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Prejudicates the business, and would seem
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 deni'd before he comes;
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, Laeeti, 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,
King. I would I had that corporal soundness now,
So like a courtier. Contempt nor bitterness
Ber. His good remembrance, sir,
Lies richer in your thoughts than on his tomb:
King. 'Would I were with him! He would always
2 Lord. You're loved, sir:
They that least lend it you shall lack you first. King. I fill a place, I know't. — How long is't,
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.
Scene III. Eousillon. A Room in the Countess's Palace.
Enter Countess, Steward, and Clown.
Count. I will now hear: what say you of this gentlewoman?
Steward. 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 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.
Clown. '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 damn'd: but, if I may have your ladyship's good-will to go to the world, Isbel your 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?
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 o' my body; for, they say, barns 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 o' friends, Madam; and I hope to have friends for my wife's sake.
Count. Such friends are thine enemies, knave.
Clo. You're 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, howsome'er their hearts are sev er'd in religion, their heads are both one, — they may joll horns together like any deer i' th' herd.
Count. Wilt thou ever be a foul-mouth'd 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. [Singing.] Was this fair face, quoth she, the cause
Why the Grecians sacked Troy 1
Was this King Priam's joy.
And gave this sentence then:
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 purifying o' th' song: 'Would God would serve the B2