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?3 The mightiest space in fortune nature brings To join like likes, and kiss like natives things.* Impossible be strange attempts, to those That weigh their pains in sense; and do suppose, 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 Senoys' are by the

ears;

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

3 What power is it, which mounts my love so high;

That makes me see, and cannot feed mine eye?] She means, by what influence is my love directed to a person so much above me? why am I made to discern excellence, and left to long after it, without the food of hope? JOHNSON.

other.

5

kiss like native things.] Things formed by nature for each

Senoys-] The Sanesi, as they are termed by Boccace. Painter, who translates him, calls them Senois. They were the people of a small republick, of which the capital was Sienna. The Florentines were at perpetual variance with them.

STEEVENS.

1 Lord.

So 'tis reported, sir.

King. Nay, 'tis most credible; we here receive 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.

He hath arm'd our answer,

King.
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.

2 Lord.
A nursery to our gentry,
For breathing and exploit.

King.

It may well serve
who are sick

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
First try'd our soldiership! He did look far
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 me
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 jest,
Till their own scorn return to them unnoted,
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 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 his hand:" who were below him
He us'd as creatures of another place;
And bow'd his eminent top to their low ranks,
Making them proud of his humility,

In their poor praise he humbled: Such a man
Might be a copy to these
to these younger times;

Which, follow'd well, would démonstrate them 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."

It much repairs me— -] To repair, in these plays, generally signifies, to renovate.

He had the wit, &c.] I believe honour is not dignity of birth or rank, but acquired reputation:-Your father, says the king, had the same airy flights of satirical wit with the young lords of the present time, but they do not what he did, hide their unnoted levity, in honour, cover petty faults with great merit.

This is an excellent observation. Jocose follies, and slight offences, are only allowed by mankind in him that over-powers them by great qualities. JOHNSON.

8

His tongue obey'd his hand:] We should read-His tongue obey'd the hand. That is, the hand of his honour's clock, showing the true minute when exceptions bad him speak.

9 So in approof lives not his epitaph,

As in your royal speech.] Mr. Heath supposes the meaning to be this: His epitaph, or the character he left behind him, is

King. 'Would, I were with him! He would

always say,

(Methinks, I hear him now; his plausive words
He scatter'd not in ears, but grafted them,
To grow there, and to bear,)-Let me not live,-
Thus his good melancholy oft began,

On the catastrophe and heel of pastime,
When it was out,-let me not live, quoth he,
After my flame lacks oil, to be the snuff

Of younger spirits, whose apprehensive senses
All but new things disdain; whose judgments are
Mere fathers of their garments; whose constancies
Expire before their fashions:- -This he wish'd:
I, after him, do after him wish too,

Since I nor wax, nor honey, can bring home,
I quickly were dissolved from my hive,

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;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.
[Exeunt. Flourish.

not so well established by the specimens he exhibited of his worth, as by your royal report in his favour."

1

whose judgments are

Mere fathers of their garments;] Who have no other use of their faculties, than to invent new modes of dress.

SCENE III.

Rousillon. A Room in the Countess's Palace.

Enter Countess, Steward, and Clown.2

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.

2

Count. Well, sir.

Clo. No, madam, 'tis not so well, that I am

Steward, and Clown.] A Clown in Shakspeare is commonly taken for a licensed jester, or domestick fool. We are not to wonder that we find this character often in his plays, since fools were at that time maintained in all great families, to keep up merriment in the house. In the picture of Sir Thomas More's family, by Hans Holbein, the only servant represented is Patison the fool. This is a proof of the familiarity to which they were admitted, not by the great only, but the wise.

3

to even your content,] To act up to your desires.

you lack not folly to commit them, and have ability enough to make such knaveries yours.] It appears to me that the accusative them refers to knaveries, and the natural sense of the passage seems to be this: "You have folly enough to desire to commit these knaveries, and ability enough to accomplish them."

M. MASON.