Par. Well, thou hast a son shall take this disgrace off me; scurvy, old, filthy, scurvy Lord!-well, I muft 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, than I would have of beat him, an if I could but meet him again. Re-enter Lafeu. I'll Laf. Sirrah, your Lord and master's married, there's news for you: you have a new mistress. Par. I most unfeignedly beseech your Lordship to make some reservation of your wrongs. He, my good Lord, whom I serve above, is my master. Laf. Who? God? Par. Ay, Sir. Laf. The devil it is, that's thy master. Why dost thou garter up thy arms o' this fashion? dost make hose of thy fleeves? do other servants for 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, Sir; 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 commission of your birth and virtue gives you heraldry. You are not worth another word, else I'd call you knave. I leave you. [Exit. Enter Bertram. Par. Good, very good, it is so then. -Good, very good, let it be conceal'd awhile. Ber. Undone, and forfeited to cares for ever? Par. What is the matter, sweet heart? Ber. Although before the folemn priest I've sworn, I will not bed her. Par. What? what, sweet heart? Ber. O my Parolles, they have married me: I'll to the Tuscan wars, and never bed her. Par. France is a dog-hole, 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, Ber. It shall be so, I'll send her to my house, Par. Will this capricio hold in thee, art fure? I'll fend her straight away: to-morrow Par. Why, these balls bound, there's noise in it. Tis hard; A young man, married, is a man that's marr'd: The King has done you wrong: but, hush! 'tis so. Enter Helena and Clown. [Exeunt. Hel. My mother greets me kindly, is she well? Clo. She is not well, but yet she has her health; she's very merry, but yet the is not well: but, thanks be given, she's very well, and wants nothing i' th world; but yet she is not well. Hel Hel. I she be very well, what does she ail, that she's not very well? Clo. Truly, she's very well, indeed, but for two things. Hel. What two things? Clo. One, that she's not in heav'n, whither God fend her quickly; the other, that she's in earth, from whence God fend her quickly! Enter Parolles. Par. Bless you, my fortunate Lady. Hel. I hope, Sir, I have your good will to have mine own good fortune. Par. You had my prayers to lead them on; and to keep them on, have them still. O, my knave, how does my old Lady? Clo. So that you had her wrinkles and I her money, I would, she did, as you say. Par. Why, I say nothing. Clo. Marry, you are the wifer man; for many a man's tongue shakes out his master's undoing: to say nothing, to do nothing, to know nothing, and to have nothing, is to be a great part of your title; which is within a very little of nothing. Par. Away, thou'rt a knave. Clo. You should have said, Sir, before a knave, th'art a knave; that's, before me th'art a knave; this had been truth, Sir. Par. Go to, thou art a witty fool, I have found thee. Clo. Did you find me in yourself, Sir? or were you taught to find me? the search, Sir, was profitable, and much fool may you find in you, even to the world's pleasure, and the encrease of laughter. Par. A good knave, i' faith, and well fed. Madam, my Lord will go away to-night, But puts it off by a compell'd restraint: Whose want, and whose delay, is strew'd with sweets Which they diftil now in the curbed time, To To make the coming hour o'erflow with joy, Hel. What's his will elfe? Par. That you will take your instant leave o' th' King, And make this haste as your own good proceeding; Strengthen'd with what apology, you think, May make it probable need. Hel. What more commands he? Par. That having this obtain'd, you presently Attend his further pleasure. Hel. (24) In every thing I wait upon his will. Par. I shall report it fo. Hel. I pray you. -Come, firrah. Enter Lafeu and Bertram. [Exit Par. [To Clown. [Exeunt. Laf. But, I hope, your Lordship thinks not him a foldier. Ber. Yes, my Lord, and of very valiant approof. Laf. Then my dial goes not true; I took this lark for a bunting. Ber. I do affure you, my Lord, he is very great in knowledge, and accordingly valiant. Laf. I have then finned against his experience, and tranfgrefs'd against his valour; and my state that way is dangerous, fince I cannot yet find in my heart to repent: here he comes; I pray you, make us friends, I will pursue the amity. Enter Paroiles. Par. These things shall be done, Sir, (24) Hel. In every thing I wait upon bis will. Par. I shall report it fo. Hel. I pray you come, firrah.] The pointing of Helen's last short speech stands thus abfurdly, through all the editions. My regulation reftores the true meaning. Upon Parolles saying, he shall report it fo; Helena is intended to reply, I pray you, do fo; and then, turning to the Clown, the more familiarly addresses him, and bids him come along with her. Laf. Laf. I pray you, Sir, who's his taylor ? Laf. O, I know him well; I, Sir, he, Sir's, a good. workman, a very good taylor. Ber. Is she gone to the King? [Afide to Parolles. Par. She is. Ber. Will the away to-night? Par. As you'll have her. Ber. I have writ my letters, casketed my treasure, given order for our horses; and to-night, when I should take poffefssion of the bride-and ere I do beginLaf. A good traveller is something at the latter end of a dinner; but one that lyes three thirds, and uses a known truth to pass a thousand nothings with, should be once heard and thrice beaten-God save you, Captain. Ber. Is there any unkindness between my Lord and you, Monfieur? Par. I know not, how I have deserved to run into my Lord's displeasure. Laf. (25) You have made shift to run into't, boots and spurs and all, like him that leapt into the custard; and out of it you'll run again, rather than fuffer queftion for your refidence. Ber. It may be, you have mistaken him, my Lord. Laf. And shall do so ever, tho' I took him at's prayers. Fare you well, my Lord, and believe this (25) You have made shift to run into't, boots and spurs and all, like bim that leapt into the custard.] This odd allusion is not introduc'd, without a view to satire. It was a foolery practis'd at city-entertainments, whilst the Jefter or Zany was in vogue, for him to jump into a large deep custard; set for the purpose, to set on a quantity of barren spectators to laugh; as our poet says in his Hamlet. I do not advance this without some authority: and a quotation from Ben Jonfon will very well explain it. He ne'er will be admitted there, where Vennor comes. Laugh all their hoods over their shoulders. Dovil's an Afs, A& I. Sc. I. of |