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Believe not thy disdain, but presently
Ber. Pardon, my gracious lord ; for I submit
King. Take her by the hand,
Ber. I take her hand.
King. Good fortune, and the favour of the king,
[Exeunt King, BERTRAM, HELENA, Lords,
and attendants. Laf. Do you hear, monsieur? a word with you. Par. Your pleasure, sir ?
Laf. Your lord and master did well to make his recantation.
Par. Recantation ?–My lord? my master ?
Par. A most harsh one; and not to be understood without bloody succeeding. My master?
Laf. Are you companion to the count Rousillon? Par. To any count; to all counts; to what is man.
Laf. To what is count's man; count's master is of another style.
Par. You are too old, sir; let it satisfy 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 wise fellow; thou didst make tolerable vent of thy travel ; it might pass; yet the scarfs, and the bannerels, about thee, did manifoldly dissuade me from believing thee a vessel of too great a burden. 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 art scarce worth.
Par. Hadst thou not the privilege of antiquity upon thee,
Laf. Do not plunge thyself too far in anger, lest thou hasten thy trial; which if-Lord have mercy on thee for a hen! So, my good window of lattice, fare thee well; thy casement I need not open, for I look through thee. Give me thy hand.
Par. My lord, you give me most egregious indignity. Laf. Ay, with all my heart; and thou art worthy of it.
Par. I have not, my lord, deserved it.
Laf. Yes, good faith, every dram of it; and I will not bate thee a scruple.
Par. Well, I shall be wiser.
Laf. E'en as soon as thou canst, for thou hast to pull at a smack o’the contrary. If ever thou be'st bound in thy scarf, and beaten, thou shalt find what it is to be proud of thy bondage. I have a desire to hold my ac, quaintance with thee, or rather my knowledge; that I may say, in the default, he is a man I know.
Par. My lord, you do me most insupportable vexation.
Laf. I would it were hell-pains for thy sake, and my poor doing eternal: for doing I am past; as I will by thee, in what motion age will give me leave. [Exit.
Par. Well, thou hast a son shall take this disgrace off me; scurvy, old, filthy, scurvy lord ! Well, I must 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 master's married, there's news for you; you have a new mistress.
Par. I most unfeignedly beseech your lordship to make some reservation of your wrongs: He is my good lord: whom I serve above, is my master.
Laf. Who, God?
Par. Ay, sir.
Laf. The devil it is, that's thy master. Why dost thou garter up thy arms o’this fashion? dost make hose of thy sleeves ? do other servants so? 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 wast created for men to breathe themselves upon thee.
Par, This is hard and undeserved 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 saucy with lords, and honourable personages, than the heraldry of your birth and virtue gives you commission. You are not worth another word, else I'd call you knave. I leave you.
Enter BERTRAM. Par. Good, very good; it is so then.--Good, very good ; let it be concealed a while.
Ber. Undone, and forfeited to cares for ever!
Ber. Although before the solemn priest I have sworn, I will not bed her,
Par. What? what, sweet heart?
Ber. O my Parolles, they have married me:I'll to the Tuscan wars, and never bed her.
Par. France is a dog-hole, and it no more merits The tread of a man's foot: to the wars ! Ber. There's letters from my mother; what the im
I know not yet.
boy, to the wars !
Ber. It shall be so; I'll send her to my house,
Par. Will this capricio hold in thee, art sure?
Ber. Go with me to my chamber, and advise me. I'll send her straight away: To-morrow I'll to the wars, she to her single sorrow.
Par. Why, these balls bound; there's noise in it.'Tis hard; A young man, married, is a man that's marr'd: Therefore away, and leave her bravely; go: The king has done you wrong; but, hush! 'tis so.