1 Lord. It is the count Lousian, my good ked, Young BertraIL

Kag. York Du ber's my father's face: Frack mare, nder CIDDI that in base. Huh vel composed thee. Thy faber's moral parts Mar‍s 1500 xbent soc! Welcome to Pa

Ber. My thanks and duty are your mujesty's. Kung. I would I had that corporal soundness noW, As when thy father, and myself, in friendship First tried our studership! He did look far Into the service of the time, and was Discipled of the bravest: be 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 canoted, 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 younger times;

Which, followed 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.

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

say,

(Methinks, I hear him now; his plausive words
He scattered 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 loved, 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?

To stand on either part.

2 Lord. It may well serve

A nursery to our gentry, who are sick
For breathing and exploit.

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 composed 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 tried 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 younger times;

Which, followed 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.

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

say,

(Methinks, I hear him now; his plausive words
He scattered 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 loved, 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.

SCENE III.-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. No, madam, 'tis not so well, that I am poor; though many of the rich are damn'd: But, if I may