The works of Shakespear [ed. by H. Blair], in which the beauties observed by Pope, Warburton and Dodd are pointed out, together with the author's life; a glossary [&c.].

Par. That's for advantage.

Hel. So is running away, when fear proposes safety: but the composition, that your valour and fear makes in you, is a virtue of a good ming; and I like the wear well.

Par. I am fo full of businesses, as I cannot answer thee acutely: I will return perfect courtier; in the which, my instruction shall serve to naturalize thee, fo thou wilt be capable of courtier's counsel, and understand what advice shall thrust upon thee; else thou dieft in thine unthankfulness, and thine ignorance makes thee away: farewel. When thou hast leifure, say thy prayers; when thou haft none, remember thy friends; get thee a good husband, and use him as he uses thee: so farewel. [Exit.

Hel. Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie,
Which we afcribe to Heav'n. The fated sky
Gives us free scope; only doth backward pull
Our flow designs, when we ourselves are dull.
What power is it which mounts my love fo high,
That makes me fee, and cannot feed mine eye ?
The mightiest space in fortune nature brings
To join like likes, and kiss like native things.
Impossible be strange attempts to those
That weigh their pain in sense; and do suppose,
What hath been, cannot be. Whoever strove
To shew her merit, that did miss her love?
The King's diseasemy project may deceive me,
But my intents are fix'd, and will not leave me. [Exit.

Changes to the court of Fronce.

Flourish cornets. Enter the King of France with let-
ters, 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 most credible; we here receive it,

A certainty vouch'd from our coufin Austria;
With caution, that the Florentine will move us
For fpeedy aid; wherein our dearest friend
Prejudicates the business, and would feem
To have us make denial.

1 Lord, His Love and wisdom, Approv'd so to your Majesty, may plead For ample 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 Tufcan service, freely have they leave
To ftand on either part.

2 Lord, It may well fervé
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 Roufillon, my good Lord, Young Bertram.

King. Youth, thou bear'st thy father's face. Frank nature, rather curious than in hafte, Hath well compos'd thee. Thy father's moral parts May'st thou inherit too! Welcome to Paris.

Ber. My thanks and duty are your Majesty's. King. I would I had that corporal foundness now, As when thy father and myself in friendship First try'd our foldiership: he did look far Into the service of the time, and was Discipled of the brav'st. 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 He had the wit which I can well observe To-day in our young lords; but they may jeft, Till their own scorn return to them unnoted, Ere they can hide their levity in honour : So like a courtier, no contempt or bitterness Were in him; pride or sharpness, if there were, His equal had awak'd them; and his honour,

Clock to itself, knew the true minute when
Exceptions bid him fpeak; 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; and his humility,
In their poor praise, he humbled. Such a man
Might be a copy to these younger times;
Which, follow'd well, would now demonftrate them
But goers backward.

Ber. 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 fay,
(Methinks I hear him now; his plaufive words
He scatter'd not in ears, but grafted them
To grow there, and to bear), Let me not live
(Thus his good melancholy oft began,
On the catastrophe and heel of paftime,
When it was out), let me not live (quoth he)
After my flame lacks oil; to be the fnuff
Of younger fpirits, whose apprehenfive fenfes
All but new things disdain; whose judgments are
Mere fathers of their garments; whose constancies
Expire before their fashions:
this he wish'd.

I, after him, do after him wish too
(Since I nor wax nor honey can bring home)
I quickly were dissolved from my hive,
To give fome labourer room.

2 Lord. You're loved, 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.

Ber. Some fix months since, my Lord.

King. If he were living, I would try him yet ;

Lend me an arm; the rest have worn me out

With several applications; nature and fickness

Debate it at their leifure.

My fon's no dearer.

Welcome, Count,

Ber. Thank your Majesty.

[Flourish. Exeunt SCENE VI. Changes to the Countess's at Roufillon.

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 defervings, when of ourselves we publish them.

Count. What does this knave here? get you gone, firrah the complaints I have heard of you, I do not all believe; 'tis my flowness that I do not; for I know you lack not folly to commit them, and have ability enough to make such knaveries yare.

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

Count. Well, Sir.

Clo. No, Madam; 'tis not so well that I am poor, tho' many of the rich are damn'd; but if I 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 cafe.
Count. In what cafe?

Clo. In Isbel's cafe, and mine own; service is no heritage, and I think I shall never have the blessing of God, till I have issue of my body; for they say, bearns 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 ?

Clo. 'Faith, Madam, I have other holy reasons, such as they are.

Count. May the world know them?

Clo. I have been, Madam, a wicked creature, as you and all flesh and blood are; and, indeed, I de marry, that I may repent.

Count. Thy marriage sooner than thy wickedness.

Clo. I am out of friends, Madam, and I hope to have friends for my wife's fake.

Count. Such friends are thine enemies, knave.

Clo. Y' are shallow, Madam, in great friends; for the knaves come to do that for me, which I am weary of. He that ears my land, spares my team, and gives me leave to inne the crop. If I be his cuckold, he's my drudge. He that comforts my wife, is the cherisher of my flesh and blood; he that cherisheth my flesh and blood, loves my flesh and blood; he that loves my flesh and blood, is my friend: ergo, he that kiffes my wife, is my friend. If men could be contented to be what they are, there were no fear in marriage: for young Charbon the Puritan, and old Poyfon the Papift, howfoe'er their hearts are sever'd in religion, their heads are both one; they may joul horns together, like any deer i' th' herd.

Count. Wilt thou ever be a foul-mouth'd and calumnious knave?

Clo. A prophet, I, Madam; and I fpeak the truth the next way. "For I the ballad will repeat, which men full true " shall find;

" Your marriage comes by destiny, your cuckow fings by kind.