1

flow'ry way that leads to the broad gate, and the great fire.

Laf. Go thy ways, I begin to be a weary of thee, and I tell thee fo before, because I would not fall out with thee. Go thy ways, let my horfes be well looked to, without any tricks.

Clo. If I put any tricks upon 'em, they fhall be jades” tricks, which are their own right by the law of nature. [Exit.

Laf. A fhrewd knave, and an unhappy.

Count. So he is. My Lord, that's gone, made himfelf much sport out of him; by his authority he remains here, which he thinks is a patent for his fauciness; and indeed he has no pace, but runs where he will.

Laf. I like him well, 'tis not amifs; and I was about to tell you, fince I heard of the good lady's death, and that my Lord your fon was upon his return home, I moved the King my mafter to speak in the behalf of my daughter; which, in the minority of them both, his Majefty, out of a self-gracious remembrance, did firft propose. His Highness hath promised me to do it; and to ftop up the difpleasure he hath conceived against your fon, there is no fitter matter. How do's your Ladyship like it?

Count. With very much content, my Lord, and I wish it happily effected.

Laf. His Highness comes poft from Marseilles, of as able a body as when he number'd thirty; he will be here to-morrow, or I am deceiv'd by him that in fuch intelligence hath feldom fail'd.

Count. It rejoices me, that hope, that I fhall fee him ere I die. I have letters, that my fon will be here tonight I fhall befeech your Lordship to remain with me till they meet together.

Laf. Madam, I was thinking with what manners I might fafely be admitted.

Count. You need but plead your honourable privilege.

Laf. Lady, of that I have made a bold charter; but I thank my God it holds yet.

Enter Clown.

Clo. O Madam! yonder 's my Lord, your fon, with a patch of velvet on 's face; whether there be a scar under 't, or no, the velvet knows, but 'tis a goodly patch of velvet; his left cheek is a cheek of two pile and a half, but his right cheek is worn bare.

Count. A fcar nobly got, or a noble scar, is a good livery of honour. So belike is that.

Cle. But it is your carbinado'd face *.

Laf. Let us go fee your fon, I pray you: I long to talk with the young noble foldier.

Clo. 'Faith, there's a dozen of 'em with delicate fine hats and moft courteous feathers, which bow the head, and nod at every man.

[Exeunt.

A C T V. S CE NE I.

The court of France, at Marfeilles.

Enter Helena, Widow, and Diana, with two attendants. UT this exceeding pofting day and night

Hel.

Muft wear your spirits low; we cannot help it. But fince you've made the days and nights as one, To wear your gentle limbs in my affairs; Be bold, you do fo grow in my requital, As nothing can unroot you. In happy time,

Enter a Gentleman.

This man may help me to his Majesty's ear,
If he would fpend his power.

Gent. And you.

God fave you, Sir.

Hel. Sir, I have feen you in the court of France.
Gent. I have been fometimes there.

Hel. I do prefume, Sir, that you are not fallen
From the report that goes upon your goodness;
And therefore, goaded with moft fharp occafions
Which lay nice manners by, I put you to

*The joke, fuch as it is, confifts in the allufion to a wound made with a carabine; arms which Henry IV. had made famous, by bringing into ufe amongst his horfe. Mr Warburton.

The ufe of your own virtues, for the which
I fhall continue thankful.

Gent. What's your will?

Hel. That it will please you

To give this poor petition to the King;

And aid me with that ftore of power you have,
To come into his presence.

Gent. The King's not here.

Hel. Not here, Sir?

Gent. Not, indeed.

He hence remov'd laft night, and with more hafte
Than is his use.

Wid. Lord, how we lose our pains!

Hel. All's well that ends well yet,
Tho' time feem fo adverfe, and means unfit.
I do befeech you, whither is he gone ?
Gent. Marry, as I take it, to Roufillon,
Whither I'm going.

Hel. I befeech you, Sir,

Since you are like to fee the King before me,
Commend this paper to his gracious hand;
Which, I prefume, fhall render you no blame,
But rather make you thank your pains for it.
I will come after you with what good speed
Our means will make us means.

Gent. This I'll do for you.

Hel. And you shall find yourself to be well thank'd, Whate'er falls more. We must to horse again.

Go, go, provide.

[Exeunt.

Changes to Roufillon.

Enter Clown and Parolles.

Par. Good Mr Levatch, give my Lord Lafeu this letter: I have ere now, Sir, been better known to you, when I have held familiarity with fresher cloaths; but am now, Sir, muddied in Fortune's moat, and fmell fomewhat ftrong of her ftrong difpleafure.

I

Clo. Truly, Fortune's difpleafure is but fluttifh, if it fmell fo ftrongly as thou fpeak'ft of: I will henceforth eat no fish of Fortune's butt'ring. Pr'ythee, allow the wind.

Par. Nay, you need not to ftop your nofe, Sir; I fpake but by a metaphor.

Clo. Indeed, Sir, if your metaphor ftink, I will stop my nofe against any man's metaphor. Pr'ythee, get thee further.

Par. Pray you, Sir, deliver me this paper.

Clo. Foh! pr'ythee, ftand away; a paper from Fortune's clofe-ftool, to give to a Nobleman! look, here he comes himfelf.

Enter Lafeu.

Here is a pur of Fortune's, Sir, or Fortune's cat, (but not a mufk-cat), that hath fall'n into the unclean fifhpond of her displeasure, and, as he fays, is muddied withal. Pray you, Sir, ufe the carp as you may; for he looks like a poor, decayed, ingenious, foolish, rafcally knave. I do pity his diftrefs in my fimilies of comfort, and leave him to your Lordship. Par. My Lord, I am a man whom Fortune hath cruelly fcratch'd.

Laf. And what would you have me to do! 'tis too late to pare her nails now. Wherein have you play'd the knave with Fortune, that she should scratch you, who of herself is a good lady, and would not have knaves thrive long under her? there's a quart-d'ecu for you: let the juftices make you and Fortune friends; I am for other bufinefs.

Par. I befeech your Honour to hear me one single word.

Laf. You beg a fingle penny more: come, you fhall ha't, fave your word.

Par. My name, my good Lord, is Parolles.

Laf. You beg more than one word then. Cox' my paffion! give me your hand: how does your drum ? Par. O my good Lord, you were the firft that found

me.

Laf. Was I, in footh? and I was the firft that loft thee.

Par. It lies in you, my Lord, to bring me in fome grace, for you did bring me out.

Laf. Out upon thee, knave! doft thou put upon me at once both the office of God and the devil? one

brings thee in grace, and the other brings thee out. [Sound trumpets.] The King's coming, I know, by his trumpets. Sirrah, inquire further after me, I had talk you laft night; tho' you are a fool and a knave, you fhall eat; go to, follow.

of

Par. I praife God for you.

S C ENE

[Exeunt.

III.

Flourish. Enter King, Countess, Lafeu, the two French Lords, with attendants.

King. We loft a jewel of her, our esteem *

Was made much poorer by it; but your

As mad in folly, lack'd the fenfe to know
Her eftimation home.

Count. 'Tis paft, my Liege;

And I beseech your Majefty to make it

fon,

Natural rebellion, done i' th' blaze of youth,
When oil and fire, too ftrong for reafon's force,
O'erbears it, and burns on.

King. My honour'd Lady,

I have forgiven and forgotten all;

Tho' my revenges were high bent upon him,
And watch'd the time to fhoot.

Laf. This I must say,

But first I beg my pardon; the young Lord
Did to his Majefty, his mother, and his lady,
Offence of mighty note; but to himself
The greateft wrong of all. He loft a wife,
Whofe beauty did aftonish the furvey

Of richeft eyes; whofe words all ears took captive;
Whose dear perfection, hearts that scorn'd to serve,
Humbly call'd Mistress...

King. Praifing what is loft,

Makes the remembrance dear. Well

hither;

We're reconcil'd, and the first view fhall kill
All repetition: let him not ask our pardon.
The nature of his great offence is dead,
And deeper than oblivion we do bury

call him

Efteem is here ufed for eftimation, in the fenfe of worth, eftate.
VOL. III.

G