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In differences so mighty. If she be

All that is virtuous, fave what thou dislik'st

A poor phyfician's daughter, thou dislik'st

Of virtue for the name: but do not fo.

From lowest place when virtuous things proceed,
The place is dignify'd by th' doer's deed.
Where great addition fwells, and virtue none,
It is a dropfied honour: good alone
Is good without a name, in'tfelf is fo:
The property by what it is should go,
Not by the title. She is young, wife, fair,
In these to nature she's immediate heir;
And these breed honour: that is honour's fcorn,
Which challenges itself as honour-born,
And is not like the fire. Honours beft thrive,
When rather from our acts we them derive
Than our fore-goers: the mere word's a slave
Debauch'd on every tomb, on every grave;
A lying trophy; and as oft is dumb,

Where duft and damn'd oblivion is the tomb
Of honour'd bones indeed. What fhould be faid?
If thou canst like this creature as a maid,

I can create the reft: virtue and fhe,

Is her own dow'r; honour and wealth from me.

Ber. I cannot love her, nor will strive to do't.

King. Thou wrong'ft thyself, if thou should'st strive to choose. Hel. That you are well reftor'd, my lord, I'm glad :

Let the reft go.

King. My honour's at the stake, which to defend

I must produce my power: here, take her hand,
Proud fcornful boy, unworthy this good gift,
That doft in vile mifprifion fhackle up

My love, and her desert; that canst not dream,
We, poizing us in her defective scale,

Shall weigh thee to the beam; that wilt not know,
It is in us to plant thine honour, where


We please to have it grow. Check thy contempt:
Obey our will, which travels in thy good;
Believe not thy difdain, but presently

Do thine own fortunes that obedient right
Which both thy duty owes, and our power claims:
Or I will throw thee from my care for ever
Into the staggers, and the careless lapse
Of youth and ignorance; my revenge and hate
Let loose upon thee in the name of justice,
Without all terms of pity. Speak thine answer.
Ber. Pardon, my gracious lord; for I fubmit
My fancy to your eyes: when I confider
What great creation, and what dole of honour
Flies where you bid; I find, that she, which late
Was in my nobler thoughts most base, is now
The praised of the king; who, fo ennobled,
Is, as 'twere, born fo.

King. Take her by the hand,

And tell her, fhe is thine: to whom I promise
A counterpoize; if not in thy estate

A balance more replete.

Ber. I take her hand.

King. Good fortune, and the favour of the king,
Smile upon the contract! whofe ceremony
Shall feem expedient on the now born brief,
And be perform'd to-night; the folemn feast
Shall more attend upon the coming space,
Expecting absent friends. As thou lov'ft her,
Thy love's to me religious; elfe, does err.


Manent Parolles and Lafeu.

Laf. Do you hear, monfieur? a word with you.

Par. Your pleasure, fir.


Laf. Your lord and mafter did well to make his recantation.

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Par. Recantation? my lord? my mafter?

Laf. Ay, is it not a language I speak?

Par. A moft harsh one, and not to be understood without bloody fucceeding. My mafter?

Laf. Are you companion to the count Roufillon?

Par. To any count; to all counts; to what is man.

Laf. To what is count's man; count's mafter is of another ftyle.

Par. You are too old, fir; let it fatisfy you, you are too old. Laf. I must tell thee, firrah, I write man; to which title age cannot bring thee.

Par. What I dare too well do, I dare not do.

Laf. I did think thee, for two ordinaries, to be a pretty wife fellow; thou didst make tolerable vent of thy travel; it might pafs: yet the scarfs and the bannerets about thee did manifoldly diffuade me from believing thee a veffel of too great a burden. I have now found thee; when I lose thee again, I care not: yet art thou good for nothing but taking up, and that thou'rt scarce worth.

Par. Hadft thou not the privilege of antiquity upon theeLaf. Do not plunge thyself too far in anger, lest thou hasten thy trial; which if—Lord have mercy on thee for a hen! so, my good window of lattice, fare thee well; thy casement I need not open, I look through thee. Give me thy hand.

Par. My lord, you give me most egregious indignity.
Laf. Ay, with all my heart, and thou art worthy of it.
Par. I have not, my lord, deferv'd it.

Laf. Yes, good faith, ev'ry dram of it; and I will not bate thee a scruple.

Par. Well, I fhall be wifer

Laf. Ev'n as foon as thou canft, for thou haft to pull at a fmack o'th' contrary. If ever thou beʼst bound in thy scarf, and beaten, thou fhalt find what it is to be proud of thy bondage. I have a defire to hold my acquaintance with thee, or rather my knowledge, that I may fay on thy defaults he is a man I know.


Par. My lord, you do me most infupportable vexation. Laf. I would it were hell-pains for thy fake, and my poor doing eternal. [Exit.


Par. Well, thou haft a fon fhall take this difgrace off me; fcurvy, old, filthy, fcurvy 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 that I would have of — I'll beat him, an if I could but meet him again.

Reenter Lafeu.

Laf. Sirrah, your lord and master's married, there's news for you: you have a new mistress.

Par. I most unfeignedly befeech your lordship to make fome reservation of your wrongs: he, my good lord, whom I serve above is my master.

Laf. Who? god?

Par. Ay, fir.

Laf. The devil it is, that's thy mafter. Why doft thou garter up thy arms o' this fashion? doft make hofe of thy fleeves? do other servants fo? 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, fir; you were beaten in Italy for picking a kernel out of a pomegranate; you are a vagabond, and no true traveller: you are more faucy with lords, and honourable perfonages, than the heraldry of your birth and virtue gives you commiffion. You are not worth another word, else I'd call you knave. I leave you. [Exit.


* ------ eternal: for doing I am paft, as I will by thee, in what motion age will give me leave.

Par. Well, &c,




Enter Bertram.

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

Ber. Undone, and forfeited to cares for ever!

Par. What is the matter, fweet heart?

Ber. Although before the folemn priest I've sworn,

I will not bed her.

Par. What? what, fweet heart?

Ber. O my Parolles, they have married me:

I'll to the Tuscan wars, and never bed her.

Par. France is a doghole, 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-wickfy here at home;

Spending his manly marrow in her arms,

Which should fuftain the bound and high curvet

Of Mars's fiery fteed: to other regions
France is a ftable; we that dwell in't, jades,
Therefore to th' war!

Ber. It fhall be fo; I'll fend her to my house,
Acquaint my mother with my hate to her,
And wherefore I am fled; write to the king
That which I durft not speak: his present gift
Shall furnish me to those Italian fields
Where noble fellows ftrike. War is no ftrife
To the dark house, and the detefted wife.

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

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