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A certainty, vouch'd from our cousin Austria, Making them proud of his humility,
With caution, that the Florentine will move us In their poor praise he humbled : e such a man
For speedy aid ; wherein our dearest friend Might be a copy to these younger times ;
Prejudicates the business, and would seem

Which, follow'd well, would démonstrate them now To have us make denial.


His love and wisdom, BER.

His good remembrance, sir, Approv'd so to your majesty, may plead

Lies richer in your thoughts, than on his tomb; For amplest credence.

So in approof lives not his epitaph, KING.

He hath arm'd our answer, As in your royal speech. And Florence is denied before he comes :

KING. Would I were with him! He would Yet, for our gentlemen that mean to see

always say, The Tuscan service, freely have they leave (Methinks, I hear him now: his plausive words To stand on either part.

He scatter'd not in ears, but grafted them, 2 LORD.


To grow there, and to bear,)—Let me not live, A nursery to our gentry, who are sick

This his good melancholy oft began, For breathing and exploit.

On the catastrophe and heel of pastime, KING. What's he comes here? When it was out, let me not live, quoth he,

After my flame lacks oil, to be the snuff

of younger spirits, whose apprehensive senses Enter BERTRAM, LAFEU, and PAROLLES.

All but new things disdain ; whose judgments are

Mere fathers of their garments; whose constancies 1 LORD. It is the count Rousillon, my good lord, Expire before their fashions.- -This he wish'd : Young Bertram.

I, after him, do after him wish too, KING. Youth, thou bear'st thy father's face ;

Since I nor wax nor honey can bring home, Frank nature, rather curious than in haste,

I quickly were dissolved from my hive, Hath well compos’d thee. Thy father's moral parts

To give some labourers room. May'st thou inherit too! Welcome to Paris.


You are lov'd, sir : BER. My thanks and duty are your majesty's.

They, that least lend it

shall lack


first. KING. I would I had that corporal soundness

King. I fill a place, I know't.—How long is't,

count, As when thy father, and myself, in friendship

Since the physician at your father's died ? First tried our soldiership! He did look far

He was much fam'd. Into the service of the time, and was


Some six months since, my lord. Discipled of the bravest: he lasted long ;

King. If he were living, I would try him yet;But on us both did haggish age steal


Lend me an arm ;—the rest have worn me out And wore us out of act. It much repairs me

With severalo applications :-nature and sickness To talk of your good father: in his youth

Debate it at their leisure. Welcome, count ; He had the wit, which I can well observe

My son's no dearer. To-day in our young lords ; but they may jest, BER.

Thank your majesty. Till their own scorn return to them unnoted,

[Ereunt. Flourish. Ere they can hide their levity in honour. So like a courtier : contempt nor bitterness Were in his pride, or sharpness ;* if they were, His equal had awak’d them; and his honour,

SCENE III. Rousillon. A Room in the Clock to itself, knew the true minute when

Countess's Palace. Exception bid him speak, and, at this time,

Enter COUNTESS, Steward, and Clown.(2) His tongue obey'd his hand. Who were below him He us’d as creatures of another place ;

Count. I will now hear : what say you of this And bow'd his eminent top to their low ranks, gentlewoman?



contempt nor bitterness

Were in his pride, or sharpness;] Capell, with some plausibility, reads,

no contempt nor bitterness

A very slight alteration would lessen the ambiguity of this passage. We should, perhaps, read,

In their poor praise be-humbled." d When it was out,-] When what was out? The commentators are mute. Does not the whole tenor of the context tend to show that it is a misprint of wit? With this simple change, and supposing the ordinary distribution of the lines to be correct, the purport would be, “Often towards the end of some spirituel disport, when wit was exhausted, he would say," &c.

Were in him, pride or sharpness." b His tongue obey'd his hand :) His hand for its hand. The latter vocable had hardly come into use at the time when this play was written. See note (C), p. 480, Vol. I.

Making them proud of his humility,

In their poor praise he humbled :)

e With several applications :-) Manifold applications

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Stew. Madam, the care I have had to even the world, Isbel the woman and I* will do as we your content, I wish might be found in the

may. calendar of my past endeavours: for then we Count. Wilt thou needs be a beggar? wound our modesty, and make foul the clearness Clo. I do beg your good-will in this case. of our deservings, when of ourselves we publish Count. In what case ? them.

Clo. In Isbel's case, and mine own. Service Count. What does this knave here? Get you is no heritage: and, I think, I shall never have gone, sirrah: the complaints, I have heard of the blessing of God, till I have issue o' my body; you,

I do not all believe ; 'tis my slowness, that for, they say, barns are blessings. I do not: for I know you lack not folly to commit Count. Tell me thy reason why thou wilt them, and have ability enough to make such marry. knaveries yours.

Clo. My poor body, madam, requires it: I am Clo. 'Tis not unknown to you, madam, I am driven on by the flesh; and he must needs go,

that the devil drives. COUNT. Well, sir.

Count. Is this all your worship’s reason ? Clo. No, madam, 'tis not so well, that I am Clo. 'Faith, madam, I have other, holy reasons, poor, though many of the rich are damned: but, such as they are. if I may have your ladyship's good-will to go to Count. May the world know them ?

a poor fellow.

a To even your content,-) Even is used here, seemingly, as in Act II. Sc. 1 :—"But will you make it even !”-in the sense of keep pace with, strike a balance with, equate, &c.

(*) First folio, w. b To go to the world,-) That is to be married. See note (C) p. 707, Vol. I.

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Clo. I have been, madam, a wicked creature,

And gave this sentence then ; as you and all Hesh and blood are; and, indeed, Among nine bad if one be good, I do marry, that I may repent.

Among nine bad if one be good, Count. Thy marriage, sooner than thy wicked

There's yet one good in ten.

Count. What, one good in ten? you corrupt Clo. I am out o’ friends, madam ; and I hope the song, sirrah. to have friends for my wife's sake.

Clo. One good woman in ten, madam ; which Count. Such friends are thine enemies, knave.

is a purifying o' the song.(4) Would God would Clo. You are shallow, madam, in great friends; *

serve the world so all the year! we'd find no fault for the knaves come to do that for me, which

with the tithe-woman, if I were the parson : one I am a-weary of. He, that ears my land, spares

in ten, quoth a'! an we might have a good woman my team, and gives me leave to inn the crop: if

born but 'fore * every blazing star, or at an earthI be his cuckold, he's my drudge. He, that

quake,'t would mend the lottery well; a man may comforts my wife, is the cherisher of

flesh and

draw his heart out, ere 'a pluck one. blood; he, that cherishes my flesh and blood,

Count. You'll be gone, sir knave, and do as loves my flesh and blood; he, that loves my

I command

you. and blood, is my friend; ergo, he that kisses my Clo. That man should be at woman's command, wife, is my friend. If men could be contented to

and yet no hurt done !—Though honesty be no be what they are, there were no fear in marriage : puritan, yet it will do no hurt; it will wear the for

young Charbon the puritan, and old Poysam surplice of humility over the black gown of a big the papist, howsome'er their hearts are severed in

heart.(5)—I am going, forsooth; the business is religion, their heads are both one, they may jowl for Helen to come hither.

[Exit Clown. horns together, like any deer i' the herd.

Count. Well, now. Count. Wilt thou ever be a foul-mouthed and

STEw. I know, madam, you love your gentlecalumnious knave?

woman entirely. Clo. A prophet (3) I, madam; and I speak the COUNT. 'Faith, I do: her father bequeathed truth the next way :o

her to me; and she herself, without other adFor I the ballad will repeat,

vantage, may lawfully make title to as much love Which men full true shall find ; as she finds ; there is more owing her than is paid; Your marriage comes by destiny,

and more shall be paid her, than she'll demand. Your cuckoo sings by kind.a

Stew. Madam, I was very late more near her Count. Get you gone, sir, I'll talk with you

than, I think, she wished me : alone she was, and

did communicate to herself, her own words to her Stew. May it please you, madam, that he bid

own ears; she thought, I dare vow for her, they Helen come to you ; of her I am to speak.

touched not any stranger sense.

Her matter was, Count. Sirrah, tell my gentlewoman, I would

she loved your son: Fortune, she said, was no speak with her; Helen I mean.

goddess, that had put such difference betwixt their Clo. [Singing.)

two estates; Love, no god, that would not extend

his might, only where qualities were level; Diana, Was this fair face the cause, quoth she,

no? queen of virgins, that would suffer her poor Why the Grecians sacked Troy?

knight surprised,s without rescue, in the first Fond done, done fond,

assault, or ransome afterward. This she delivered Was this king Priam's joy.®

in the most bitter touch of sorrow, that e'er I With that she sighed as she stood,

heard virgin exclaim in : which I held my duty, With that she sighed as she stood.

speedily to acquaint you withal ; sithence, in the

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more anon.

a You are shallow, madam, in great friends ;] This is usually read, “ You are shallow, madam ; c'en great friends;" and the instances, both in these plays and in contemporaneous books, of in being misprinted for e'en, suggests the probability of a like error here; but the meaning may be, “ You are shallow in the uses of great friends."

b Young Charbon the puritan, and old Poysam the papist,-) Malone suggested that the original word was Poisson; an allusion to the practice of eating fish on fast-days, as Charbon might be to the fiery zeal of the puritans.

• The next way :) The nearest way. d

Your marriage comes by destiny,

Your cuckoo sings by kind.) A new version of an old proverb. So, in " Grange's Garden," quarto, 1577 :-

" Content yourselfe as well as I,

Let reason rule your minde;

(*) First folio, ore.
As cuckoldes come by destinie,

So cuckowes sing by kinde."
Was this fair face the cause, quoth she,-) This is, perhaps,
a snatch of some antique ballad, which the fool craftily corrupts,
to intimate, in the enigmatical manner of his calling, that he was
not altogether ignorant of the subject which his mistress and her
steward had met to speak about.

f Diana, no queen of virgins,-) The old text has only "Queene of Virgins;" the two words prefixed by Theobald, are probably as near to the original as can be supplied.

& That would suffer her poor knight surprised,-) This is the lection of the old text, and the phraseology of the poet's age. Theobald inserted the words to be, reading, -"that would suffer her poor knight to be surprised," and he has been followed by every subsequent editor,

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loss that may happen, it concerns you something HEL. You are my mother, madam; would to know it.

you were
Count. You have discharged this honestly; (So that my lord, your son, were not my brother,)
keep it to yourself: many likelihoods informed Indeed my mother !—or were you both our
me of this before, which hung so tottering in the

balance, that I could neither believe nor misdoubt. I care no more for, than I do for heaven,
'Pray you, leave me: stall this in your bosom, and So I were not his sister : can't no other,
I thank you for your honest care : I will speak But, I your daughter, he must be my

further anon.

[Exit Steward. Count. Yes, Helen, you might be my daughterCount. Even so it was with me, when I was

in-law; young :

God shield, you mean it not! daughter, and If we are nature's, these are ours; this thorn

mother, Doth to our rose of youth rightly belong :

So strive upon your pulse : what, pale again ?
Our blood to us, this to our blood is born ; My fear hath catch'd your fondness: now I see
It is the show and seal of nature's truth,

The mystery of your loneliness,* and find
Where love's strong passion is impress'd in youth: Your salt tears' head. Now to all sense 'tis gross,
By our remembrances of days foregone,

You love my son ; invention is asham’d,
Such were our faults ;- -or them we thought then « Against the proclamation of thy passion,

To say, thou dost not: therefore tell me true ;

But tell me then, 't is so :—for, look, thy cheeks Enter HELENA.

Confess it, th’ one to th’ other:ť and thine eyes

See it so grossly shown in thy behaviours,
is sick on't; I observe her now.

That in their kind they speak it: only sin
HEL. What is your pleasure, madam ?

And hellish obstinacy tie thy tongue,

You know, Helen, That truth should be suspected. Speak, is't so ?
I am a mother to you.

If it be so, you have wound a goodly clue ;
HEL. Mine honourable mistress.

If it be not, forswear't: howe'er, I charge thee,

Nay, a mother; As heaven shall work in me for thine avail,
Why not a mother? when I said, a mother,

To tell me truly.
Methought you saw a serpent: what's in mother, HEL.

Good madam, pardon me!
That you start at it? I say, I am your mother ; Count. Do


love And put you in the catalogue of those


Your pardon, noble mistress !
That were enwombed mine. 'Tis often seen, Count. Love you my son ?
Adoption strives with nature; and choice breeds HEL.

Do not you love him, madam ?
A native slip to us from foreign seeds :

Count. Go not about ; my love hath in 't a You ne'er oppress’d me with a mother's groan,

bond, Yet I express to you a mother's care :

Whereof the world takes note : "come, come, God's mercy, maiden ! does it curd thy blood,

To say, I am thy mother? What's the matter, The state of your affection, for your passions
That this distemper'd messenger of wet,

Have to the full appeach'd.
The many-colour'd Iris, rounds thine eye?


Then, I confess, Why? —that you are my daughter ?

Here on my knee, before high heaven and you, HEL.

That I am not. That before you, and next unto high heaven,
Count. I say, I am your mother.

I love your son :-

Pardon, madam ; My friends were poor, but honest ; so's my
The count Rousillon cannot be my brother : Be not offended, for it hurts not him,
I am from humble, he from honour'd name; That he is lov'd of me; I follow him not
No note upon my parents, his, all noble :

By any token of presumptuous suit,
My master, my dear lord he is : and I

Nor would I have him, till I do deserve him ;
His servant live, and will his vassal die :

Yet never know how that desert should be.
He must not be


I know I love in vain, strive against hope ;

Nor I your

mother ? Yet, in this captious " and intenible sieve,

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my son ?

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love :


A Or them we thought then none.) The old copy reads,

"-Or then we thought them none." For the transposition of hem and then, I am responsible.

bi care no more for,-) “There is a designed ambiguity: 'I care no more for,' is 'I care as much for.'"-FARMER. It would somewhat lessen the perplexity of this difficult passage, if we suppose the present line to be spoken aside out, in truth, the text

(*) First folio, louelinesse. (+) First folio, 'ton tooth to th' other. (1) First folio, intemible. throughout the speech is palpably corrupt.

c Gross,-) That is, palpable.

d This captious and intenible sieve,-) We incline to believe, with Farmer, that captious here is only a contraction of capacious.


I still pour in the waters of my love,
And lack not to lose still : thus, Indian-like,
Religious in mine error, I adore
The sun, that looks upon his worshipper,
But knows of him no more. My dearest madam,
Let not your hate encounter with my love,
For loving where you do: but, if yourself,
Whose aged honour cites a virtuous youth,
Did ever, in so true a flame of liking,
Wish chastely, and love dearly, that your

Was both herself and Love ; 0 then, give pity
To her, whose state is such that cannot choose,
But lend and give where she is sure to lose ;
That seeks not to find that her search implies,
But, riddle-like, lives sweetly where she dies.
Count. Had you not lately an intent, speak

truly, To go to Paris ?

HEL. Madam, I had.

Wherefore ? tell true. HEL. I will tell truth; by grace itself, I swear.

You know, my father left me some prescriptions
Of rare and prov'd effects,(6) such as his reading,
And manifest experience, had collected
For general sovereignty; and that he will’d me
In heedfullest reservation to bestow them,
As notes, whose faculties inclusive were,
More than they were in note : amongst the rest,
There is a remedy, approv’d, set down,
To cure the desperate languishings, whereof
The king is render'd lost.

This was your motive For Paris, was it? speak.

HEL. My lord your son made me to think of


this ;

Else Paris, and the medicine, and the king,
Had, from the conversation of my thoughts,
Haply been absent then.

But think you, Helen,
If you should tender your supposed aid,
He would receive it? He and his physicians
Are of a mind; he, that they cannot help him,


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