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Into your guided power: this is the man. [To Bertram. King. Why then, young Bertram, take her, fhe's thy wife.
Ber. My wife, my Liege? I fhall beseech your High-
In fuch a business give me leave to use
King. Know'st thou not, Bertram,
Ber. Yes, my good Lord,
But never hope to know why I should marry her.
Ber. But follows it, my Lord, to bring me down
King. 'Tis only title thou disdain'ft in her, the which
(13) From loweft place when virtuous things proceed,
(13) From lowest Place, whence virtuous Things proceed, The Place is dignified by th' Doer's Deed.] 'Tis strange, that none of the Editors could perceive, that both the Sentiment and Grammar are defective here. The easy Correction, which I have given, was prescribed to me by the ingenious
And these breed honour: That is honour's fcorn,
Is her own dow'r; honour and wealth from me.
Hel. That you are well reftor'd, my lord, I'm glad : Let the reft go.
King. (15) My honour's at the stake; which to defend, I muft produce my power. Here, take her hand, Proud fcornful boy, unworthy this good gift! That doft in vile mifprifion fhackle My love, and her defert; that canft not dream, We, poizing us in her defective scale, Shall weigh thee to the beam; that wilt not know, It is in us to plant thine honour, where
and as oft is dumb,
Where Duft and damn'd Oblivion is the Tomb.
Of honour'd Bones, indeed, what should be faid?] This is fuch pretty Stuff, indeed, as is only worthy of its accurate Editors! The Tranfpofition of an innocent Stop, or two, is a Task above their Diligence: especially, if common Sense is to be the Refult of it. The Regulation, I have given, muft ftrike every Reader fo at firft Glance, that it needs not a Word in Confirmation.
(15) My Honour's at the Stake; which to defeat
I must produce my Pow'r.] The poor King of France is again made a Man of Gotham, by our unmerciful Editors: What they make him fay, is mere mock-reasoning: For he is not to make use of his Authority to defeat, but to defend, his Honour.
We please to have it grow. Check thy contempt:
Ber. Pardon, my gracious Lord; for I fubmit
King. Take her by the hand,
And tell her, fhe is thine: to whom I promise
A balance more repleat.
Ber. I take her hand.
King. Good fortune, and the favour of the King
Manent Parolles and Lafeu.
Laf. Do you hear, Monfieur? a word with you.
Laf. Your Lord and Mafter did well to make his re
Par. Recantation ?— my Lord my Master ?
Par. A moft harsh one, and not to be understood without bloody fucceeding. My mafter?
Laf. Are you companion to the Count Roufillon?
Par. To any Count; to all Counts; to what is
Laf. To what is Count's man; Count's mafter is of another ftile.
Par. You are too old, Sir; let it satisfie you, you are too old..
Laf. I must tell thee, Sirrah, I write man; to which title age cannot bring thee.
Par. What I dare too well do, I dare not do.
Laf. I did think thee, for two ordinaries, to be a pretty wife fellow; thou didft make tolerable vent of thy travel; it might pafs; yet the scarfs and the bannerets about thee did manifoldly diffuade me from believing thee a veffel of too great a burthen. I have now found thee; when I lose thee again, I care not: yet art thou good for nothing but taking up, and that thou'rt fcarce worth.
Par. Hadft thou not the privilege of antiquity upon thee
Laf. Do not plunge thyfelf too far in anger, left thou haften thy tryal; which if, Lord have mercy on thee for a hen! fo, my good window of lattice, fare thee well; thy casement I need not open, I look thro❞ thee. Give me thy hand.
Par. My Lord, you give me moft egregious indignity.
Laf. Ay, with all my heart, and thou art worthy of it.
Par. I have not, my Lord, deferv'd it.
Laf. Yes, good faith, ev'ry dram of it; and I will not 'bate thee a fcruple.
Par. Well, I fhall be wifer
Laf. Ev'n as foon as thou can'ft, for thou haft to pull at a fmack o'th' contrary. If ever thou beeft bound in thy scarf and beaten, thou shalt find what it is to be proud of thy bondage. I have a defire to hold my acquaintance with thee, or rather my knowledge, that I may fay in the default, he is a man I know.
Par. My Lord, you do me moft infupportable vexation.
Laf. I would, it were hell-pains for thy fake, and my poor doing eternal for doing, I am paft; as I will by thee, in what motion age will give me leave.
[Exit. Par. Well, thou haft a fon fhall take this difgrace off me; fcurvy, old, filthy, fcurvy Lord!—well, I muk be patient, there is no fettering of authority. I'll beat him, by my life, if I can meet him with any convenience, an he were double and double a Lord. I'll have no more pity of his age, than I would have of· I'll beat him, an if I could but meet him again.
Laf. Sirrah, your Lord and Mafter'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?
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 best set 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 à kernel out of a pomegranate; you are a vagabond, and no true traveller: you are more fawcy with lords and honourable perfonages, than the commiffion of your birth and virtue gives you heraldry. You are not worth another word, elfe I'd call you knave. I leave you.
Par. Good, very good, it is fo then. Good, very good, let it be conceal'd a while.