ACT I.

SCENE I. Rousillon. The COUNT's palace.

Enter BERTRAM, the COUNTESS of ROUSILLON, HELENA, and LAFEU, all in black.

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 ma jesty's command, to whom I am now in ward, evermore in subjection.

Laf. You shall find of the king a husband, madam: you, sir, a father: he that so generally 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?

Laf. He hath abandoned his physicians, madan; under whose practices he hath persecuted time with hope, and finds no other advantage in the process but only the losing of hope by time.

Count This young gentlewoman had a father,-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?

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.

Laf. I would it were not notorious W. this gentlewoman the daughter of Gerard Narbon?

Count His sole child, my lord, and queathed to my overlooking. I have those b of her good that her education promises dispositions she inherits, which makes fair g fairer; for where an unclean mind carries tuous qualities, there commendations go ** pity; they are virtues and traitors too: in they are the better for their simpleness derives her honesty and achieves her goodness Laf. Your commendations, madam, get fr her tears.

Count. Tis the best brine a maiden can se son her praise in. The remembrance of her fr never approaches her heart but the tyranny her sorrows takes all livelihood from her ch No more of this, Helena; go to, no more it be rather thought you affect a sorrow U. have it.

Hel. I do affect a sorrow indeed, but I hav it too,

Laf. Moderate lamentation is the right eft dead, excessive grief the enemy to the living Count If the living be enemy to the gr the excess makes it soon mortal.

Ber.

Madam, I desire your holy wishes Laf. How understand we that? Count Be thou blest, Bertram, and succe thy father

will,

Laf. A fistula, my lord.

Ber. 1 hard not of it before.

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Laf

He cannot want the best That shall attend his love.

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andone: there is no living, none, Eertram be away. 'Twere all one The I should love a bright particular star And think to wed it, he is so above me: n his bright radiance and collateral light last I be comforted, not in his sphere. The ambition in my love thus plagues itself: he hind that would be mated by the lion Just die for love. "Twas pretty, though a plague, ee him every hour; to sit and draw In arched brows, his hawking eye, his curls, car heart's table; heart too capable Fevery line and trick of his sweet favour: tow he's gone, and my idolatrous fancy dani sanctify his reliques. Who comes here?

Enter PAROLLES.

Hel. I will stand for 't a little, though therefore I die a virgin.

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 year 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 the 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 cats drily; marry, 'tis a withered pear; it was formerly better; marry, yet 'tis a withered pear: will you

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And no.

120

Are you meditating on virginity? Ay. You have some stain of soldier in let me ask you a question. Man is enemy vanity; how may we barricado it against him? Keep him out.

But he assails; and our virginity, though nt, in the defence yet is weak: unfold to us warlike resistance.

There is none: man, sitting down before wd' undermine you and blow you up. 130 Bie s our poor virginity from underminers lowers up! Is there no military policy, how is might blow up men?

Virginity being blown down, man will ker be blown up: marry, in blowing him 3 again, with the breach yourselves made, se your city. It is not politic in the comalth of nature to preserve virginity. Loss Ignity is rational increase and there was 77 virgin got till virginity was first lost. That were made of is metal to make virgins. arginity by being once lost may be ten times 1, by being ever kept, it is ever lost: 'tis too Nad a companion; away with 't!

Hel. Not my virginity yet......

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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— 191
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 never
Returns us thanks.

Enter Page.

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Par.
Hel. When he was retrograde, I think, rather.
Par. Why think you so?

When he was predominant.

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.

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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. 230

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 suppose f 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.

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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.

Sec. Lord.
It well may serve
A nursery to our gentry, who are sick
For breathing and exploit.

King

Young Bertram.

King. Youth, thou bear'st thy father's in Frank nature, rather curious than in haste. Hath well composed thee. Thy father's =

parts

Mayst thou inherit too! Welcome to Paris. Ber. My thanks and duty are your res King. I would I had that corporal scis

now,

As when thy father and myself in friends
First tried our soldiership! He did lock fr
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 repairs mea
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
Till their own scorn return to them ung tel
Ere they can hide their levity in honour:

So like a courtier, contempt nor bitterness
Were in his pride or sharpness; if they were
His equal had awaked them, and his hon
Clock to itself, knew the true minute whea
Exception bid him speak, and at this time
His tongue obey'd his hand: who were beh
He used as creatures of another place
And bow'd his eminent top to their low rate
Making them proud of his humility,
In their poor praise he humbled.
Such a
Might be a copy to these younger times:
Which, follow'd well, would demonstrate thez"
But goers backward.

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

Ber

Enter BERTRAM, LAFEU, and PAROLLES.

With several applications: nature and sickDebate it at their leisure. Welcome, cou My son's no dearer.

Ber.

Thank your majesty.

[Exeunt. Fl

SCENE III. Rousillon. The CoUNT'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 calen; dar of my past endeavours; for then we wound ar modesty and make foul the clearness of our d-servings, 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 t; for I know you lack not folly to commit them, and have ability enough to make such Laveries yours.

Cla. Tis not unknown to you, madam, I am poor fellow.

Count. Well, sir.

Cis. In Isbel's case and mine own. Service is heritage and I think I shall never have the asing of God till I have issue o' my body; for Zey say barnes are blessings.

Count. Tell me thy reason why thou wilt marry. Cle. My poor body, madam, requires it: I am en on by the flesh; and he must needs go hat the devil drives.

Count. Is this all your worship's reason? Cle. Faith, madam, I have other holy reasons, ach as they are.

Count. May the world know them?

Clo. I have been, madam, a wicked creature, 18 you and all flesh and blood are; and, indeed, I do marry that I may repent.

Count. Thy marriage, sooner than thy wick41

einess

Clo. I am out o' friends, madam; and I hope to have friends for my wife's sake.

Count. Such friends are thine enemies, knave. Cle. 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 eam and gives me leave to in the crop; if I be cuckold, he's my drudge: he that comforts my wife is the cherisher of my flesh and blood; he at cherishes my flesh and blood loves my flesh ad blood; he that loves my flesh and blood is my trend: 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 Charon the puritan and old Poysam the papist, howwe'er their hearts are severed in religion, their eads are both one; they may joul horns together, like any deer i' the herd.

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

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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?
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.

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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'ld 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 one every blazing star, or at an earthquake, 'twould mend the lottery well: a man may draw his heart out, ere a' 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. 101

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; 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. [Exit Steward.

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 150
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.

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God shield you mean it not ! daughter and mother
So strive upon your pulse. What, pale again?
My fear hath catch'd your fondness: now I see
The mystery of your loneliness, and find
Your salt tears' head: now to all sense 'tis gross
You love my son; invention is ashamed,
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, th' one to th' other; and thine eyes
See it so grossly shown in thy behaviours
That in their kind they speak it: only sin
And hellish obstinacy tie thy tongue,
That truth should be suspected. Speak, is't so?
If it be so, you have wound a goodly clew:
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
Count. Do

Good madam, pardon me!
love my son?

you

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Do not you love him, mad Count. Go not about; my love hath in't a ben Whereof the world takes note: come, cums 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 k
Be not offended; for it hurts not him
That he is loved 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, r
Religious in mine error, I adore

The sun, that looks upon his worshipper,
But knows of him no more. My dearest madam
Let not your hate encounter with my love
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 D
Was both herself and love: Ó, then, give p
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,-
truly,-
To go to Paris?

Hel. Count.

Madam, I had.

Wherefore? tell ** Hel. I will tell truth: by grace itself I sta You know my father left me some prescript Of rare and proved effects, such as his readag And manifest experience had collected For general sovereignty; and that he will'd me In heedfull'st reservation to bestow them, As notes whose faculties inclusive were More than they were in note: amongst the res There is a remedy, approved, set down, To cure the desperate languishings whereof The king is render'd lost.