Enter a Gentleman. This man may help me to his majesty's ear, Hel. Sir, I have feen you in the court of France. Hel. I do prefume, fir, that you are not fallen Gent. What's your will? Hel. That it will please you To give this poor petition to the king, And aid me with that ftore of power you have, To come into his prefence. Gent. The king's not here. Hel. Not here, fir? Gent. Not, indeed. He hence remov'd last night, and with more haste Wid. Lord, how we lofe our pains! Hel. All's well that ends well yet, Though time feem so adverse, and means unfit; Gent. Marry, as I take it, to Roufillon, Hel. I beseech you, fir, Since you are like to see the king before me, Gent. Gent. This I'll do for you. Hel. And you fhall find yourself to be well thank'd, [Exeunt. Par. Go Roufillon. Enter Clown, and Parolles. YOOD Mr. Levatch, give my lord Lafeu this letter: I have ere now, fir, been better known to you, when I have held familiarity with fresher cloths; but I am now, fir, muddied in fortune's moat, and smell somewhat ftrong of her ftrong displeasure. Clo. Truly, fortune's displeasure is but fluttish, if it smell so ftrongly as thou speak'ft of: I will henceforth eat no fish of fortune's butt'ring. Prythee, allow the wind. Par. Nay, you need not to stop your nose, fir; I spake but by a metaphor. Clo. Indeed, fir, if your metaphor ftink, I will ftop my nose against any man's metaphor. Pr'ythee, get thee further. Par. Pray you, fir, deliver me this paper. Clo. Foh! pr'ythee, ftand away; a paper from fortune's closestool, to give to a nobleman! look, here he comes himself. Enter Lafeu. Clo. Here is a pur of fortune's, fir, or of fortune's cat, (but not a muskcat;) that hath fall'n into the unclean fishpond of her displeasure, and, as he says, is muddied withal. Pray you, fir, use the carp as you may, for he looks like a poor, decayed, ingenious, foolish, rafcally knave. I do pity his diftrefs in my fimiles of comfort, and leave him to your lordship. Par. My lord, I am a man whom fortune hath cruelly scratch'd. Laf. And what would you have me to do? 'tis too late to pare her nails now. Wherein have you play'd the knave with fortune, fortune, that she should scratch you, who of herself is a good lady, and would not have knaves thrive long under her? there's a quart-d'ecu for you: let the juftices make you and fortune friends; I am for other bufinefs. Par. I beseech your honour to hear me one fingle word. Laf. You beg a fingle penny more: come, you shall ha't; fave your word. Par. My name, my good lord, is Parolles. Laf. You beg more than one word then. Cox' my paffion! give me your hand: how does your drum? Par. O my good lord, you were the firft that found me. Laf. Was I, infooth? and I was the firft that loft thee. Par. It lies in you, my lord, to bring me in fome grace, for you did bring me out. Laf. Out upon thee, knave! doft thou put upon me at once both the office of god and the devil? one brings thee in grace, and the other brings thee out. The king's coming, I know by his trumpets. Sirrah, inquire further after me; I had talk of laft night: though you are a fool and a knave, you shall eat; go to, follow. Par. I praife god for you. SCENE - III. you [Exeunt. Flourish. Enter King, Countess, Lafeu, the two French Lords, with Attendants. King. We have lost a jewel of her; and our esteem Was made much poorer by it: but your fon, As mad in folly, lack'd the sense to know Her eftimation home. Count. 'Tis paft, my liege; And I beseech your majefty to make it Natural rebellion, done i'th' blaze of youth, When oil and fire, too ftrong for reafon's force, O'er-bear it, and burn on. King. My honour'd lady, VOL. II. Fff I have I have forgiven, and forgotten, all; Though my revenges were high bent upon him, Laf. This I must say, But first I beg my pardon; the young lord did Of richeft eyes; whofe words all ears took captive; King. Praifing what is loft, Makes the remembrance dear. Well-call him hither; All repetition: let him not ask our pardon. The matter of his great offence is dead, And deeper than oblivion we do bury Th' incenfing relicks of it. Let him approach A ftranger, no offender; and inform him, Gent. I fhall, my liege. [Exit. King. What fays he to your daughter? have you spoke? King. Then fhall we have a match. I have letters fent me That fet him high in fame. SCENE IV. Enter Bertram. Laf. He looks well on't. King. I'm not a day of season, For thou may'ft fee a funfhine and a hail In me at once; but to the brightest beams Distracted clouds give way; so stand thou forth, Ber. Ber. My high-repented blames, Dear fovereign, pardon to me. King. All is whole; Not one word more of the confumed time: Let's take the inftant by the forward top; Ber. Admiringly, my liege: even at first To a most hideous object: thence it came, King. Well excus'd: That thou didst love her, ftrikes fome scores away To an offender) turns to four repentance, Fff 2 The |