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SCENE I-Rousillon.-A Room in the Coun-
tess' Palace.

Enter BERTRAM, the COUNTESS of ROUSILLON,
HELENA, and LAFEU, in mourning.
Count. In delivering my son from me, I bury
a second husband.

Ber. And I, in going, madam, weep o'er my father's death anew: but I must attend his majesty's command, to whom I am now in ward, evermore in subjection.

Laf. A fistula, my lord.

Ber. I heard not of it before.

Laf. I would, it were not notorious.-Was Narbon? this gentlewoman the daughter of Gerard de

Count. His sole child, my lord; and bequeathed to my overlooking. I have those hopes of her good, that her education promises: her dispositions she inherits, which makes fair gifts fairer; for where an unclean mind carries virtuous qualities, there commendations go with pity, they are virtues and traitors too; m Laf. You shall find of the king a husband, her they are the better for their simpleness;+ madam;-you, Sir, a father: He that so gene-she derives her honesty, and achieves her rally is at all times good, must of necessity hold his virtue to you; whose worthiness would stir it up where it wanted, rather than lack it where there is such abundance.

Count. What hope is there of his majesty's amendment?

goodness.

Laf. Your commendations, madam, get from her tears.

Count. 'Tis the best brine a maiden can season her praise in. The remembrance of her father never approaches her heart, but the tyranny of her sorrows takes all livelihood from her cheek. No more of this, Helena, go no more; lest it be rather thought you affect a sorrow, than to have.

Laf. He hath abandoned his physicians, madam; under whose practices he hath persecut ed time with hope; and finds no other advan-to, tage in the process but only the losing of hope by time.

Hel. I do affect a sorrow, indeed, but I have

Laf. Moderate lamentation is the right of the dead, excessive grief the enemy to the living.

Count. This young gentlewoman had a fait too. ther, (O, that had! how sad a passage 'tis !) whose skill was almost as great as his honesty; had it stretched so far, would have made nature immortal, and death should have play for lack of work. 'Would, for the king's sake, he were living! I think, it would be the death of the king's disease.

Laf. How called you the man you speak of, madam

Count. He was famous, Sir, in his profession, and it was his great right to be so: "Gerard de

Narbon.

Laf. He was excellent, indeed, madam; the king very lately spoke of him, admiringly, and mourningly he was skilful enough to have lived still, if knowledge could be set up against mortality.

Ber. What is it, my good lord, the king languishes of?

Under his particular care, as my guardian.

Count. If the living be enemy to the grief, the excess makes it soon mortal.

Ber. Madam, I desire your holy wishes.
Laf. How understand we that?
Count. Be thou bless'd, Bertram! and suo-
ceed thy father

In manners, as in shape! thy blood, and virtue,
Contend for empire in thee; and thy goodness
Share with thy birthright! Love all, trust a

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+ The countess recollects her own loss of a husband and less. observes how heavily had passes through her mind,

All appearance of life.

That thee may furnish, and my prayers pluck | you lose your city. It is not politic in the

down,

Fall on thy head! Farewell.-My lord, "Tis an unseason'd courtier; good my lord, Advise him.

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 Laf. He cannot want the best virgins. Virginity, by being once lost, may be That shall attend his love. ten times found: by being ever kept, it is ever Count. Heaven bless him!-Farewell, Ber-lost: 'tis too cold a companion; away with it. [Exit COUNTESS. Hel. I will stand for't a little, though thereBer. The best wishes, that can be forged in fore I die a virgin. your thoughts, [To HELENA] be servants to you! Be comfortable to my mother, your mistress, and make much of her.

tram.

Laf. Farewell, pretty lady: You must hold the credit of your father.

[Exeunt BERTRAM and LAFEU.
Hel. O, were that all!-I think not on my
father;
[more
And these great tears grace his remembrance
Than those I shed for him. What was he like?
I have forgot him: my imagination
Carries no favour in it, but Bertram's.
I am undone; there is no living, none,
If Bertram be away. It were all one,
That I should love a bright particular star,
And think to wed it, he is so above me:
In his bright radiance and collateral light
Must I he comforted, not in his sphere.
The ambition in my love thus plagues itself:
The hind, that would be mated by the lion,
Must die for love. "Twas pretty, though a
plague,

To see him every hour; to sit and draw
His arched brows, his hawking eye, his curls,
In our heart's table; heart, too capable
Of every line and tricks of his sweet favour:
But now he's gone, and my idolatrous fancy
Must sanctify his relics. Who comes here?
Enter PAROLLES.

One that goes with him: I love him for his
And yet I know him a notorious liar, [sake;
Think him a great way fool, solely a coward;
Yet these fix'd evils sit to fit in him,
That they take place, when virtue's steely bones
Look bleak in the cold wind: withal, full oft

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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. Virginity 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 ten years it will make itself ten, 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 tooth-pick, 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 dryly; 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,
A mother, and a mistress, and a friend,
A phoenix, captain, and an enemy,
A guide, a goddess, and a sovereign,
A counsellor, a traitress, and a dear;
His humble ambition, proud humility,
His jarring concord, and his discord dulcet,
His faith, his sweet disaster; with a world'
Of pretty, fond, adoptious christendoms,
That blinking Cupid gossips. Now shall he
I know not what he shall:-God send him

well!

The court's a learning-place;-and he is one-
Par. What one, i'faith?

Hel. That I wish well.-"Tis pity-
Par. What's 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
Returns us thanks.
[never

Enter a PAGE.

Page. Monsieur Parolles, my lord calls for [Exit PAGE Par. Little Helen, farewell: if I can remem

you.

♦ I. e. That may help thee with more and better qualiber thee, I will think of thee at court.

fications.

+1. e. May you be mistress of your wishes, and have power to bring them to effect.

Helena considers her heart as the tablet on which his resemblance was pourtrayed.

Peculiarity of feature.

Countenance.

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Hel. Monsieur Parolles, you were born un- | The Tuscan service, freely have they leave der a charitable star.

Par. Under Mars, I.

Hel. I especially think, under Mars.
Par. Why under Mars?

Hel. The wars have so kept you under, that you must needs be born under Mars.

Par. When he was predominant.

Hel. When he was retrograde, I think, rather.

Par. Why think you so?

Hel. You go so much backward, when you fight.

Par. That's for advantage.

Hel. So is running away, when fear proposes the safety: But the composition, that your valour and fear makes in you, is a virtue of a good wing, and I like the wear well.

To stand on either part.

2 Lord. It may well serve

A nursury 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 Young Bertram. [lord, King. Youth, thou bear'st thy father's face; Hath well compos'd thee. Thy father's moral Frank nature, rather curious than in haste,

parts

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

now,

Par. I am so full of businesses, I cannot As when thy father, and myself, in friendship answer thee acutely I will return perfect First tried our soldiership! He did look far courtier; in the which, my instruction shall Into the service of the time, and was serve to naturalize thee, so thou wilt be capa- Discipled of the bravest: he lasted long; ble of a courtier's counsel, and understand But on us both did haggish age steal on, what advice shall thrust upon thee; else thou And wore us out of act. It much repairs* me diest in thine unthankfulness, and thine igno-To talk of your good father: In his youth rance makes thee away: farewell. When thou He had the wit, which I can well observe hast leisure, say thy prayers; when thou hast To-day in our young lords; but they may jest, none, remember thy friends: get thee a good Till their own scorn return to them unnoted, husband, and use him as he uses thee: so fare- Ere they can hide their levity in honour. well. [Exit. So like a courtier, contempt not bitterness Were in his pride or sharpness; if they were, His equal had awak'd them; and his honour, Clock to itself, knew the true minute when Exception bid him speak, and, at this time, His tongue obey'd hist hand: who were below He used as creatures of another place; [him And bow'd his eminent top to their low ranks, Making them proud of his humility,

Hel. Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie,
Which we ascribe to heaven: the fated sky
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 sup-

pose,

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 OF FRANCE, with letters; LORDS and others attending. King. The Florentines and Senoyst are by

the ears;

Have fought with equal fortune, and continue
A braving war.

1 Lord. So 'tis reported, Sir.
King. Nay, 'tis most credible; we here re-
ceive 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.

1 Lord. His love and wisdom, Approv'd so to your majesty, may plead For amplest credence.

King. He hath arm'd our answer,
And Florence is denied before he comes:
Yet, for our gentlemen, that mean to see

* I. e. Thou wilt comprehend it.

+Things formed by nature for each other.

The citizens of the small republic of which Sienna is the capital.

In their poor praise he humbled: Such a man
Might be a copy to these younger times;
Which, follow'd well, would demonstrate them
goers backward.
[now

But

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

always say,

(Methinks, I hear him now; his plausive words
To grow there, and to bear,)-Let me not live,—
He scatter'd not in ears, but grafted them,
Thus his good melancholy oft began,
On the catastrophe and heel of pastime,
When it was out,-Let me not live, quoth he,
Of younger spirits, whose apprehensive senses
After my flame lucks oil, to be the snuff
Mere fathers of their garments; whose con-
All but new things disdain; whose judgements are

stancies

I, after him, do after him wish too,
Expire before their fashions:-This he wish'd:

I quickly were dissolved from my hive,
Since I nor wax, nor honey, can bring home,
To give some labourers room.

2 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, count,

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

Ber. Some six months since, my lord.
King. If he were living, I would try him
yet;-

To repair here significs to renovate.

+ His is put for its.

↑ Approbation.

Who have no other use of their facultie, than to in

vent new modes of dress.

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SCENE III.-Rousillon.-A Room in the
COUNTESS' 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 or 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 surh knaveries yours.

C. "Tis not unknown to you, madam, I am a poor ellow.

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,t Isbel the woman and I will do as we may.

Count. Wilt thou needs be a beggar?

Clo. 1 do beg your good-will in this case.
Count In what case?

Clo. In Isbel's case, and mine own. Service is 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 wicked

ness.

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 ears 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 the papist, howsoe'er 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?

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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,
[Singing.
Why the Grecians sacked Troy?
Fond done, t done fond,

Was this king Priam's joy?
With that she sighed as she stood,
With that she sighed as she stood,

And gave this sentence then;
Among nine bud if one be good,
Among nine bud if one be good,
There's yet one good in ten.
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 tythe-woman, if I were the parson: One in ten, quoth a'! an we might have a good woman born but every blazing star, or at an earthquake, 'twould mend the lottery well; a man may draw his heart out, ere he pluck one.

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 CLOWN.

Count. Well, now. Stew. I know, madam, you love your gentlewoman 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.

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; Diana, no queen of virgins, that would suffer her poor knight to be 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, no

*The nearest way. + Foolishly done. ↑ Sinca.

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Count. Even so it was with me, when I was [thorn If we are nature's, these are ours; this Doth to our rose of youth rightly belong;

Our blood to us, this to our blood is born;
It is the show and seal of nature's truth,
Where love's strong passion is impress'd in
youth:

By our remembrances of days foregone,
Such were our faults;-or then we thought

them none.

Her eye is sick on't; I observe her now. Hel. What is your pleasure, madam? Count. You know, Helen,

1 am a mother to you.

Hel. Mine honourable mistress.

Count. Nay, a mother;

Why not a mother? When I said a mother, Methought you saw a serpent: What's in mother,

That you start at it? I say, I am your mother;
And put you in the catalogue of those
That were enwombed mine: "Tis often seen,
Adoption strives with nature; and choice
breeds

A native slip to us from foreign seeds:
You ne'er oppress'd me with a mother's groan,
Yet I express to you a mother's care:-
God's mercy, maiden! does it curd thy blood,
To say, I am thy mother? What's the matter,
That this distemper'd messenger of wet,
The many-colour'd Iris, rounds thine eye?
Why ?- -that you are my daughter?

Hel. That I am not.

Count. I say, I am your mother.
Hel. Pardon, madam;

The count Rousillon cannot be my brother:
1 am from humble, he from honour'd name;
No note upon my parents, his all noble:
My master, my dear lord he is; and I
His servant live, and will his vassal die:
He must not be my brother.

Count. Nor I your mother?

Hel. You are my mother, madam; 'Would

you were

(So that my lord, your son, were not my
brother,)
[mothers,
Indeed, my mother!-or were you both our
I care no more for,* than I do for heaven,
So I were not his sister: Can't no other,
But, I your daughter, he must be my brother?
Count. Yes, Helen, you might be my daugh-
ter-in-law;
[mother,
God shield, you mean it not! daughter, and
So strivet upon your pulse: What, pale again?
My fear hath catch'd your fondness: Now I
The mystery of your loneliness, and find [see
Your salt tears' head. Now to all sense 'tis
gross,

You love my son; invention is asham'd,
Against the proclamation of thy passion,
To say thou dost not: therefore tell me true;
But tell me then, 'tis so:-for, look, thy cheeks
Confess it one to the other; and thine eyes
See it so grossly shown in thy behaviours,
That in their kinds they speak it: only sin
And hellish obstinacy tie thy tongue,

* I. e. I care as much for: I wish it equally.
+ Contend.

The source, the cause of your grief.

According to their nature.

That truth should be suspected: Speak, is't so
If it be so, you have wound a goodly clue;
If it be not, forswear't: howe'er, I charge thee.
As heaven shall work in me for thine avail,
To tell me truly.

Hel. Good madam, pardon me!
Count. Do you love my son?

Hel. Your pardon, noble mistress!
Count. Love you my son?

Hel. Do not you love him, madam? Count. Go not about; my love hath in't a bond, Whereof the world takes note: come, come, [disclose The state of your affection; for your passions Have to the full appeach'd.

Hel. Then, I confess,

Here on my knee, before high heaven and you.
That before you, and next unto high heaven,
I love your son:-

My friends were poor, but honest; so's my love.
Be not offended; for it hurts not him,
That he is lov'd of me: I follow him not
By any token of presumptuous suit;
Nor would I have him, till I do deserve him;
Yet never know how that desert should be.
I know I love in vain, strive against hope;
Yet, in this captious and intenible sieve,
I still pour in the waters of my love,
And lack not to lose still: thus, Indian-like,
Religious in mine error, I adore

The sun, that looks upon his worshipper,
Let not your hate encounter with my love,
But knows of him no more. My dearest ma-
dam,
For loving where you do: but, if yourself,
Whose aged honour cites a virtuous youth,*
Did ever, in so true a flame of liking,

Wish chastely, and love dearly, that your Dian
Was both herself and love; O then, give pity
To her, whose state is such, that cannot choose
But lend and give, where she is sure to lose;
That seeks not to find that her search implies,
But, riddle-like, lives sweetly where she dies.
Count. Had you not lately an intent, speak
To go to Paris?
[truly,

Hel. Madam, I had.

Count. Wherefore? tell true.

Hel. I will tell truth; by grace itself, I swear. You know, my father left me some prescrip

tions

Of rare and prov'd effects, such as his reading,
And manifest experience, had collected
For general sovereignty; and that he will'd me
In heedfullest reservation to bestow them,
As notes, whose faculties inclusive were,
More than they were in note: amongst the
There is a remedy, approv'd, set down, [rest,
To cure the desperate languishes, whereof
The king is render'd lost.

Count. 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, Had, from the conversation of my thoughts, Haply, been absent then.

Count. But think you, Helen,

If you should tender your supposed aid,
He would receive it? He and his physicians
Are of a mind; he, that they cannot help him,
They, that they cannot help: How shall they

credit

A poor unlearned virgin, when the schools,

* I. e. Whose respectable conduct in age proves that you were no less virtuous when young. +I. e. Venue. ↑ Receipts in which greater virtues were enclosed than appeared.

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