Laf. I would, it were hell-pains for thy fake, and my poor doing eternal: for doing, I am paft; 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, an he were double and double a Lord. I'll have no more pity of his age, than I would have of - - 1'11 beat him, an if I could but meet him again.

Re-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, 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 o' this fashion? dost make hose of thy fleeves? 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: methinks, thou art a general offence, and every man should beat thee. I think, thou waft created for men to breathe themselves upon thee.

Par. This is hard and undeserved measure, my Lord. Laf. Go to, Sir; you were beaten in Italy for picking å kernel out of a pomegranate; you are a vagabond, and no true traveller: you are more sawcy with lords and honourable perfonages, than the commiffion of your birth and virtue gives you heraldry. You are not worth another word, else I'd call you knave. I leave you.

Enter Bertram.

[Exit.

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

Ber.

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

Ber. Although before the solemn Prieft I've sworn,

I will not bed her.

Par. What? what, sweet heart?

Ber. Omy 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.

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

He wears his honour in a box, unseen,
That hugs his kicksy-wicksy here at home;
Spending his manly marrow in her arms,
Which should sustain the bound and high curvet
Of Mars's fiery steed: to other regions
France is a stable, we that dwell in't jades,
Therefore to th' war.

Ber. It shall be so, I'll send her to my house,
Acquaint my mother with my hate to her,
And wherefore I am fled; write to the King
That which I durst not speak. His present gift
Shall furnish me to those Italian fields,
Where noble fellows strike. War is no strife
To the dark house, and the detested wife.

Par. Will this capricio hold in thee, art sure?
Ber. Go with me to my chamber, and advise me.

I'll send her straight away: to-morrow
I'll to the wars, she to her fingle forrow.

Par. Why, these balls bound, there's noise 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, hush! 'tis fo.

[Exeunt.

Enter Enter Helena and Clown.

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

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

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

Hel. What two things?.

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

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 still. O, my knave, how does my old lady?

Clo. So that you had her wrinkles and I her mony, I would, she did, as you fay.

Par. Why, I say nothing.

Clo. Marry, you are the wifer man; for many a man's tongue shakes out his master's undoing: to say 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 should 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 search, Sir, was profitable, and much fool may you find in you, even to the world's pleafure, and the encrease of laughter.

Par.

Par. A good knave, i faith, and well fed.
Madam, my Lord will go away to night,
A very serious business calls on him.
The great prerogative and rite of love,
Which, as your due, time claims, he does acknowledge;
But puts it off by a compell'd restraint :

Whose want, and whose delay, is strew'd with sweets
Which they distil now in the curbed time,
To make the coming hour o'erflow with joy,

And pleasure drown the brim.

Hel. What's his will else ?

Par. That you will take your instant 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.

Hel. What more commands he?

Par. That having this obtain'd, you presently

Attend his further pleasure.

Hel. (16) In every thing I wait upon his will.

Par. I shall report it so.

Hel. I pray you. - Come, Sirrah.

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 testimony.

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

for a bunting.

(16) Hel.. In every Thing I wait upon his Will.

Par. I shall report it so.

Hel. I pray you come, Sirrah.] The Pointing of Helen's last short Speech stands thus absurdly, thro' all the Editions. My Regulation reftores the true Meaning. Upon Parolles saying, He shall report it so; Helena is intended to reply, I pray you, do so; and then, turning to the Clown, She more familiarly addresses him, and bids him come along with her.

Ber.

Ber. I do assure 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 state that way is dangerous, since I cannot yet find in my heart to repent: here he comes; I pray you, make us friends, I will pursue the amity.

Enter Parolles.

Par. These things shall be done, Sir.

Laf. I pray you, Sir, who's his taylor ?

Par. Sir?

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

workman, a very good taylor.

Ber. Is the gone to the King?

Par. She is.

Ber. Will she away to night ?

Par. As you'll have her.

[Afide to Parolles.

Ber. I have writ my letters, casketed my treasure, given order for our horses; and to night, when I

should take possession of the bride

begin

- and ere I do

Laf. A good traveller is something at the latter end of a dinner; but one that lyes three thirds, and uses a known truth to pass a thousand nothings with, should be once heard, and thrice beaten. God save you,

captain.

-

Ber. Is there any unkindness between my Lord and you, Monfieur ?

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

Laf. (17) You have made shift to run into't, boots and spurs and all, like him that leapt into the custard ;

(17) You have made shift to run into't, Boots and Spurs and all, like him that leapt into the Custard.] This odd Allusion is not introduc'd without a View to Satire. It was a Foolery practis'd at City-Entertainments, whilst the Jefter or Zany was in Vogue, for him to jump into a large deep Custard: fet for the Purpose, to set on a Quantity of barren Spectators to laugh; as our Poet says in his Hamlet.