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Love make your Fortunes twenty times above
Her that so wishes, and her humble Love.

2 Lord. No better, if

Hel. My with receive,
Which great Jove grant, and so I take my

leave. Laf. Do all they deny her? And they were Sons of mine, I'd have them whip’d, or I would send them to th' Turk to make Eunuchs of.

Hel. Be not afraid that I your hand should take,
I'll never do you wrong for your own fake :
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 of her: Sure they are Bastards to the English, the French ne'er got 'em.

Hela You are too young, too happy, and too good To make your self a Son out of my Blood.

4 Lord. Fair one, I think not so.

Laf. There's one Grape yet, I am sure my Father drunk Wine; but if thou be'st not an Ass, I am a Youth of fourteer: I have known thee already.

Hel. I dare not say I take you, but I give Me and my Service, ever whilst i live, Into your guiding Power : This is the Man. [To Bertram.

King. Why then young Bertram take her, the's thy Wife,

Ber. My Wife, my Liege? I shall beseech your Highness, In such a Business, give me leave to use The help of mine own Eyes.

King. Know'st thou not, Bertram, what she hath done for me?

Ber. Yes, my good Lord, but never hope to know why 1-should marry her.

King. Thou know'st she has rais'd me from my sickly Bedi

Bar. But follows it, my Lord, to bring me down
Mult anfwer for your raising: I know her well?
She bad her breeding at my Father's charge :
A poor Physician's Daughter my Wife? Birdain
Rather corrupt me ever.

King. 'Tis only Title thou disdain'st in her, the which
I can build up: Strange is it that our Bloods


Of colour, weight, and heat, pour'd all together,
Would quite confound distinction; yet stands off
In differences of mighty. If the be
All that is virtuous, save what thou dislik'st,
A poor Physician's Daughter, thou dislik’st
Of Virtue for the Name: But do not fo.
From lowest place, whence virtuous things proceed,
The Place is dignify'd by th’Doer's Deed.
Where great Addition swells, and Virtue none,
It is a dropsied Honour; Good alone,
Is good without a Name. Vileness is so:
The Property by what it is, should go,
Not by the 'Title. She is young, wise, fair,
In these, to Nature fhe's immediate Heir ;
And these breed Honour: That is Honour's scorn,
Which challenges it self as Honours born,
And is not like the Sire. Honours best thrive,
When rather from our Ads we them derive
Than our Fore-goers: The meer word's a slave
Debosh'd on every Tomb, on every Grave;
A lying Trophy, and as oft is dumb,
Where Dust, and damnd Oblivion is the Tomb.
Of honour'd Bones indeed, what should be said?
If thou canst like this Creature as a Maid,
I can crcate the rest : Virtue and she
Is her own Dower; Honour and Wealth from me.

Ber. I cannot love her, nor will strive to do't.

King. Thou wrong'st thy self, if thou should'At strive to chuse.

Hel. That you are well restor’d, my Lord, I'm glad: Let the rest go.

King. My Honours at the stake, which to defeat
I must produce my Power. Here, take her Hand,
Proud scornful Boy, unworthy this good Gift,
That doft in vile Misprision shackle up
My Love, and her Desert ; that canst not dream,
We peizing us in her defe&ive Scale,
Shall weigh thee to the Beam ; that wilt rot low,
It is in us to plant thine Honour, where
We please to have it grow. Check thy Contempt:
Obey our Will, which travels in thy good.



Believe not thy Disdain, but presently
Do thine own Fortunes that obedient right
Which both thy Duty owes, and our Power claims :
Or I will throw thee from my cares for ever,
Into the Staggers and the careless Lapse
Of Youth and Ignorance; both my Revenge and Hate
Loosing upon thee in the Name of Justice,
Without all terms of pity. Speak thine answer.

Ber. Pardon, my gracious Lord; for I submit
My Fancy to your Eyes. When I consider
What great Creation, and what dole of Honour
Flies where you bid : I find that she which late
Was in my nobler Thoughts most base, is now
The praised of the King; who so enobled,
Is as 'twere born fo.

King. Take her by the hand.
And tell her she is thine: To whom I promise
A Counterpoize; if not in thy Estate,
A Ballance more repleat.

Ber. I take her hand.

King. Good Fortune, and the Favour of the King
Smile upon the Contract ; whose Ceremony
Shall seem expedient on the now-born Brief,
And be perform'd to Night; the solemn Feast
Shall more attend upon the coming space,
Expe&ing absent Friends. As thou lov'st her,
Thy Love's to me religious; else do's err. [Exeunt.

Manent Parolles and Lafeu.
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 Masters
Laf. Ay, is it not a Language I speak?

Par. A most harsh one, and not to be understood without bloody succeeding. My Master?

Laf. Are you Companion to the Count Rosfilion ?
Par. To any Count? to all Counts ; to what is Man.
Laf. To what is Count's Man; Count's Master is of an-
other Scile.



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Par. You are too old, Sir; let it fatisfie 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. If thou didst make tolerable vent of thy Travel, it might pass; yet the Scarfs and the Banners about thee, did manifoldly dissuade me from believing thee a Vessel of too great a Burthen. 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'rt scarce worth.

Par. Hadst thou not the Privilege of Antiquity upon thee

Laf. Do not plunge thy self too far in Anger, left thou haften thy trial; which is, Lord have Mercy on thee for a Hen; so, my good Window of Lattice, fare thee well, thy Casement I need not open, I look through thee. Give me thy Hand.

Par. My Lord, you give most egregious Indignity.
Laf. Ay, withal my Heart, and thou art worthy of it.
Par. I have not, my Lord, deserv'd it.

Laf. Yes, good faith, ev'ry dram of it; and I will not bate thee a scruple.'

Par. Well, I shall be wiser

Laf. Ev’n as soon as thou can'st, for thou hast to pull at a smack a'th' contrary. If ever thou beeft 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 Acquaintance 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 fake, 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, and 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, and if I could but meet him again.

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 a this fashion? Doft 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: Methink'st thou art a general Offence, and every Man should beat thee. I think thou wast created for Men to breath themselves up. on 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 Pomegranat ; you are a Vagabond, and no true Traveller: You are more fawcy with Lords and honourable Personages, than the commission of


Birth and Virtue gives you Heraldry. You are not worth another word, else I'd call you Knave. I leave you. [Exit.

Enter Bertram. Par. Good, very good, it is so then. Good, very good, let it be conceal'd a while.

Ber. Undone, and forfeited to cares for ever.
Par. What is the matter, sweet Heart?
Ber. Although before the folemn 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 th' Wars.

Ber. There's Letters from my Mother : What th’import is, I know not yet.

Par. Ay, that would be known: To th' Wars my Boy, to th' Wars,

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