you, when I have held familiarity with fresher clothes; but I am now, sir, muddied in fortune's moat, and smell somewhat strong of her strong displeasure. Clo. Truly, fortune's displeasure is but sluttish, if it smell so strong as thou speakest of: I will henceforth eat no fish of fortune's buttering. Pr'ythee, allow the wind. Par. Nay, you need not stop your nose, sir; I spake but by a metaphor. Clo. Indeed, sir, if your metaphor stink, I will stop my nose; or against any man's metaphor. Pr'ythee, get thee further. Par. Pray you, sir, deliver me this paper. Clo. Foh, pr'ythee, stand away: A paper from fortune's close-stool to give to a nobleman! Look, here he comes himself. Enter LAFEu. Here is a pur of fortune's, sir, or of fortune's cat, (but not a musk-cat,) that has fallen into the unclean fishpond of her displeasure, and, as he says, is muddied withal: Pray you, sir, use the carp as you may; for he looks like a poor, decayed, ingenious, foolish, rascally knave. I do pity his distress in my smiles of comfort, and leave him to your lordship. [Exit Clown. Par. My lord, I am a man whom fortune hath cruelly scratched. Laf. And what would you have me to do? 'tis too late to pare her nails now. Wherein have you played the knave with fortune, that she should scratch you, who of herself is a good lady, and would not have knaves thrive long under her? There's a quart d'ecu for you: Let the justices make you and fortune friends; I am for other business. Par. I beseech your honour, to hear me one single word. Laf. You beg a single penny more: come, you shall ha't; save your word. Par. My name, my good lord, is Parolles. Laf. You beg more than one word then.-Cox' my passion! give me your hand :-How does your drum? Par. O my good lord, you were the first that found me. Laf. Was I, in sooth? and I was the first that lost thee. Par. It lies in you, my lord, to bring me in some grace, for you did bring me out. Laf. Out upon thee, knave! dost thou put upon me at once both the office of God and the devil? one brings thee in grace, and the other brings thee out. [Trumpets sound.] The king's coming, I know by his trumpets. Sirrah, inquire further after me; I had talk of you last night; though you are a fool and a knave, you shall eat; go to, follow. Par. I praise God for you. [Exeunt. SCENE III.-The same. A Room in the Countess's Palace. Flourish. Enter King, Countess, LAFEU, Lords, Gentlemen, Guards, &c. King. We have lost a jewel of her; and our esteem Was made much poorer by it: but your son, As mad in folly, lack'd the sense to know Count. 'Tis past, my liege: And I beseech your majesty to make it King. My honour'd lady, I have forgiven and forgotten all; Though my revenges were high bent upon him, Laf. This I must say,— But first I beg my pardon,-The young lord Of richest eyes; whose words all ears took captive; King. Praising what is lost, Makes the remembrance dear.-Well, call him hi ther ; We are reconcil'd, and the first view shall kill All repetition :-Let him not ask our pardon; Gent. I shall, my liege. "Exit Gentleman. King. What says he to your daughter? have you spoke ? Laf. All that he is hath reference to your highness. King. Then shall we have a match. I have letters sent me, That set him high in fame. Enter BERTRAM. Laf. He looks well on't. King. I am not a day of season, For thou may'st see a sun-shine and a hail Ber. My high-repented blames, Dear sovereign, pardon to me. King. All is whole; Not one word more of the consumed time. Let's take the instant by the forward top; For we are old, and on our quick'st decrees Ber. Admiringly, my liege: at first I stuck my choice upon her, ere my heart That she, whom all men prais'd, and whom myself, The dust that did offend it. King. Well excus'd: That thou didst love her, strikes some scores away To the great sender turns a sour offence, Count. Which better than the first, O dear heaven, bless! Or, ere they meet, in me, O nature, cease! Laf. Come on, my son, in whom my house's name Must be digested, give a favour from you, To sparkle in the spirits of my daughter, That she may quickly come.-By my old beard, And every hair that's on't, Helen, that's dead, Was a sweet creature; such a ring as this, The last that e'er I took her leave at court, I saw upon her finger. Ber. Her's it was not. King. Now, pray you, let me see it; for mine eye, |