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-
nefs,

In fuch a business give me leave to use
The help of mine own eyes.

King. Know'st thou not, Bertram,
What the hath done for me?

Ber. Yes, my good Lord,

But never hope to know why I should marry her.
King. Thou know'ft, she has rais'd me from my fick-
ly bed.

Ber. But follows it, my Lord, to bring me down
Muft anfwer for your raifing? I know her well:
She had her breeding at my father's charge:
A poor phyfician's daughter my wife!
Rather corrupt me ever!

Difdain

King. 'Tis only title thou disdain'ft in her, the which
I can build up: ftrange is it, that our bloods,
Of colour, weight, and heat, pour'd all together,
Would quite confound diftinction, yet ftand off
In differences, fo mighty. If the be
All that is virtuous, (lave what thou dislik'ft,
A poor phyfician's daughter,) thou dislik'st
Of virtue for the name: but do not fo.

(13) From loweft place when virtuous things proceed,
The place is dignify'd by th' doer's deed.
Where great addition fwells, and virtue none,
It is a dropfied honour; good alone,
Is good without a name. Vilenefs is fo :
The property by what it is fhould go,
Not by the title. She is young, wife, fair;
In these, to nature she's immediate heir;

(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

rlby.

And

2

And these breed honour: That is honour's fcorn,
Which challenges itself as honour's born,
And is not like the fire. Honours beft thrive,
When rather from our acts we them derive
Than our fore-goers: the mere word's a flave
Debaucht on every tomb, on every grave;
A lying trophy; (14) and as oft is dumb,
Where duft and damn'd oblivion is the tomb
Of honour'd bones, indeed. What should be faid
If thou can't like this creature as a maid,
I can create the reft: virtue and she,

Is her own dow'r; honour and wealth from me.
Ber. I cannot love her, nor will ftrive to do't.
King. Thou wrong'ft thyself, if thou should'st strive
to chufe.

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

up

(14)

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

We please to have it grow. Check thy contempt:
Obey our will, which travels in thy good;
Believe not thy disdain, but presently
Do thine own fortunes that obedient right,
Which both thy duty owes, and our power claims;
Or I will throw thee from my care for ever
Into the staggers, and the careless lapse
Of youth and ignorance; my revenge and hate
Loofing upon thee in the name of justice,
Without all terms of pity. Speak, thine answer.

Ber. Pardon, my gracious Lord; for I fubmit
My fancy to your eyes. When I confider,
What great creation, and what dole of honour
Flies where you bid; I find, that she, which late
Was in my nobler thoughts most base, is now
The praised of the King; who, fo enobled,
Is, as 'twere, born fo.

King. Take her by the hand,

And tell her, fhe is thine: to whom I promise
A counterpoize; if not in thy eftate,

A balance more repleat.

Ber. I take her hand.

King. Good fortune, and the favour of the King
Smile upon this contract; whofe ceremony
Shall feem expedient on the new-born brief,
And be perform'd to night; the folemn feast
Shall more attend
upon the coming fpace,
Expecting abfent friends. As thou lov'st her,
Thy love's to me religious; elfe does err.

Manent Parolles and Lafeu.

[Exeunt.

Laf. Do you hear, Monfieur? a word with you.
Par. Your pleasure, Sir?

Laf. Your Lord and Mafter did well to make his re

cantation.

Par. Recantation ?— my Lord my Master ?
Laf. Ay, is it not a language I speak!

Par. A moft harsh one, and not to be understood without bloody fucceeding. My mafter?

Laf. Are you companion to the Count Roufillon?

Par.

Par. To any Count; to all Counts; to what is

man.

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

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.

Re-enter Lafeu.

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?
Par. Ay, Sir.

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.

[Exit.

Enter Bertram.

Par. Good, very good, it is fo then. Good, very good, let it be conceal'd a while.

Ber.