my instruction shall serve to naturalize thee, so thou wilt be capable of a courtier's counsel, and understand what advice shall thrust upon thee; else thou diest in thine unthankfulness, and thine ignorance makes thee away farewell. When thou hast leisure, say thy prayers; when thou hast none, remember thy friends: get thee a good husband, and use him as he uses thee: so farewell.

[Exit

Hel. Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie, Which we ascribe to heaven: the fated sky Gives us free scope; only, doth backward pull Our slow designs, when we ourselves are dull. What power is it, which mounts my love so high; That makes me see, and cannot feed mine eye? The mightiest space in fortune nature brings To join like likes, and kiss like native things. Impossible be strange attempts, to those That weigh their pains in sense; and do suppose, What hath been cannot be: Who ever strove To show her merit, that did miss her love? The king's disease-my project may deceive me. But my intents are fix'd, and will not leave me. [Erit,

SCENE II.-Paris. A room in the King's palace. Flourish of cornets. Enter the King of France, with letters; Lords and others attending.

King. The Florentines and Senoys are by th' ears; Have fought with equal fortune, and continue

A braving war.

1 Lord.

So 'tis reported, sir.

King. Nay, 'tis most credible; we here receive it A certainty, vouch'd from our cousin Austria,

With caution, that the Florentine will move us
For speedy aid; wherein our dearest friend
Prejudicates the business, and would seem
To have us make denial.

1 Lord.

His love and wisdom,

Approv'd so to your majesty, may plead
For amplest credence.

King.
And Florence is denied before he comes :
Yet, for our gentlemen, that mean to see
The Tuscan service, freely have they leave
To stand on either part.

He hath arm'd our answer,

2 Lord.
It may well serve
A nursery to our gentry, who are sick
For breathing and exploit.

King.

What's he comes here?

Enter BERTRAM, LAFEU, and Parolles.

1 Lord. It is the count Rousillon, my good lord, Young Bertram.

King.

Youth, thou bear'st thy father's face; Frank nature, rather curious than in haste, Hath well compos'd thee. Thy father's moral parts May'st thou inherit too! Welcome to Paris.

Ber. My thanks and duty are your majesty's. King. I would I had that corporal soundness now, As when thy father, and myself, in friendship First try'd our soldiership! He did look far Into the service of the time, and was Discipled of the bravest: he lasted long; But on us both did haggish age steal on, And wore us out of act. It much repairs me To talk of your good father: In his youth

He had the wit, which I can well observe

To-day in our young lords; but they may jest,
Till their own scorn return to them unnoted,
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,
Clock to itself, knew the true minute when
Exception bid hin speak, and, at this time,
His tongue obey'd his hand: who were below him
He us'd as creatures of another place;

And bow'd his eminent top to their low ranks,
Making them proud of his humility,

In their poor praise he humbled: Such a man
Might be a copy to these younger times;

Which, follow'd well, would démonstrate them now
But goers backward.

Ber.

His good remembrance, sir,

Lies richer in your thoughts, than on his tomb;
So in approof lives not his epitaph,

As in your royal speech.

King. 'Would, I were with him! He would always

say,

(Methinks, I hear him now; his plausive words
He scatter'd not in years, but grafted them,
To grow there, and to bear,)—Let me not live,-
Thus his good melancholy oft began,
On the catastrophe and heel of pastime,
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
All but new things disdain; whose judgements are
Mere fathers of their garments; whose constancies

Expire before their fashions:-This he wish'd:
I, after him, do after him wish too,

Since I nor wax, nor honey, can bring home,
I quickly were dissolved from my hive,

To give some labourers room.

2 Lord.

You are lov'd, sir;

They, that least lend it you, shall lack you first.
King. I fill a place, I know't.-How long is't, count,
Since the physician at your father's died?

He was much fam'd.

Ber.

Some six months since, my lord.

King. If he were living, I would try him yet; Lend me an arm;—the rest have worn me out With several applications :-nature and sickness Debate it at their leisure. Welcome, count; My son's no dearer.

Ber.

Thank your majesty.

[Exeunt. Flourish.

SCENE III.-Rousillon.

A room in the Countess's

palace.

Enter Countess, Steward, and Clown.

Count. I will now hear: what say you of this gentlewoman?

Stew. Madam, the care I have had to even your content, I wish might be found in the calendar of my past endeavours; for then we wound our modesty, and make foul the clearness of our deservings, when of ourselves we publish them.

Get you gone,

Count. What does this knave here? sirrah: The complaints, I have heard of you, I do not all believe; 'tis my slowness, that I do not: for, I know,

you lack not folly to commit them, and have ability enough to make such knaveries yours.

Clo. 'Tis not unknown to you, madam, I am a poor fellow.

Count. Well, sir.

Clo. No, madam, 'tis not so well, that I am poor; though many of the rich are damned: But, if I may have your ladyship's good will to go to the world, Isbel 'the woman and I will do as we may.

Count. Wilt thou needs be a beggar?

Clo. I do beg your good-will in this case.
Count. In what case?

Service is no

Clo. In Isbel's case, and mine own. heritage: and, I think, I shall never have the blessing of God, till I have issue of my body; for, they say, Dearns are blessings.

Count. Tell me thy reason why thou wilt marry.

Clo. My poor body, madam, requires it: I am driven on oy the flesh; and he must needs go, that the devil drives. Count. Is this all your worship's reason?

Clo. Faith madam, I have other holy reasons, such as they are.

Count. May the world know them?

Clo. I have been, madam, a wicked creature, as you and all flesh and blood are; and, indeed, I do marry, that I may repent.

Count. Thy marriage, sooner than thy wickedness. Clo. I am out of friends, madam; and I hope to have friends for my wife's sake.

Count. Such friends are thine enemies, knave. Clo. You are shallow, madam; e'en great friends; for the knaves come to do that for me, which I am a-weary of. He, that ears my land, spares my team, and gives