King. (10) Make thy demand. Hel. But will you make it even ? King. Ay, by my scepter, and my hopes of heaven. What Husband in thy power I will command. To chuse from forth the royal blood of France; King. Here is my hand, the premises observ'd, Count. SCENE changes to Roufillon. Enter Countess and Clown. COM [Exeunt. NOME on, Sir; I shall now put you to the height of your breeding. Clown. I will shew my felf highly fed, and lowly taught; I know, my business is but to the court. (10) King. Make thy Demand. Hel. But will you make it even ? King. Ay, by my Scepter and my hopes of help.] The King could have but a very flight Hope of Help from her, scarce enough to swear by: and therefore Helen might suspect, he meant to equivocate with her. Besides, observe, the greatest Part of the Scene is strictly in Rhyme: and there is no Shadow of Reason why it should be interrupted here. I rather imagine, the Poet wrote; Ay, by my Scepter, and my Hopes of Heaven. Dr. Thirlby. Count. But 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 God 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, fuch a fellow, to say precisely, were not for the court: but for me, I have an answer will ferve all men. Count. Marry, that's a bountiful answer that fits all questions. Clo. It is like a barber's chair, that fits all buttocks; the pin-buttock, the quatch-buttock, the brawn-buttock, or any buttock. Count. Will your answer serve fit to all questions? Clo. As fit as ten groats is for the hand of an attorney, as your French crown for your taffaty punk, as Tib's rush for Tom's fore-finger, as a pancake for Shrove-Tuefday, a morris for May-day, as the nail to his hole, the cuckold to his horn, as a scolding quean to a wrangling knave, as the nun's lip to the friar's mouth; nay, as the pudding to his skin. Count. Have you, I say, an answer of fuch fitness for all questions ? Clo. From below your duke, to beneath your conflable, it will fit any question. Count. It must be an answer of most monftrous fize, 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. To be young again, if we could: I will be a fool in a question, hoping to be the wiser by your answer. I pray you, Sir, are you a courtier ? Clo. O lord, Sir there's a simple putting off: more, more, a hundred of them. Count. Sir, I am a poor friend of yours, that loves you. Clo. O lord, Sir-thic', thick, spare not me. B4 Count. Count. I think, Sir, you can eat none of this homely meat. Clo. O lord, Sirnay, put me to't, I warrant you. Count. You were lately whip'd, Sir, as I think. Count. Do you cry, O lord, Sir, at your whipping, and spare not me? indeed, your O lord, Sir, is very sequent to your whipping: you would answer very well to a whipping, if you were but bound to't. Clo. I ne'er had worse luck in my life, in my-O lord, Sir; I fee, things may serve long, but not ferve ever. Count. I play the noble huswife with the time, to entertain it so merrily with a fool. Clo. O lord, Sir-why, there't serves well again. Count. An end, Sir; to your business: give Helen this, And urge her to a present answer back. Commend me to my kinsmen, and my fon: This is not much. Clo. Not much commendation to them? Count. Not much imployment for you, you understand me. Clo. Most fruitfully, I am there before my legs. - [Exeunt. SCENE changes to the Court of France. Enter Bertram, Lafeu, and Parolles. Laf (11) T HEY say, miracles are past; and we have our philosophical persons to make modern, and familiar, things supernatural and causeless. (11) They Say Miracles are past, and we have our Philofophical Persons to make modern and familiar things supernatural and causeless] This, as it has hitherto been pointed, is directly opposite to our Poet's, and his Speaker's, Meaning. As I have stop'd it, the Sense quadrates with the Context: and, surely, it is one unalterable Property of Philosophy, to make seeming Grange and preternatural Phanomena familiar, and reduceable to Caufe and Reafon. Hence Hence is it, that we make trifles of terrors; ensconfing our selves into seeming knowledge, when we should fub mit our selves to an unknown fear. Par. Why, 'tis the rarest argument of wonder that hath shot out in our later times. Ber. And so 'tis. Laf. To be relinquish'd of the artists Par. So I say, both of Galen and Paracelsus. Par. Right, so I say. Laf. That gave him out incurable,- Laf. Not to be help'd, Par. Right, as 'twere a man afsur'd of an- you shall read it in, what do you call there Laf. A shewing of a heav'nly effect in an earthly actor. Par. That's it, I would have faid the very fame. Laf. Why, your dolphin is not lustier: for me, I speak in respect Par. Nay, 'tis strange, 'tis very strange, that is the brief and the tedious of it; and he's of a most facinerious spirit, that will not acknowledge it to be theLaf. Very hand of heav'n. Par. Ay, fo I say. Laf. In a most weak Par. And debile minister, great power, great tran scendence; which should, indeed, give us a farther use to be made than alone the recov'ry of the King; as to beLaf. Generally thankful. Enter King, Helena, and attendants. Par. I would have faid it, you faid well: here comes the King. Laf. Lustick, as the Dutchman says: I'll like a Maid the better, while I have a tooth in my head: why, he's able to lead her a Corranto. B5 Par. Par. Mort du Vinaigre! is not this Helen? King. Go, call before me all the Lords in court. Sit, my preferver, by thy patient's fide; Enter three or four Lords. Fair maid, fend forth thine eye; this youthful parcel King. Peruse them well: Not one of those, but had a noble father. [She addresses her self to a Lord. Hel. Gentlemen, heaven hath, through me, restor'd The King to health. All. We understand it, and thank heaven for you. Hel. I am a simple maid, and therein wealthieft, That, I proteft, 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 should'st chuse, but be refus'd; "Let the white death fit on thy cheek for ever, A "We'll ne'er come there again. And to imperial Love, that God most high, 1 Lord. And grant it. Hel. Thanks, Sir; all the rett is mute. Laf. |