Par. Mort du Vinaigre! is not this Helen?
Laf. 'Fore God, I think fo.

King. Go, call before me all the Lords in court.

Sir, my preserver, by thy patient's fide;
And with this healthful hand, whose banish'd sense
Thou haft repeal'd, a second time receive
The confirmation of my promis'd gift;
Which but attends thy naming.

Enter three or four Lords.

Fair maid, fend forth thine eye; this youthful parcel
Of noble batchelors ftand at my bestowing,
O'er whom both fov'reign power and father's voice
I have to use; thy frank election make;
Thou hast power to chuse, and they none to forsake.
Hel. To each of you one fair and virtuous mistress
Fall, when love please! marry, to each but one. -
Laf. I'd give bay curtal and his furniture,
My mouth' no more were broken than these boys,
And writ as little beard.

King. Peruse them well:

Not one of those, but had a noble father.

[She addresses herself to a Lord.

Hel. Gentlemen, heaven hath, through me, restor'd The King to health.

All. We understand it, and thank heaven for you.
Hel. I am a simple maid, and therein wealthiest,

That, I proteft, I fimply am a maid.-
Please it your Majesty, I have done already :
The blushes in my cheeks thus whisper me,
"We blush that thou should'st chuse, but be refus'd;
"Let the white death fit on thy cheek for ever,
"We'll ne'er come there again.
King. Make choice, and see,

Who Thuns thy love, shuns all his love in me.
Hel. Now, Dian, from thy altar do I fly,
And to imperial Love, that God most high,
Do my fighs stream: Sir, will you hear my suit?

1 Lord. And grant it.

Hel. Thanks, Sir; - all the reft is mute.

Laf.

Laf. I had rather be in this choice, than throw amesace for my life.

Hel. The honour, Sir, that flames in your fair eyes,
Before I fpeak, too threatningly replies :
Love make your fortunes twenty times above
Her that so wishes, and her humble love!

2 Lord. No better, if you please.

Hel. My wish receive,

Which great Love grant! and so I take my leave.

Laf. Do all they deny her? if they were fons of mine, I'd have them whipt, or I would fend them to the Turk to make eunuchs of.

Hel. Be not afraid that I your hand should take,
I'll never do you wrong for your own fake:
Blessing upon your vows, and in your bed
Find fairer fortune, if you ever wed!

Laf. These boys are boys of ice, they'll none of her: fure, they are baltards to the English, the French ne'er got 'em.

Hel. You are too young, too happy, and too good,
To make yourself a fon out of my blood.
4 Lord. (12) Fair one, I think not fo.
Laf. There's one grape yet, -
Par. I am fure, thy father drunk wine.
Laf. But if thou be'est not an ass, I am a
Youth of fourteen. I have known thee already.
Hel. I dare not say, I take you; but I give
Me and my service, ever whillt I live,

(12) 4 Lord. Fair One, I think not fo.

Laf. There's one Grape yet, I am fure my Father drunk Wine: but if Thou be'est not an Afs, I am a Youth of fourteen : I have known thee already.] Surely, this is most incongruent Stuff. Lafeu is angry with the other Noblemen for giving Helen the Repuise: and is he angry too, and thinks the fourth Nobleman an Ass, because he's for embracing the Match ? The Whole, certainly, can't be the Speech of one Mouth. As I have divided the Speech, I think, Clearness and Humour are restor'd. And if Parolles were not a little pert and impertinent here to Lafeu, why should he say, he had found him out already? Or why should he quarrel with him in the very next scene?

4

Into your guided power: this is the man. [To Bertram. King. Why then, young Bertram, take her, she's thy

wife.

Ber. My wife, my Liege? I shall beseech your High

nefs, In such a business give me leave to use The help of mine own eyes.

King. Know'st thou not, Bertram,

What the hath done for me?

Ber. Yes, my good Lord,

But never hope to know why I should marry her.

King. Thou know'st, she has rais'd me from my fickly

bed.

Ber. But follows it, my Lord, to bring me down
Must answer for your raising? I know her well :
She had her breeding at my father's charge:
A poor physician's daughter, my wife! - Disdain
Rather corrupt me ever!

King. 'l'is only title thou disdain'st in her, the which
I can build up: strange is it, that our bloods,
Of colour, weight, and heat, pour'd all together,
Would quite confound diftinction, yet stand off
In differences, so mighty. If the be
All that is virtuous, (fave what thou dislik'st,
A poor physician's daughter) thou diflik'ist
Of virtue for the name: but do not fo.

(13) From lowest place when virtuous things proceed,
The place is dignify'd by th' doer's deed.
Where great addition swells, and virtue none,
It is a dropfied honour; good alone,
Is good without a name. Vileness is so:
The property by what it is should go,
Not by the title. She is young, wife, fair;
In these, to nature she's immediate heir;

(13) From lowest Place, whence virtuous Things proceed,

The Place is dignified by th' Doer's Deed.] 'Tis strange, that none of the Editors could perceive, that both the Sentiment and Grammar are defective here. The easy Correction, which I have given, was prescribed to me by the ingenious Dr. Thirlby.

And

And these breed honour: That is honour's scorn,
Which challenges itself as honour's born,
And is not like the fire. Honours best thrive,
When rather from our acts we them derive
Than our fore-goers: the meer word's a flave
Debaucht on every tomb, on every grave;
A lying trophy; (14) and as oft is dumb,
Where duft and damn'd oblivion is the tomb
Of honour'd bones, indeed. What should be faid?
If thou can't like this creature as a maid,
I can create the rest: virtue and she,
Is her own dow'r; honour and wealth from me.
Ber. I cannot love her, nor will strive to do't..
King. Thou wrong'st thyself, if thou should'st strive
to chuse.

Hel. That you are well restor'd, my lord, I'm glad : Let the rest go.

King. (15) My honour's at the stake; which to defend, I must produce my power. Here, take her hand, Proud scornful boy, unworthy this good gift! That doft in vile misprision shackle up My love, and her desert; that canft not dream, We, poizing us in her defective scale, Shall weigh thee to the beam; that wilt not know, It is in us to plant thine honour, where

(14)

and as oft is dumb,

Where Dust and damn'd Oblivion is the Tomb.

Of bonour'd Bones, indeed, what should be faid?] This is such pretty Stuff, indeed, as is only worthy of its accurate Editors! The Transposition of an innocent Stop, or two, is a Task above their Diligence: especially, if common Sense is to be the Result of it. The Regulation, I have given, must strike every Reader so at first Glance, that it needs not a Word in Confirmation.

(15) My Honour's at the Stake; which to defeat

I must produce my Pow'r.) The poor King of France is again made a Man of Gotham, by our unmerciful Editors: What they make him say, is mere mock-reasoning: For he is not to make use of his Authority to defear, but to defend, his Honour,

We

We please to have it grow. Check thy contempt:
Obey our will, which travels in thy good;
Believe not thy disdain, but presently
Do thine own fortunes that obedient right,
Which both thy duty owes, and our power claims;.
Or I will throw thee from my care for ever
Into the staggers, and the careless lapse
Of youth and ignorance; my revenge and haté
Loofing upon thee in the name of justice,
Without all terms of pity. Speak, thine answer.

Ber. Pardon, my gracious Lord; for I fubmit
My fancy to your eyes. When I confider,
What great creation, and what dole of honour
Flies where you bid; I find, that the, which late
Was in my noble thoughts most base, is now
The praised of the King; who, so enobled,
Is, as 'twere, born fo..

King. Take her by the hand,
And tell her, she is thine: to whom I promise
A counterpoize; if not in thy eftate,
A balance more repleat.

Ber. I take her hand..

King. Good fortune, and the favour of the King
Smile upon this contract; whose ceremony
Shall feem expedient on the new-born brief,
And be perform'd to night; the folemn feast
Shall more attend upon the coming space,
Expecting absent friends. As thou lov'st her,
Thy love's to me religious; else does err.

Manent Parolles and Lafeu.

[Exeunt.

Laf. Do you hear, Monfieur? a word with you.
Par. Your pleasure, Sir?

Laf. Your Lord and Master did well to make his re

cantation.

Par. Recantation? - my Lord? my Master?
Laf. Ay, is it not a language I speak?

Par. A most harsh one, and not to be understood

without bloody succeeding. My master?

Laf. Are you companion to the Count Roufillon ?

Par.