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I know not what he shall :-God send him well!
The court's a learning-place ;—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, the poorer born, Whose baser stars do shut us up in wishes,
Might with effects of them follow our friends,
And shew what we alone must think; which never
Enter a Page.
Page. Monsieur Parolles, my lord calls for you.
Par. Little Helen, farewell; if I can remember thee, I will think of thee at court.
Hel. Monsieur Parolles, you were born under a charitable star. Par. Under Mars, I.
Hel. I especially think, under Mars.
Par. Why under Mars?
Hel. The wars have so 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 so?
Hel. You go so much backward when you fight.
Par. That's for advantage.
Hel. So is running away, when fear proposes the safety. But the composition, that your valour and fear makes in you, is a virtue of a good wing, and I like the wear well.
Par. I am so full of businesses, I cannot answer thee acutely. I will return perfect courtier; in the which, my instruction shall serve to naturalise thee, so thou wilt be capable of a courtier's counsel, and understand what advice shall thrust upon thee; else thou diest in thine unthankfulness, and thine ignorance makes
thee away farewell. Say thy prayers, remember thy friends, get thee a good husband, and use him as he uses thee: so farewell.
Hel. Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie,
SCENE II.-Paris. A Room in the King's Palace.
Flourish of cornets. Enter the King of France, with letters: Lords and others attending.
King. The Florentines and Senoys 5 are by the ears; Have fought with equal fortune, and continue
King. Nay, 'tis most credible; we here receive it
His love and wisdom,
Approv'd so to your majesty, may plead
He hath arm'd our answer,
And Florence is denied before he comes:
It may well serve
A nursery to our gentry, who are sick
For breathing and exploit.
What's he comes here?
Enter BERTRAM, LAFEU, and PAROLLES.
First Lord. It is the Count Rousillon, my good lord, Young Bertram.
Youth, thou bear'st thy father's face;
Frank nature, rather curious than in haste,
Hath well compos'd thee. Thy father's moral parts
Ber. My thanks and duty are your majesty's.
Exception bid him speak, and, at this time,
His tongue obey'd his hand: who were below him
And bow'd his eminent top to their low ranks,
In their poor praise he humbled. Such a man
Which, follow'd well, would demonstrate them now
His good remembrance, sir,
Lies 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 say
On the catastrophe and heel of pastime,
Since I nor wax nor honey can bring home,
I quickly were dissolved from my hive,
To give some labourers room.
You are lov'd, sir;
They that least lend it you shall lack you first.
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.
Some six months since, my lord.
King. If he were living, I would try him yet ;—
Lend me an arm;-the rest have worn me out
Thank your majesty.
SCENE III-Rousillon. A Room in the house of the Countess.
Enter Countess, Steward, and Clown.
Count. I will now hear: what say you of this gentlewoman? Stew. Madam, the care I have had to even your content, I wish might be found in the calendar of my past endeavours; for then we wound our modesty, and make foul the clearness of our deservings, when of ourselves we publish them.
Count. What does 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 such knaveries yours.
Clo. "Tis not unknown to you, madam, I am a poor fellow.
Clo. No, madam, 'tis not so well, that I am poor; but, if I may have your ladyship'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 case.
Clo. In Isbel's case, and mine own.
Service is no heritage :8
and, I think, I shall never have the blessing of God till I have issue of my body; for they say bairns are blessings.
Count. Tell me thy reason why thou wilt marry.
Clo. My poor body, madam, requires it: I am driven on by the flesh; and he must needs go, that the devil drives. Count. Is this all your worship's reason?