Go, go, provide. [Exeunt.]
Rousillon. The inner Court of the Count's Palace.
Enter Clown and PAROLLES.
Good Mr. Lavatch, give my lord Lafeu this letter; I have ere now, sir, been better
known to you, when I have held familiarity with fresher clothes; but I am now, sir, muddy'd in fortune's mood, and smell somewhat strong of her strong displeasure.
Clown. 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 buttering. Pr'ythee, allow the wind.
Par. Nay, you need not to stop your nose, sir; I spake but by a metaphor.
Clown. Indeed, sir, if your metaphor stink, I will stop my nose; or against any man's metaphor. Pr'ythee, get thee further.
Par. Pray you, sir, deliver me this paper. Clown. Foh! pr'ythee, stand away; A paper from fortune's close-stool to give to a nobleman! Look, here he comes himself,
Here is a pur 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 muddy'd withal: Pray you, sir, use the carp as you may; for he looks like a poor, decay'd, ingenious, foolish, rascally knave. I do pity his distress in my smiles of comfort, and leave him to your lordship. [Exit Clown.]
Par. My lord, I am 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'écu for you: Let the justices make you and fortune friends; I am for other business.
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: 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, in
quire 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
I l I.
A Room in the Count's Palace.
Flourish. Enter King, Countefs, 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.
Count 'Tis past, my liege:
And I beseech your majesty to make it
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.
Laf. This I must say,
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: be lost a wife, Whose beauty did astonish the survey
Of richest eyes; whose words all ears took cap
Whose dear perfection, hearts that scorn'd to
Humbly call'd mistress.
King. Praising what is lost, Makes the remembrance dear.
Well, call him
We are reconcil'd, and the first view shall kill
The incensing relicks of it: let him approach,
Gent. I shall, my liege.
King. What says he to your daughter? have you spoke?
Laf. All that he is hath reference to your highness.
King. Then shall we have a match. I have letters sent me,
That set him high in fame.
Laf. He looks well on't.