Clo. I have been, madam, a wicked creature; and, indeed, I do marry that I may repent.

Count. Thy marriage, sooner than thy wicked

ness.

Clo. I am out o' friends, madam; and I hope to have friends for my wife's sake. Count. Such friends are thine enemies, knave. Clo. You're shallow, madam ; e'en great [more anon.

[he,

Thus his good melancholy oft began,
On the catastrophe and heel of pastime,
When it was out,-"Let me not live," quoth
"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.

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 perish: but, if I may have your ladyship's good-will to go to the world, Isbel the woman and I will do as we may.

Count. Wilt thou needs be a beggar?
Clo. I do beg your good-will in this case.
Count. In what case?

Clo. In Isbel's case and mine own. Service is no heritage and I think I shall never have the blessing of God, till I have issue; for, they say, bearns are blessings.

Count. Is this all your worship's reason? Clo. Faith, madam, I have other holy reasons, such as they are.

Count. May the world know them?

Count. Get you gone, sir; I'll talk with you Stew. May it please you, madam, that he bid Helen come to you; of her I am to speak.

Count. Sirrah, tell my gentlewoman I would speak with her; Helen I mean.

Clo. [Singing.] Was this fair face the cause, quoth she,

Why the Grecians sacked Troy?
Fond done, done fond,

Was this King Priam's joy?
With that she sighed as she stood,
With that she sighed as she stood,
And gave this sentence then;
Among nine bad if one be good,
Among nine bad if one be good,
There's yet one good in ten.

Count. What, one good in ten? you corrupt the song, sirrah.

Clo. One good woman in ten, madam, which is purifying o' the song: 'Would Fortune serve the world so all the year! we'd find no fault with the tithe woman. One in ten, quoth 'a! an' we might have a good woman born but every blazing star, or at an earthquake, 'twould mend the lottery well; a man may draw his heart out ere he pluck one.

Count. You'll be gone, sir knave, and do as I command you!

Clo. That man should be at woman's command, and yet no hurt done!--Though honesty be no puritan, yet it will do no hurt; it will wear the surplice of humility over the black gown of a big heart. I am going, forsooth; the business is for Helen to come hither. [Exit Clown.

Count. Well, now.

Stew. I know, madam, you love your gentlewoman entirely.

Count. Indeed, I do: her father bequeath'd her to me; and she herself, without other advantage, may lawfully make title to as much love as she finds: there is more owing her than is paid; and more shall be paid her than she'll demand.

Stew. Madam, I was very late more near her than, I think, she wished me: alone she was, and did communicate to herself her own words to her own ears; she thought, I dare vow for her, they touched not any stranger sense. Her matter was, she loved your son. Fortune, she said, was no goddess, that had put such difference betwixt their two estates; Love, no god, that would not extend his might only where qualities were level; Diana, no queen of virgins, that would suffer her poor knight to be surpris'd, without rescue in the first assault, or ransom afterward. This she deliver'd in the most bitter touch of sorrow that e'er I heard virgin exclaim in: which I held my duty, speedily to acquaint you withal; sithence, ¶ in the loss that may happen, it concerns you something to know it.

Count. You have discharg'd this honestly; keep it to yourself: many likelihoods inform'd me of this before, which hung so tott'ring in the balance, that I could neither believe nor misdoubt. Pray you, leave me: stall this in your bosom, and I thank you for your honest care: I will speak with you further anon. [Exit Steward.

Enter HELENA. Count. Even so it was with me when I was young:

If we are nature's, these are ours; this thorn Doth to our rose of youth rightly belong:

Our blood to us, this to our blood is born; It is the show and seal of nature's truth, Where love's strong passion is impress'd in youth: By our remembrances of days foregone, [none. Such were our faults;-or then we thought them Her eye is sick on 't; 1 observe her now, Hel. What is your pleasure, madam? [you. Count. You know, Helena, I am a mother to Hel. Mine honourable mistress.

Nay, a mother;

Count. Why not a mother? When I said, a mother, Methought you saw a serpent: What's in mother That you start at it? I say, I am your mother; And put you in the catalogue of those That were enwombed mine. "Tis often seen, Adoption strives with nature; and choice breeds A native slip to us from foreign seeds: You ne'er oppress'd me with a mother's groan, Yet I express to you a mother's care:Gramercy, maiden! does it curd thy blood, To say, I am thy mother? What's the matter, That this distemper'd messenger of wet, The many colour'd Iris, rounds thine eye? Why? That you are my daughter?

Hel.

That I am not.

Count. I say, I am your mother.
Hel.
Pardon, madam;

The Count Rousillon cannot be my brother :
I am from humble, he from honour'd name;
No note upon my parents, his all noble :
My master, my dear lord he is and I
His servant live, and will his vassal die :
He must not be my brother.

Count. Nor I your mother?
Hel. You are my mother, madam.

you were,

'Would

(So that my lord, your son, were not my brother,) Indeed, my mother!-Or were you both our mothers,

So I were not his sister. Can 't no other
But, I your daughter, he must be my brother?
Count. Yes, Helen, you might be my daughter-
in-law:

I hope you mean it not! daughter, and mother,
So strive upon your pulse. What, pale again?
My fear hath catch'd your fondness. Now I see
The mystery of your loneliness, and find
Your salt tears' head.+ Now to all sense 'tis gross,
You love my son; invention is asham'd,
Against the proclamation of thy passion,
To say thou dost not: therefore tell me true;
But tell me then, 'tis so:-for, look, thy cheeks
Confess it, th' one to th' other; and thine eyes
See it so grossly shown in thy behaviours,
That in their kind they speak it: only sin
And perverse obstinacy tie thy tongue,
That truth should be suspected. Speak, is 't so?
If it be so, you have wound a goodly clue;
If it be not, forswear it: howe'er, I charge thee,
As Heaven shall work in me for thine avail,
To tell me truly.

Hel.
Good madam, pardon me.
Count. Do you love my son?
Hel.

Your pardon, noble mistress!

Count. Love you my son? Hel.

Do not you love him, madam?

Count. Go not about; my love hath in 't a bond,

* Contend.

+ The source, the cause of your grief. + Appearance.

Whereof the world takes note; come, come, disclose

The state of your affection; for your passions Have to the full appeach'd.

Then, I confess,

Hel.
Here on my knee, before high Heaven and you,
That before you, and next unto high Heaven,
I love your son :--

My friends were poor but honest; so's my love:
Be not offended; for it hurts not him
That he is lov'd of me. I follow him not
By any token of presumptuous suit;
Nor would I have him till I do deserve him;
Yet never know how that desert should be.
I know I love in vain, strive against hope;
Yet, in this captious and intenible sieve,
I still pour in the waters of my love,
And lack not to lose still thus, Indian-like,
Religious in mine error, I adore

The sun, that looks upon his worshipper,
But knows of him no more. My dearest madam,
Let not your hate encounter with my love,
For loving where you do: but, if yourself,
Whose aged honour cites a virtuous youth,
Did ever, in so true a flame of liking,
Wish chastely, and love dearly, that your Dian
Was both herself and love, O then, give pity
To her, whose state is such, that cannot choose
But lend and give, where she is sure to lose;
That seeks not to find that her search implies,
But, riddle-like, lives sweetly where she dies.
Count. Had you not lately an intent, speak
truly,
To go to Paris?
Hel.

Madam, I had,

Count. Wherefore? tell true. Hel. I will tell truth; by grace itself, I swear. You know my father left me some prescriptions Of rare and prov'd effects, such as his reading, And manifest experience, had collected For general sovereignty; and that he will'd me In heedfull'st reservation to bestow them, As notes, whose faculties inclusive were, More than they were in note: amongst the rest, There is a remedy, approv'd, set down, To cure the desperate languishings whereof The king is render'd lost.

[speak.

Count. This was your motive for Paris, was it? Hel. My lord your son made me to think of this; Else Paris, and the medicine, and the king, Had, from the conversation of my thoughts, Haply, been absent then.

Count.

But think you, Helen, If you should tender your supposed aid, He would receive it? He and his physicians Are of a mind; he, that they cannot help him, They, that they cannot help. How shall they

credit

A poor unlearned virgin, when the schools
Embowell'd of their doctrine,? have left off
The danger to itself?

Hel.
There's something hints,
More than my father's skill, which was the great'st
Of his profession, that his good receipt
Shall, for my legacy, be sanctified [honour
By th' luckiest stars in heaven: and, would your
But give me leave to try success, I'd venture
The well-lost life of mine on his grace's cure,
By such a day and hour.
Count.
Hel.

Dost thou believe 't? Ay, madam, knowingly. Count. Why, Helen, thou shalt have my leave

and love,

'Tis our hope, sir, After well-enter'd soldiers, to return And find your grace in health.

1

King. No, no, it cannot be; and yet my heart Will not confess he owes the malady [lords; That doth my life besiege. Farewell, young Whether I live or die, be you the sons Of worthy Frenchmen: let higher Italy (Those 'bated, that inherit but the fall Of the last monarchy) see, that you come Not to woo honour, but to wed it; when [seek, The bravest questant+ shrinks, find what you That fame may cry you loud. I say, farewell. 2 Lord. Health, at your bidding, serve your majesty !

King. Those girls of Italy, take heed of them; They say our French lack language to deny, If they demand; beware of being captives, Before you serve.‡

Both. Our hearts receive your warnings. King. Farewell.-Come hither to me. [The KING retires to a couch. 1 Lord. O my sweet lord, that you will stay behind us!

Par. 'Tis not his fault; the spark2 Lord. O, 'tis brave wars! Par. Most admirable; I have seen those wars. Ber. I am commanded here, and kept a coil? with, [too early.' "Too young," and "the next year," and "tis Par. An thy mind stand to 't, boy, steal away bravely.

Ber. I shall stay here,

2 Lord. I am your accessary; and so farewell. Ber. I grow to you, and our parting is a tortur'd body.

1 Lord. Farewell, captain.

2 Lord. Sweet Monsieur Parolles !

Par. Noble heroes, my sword and yours are kin. Good sparks and lustrous, a word, good metals:-You shall find in the regiment of the Spinii one Captain Spurio, with his cicatrice, an emblem of war, here on his sinister check; it was this very sword entrench'd it; say to him, I live; and observe his reports for me.

i. e., The Roman empire.

+ Seeker, enquirer.

Be not captives before you are soldiers. In a bustle.

They are the foremost in the fashion.

2 Lord. We shall, noble captain. Par. Mars dote on you for his novices!

What will you do?

[Exeunt Lords.

Ber. Stay; the king- [Seeing him rise. Par. Use a more spacious ceremony to the noble lords; you have restrain'd yourself within the list of too cold an adieu; be more expressive to them: for they wear themselves in the cap of the time; || there do muster true gait, eat, speak, and move under the influence of the most receiv'd star; and though the devil lead the measure,** such are to be followed: after them, and take a more dilated farewell.

Ber. And I will do so.

Par. Worthy fellows, and like to prove most sinewy swordmen.

[Exeunt BERTRAM and PARolles.

Enter LAFEU.

Laf. Pardon, my lord, [kneeling] tor me and for my tidings.

King. I'll fee thee to stand up.

Laf. Then here's a man stands that has brought [mercy,

his pardon.

I would you had kneel'd, my lord, to ask me
And that, at my bidding, you could so stand up.
King. I would I had; so I had broke thy pate,
and ask'd thee mercy for 't.
['tis thus ;
Laf. Good faith, across.++ But, my good lord,
Will you be cur'd of your infirmity?
King. No.

Laf. O, will you eat no grapes, my royal fox?
Yes, but you will my noble grapes, an if
My royal fox could reach them. I have seen a
medicine, ++

That's able to breathe life into a stone,
Quicken a rock, and make you dance canary,??
With sprightly fire and motion; whose simple

touch

Is powerful to araise King Pepin, nay,
To give great Charlemain a pen in 's hand,
And write to her a love-line.
King.

What her is this?

Laf. Why, doctor she; My lord, there's one arriv❜d,

If you will see her :-Now, by my faith and honour,

If seriously I may convey my thoughts
In this my light deliverance, I have spoke
With one, that, in her sex, her years, profession,
Wisdom, and constancy, hath amaz'd me more
Than I dare blame my weakness. Will you see her,
(For that is her demand,) and know her business?
That done, laugh well at me.

King.

Now, good Lafeu,
Bring in the admiration; that we with thee
May spend our wonder too, or take off thine,
By_wond'ring how thou took'st it.
Laf.
Nay, I'll fit you,
And not be all day neither.
[Exit LAFEU.
King. Thus he his special nothing ever pro-
logues.

Re-enter LAFEU, with HELENA.
Laf. Nay, come your ways.
King.

This haste hath wings indeed.
Laf. Nay, come your ways;
This is his majesty, say your mind to him:
A traitor you do look like; but such traitors

¶ Have the true military step. **The dance.

++Unskilfully; a phrase taken from the exercise at a quintaine.

[Exit.

King. Now, fair one, does your business follow us?

Hel. Ay, my good lord.
Gerard de Narbon was my father,

In what he did profess well found.+
King.
I knew him.
[him;
Hel. The rather will I spare my praises towards
Knowing him is enough. On 's bed of death
Many receipts he gave me; chiefly one,
Which, as the dearest issue of his practice,
And of his old experience th' only darling,
He bade me store up, as a triple eye,+

Safer than mine own two, more dear; I have so:
And, hearing your high majesty is touch'd
With that malignant cause wherein the honour
Of my dear father's gift stands chief in power,
I come to tender it, and my appliance,
With all bound humbleness.

King.

We thank you, maiden; But may not be so credulous of cure, When our most learned doctors leave us; and The congregated college have concluded That labouring art can never ransom Nature From her inaidable estate,-I say we must not So stain our judgment, or corrupt our hope, To prostitute our past-cure malady To empirics; or to dissever so

Our great self and our credit, to esteem

A senseless help, when help past sense we deem.
Hel. My duty then shall pay me for my pains :
I will no more enforce mine office on you;
Humbly entreating from your royal thoughts
A modest one, to bear me back again.

King. I cannot give thee less to be call'd grateful: [give, Thou thought'st to help me; and such thanks I As one near death to those that wish him live: But what at full I know, thou know'st no part; I knowing all my peril, thou no art.

Hel. What I can do, can do no hurt to try,
Since you set up your rest 'gainst remedy:
He that of greatest works is finisher,
Oft does them by the weakest minister:
So holy writ in babes hath judgment shown,
When judges have been babes. Great floods have
flown

From simple sources; and great seas have dried,
When miracles have by the greatest been denied.
Oft expectation fails, and most oft there
Where most it promises; and oft it hits,
Where hope is coldest, and despair most sits.

King. I must not hear thee; fare thee well, kind maid;

Thy pains, not us'd, must by thyself be paid: Proffers not took reap thanks for their reward.

Hel. Inspired Merit so by breath is barr'd: It is not so with Him that all things knows, As 'tis with us that square our guess by shows: But most it is presumption in us, when The help of heaven we count the act of men. Dear sir, to my endeavours give consent: Of heaven, not me, make an experiment. I am not an impostor, that proclaim Myself against the level of mine aim; But know I think, and think I know most sure, My art is not past power, nor you past cure. King. Art thou so confident? Within what space Hop'st thou my cure?

Hel. The greatest grace lending grace, Ere twice the horses of the sun shall bring

Their fiery torcher his diurnal ring;
Ere twice in murk and occidental damp
Moist Hesperus? hath quench'd his sleepy lamp;
Or four-and-twenty times the pilot's glass
Hath told the thievish minutes how they pass;
What is infirm from your sound parts shall fly,
Health shall live free, and sickness freely die.
King. Upon thy certainty and confidence,
What dar'st thou venture?
Hel.
Tax of impudence,-
And of rash boldness, a divulged shame,
Traduc'd by odious ballads; my maiden's name
Sear'd otherwise; no worse of worst extended,
With vilest torture let my life be ended.

King. Methinks, in thee some blessed spirit doth speak;

His powerful sound within an organ weak:
And what impossibility would slay

In common sense, sense saves another way.
Thy life is dear; for all that life can rate
Worth name of life in thee hath estimate;
Youth, beauty, wisdom, courage, virtue, all
That happiness and prime can happy call:
Thou this to hazard, needs must intimate
Skill infinite, or monstrous desperate.
Sweet practiser, thy physic I will try,
That ministers thine own death, if I die.
Hel. If I break time, or flinch in property
Of what I spoke, unpitied let me die;
And well deserv'd. Not helping, death's my fee;
But, if I help, what do you promise me?
King. Make thy demand."
Hel.
But will you make it even?
King. Ay, by my sceptre, and my hopes of
heaven!
[hand,
Hel. Then shalt thou give me, with thy kingly
What husband in thy power I will command:
Exempted be from me the arrogance
To choose from forth the royal blood of France,
My low and humble name to propagate
With any branch or image of thy state:
But such a one, thy vassal, whom I know
Is free for me to ask, thee to bestow.

King. Here is my hand; the premises observ'd,
Thy will by my performance shall be serv'd;
So make the choice of thy own time, for I,
Thy resolv'd patient, on thee still rely.
More should I question thee, and more I must,
Though more to know could not be more to trust;
From whence thou cam'st, how tended on,-But
rest

Unquestion'd welcome, and undoubted bless'd.Give me some help here, hoa!-If thou proceed As high as word, my deed shall match thy deed. [Flourish. Exeunt.

SCENE II.-Rousillon.

A Room in the COUNTESS's Palace.
Enter COUNTESS and Clown.

Count. Come on, sir; I shall now put you to the height of your breeding.

Clo. I will show myself highly fed, and lowly taught: I know my business is but to the court.

Count. To the court? why, what place make you special, when you put off that with such contempt-But to the court?

Clo. Truly, madam, if nature have lent a man any manners, he may easily put it off at court: he that cannot make a leg, put off 's cap, kiss his hand, and say nothing, has neither leg, hands, lip, nor cap; and, indeed, such a fellow, to say precisely, were not for the court: but for me, have an answer will serve all men.

Count. Will your answer serve fit to all questions?

Clo. As fit as ten groats for the hand of an

attorney, as a pancake for Shrove-Tuesday, or a morris for May-day.

Count. Have you, I say, an answer of such fitness for all questions?

Clo. From below your duke to beneath your constable; it will fit any question.

Count. It must be an answer of most monstrous size that must fit all demands.

Clo. But a trifle neither, in good faith, if the learned should speak truth of it: here it is, and all that belongs to 't: ask me if I am a courtier: it shall do you no harm to learn.

Count. An end, sir, to your business.
Helen this,

And urge her to a present answer back :
Commend me to my kinsmen, and my son;
This is not much.

Give

Clo. Not much commendation to them. Count. Not much employment for you. You understand me? [legs.

Clo. Most fruitfully; I am there before my Count. Haste you again. [Exeunt severally. SCENE III.

Paris. A Room in the KING'S Palace. Enter BERTRAM, LAFEU, and PAROLLES. Laf. They say, miracles are past; and we have our philosophical persons, to make modern and familiar, things supernatural and causeless. Hence is it that we make trifles of terrors; ensconcing ourselves into seeming knowledge, when we should submit ourselves to an unknown fear.

Par. Why, 'tis the rarest argument of wonder that hath shot out in our latter times.

Ber. And so 'tis.

Laf. To be relinquish'd of the artists,

Par. So I say; both of Galen and Paracelsus.
Laf. Of all the learned and authentic fellows-
Par. Right, so I say.

Laf. That gave him out incurable,—
Par. Why, there 'tis; so say I too.
Laf. Not to be helped.-

Par. Right: as 'twere a man assur'd of an-
Laf. Uncertain life, and sure death.

Par. And debile minister, great power, great transcendence: which should, indeed, give us a further use to be made, than alone the recov'ry of the king, as to be

Laf. Generally thankful.

Enter KING, HELENA, and Attendants. Par. I would have said it; you say well. Here comes the king.

Laf. Lustick, as the Dutchman says: I'll like a maid the better whilst I have a tooth in my head. Why, he's able to lead her a coranto.

• Ordinary. + The Dauphin. + Wicked. & Lustigh is the Dutch word for lusty, cheerful.

Hel, Gentlemen,

[health. Heaven hath, through me, restor'd the king to All. We understand it, and thank heaven for you. [iest,

Hel. I am a simple maid; and therein wealthThat, I protest, I simply am a maid :Please it your majesty, I have done already : The blushes in my cheeks thus whisper me,"We blush, that thou shouldst choose; but, be refus'd,

Let the white death sit on thy cheek for ever; We'll ne'er come there again."

King.

Make choice; and, see,

Who shuns thy love, shuns all his love in me.
Hel. Now, Dian, from thy altar do I fly;
And to imperial Love, that god most high,
Do my sighs stream.-Sir, will you hear my suit?
1 Lord. And grant it.

Hel. Thanks, sir; all the rest is mute. Laf. I had rather be in this choice than throw ames-ace fi for my life. [eyes,

Hel. The honour, sir, that flames in your fair
Before I speak, too threat'ningly replies:
Love make your fortunes twenty times above
Her that so wishes, and her humble love !
2 Lord. No better, if you please.
Hel.
My wish receive,
Which great Love grant! and so I take my leave.
Laf. Do all they deny her ? An they were
sons of mine, I'd have them whipp'd.
Hel. Be not afraid [to a Lord] that I your hand
should take;

I'll never do you wrong for your own sake:
Blessing upon your vows! and in your bed
Find fairer fortune, if you ever wed!

Laf. These boys are boys of ice! they'll none have her. [good. Hei. You are too young, too happy, and too 4 Lord. Fair one, I think not so.

Laf. There's one grape yet,-I am sure thy father drank wine.-But if thou be'st not an ass, I am a youth of fourteen; I have known thee already.

Hel. I dare not say I take you [to BERTRAM], but I give

Me and my service, ever whilst I live,
Into your guiding power.-This is the man.

|| A docked horse.

The lowest chance of the dice.