SCENE I-Rousillon.-A Room in the Coun- Enter BERTRAM, the COUNTESS of ROUSILLON, 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 this gentlewoman the daughter of Gerard de Narbon? 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; in 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? Laf. He hath abandoned his physicians, madam; under whose practices he hath persecut ed time with hope; and finds no other advantage in the process but only the losing of hope by time. goodness. Luf. 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 to, no more; lest it be rather thought you affect a sorrow, than to have. 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. In manners, as in shape! thy blood, and virtue, few, Do wrong to none: be able for thine enemy [will, But never tax'd for speech. What heaven more Qualities of good breeding and erudition + Her excellences are the better because they are art All appearance of life. + The countess recollects her own loss of a husband and less. observes how heavily had passes through her mind, 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. Luf. Farewell, pretty lady: You must hold the credit of your father. [Exeunt BERTRAM and LAFEU. To see him every hour; to sit and draw Enter PAROLLes. up. Hel. Bless our poor virginity from underminers, and blowers up!-Is there no military policy, how virgins might blow up men? Par. Virginity, being blown down, man will quicklier be blown up: marry, in blowing him down again, with the breach yourselves made, I. e. That may help thee with more and better qualifications. +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. 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, well! The court's a learning-place; and he is one- Hel. That I wish well.-"Tis pity- Hel. That wishing well had not a body in't, Enter a PAGE. Page. Monsieur Parolles, my lord calls for you. [Exit PAGE Par. Little Helen, farewell: if I can remember thee, I will think of thee at court. *Forbidden. A quibble on date, which means age, and candied fruit. tle. And show by realities what we now must only think. 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. 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? To stand on either part. 2 Lord. It may well serve A nursury to our gentry, who are sick 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; Hel. You go so much backward, when you Frank nature, rather curious than in haste, Hath well compos'd thee. Thy father's moral parts 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. 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 fareHel. Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie, [Exit. 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; well. That makes me see, and cannot feed mine eye? pose, What hath been cannot be: Who ever strove me. But my intents are fix'd, and will not leave me. [Exit. SCENE II.—Paris.—A Room in the King's Palace. Have fought with equal fortune, and continue 1 Lord. So 'tis reported, Sir. ceive it A certainty, vouch'd from our cousin Austria, 1 Lord. His love and wisdom, Approv'd so to your majesty, may plead For amplest credence. King. He hath arm'd our answer, 1. e. Thou wilt comprehend it. The citizens of the small republic of which Sienna is the capital. May'st thou inherit too! Welcome to Paris. now, As when thy father, and myself, in friendship Ber. His good remembrance, Sir, King. 'Would, I were with him! He would always say, (Methinks, I hear him now; his plausive words stancies I, after him, do after him wish too, 2 Lord. You are lov'd, Sir; They, that least lend it you, shall lack you first. Since the physician at your father's died? Ber. Some six months since, my lord. yet; Lend me an arm;-the rest have worn me out Clo. A prophet I, madam; and I speak the With several applications:-nature and sick-truth the next way:* SCENE III.-Rousillon.-A Room in the 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. For I the ballad will repeat, Which men full true shall find; Count. Get you gone, Sir; I'll talk with you more anon. Stew. May it please you, madam, that he bid speak with her; Helen I mean. Clo. Was this fair face the cause, quoth she, Was this king Priam's joy? And gave this sentence then; 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 Clo. In Isbel's case, and mine own. Ser-I command you? vice 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? Count. May the world know them? 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? 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; thence, in the loss that may happen, it concerns you something to know it. si 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 + Foolishly done. *The nearest way. ↑ Sinca 1 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, That truth should be suspected: Speak, is't so Hel. Good madam, pardon me! Hel. Your pardon, noble mistress! Hel. Do not you love him, madam? Count. Go not about; my love hath in't a bond, [disclose Whereof the world takes note: come, come, The state of your affection; for your passions Have to the full appeach'd. Hel. Then, I confess, Such were our faults;-or then we thought Here on my knee, before high heaven and you. them none. Her eye is sick on't; I observe her now. Hel. What is your pleasure, madam? 1 am a mother to you. Hel. Mine honourable mistress. 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; A native slip to us from foreign seeds: Hel. That I am not. Count. I say, I am your mother. The count Rousillon cannot 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 daughter-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, * I. e. I care as much for: I wish it equally. The source, the cause of your griet. According to their nature. That before you, and next unto high heaven, My friends were poor, but honest; so's my love. The sun, that looks upon his worshipper, Let not your hate encounter with my love, 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 prescriptions Of rare and prov'd effects, such as his reading, Count. This was your motive 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, credit A poor unlearned virgin, when the schools, * I. e. Whose respectable conduct in age proves that you were no less virtuous when young. +L.e. Venue. ↑ Receipts in which greater virtues were enclosed than appeared. |