Hel. How might one do, Sir, to lofe it to her own liking?

Par. Let me fee. Marry ill, to like him that ne'er it likes. 'Tis a Commodity will lofe the Glofs with lying. The longer kept, the lefs worth: Off with't while 'tis vendible. Answer the time of requeft. Virginity, like an old Courtier, wears her Cap out of Fashion, richly futed, but unfutable, just like the Brooch and the Toothpick, which we wear not now: Your Date is better in your Pye and your Porredge, than in your Cheek; and your Virginity, your old Virginity, is like one of our French wither'd Pears; it looks ill, it eats drily, marry 'tis a wither'd Pear: It was formerly better, marry yet 'tis a wither'd Pear. Will you any thing with it?

Hel. Not my Virginity yet.

There fhall your Mafter have a thousand Loves,
A Mother, and a Mistress, and a Friend,
A Phoenix, Captain, and an Enemy,
A Guide a Goddefs, and a Sovereign,
A Counseller, a Traitress, and a Dear;
His humbleft Ambition, proud Humility,
His jarring Concord, and his difcord Dulcet,
His Faith, his fweet Difafter; with a world
Of pretty fond adoptious Christendoms
That blinking Cupid goffips.
I know not what he fhall
The Court's a learning Place

Par. What one, i'faith?

Now fhall he

God fend him well-
and he is one-

Hel. That I wish well-'tis pity-
Par. What's pity?

Hel. That wishing well had not a Body in't,
Which might be felt, that we poorer born,
Whose bafer Stars do fhut them up in Wishes,
Might with effects of them follow our Friends,
And fhew what we alone must think, which never
Returns us Thanks.

Enter Page.

Page. Monfieur Parolles,

My Lord calls for you.

Par. Little Helen farewel, if I can remember thee, I will

think of thee at Court,

Hel

Hel. Monfieur Parolles, you were born under a chari

table Star.

Par. Under Mars, I.

Hel. I especially think under Mars.

Par. Why under Mars?

Hel. The Waters have fo kept you under, that you must needs be born under Mars.

Par. When he was Predominant.

Hel. When he was Retrograde, I think rather.
Par. Why think you fo?

Hel. You go fo much backward when you Fight.
Par. That's for Advantage.

Hel. So is Running away,
When Fear proposes Safety:

But the Compofition that your Valour and Fear makes in you, is a Virtue of a good Wing, and I like the wear well.

Par. I am fo full of Business, I cannot answer thee acutely I will return perfect Courtier, in the which my Inftrution fhall ferve to Naturalize thee, fo thou wilt be capable of the Courtiers Counfel, and understand what Advice shall thruft upon thee; elfe thou dieft in thine Unthankfulness, and thine Ignorance makes thee away; farewel. When thou haft leifure, fay thy Prayers; when thou haft none, remember thy Friends; get thee a good Husband, and use him as he ufes thee: So farewel. [Exit.

Hel. Our Remedies oft in our felves do lye,
Which we afcribe to Heav'n: The fated Sky
Gives us free Scope, only doth backward pull
Our flow Defigns, when we our felves are dull.
What Power is it, which mounts my Love fo high,
That makes me fee, and cannot feed mine Eye?
The mightieft Space in Fortune, Nature brings
To join like Likes, and kifs like native Things.
Impoffible be ftrange Attempts to those
That weigh their Pains in Senfe, and do fuppofe
What hath been, cannot be. Who ever ftrove
To fhew her Merit, that did mifs her Love?
The King's Difeafe-My Proje& may deceive me,
But my Intents are fix'd, and will not leave me.

[Exit.

Flourish Cornets. Enter the King of France with Letters, and divers Attendants.

King. The Florentines and Senoys are by th' Ears,
Have fought with equal Fortune, and continue
A braving War.

I Lord. So 'tis reported, Sir.

King. Nay, 'tis moft credible; we here receive it,
A Certainty vouch'd from our Coufin Auftria,
With Caution, that the Florentine will move us
For fpeedy Aid; wherein our dearest Friend
Prejudicates the Bufinefs, and would feem
To have us make Denial.

I Lord. His Love and Wisdom,
Approv'd fo to your Majefty, may plead
For ampleft Credence.

King. He hath arm'd our Answer,
And Florence is deny'd before he comes:
Yet for our Gentlemen that mean to fee
The Tuscan Service, freely have they leave
To stand on either part.

2 Lord. It may well ferve

A Nursery to our Gentry, who are fick
For Breathing and Exploit.

King. What's he comes here?

Enter Bertram, Lafeu and Parolles.

I Lord. It is the Count Roffillion, my good Lord, young

Bertram.

King. Youth, thou bear'ft thy Father's Face,
Frank Nature rather curious than in hafte,

Hath well compos'd thee: Thy Father's moral Parts
Maift thou inherit too. Welcome to Paris.

Ber. My Thanks and Duty are your Majefty's.
King. I would I had that corporal Soundness now,
As when thy Father and my felf in Friendship,
First try'd our Soldiership: He did look far
Into the Service of the Time, and was
Difcipled of the braveft. He lafted long,
But on us both did haggish Age fteal on,
And wore us out of Act. It much repairs me
To talk of your good Father; in his Youth

F

He had the Wit, which I can well obferve
To Day in our young Lords; but they may jeft
'Till their own Scorn return to them unnoted,
E'er they can hide their Levity in Honour:
So like a Courtier, no Contempt nor Bitterness
Were in his Pride, or Sharpnefs; if they were,
His Equal had awak'd them, and his Honour
Clock to it felf, knew the true Minute when
Exception bid him speak; and at that time
His Tongue obey'd his Hand. Who were below him,
He us'd as Creatures of another Place,

And bow'd his eminent Top to their low Ranks,
Making them proud of his Humility,

In their poor Praife he humbled: Such a Man
Might be a Copy to these younger Times;

Which follow'd well, would demonftrate them now,
But Goers backward.

Ber. His good Remembrance, Sir,

Lyes richer in your Thoughts, than on his Tomb:
So in Approof lives not his Epitaph,

As in your Royal Speech.

King. Would I were with him; he would always fay, (Methinks I hear him now) his plaufive Words

He scatter'd not in Ears, but grafted them

Το

grow there and to bear; let me not live,
(This his good Melancholly oft began
On the Catastrophe and Heel of Pastime
When it was out) Let me not live, quoth he,
After my Flame lacks Oil, to be the Snuff
Of

younger Spirits, whofe apprehenfive Senfes
All but new Things difdain; whofe Judgments are
Meer Fathers of their Garments; whofe Conftancies
Expire before their Fashions: This he wifh'd.
I after him, do after him with too,

Since I, nor Wax, nor Honey can bring home,
I quickly were diffolved from my Hive,
To give fome Labourers room.

2 Lord. You're loved, Sir,

They that least lend it you, fhall lack your firft.
King. I fill a Place I know't; how long is't, Count,

Since the Physician at your Father's died?
He was much fam'd.

Ber. Some fix Months fince, my Lord.

King. If he were living, I would try him yet. Lend me an Arm; the reft have worn me out With feveral Applications; Nature and Sickness Debate it at their Leifure. Welcome, Count, My Son's no dearer.

Ber. Thanks to your Majefty.

[Exeunt.

Enter Countess, Steward and Clown. Count. I will now hear, what fay you of this Gentle

woman?

Stew. Madam, the Care I have had to even your Content, I wish might be found in the Calender of my past Endeavours, for then we wound our Modefty, and make foul the Clearnefs of our Defervings, when of our felves we publish them.

Count. What do's 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 fuch Knaveries yours.

Clo. 'Tis not unknown to you, Madam, I am a poor Fel

low.

Count. Well, Sir.

Clo. No, Madam,

'Tis not fo well that I am poor, though many of the Rich are damn'd; but if I have your Ladyfhip'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 Cafe.

Count. What Cafe?

Clo. In Isbel's Cafe and mine own; Service is no Heritage, and I think I fhall never have the Bleffing of God, 'till I have Iffue a my Body, for they fay Barns are Bleffings.

Count. Tell me the Reason why thou wilt marry?

Clo. My poor Body, Madam, requires it, I am driven on by the Flesh, and he muft needs go that the Devil drives.

Count.