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Re-enter Lafeu.

Laf. Sirrah, your Lord and Master's married, there's news for you: you have a new mistress.

Par. I moft unfeignedly befeech your Lordship to make some reservation of your wrongs. He, my good Lord, whom I serve above, is my master. Laf. Who? God?

Par. Ay, Sir.

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Laf. The devil it is, that's thy mafter. Why doft thou garter up thy arms o' this fashion? doft make hofe of thy fleeves? do other fervants fo? thou wert beft fet thy lower part where thy nose stands. By mine honour, if I were but two hours younger, I'd beat thee: methinks thou art a general offence, and every man should beat thee. I think, thou waft created for men to breathe themselves upon thee.

Par. This is hard and undeferved measure, my Lord.

Laf. Go to, Sir; you were beaten in Italy for picking a kernel out of a pomegranate; you are a vagabond, and no true traveller: you are more fawcy with lords and honourable perfonages, than the heraldry of your birth and virtue gives you commiffion. You are not worth another word, elfe I'd call you knave. I leave you. [Exit.

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Par. Good, very good, it is fo then.

good, let it be conceal'd a while.

Good, very

Ber. Undone, and forfeited to cares for ever!

Par. What is the matter, fweet heart?

Ber. Although before the folemn Prieft I've fworn,

I will not bed her.

Par. What? what, fweet heart?

Ber.

Ber. O my Parolles, they have married me: I'll to the Tuscan wars, and never bed her.

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Par. France is a dog-hole, and it no more merits the tread of a man's foot: to th' wars.

Ber. There's letters from my mother; what the import is, I know not yet..

Par. Ay, that would be known: to th' wars, my boy, to th' wars,

He wears his honour in a box, unfeen,

That hugs his kickfy-wickfy here at home;
Spending his manly marrow in her arms,
Which should fuftain the bound and high curvet
Of Mars's fiery fteed: to other regions
France is a ftable, we that dwell in't jades,
Therefore to th' war.

Ber. It fhall be fo, I'll fend her to my house,
Acquaint my mother with my hate to her,
And wherefore I am fled; write to the King
That which I durft not fpeak. His prefent gift
Shall furnish me to those Italian fields, -
Where noble fellows ftrike. War is no ftrife
To the dark houfe, and the detefted wife.

Par. Will this capricio hold in thee, art fure?
Ber. Go with me to my chamber, and advise me
I'll fend her straight away: to-morrow

I'll to the wars, the to her fingle forrow.

Par. Why, these balls bound, there's noife in it. 'Tis hard;

A young man, married, is a man that's marr'd:
Therefore away, and leave her bravely; go,
The King hath done you wrong: but, hufh! 'tis fo.

[Exeunt.

SCENE

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Hel. My mother greets me kindly, is the well? Clo. She is not well, but yet he has her health; he's very merry, but yet fhe is not well: but, thanks be given, fhe's very well, and wants nothing i'th' world; but yet fhe is not well.

Hel. If the be very well, what does fhe ail, that fhe's not very well?

Clo. Truly, fhe's very well, indeed, but for two things.

Hel. What two things?

Clo. One, that he's not in heav'n, whither God fend her quickly; the other, that fhe's in earth, from whence God fend her quickly!

Enter Parolles.

Par. Blefs you, my fortunate lady!

Hel. I hope, Sir, I have your good will to have mine own good fortune.

Par. You had my prayers to lead them on; and to keep them on, have them ftill. O, my knave, how does my old lady?

Clo. So that you had her wrinkles and I her mony, I would, fhe did, as you fay.

Par. Why, I fay nothing.

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Clo. Marry, you are the wifer man; for many a man's tongue fpeaks out his master's undoing: to fay nothing, to do nothing, to know nothing, and to have nothing, is to be a great part of your title; which is within a very little of nothing.

Par. Away, thou'rt a knave.

5 SHAKES out his mafter's undoing:] We fhould read SPEAKS out. This is to prepare us for Parolles's disgrace.

VOL. III.

E

Cio.

Clo. You fhould have faid, Sir, before a knave, th'art a knave; that's, before me th'art a knave: this had been truth, Sir.

Par. Go to, thou art a witty fool, I have found thee.

Clo. Did you find me in yourfelf, Sir? or were you taught to find me? the fearch, Sir, was profitable, and much fool may you find in you, even to the world's pleasure, and the encrease of laughter.

Par. A good knave, i' faith, and well fed.
Madam, my Lord will go away to night,
A very ferious bufinefs calls on him.
The great prerogative and rite of love,

Which, as your due, time claims, he does acknowledge;
But puts it off by a compell'd restraint:

Whofe want and whofe delay, is ftrew'd with fweets Which they diftil now in the curbed time,

To make the coming hour o'erflow with joy, "And pleasure drown the brim.

Hel. What's his will elfe?

Par. That you will take your inftant leave o'th'
King.

And make this hafte as your own good proceeding;
Strengthen'd with what apology, you think,
May make it probable need.

Hel. What more commands he?

Par. That having this obtain'd, you prefently

Attend his further pleasure.

Hel. In every thing I wait upon his will.
Par. I fhall report it fo..

A Hel. I pray you.Come, Sirrah.

[Exit Parolles.

[To Clown. [Exeunt.

6 And pleasure drown the brim.] Metaphor taken from an overflowing cup. It is one of the boldeft and noblest expreffions in all Shakespear..

SCENE

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Laf. But, I hope, your Lordship thinks not him a foldier.

Ber. Yes, my Lord, and of very valiant approof.
Laf. You have it from his own deliverance.
Ber. And by other warranted teftimony.

Laf. Then my dial goes not true; I took this lark for a bunting.

Ber. I do affure you, my Lord, he is very great in knowledge, and accordingly valiant.

Laf. I have then finned against his experience, and tranfgrefs'd againft his valour; and my ftate that way is dangerous, fince I cannot yet find in my heart to repent: here he comes; I pray you, make us friends, I will purfue the amity. Enter Parolles.

Par. These things fhall be done, Sir.
Laf. I pray you, Sir, who's his taylor?
Par. Sir?

Laf. O, I know him well; I, Sir, he, Sir's, a good workman, a very good taylor.

Ber. Is the gone to the King? [Afide to Parolles. Par. She is.

Ber. Will he away to night?

'Par. As you'll have her.

Ber. I have writ my letters, casketed my treasure, given order for our horfes; and to night, when I hould take poffeffion of the bride and ere I

do begin

Laf. A good traveller is fomething at the latter end of a dinner; but one that lyes three thirds, and ufes a known truth to pass a thousand nothings with, should be once heard, and thrice beaten God fave you, captain.

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