Whiles a wedlock-hymn we sing, Wedding is great Juno's crown; O blessed bond of board and bed! High wedlock then be honoured; Duke S. O my dear niece, welcome thou art to me; Even daughter, welcome in no less degree. Phe. I will not eat my word, now thou art mine; Thy faith my fancy to thee doth combine. [To Silvius. Enter JAQUES DE BOIS. Jaq. de B. Let me have audience for a word, or two; I am the second son of old sir Rowland, First, in this forest, let us do those ends, Shall share the good of our returned fortune, Play, musick; and you brides and bridegrooms all, With measure heap'd in joy, to the measures fall. Jaq. Sir, by your patience; if I heard you rightly, The duke hath put on a religious life, And thrown into neglect the pompous court? Jaq. To him will I: out of these convertites There is much matter to be heard and learn'd.— You to your former honour I bequeath; [To Duke S. Your patience, and your virtue, well deserves it; You [To Orlando] to a love, that your true faith doth merit : You [To Oliver] to your land, and love, and great allies: You [To Silvius] to a long and well deserved bed; And you [To Touchstone] to wrangling; for thy loving voyage Is but for two months victual'd-So to your pleasures; I am for other than for dancing measures. Jaq. To see no pastime, I-what you would have I'll stay to know at your abandon'd cave. [Exit. Duke S. Proceed, proceed: we will begin these rites, And we do trust they'll end in true delights. [A dance. EPILOGUE. Ros. It is not the fashion to see the lady the epilogue: but it is no more unhandsome, than to see the lord the prologue. If it be true, that good wine needs no bush, 'tis true, that a good play needs no epilogue: Yet to good wine they do use good bushes; and good plays prove the better by the help of good epilogues. What a case am I in then, that am neither a good epilogue, nor cannot insinuate with you in the behalf of a good play? I am not furnished like a beggar, therefore to beg will not become me: my way is, to conjure you; and I'll begin with the women. I charge you, O women, for the love you bear to men, to like as much of this play as plcase them: and so I charge you, O inen, for the love you bear to women, (as I perceive by your simpering, none of you hate them,) that between you and the women, the play may please. If I were a woman, I would kiss as many of you as had beards that pleased me, complexions that liked me, and breaths that I defied not: and, I am sure, as many as have good beards, or good faces, or sweet breaths, will, for my kind offer, when I make curt'sy, bid me farewell. [Exeunt. Lords, attending on the King; Officers, Soldiers, &c. French and Florentine. Scene,-partly in France, and partly in Tuscany. SCENE I. ACT THE FIRST. Rousillon. A room in the Countess's 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. 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, madam; 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, (0, 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, 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 morality. Ber. What is it, my good lord, the king languishes of? 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 be- | Must I be comforted, not in his sphere. queathed to my overlooking. I have those hopes The ambition in my love thus plagues itself: of her good, that her education promises: her The hind, that would be mated by the lion, dispositions she inherits, which make fair gifts Must die for love. 'Twas pretty, though a fairer; for where an unclean mind carries virplague, tuous qualities, there commendations go with To see him every hour; to sit and draw pity, they are virtues and traitors too; in her His arched brows, his hawking eye, his curls, they are the better for their simpleness; she de- In our heart's table; heart, too capable rives her honesty, and achieves her goodness. Of every line and trick of his sweet favour: Laf. Your commendations, madam, get from But now he's gone, and my idolatrous fancy her tears. Must sanctify his relicks. Who comes hère? Enter PAROLLES. 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 it too. Laf. Moderate lamentation is the right of the dead, excessive grief the enemy to the living. Count. If the living be enemy to the grief, the excess makes it soon mortal. Ber. Madam, I desire your holy wishes. Count. Be thou blest, Bertram! and succeed In manners, as in shape! thy blood, and virtue, Contend for empire in thee; and thy goodness Share with thy birth-right! Love all, trust a few, Do wrong to none: be able for thine enemy Rather in power, than use; and keep thy friend Under thy own life's key: be check'd for silence, But never tax'd for speech. What heaven more will, That thee may furnish, and my prayers pluck down, Fall on thy head! Farewell.-My lord, tram. Luf He cannot want the best, That shall attend his love. Count. Heaven bless him!-Farewell, Bor[Exit Countess. Ber. The best wishes, that can be forged in your thoughts, [To Helena] be sorvants to you! Be comfortable to my mother, your mistress, and make much of her. 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; And these great tears grace his remembrance more Than those I shed for him. What was he like? One, that goes with him: I love him for his sake; Hel. And no. Par. Are you meditating on virginity? Hel. Ay. You have some stain of soldier in you; let me ask you a question: Man is enemy to virginity; how may we barricado it against him? Par. Keep him out. Hel. But he assails; and our virginity, though valiant in the defence, yet is weak: unfold to us some warlike resistance. Par. There is none; man, sitting down before you, will undermine you, and blow you 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, you lose your city. It is not politick in the commonwealth of nature, to preserve virginity. Loss of virginity is rational increase; and there was never virgin got, till virginity was firt lost. That, you were made of, is metal to make virgins. Virginity, by being once lost, may be ten times found: by being ever kept, it is ever lost: 'tis too cold a companion; away with it. 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 spoak 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 loose by't: Out with't: within ten years it will make itself ten, which is a good 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? Pur. 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. 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; clse 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. 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 There shall your master have a thousand loves, To join like likes, and kiss like native things. A mother, and a mistress, and a friend, A phoenix, captain, and an enemy, A guide, a goddess, and a sovereign, 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, never Returns us thanks. you. Enter a Page. Page. Monsieur Parolles, my lord calls for [Exit Page. Pur. Little Helen, farewell: if I can remember thee, I will think of thec at court. Hel. Monsieur Parolles, you were born under a charitable star. Par. Under Mars, I. Hel. I especially think, under Mars. Impossible be strange attempts, to those So 'tis reported sir. King. Nay, 'tis most credible; we here re- A certainty, vouch'd from our cousin Austria, Hel. The wars have so kept you under, that And Florence is denied before he comes: you must needs be born under Mars. Par. When he was predominant. Hel. When he was retrograde, I think, rather. Hel. You go so much backward, when you fight. Par. That's for advantage. Yet, for our gentlemen, that mean to see 2 Lord. It may well serve 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 compos'd thee. Thy father's moral 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, As when thy father, and myself, in friendship In their poor praise he humbled: Such a man 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 (Methinks, I hear him now; his plausive words Rousillon. A room in the Countess'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 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. Clo. "Tis not unknown to you, madam, I am a poor fellow. Count. Well, sir. 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? Expire before their fashions:- -This he wish'd:ture, as you and all flesh and blood are; and, I, after him, do after him wish too, 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, indeed, I do marry, that I may repent. Count. Thy marriage, sooner than thy wick edness. 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, |