nerets about thee did manifoldly diffuade me from believing thee a veffel of too great a burden. I have now found thee; when I lofe 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

thee

Laf. Do not plunge thyfelf too far in anger, left thou haften thy trial; which if,-Lord have mercy on thee for a hen! fo, my good window of lattice, fare thee well; thy cafement I need not open, I look thro' thee. Give me thy hand.

Par. My Lord, you give me moft 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 fcruple.

Par. Well, I fhall be wiser

Laf. Ev'n as foon as thou can'ft, for thou haft to pull at a fmack o' th' contrary. If ever thou be'st bound in thy scarf and beaten, thou shalt 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 in the default, 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: for doing, I am past; as I will by thee, in what motion age will give me leave,

4 taking up,] To take up, is to contradict, to call to account, as well as to pick off the ground.

[Exit.

Par.

1

Par. Well, thou haft a fon fhall take this difgrace off me; 7 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, than I would have of-I'll beat him, an if I could but meet him again.

Re-enter Lafeu.

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

Par. I moft unfeignedly befeech your Lordship to make some reservation of your wrongs. He, my good Lord, whom I ferve above, is my master.

Laf. Who? God?

Par. Ay, Sir.

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 fervants fo? thou wert beft fet thy lower part where thy nofe ftands. By mine honour, if I were but two hours younger, I'd beat thee methinks, thou art a general offence, and every man fhould beat thee. I think, thou waft created for men to breathe themfelves upon thee.

are will give me leave.] Here is a line loft after past; fo that it fhould be distinguished by a break with afterifks. The very words of the loft line it is impofiible to retrieve; but the fenfe is obvious enough. For doing I am pat; age has deprived me of much of my force and vigour, yet I have till enough to fhew the world I can do myself right, as I will by thee, in what motion for in the best manner] age will give me leave.

WARBURTON.

This fufpicion of a chafm

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 fawcy with lords and honourable perfonages, than the heraldry of your birth and virtue gives you commiffion. You are not worth another word, elfe I'd call you knave. I leave you. [Exit.

SCENE VIII.

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 fworn, 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 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, unfeen,

That hugs his kickfy-wickfy here at home;
Spending his manly marrow in her arms,
Which fhould 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,

In former copies :

than the commiffin of your birth and virtue gives you

heraldry.] Sir Tho. Hanmer reftored it.

Acquaint

Acquaint my mother with my hate to her,
And wherefore I am fled; write to the King
That which I durft not fpeak. His prefent 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 capricio hold in thee, art fure? Ber. Go with me to my chamber, and advise me. I'll fend her straight away: to-morrow

I'll to the wars, fhe to her fingle forrow.

Par. Why, these balls bound, there's noise in it.— 'Tis hard;

A young man, married, is a man that's marr'd:
Therefore away, and leave her bravely; go,
The King has done you wrong: but, hush! 'tis fo.
[Exeunt.

Hel. My mother greets me kindly, is fhe well? Clo. She is not well, but yet fhe has her health; fhe's very merry, but yet fhe is not well: but, thanks be given, fhe's very well, and wants nothing i'th' world; but yet fhe is not well.

Hel. If fhe be very well, what does fhe ail, that she's not very well?

Clo. Truly, fhe's very well, indeed, but for two things.

Hel. What two things?

Clo. One, that fhe's not in heav'n, whither God fend her quickly; the other, that she's in earth, from whence God fend her quickly!

To the dark boufe,-] The dark boufe is a houfe made gloomy by discontent. Milton fays of death and the king of Hell

pre

paring to combat,

So frown'd the mighty comba-
tants, that Hell
Grew darker at their frown,
Enter

Enter Parolles.

Par. Blefs 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 ftill. O, my knave, how does my old lady?

Clo. So that you had her wrinkles and I her mony, I would, fhe did, as you say.

Par. Why, I fay nothing.

Clo. Marry, you are the wifer man; for many a man's tongue shakes out his master's undoing: to fay 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 fhould have faid, 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 fearch, Sir, was profitable, and much fool may you find in you, even to the world's pleasure, and the increase of laughter.

Par. A good knave, i'faith, and well fed.
Madam, my Lord will go away to night,
A very serious bufinefs calls on him.
The great prerogative and rite of love,

Which, as your due, time claims, he does acknowledge;
But puts it off by a compell'd restraint:

Whose want, and whofe delay,' is ftrew'd with fweets Which they diftil now in the curbed time,

To make the coming hour o'erflow with joy,

Whofe want, and whofe delay, &c.] The faweets with which this want are firewed, I

fuppofe, are compliments and profeffions of kindness.

And