Par. This is hard and undeferved 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 fawcy with lords and honourable perfonages, than the heraldry of your birth and virtue gives you commiffion. You are not worth another word, elfe I'd call you knave. I leave you. [Exit.

SCENE VIII.

Enter Bertram.

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

Ber. Undone, and forfeited to cares for ever!
Par. What is the matter, fweet heart?

Ber. Although before the folemn Prieft I've fworn, I will not bed her.

Par. What? what, fweet 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 th' wars.

Ber. There's letters from my mother; what the import is, I know not yet.

Por. Ay, that would be known: to th' wars, my boy, to th' wars.

He wears his honour in a box, unseen,
That hugs his kickfy-wickfy here at home;
Spending his manly marrow in her arms,
Which fhould fuftain the bound and high curvet
Of Mars's fiery fteed: to other regions
France is a ftable, we that dwell in't jades,
Therefore to th' war.

Ber. It fhall be fo, I'll fend her to my houfe,

In former copies: than the commiffion of your birth and virtue gives you

beraldry.] Sir Tho. Hanmer reflored it.

Acquaint

Acquaint my mother with my hate to her,
And wherefore I am fled; write to the King
That which I durft not fpeak. His present gift
Shall furnish me to thofe Italian fields,

Where noble fellows ftrike. War is no ftrife
To the dark houfe, and the detefted wife.

Par. Will this capricio hold in thee, art fure? Ber. Go with me to my chamber, and advise me. I'll fend her straight away: to-morrow

I'll to the wars, fhe to her fingle forrow.

Par. Why, these balls bound, there's noife 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, hufh! 'tis fo.

[Exeunt.

SCENE IX.

Enter Helena and Clown.

Hel. My mother greets me kindly, is fhe well? Clo. She is not well, but yet she has her health; she's verry merry, but yet she is not well: but, thanks be given, fhe's very well, and wants nothing i'th' world; but yet fhe is not well.

Hel. If fhe be very well, what does the ail, that fhe's not very well?

Clo. Truly, fhe's very well, indeed, but for two things.

Hel. What two things?

Clo. One, that he's not in heav'n, whither God fend her quickly; the other, that she's in earth, from whence God fend her quickly!

To the dark houfe,-] The dark houfe is a house made gloomy by difcontent. Milton Tays of death and the king of Hell pre

paring to combat,

So frown'd the mighty comba-
tants, that Hell
Grew darker at their frown.
Enter

Enter Parolles.

Par. Bless you, my fortunate Lady!

Hel. I hope, Sir, I have your good will to have mine own good fortune.

Par. You had my prayers to lead them on; and to keep them on, have them fill. O, my knave, how does my old lady?

Clo. So that you had her wrinkles and I her mony, I would, fhe did, as you say.

Par. Why, I fay nothing.

Clo. Marry, you are the wifer man; for many a man's tongue shakes out his master's undoing: to fay nothing, to do nothing, to know nothing, and to have nothing, is to be a great part of your title; which is within a very little of nothing.

Par. Away, thou'rt a knave.

Clo. You fhould have faid, Sir, before a knave th'art a knave; that's, before me th'art a knave: this had been truth, Sir.

Par. Go to, thou art a witty fool, I have found thee. Clo. Did you find me in yourself, Sir? or were you taught to find me? the fearch, Sir, was profitable, and much fool may you find in you, even to the world's pleasure, and the increase of laughter.

Par. A good knave, i'faith, and well fed.
Madam, my Lord will go away to-night,
A very serious bufinefs calls on him.
The great prerogative and rite of love,

Which, as your due, time claims, he does acknowlege;
But puts it off by a compell'd restraint:

Whose want, and whofe delay, 'is ftrew'd with sweets Which they diftil now in the curbed time,

To make the coming hout o'erflow with joy,

I

Whofe want, and whofe delay, &c.] The fweets with which this want are firewed, I

fuppofe, are compliments and profeffions of kindness.

And

And pleasure drown the brim.

Hel. What's his will elfe?

Par. That you will take your inftant leave o'th' King, And make this hafte as your own good proceeding; Strengthen'd with what apology, you think, May make it probable need 2.

Hel. What more commands he?

his will.

Par. That having this obtain'd, you prefently
Attend his further pleasure.
Hel. In every thing I wait
Par. I fhall report it fo.
Hel. I pray you-Come, Sirrah.

upon

SCENE X.

Enter Lafeu and Bertram.

[Exit Parolles. To Clown.

[Exeunt.

Laf. But, I hope, your Lordship thinks not him a foldier.

Ber. Yes, my Lord, and of very valiant approof.
Laf. You have it from his own deliverance,
Ber. And by other warranted teftimony.

Laf. Then my dial goes not true; I took this lark for a bunting.

Ber. I do affure you, my Lord, he is very great in knowledge, and accordingly valiant.

Laf. I have then finned against his experience, and tranfgrefs'd against his valour; and my ftate that way is dangerous, fince I cannot yet find in my heart to repent: here he comes; I pray you, make us friends, I will purfue the amity.

2

Enter Parolles.

Par. Thefe things fhall be done, Sir.
Laf. I pray you, Sir, who's his taylor?

probable need.] A fpecious appearance of neceffity.

'

Par. Sir?

Laf. O, I know him well; I, Sir, he, Sir's, a good workman, a very good taylor.

Ber. Is fhe gone to the King?

Par. She is.

Ber. Will the away to-night?

Par. As you'll have her.

Afide to Parolles.

Ber. I have writ my letters, cafketed my treasure, given order for our horfes; and to-night, when I fhould take poffeffion of the bride and ere I do

begin

Laf. A good traveller is fomething at the latter end of a dinner; but one that lies three thirds, and uses a known truth to pass a thousand nothings with, fhould be once heard, and thrice beaten-God fave you, captain.

Ber. Is there any you, Monfieur ?

unkindness between my Lord and

Par. I know not, how I have deferved to run into my Lord's displeasure.

Laf. 3 You have made fhift to run into't, boots and spurs and all, like him that leapt into the custard; and out of it you'll run again, rather than fuffer question for your refidence.

Ber. It may be, you have mistaken him, my Lord. Laf. And fhall do fo ever, tho' I took him at's prayers. Fare you well, my Lord, and believe this of me, there can be no kernel in this light nut: the foul of this man is his clothes. Truft him not in matter of heavy confequence: I have kept of them tame, and know their natures. Farewel, Monfieur, I have

3 You have made shift to run into't, Boots and Spurs and all, like him that leapt into the Cuftard?] This odd Allufion is not introduc'd without a View to Satire. It was a Foolery practis'd' at City Entertainments, whilft the

Fefter or Zany was in Vogue, for him to jump into a large deep Cuftard: fet for the Purpose, to fet on a Quantity of barren Spectators to laugh; as our Poet fays in his Hamlet..

THEOBALD

spoken