King.

He hath armed 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.

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 composed thee. Thy father's moral parts Mayst 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 tried our soldiership! He did look far Into the service of the time, and was Discipled of the bravest. He lasted long; But on us both did haggish age steal on, And wore us out of act. It much repairs1 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, Ere they can hide their levity in honor.2 So like a courtier, contempt nor bitterness Were in his pride or sharpness: if they were, His equal had awaked them; and his honor,

3

1 To repair, in these plays, generally signifies to renovate. 2 That is, "cover petty faults with great merit:" honor does not stand for dignity of rank or birth, but acquired reputation. "This is an excellent observation (says Johnson); jocose follies, and slight offences, are only allowed by mankind in him that overpowers them by great qualities." 3 Nor was sometimes used without reduplication. "He was so like a courtier, that there was in his dignity of manner nothing contemptuous,

Clock to itself, knew the true minute when
Exception bid him speak, and, at this time,

His tongue obeyed his hand. Who were below him,
He used as creatures of another place;

And bowed his eminent top to their low ranks,
Making them proud of his humility,

In their poor praise he humbled. Such a man
Might be a copy to these younger times;

Which, followed well, would démonstrate them now
But goers backward.

Ber.

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 al

ways say,

(Methinks I hear him now; his plausive words
He scattered 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
Mere fathers of their garments;3 whose constancies
Expire before their fashions.-This he wished:
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 laborers room.

You are loved, sir;

and in his keenness of wit nothing bitter. If bitterness or contemptuousness ever appeared, they had been awakened by some injury, not of a man below him, but for his equal."

1 His for its.

2 The approbation of his worth lives not so much in his epitaph as in your royal speech.

3 Who have no other use of their faculties than to invent new modes of dress.

King. I fill a place, I know't.-How long is't,

count,

Since the physician at your father's died?
He was much famed.

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.

[Exeunt. Flourish.

SCENE III. Rousillon. A Room in the Countess's

Palace.

Enter Countess, Steward, and Clown.1

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 endeavors; 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

1 The clown in this comedy is a domestic fool of the same kind as Touchstone. Such fools were, in the Poet's time, maintained in all great families, to keep up merriment in the house.

2 To act up to your desires.

have your ladyship's good will to go to the world,' Isabel the woman and I will do as we may.

Count. Wilt thou needs be a beggar?

Clo. I do beg your good will in this case.
Count. In what case?

Service is

Clo. In Isabel's case, and mine own. no heritage; and, I think, I shall never have the blessing of God, till I have issue of my body; for, they say, bearns are blessings.

Count. Tell me thy reason why thou wilt marry.

Clo. My poor body, madam, requires it. I am driven on by the flesh; and he must needs go, that the devil drives.

Count. Is this all your worship's reason?

Clo. Faith, madam, I have other holy reasons, such as they are.

Count. May the world know them?

Clo. I have been, madam, a wicked creature, as you and all flesh and blood are; and, indeed, I do marry, that I may repent.

Count. Thy marriage, sooner than thy wickedness. Clo. I am out of friends, madam; and I hope to have friends for my wife's sake.

Count. Such friends are thine enemies, knave. Clo. You are shallow, madam; e'en great friends; for the knaves come to do that for me, which I am a-weary of. He that ears3 my land, spares my team, and gives me leave to inn 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 5

2 Children.

3 Ploughs.

4 Therefore.

1 To be married. 5 Malone conjectures that we should read "Poisson the papist," alluding to the custom of eating fish on fast days: as Charbon the puritan alludes to the fiery zeal of that sect. It is much in Shakspeare's manner to use significant names.

the papist, howsoever their hearts are severed in religion, their heads are both one; they may joll horns together, like any deer i'the herd.

Count. Wilt thou ever be a foul-mouthed and calumnious knave?

Clo. A prophet I, madam; and I speak the truth the next way:

For I the ballad will repeat,

Which men full true shall find;
Your marriage comes by destiny,
Your cuckoo sings by kind.

Count. Get you gone, sir; I'll talk with you more

anon.

Stew. May it please you, madam, that he bid Helen come to you; of her I am to speak.

Count. Sirrah, tell my gentlewoman I would speak with her; Helen I mean.

Clo. Was this fair face the cause, quoth she,

Why the Grecians sacked Troy?

Fond done, done fond,

Was this king Priam's joy? 4
With that she sighed as she stood,
With that she sighed as she stood,
And gave this sentence then;
Among nine bad if one be good,
Among nine bad if one be good,
There's yet one good in ten.

[Singing.

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

1 The readiest way.

2 i. e. nature.

3 Foolishly done.

4 The name of Helen brings to the clown's memory this fragment of an old ballad: something has escaped him, it appears; for Paris "was king Priam's only joy," as Helen was sir Paris's; according to two fragments, quoted by the commentators.