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 tried 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 him 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,

d

(Methinks, I hear him now: his plausive words
He scatter'd not in ears, but grafted them, ·
To grow there, and to bear,)-Let me not live,
This 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 judgments are
Mere fathers of their garments; whose constancies
Expire before their fashions.-
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.

SCENE III.

Thank your majesty.

[Exeunt. Flourish.

Rousillon. A Room in the Countess's Palace.

Enter COUNTESS, Steward, and Clown.(2) COUNT. I will now hear: what say you of this gentlewoman?

A very slight alteration would lessen the ambiguity of this passage. We should, perhaps, read,―

"In their poor praise be-humbled."

d When it was out,-] When what was out? The commentators are mute. Does not the whole tenor of the context tend to show that it is a misprint of wit? With this simple change, and supposing the ordinary distribution of the lines to be correct, the purport would be, "Often towards the end of some spirituci disport, when wit was exhausted, he would say." &c.

e With several applications :-] Manifold applications.

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.

COUNT. What does this knave here? Get you gone, 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

To even your content,-] Even is used here, seemingly, as in Act II. Sc. 1:-"But will you make it even?"-in the sense of keep pace with, strike a balance with, equate, &c.

And gave this sentence then; Among nine bad if one be good,

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 wicked

ness.

CLO. I am out o' 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, in 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 me leave to inn the crop: if I be his cuckold, he's my drudge. He, that comforts my wife, is the cherisher of my flesh and blood; he, that cherishes my flesh and blood, loves my flesh and blood; he, that loves my flesh and blood, is my friend; ergo, he that kisses my wife, is my friend. If men could be contented to be what they are, there were no fear in marriage: for young Charbon the puritan, and old Poysamb the papist, howsome'er their hearts are severed in religion, their heads are both one, they may jowl horns together, like any deer i' the herd.

COUNT. Wilt thou ever be a foul-mouthed and calumnious knave?

CLO. A prophet (3) I, madam; and I speak the truth the next way:

For I the ballad will repeat,

Which men full true shall find;
Your marriage comes by destiny,
Your cuckoo sings by kind.a
COUNT. Get you gone, sir, I'll talk with you

You are shallow, madam, in great friends;] This is usually read, "You are shallow, madam; e'en great friends;" and the instances, both in these plays and in contemporaneous books, of in being misprinted for e'en, suggests the probability of a like error here; but the meaning may be, "You are shallow in the uses of great friends."

b Young Charbon the puritan, and old Poysam the papist,-] Malone suggested that the original word was Poisson; an allusion to the practice of eating fish on fast-days, as Charbon might be to the fiery zeal of the puritans.

e The next way:] The nearest way.

Among nine bad if one be good,
There's yet one good in ten.

COUNT. What, one good in ten? you corrupt the song, sirrah.

CLO. One good woman in ten, madam; which is a purifying o' the song.(4) Would God would serve the world so all the year! we'd find no fault with the tithe-woman, if I were the parson: one in ten, quoth a'! an we might have a good woman born but 'fore every blazing star, or at an earthquake, 't would mend the lottery well; a man may draw his heart out, ere 'a pluck one.

COUNT. You'll be gone, sir knave, and do as I command you.

CLO. That man should be at woman's command, and yet no hurt done!-Though honesty be no puritan, yet it will do no hurt; it will wear the surplice of humility over the black gown of a big heart.(5)-I am going, forsooth; the business is for Helen to come hither. [Exit Clown.

COUNT. Well, now.

STEW. I know, madam, you love your gentlewoman entirely.

:

COUNT. 'Faith, I do her father bequeathed her to me; and she herself, without other advantage, may lawfully make title to as much love as she finds; there is more owing her than is paid; and more shall be paid her, than she'll demand.

STEW. Madam, I was very late more near her than, I think, she wished me: alone she was, and did communicate to herself, her own words to her own ears; she thought, I dare vow for her, they touched not any stranger sense. Her matter was, she loved your son: Fortune, she said, was no goddess, that had put such difference betwixt their two estates; Love, no god, that would not extend his might, only where qualities were level; Diana, no queen of virgins, that would suffer her poor knight surprised, without rescue, in the first assault, or ransome afterward. This she delivered in the most bitter touch of sorrow, that e'er I heard virgin exclaim in which I held my duty, speedily to acquaint you withal; sithence, in the

:

(*) First folio, ore.

As cuckoldes come by destinie, So cuckowes sing by kinde."

e Was this fair face the cause, quoth she,-] This is, perhaps, a snatch of some antique ballad, which the fool craftily corrupts, to intimate, in the enigmatical manner of his calling, that he was not altogether ignorant of the subject which his mistress and her steward had met to speak about,

f Diana, no queen of virgins,—] The old text has only "Queene of Virgins;" the two words prefixed by Theobald, are probably as near to the original as can be supplied.

g That would suffer her poor knight surprised,-] This is the lection of the old text, and the phraseology of the poet's age. Theobald inserted the words to be, reading,-"that would suffer her poor knight to be surprised," and he has been followed by every subsequent editor.

HEL. Mine honourable mistress.
COUNT.

Nay, a mother;
Why not a mother? when I said, a mother,
Methought you saw a serpent: what's in mother,
That you start at it? I say, I am your mother;
And put you in the catalogue of those
That were enwombed mine. "T is often seen,
Adoption strives with nature; and choice breeds
A native slip to us from foreign seeds:
You ne'er oppress'd me with a mother's groan,
Yet I express to you a mother's care:-
God's mercy, maiden! does it curd thy blood,
To say, I am thy mother? What's the matter,
That this distemper'd messenger of wet,
The many-colour'd Iris, rounds thine eye?
Why?that you are my daughter?
HEL.

That I am not.

a Or them we thought then none.] The old copy reads,― "Or then we thought them none."

For the transposition of them and then, I am responsible.

I care no more for,-] "There is a designed ambiguity: 'I care no more for,' is 'I care as much for.'"-FARMER. It would somewhat lessen the perplexity of this difficult passage, if we suppose the present line to be spoken aside; but, in truth, the text

HEL. You are my mother, madam; would you were

(So that my lord, your son, were not my brother,) Indeed my mother!-or were you both our mothers,

I care no more for," than I do for heaven,
So I were not his sister: can't no other,
But, I your daughter, he must be my brother?
COUNT. Yes, Helen, you might be my daughter-
in-law;

God shield, you mean it not! daughter, and mother,

So strive upon your pulse: what, pale again?
My fear hath catch'd your fondness: now I see
The mystery of your loneliness,* and find
Your salt tears' head. Now to all sense 'tis gross,
You love my son; invention is asham'd,
Against the proclamation of thy passion,
To say, thou dost not: therefore tell me true;
But tell me then, 'tis so:-for, look, thy checks
Confess it, th' one to th' other:† and thine eyes
See it so grossly shown in thy behaviours,
That in their kind they speak it: only sin
And hellish obstinacy tie thy tongue,
That truth should be suspected. Speak, is't so?
If it be so, you have wound a goodly clue;
If it be not, forswear't: howe'er, I charge thee,
As heaven shall work in me for thine avail,
To tell me truly.

Good madam, pardon me!

love my son?

Your pardon, noble mistress!

COUNT. Love you my son?

HEL.

C

Do not you love him, madam? COUNT. Go not about; my love hath in 't a

bond,

Whereof the world takes note: come, come,

disclose

The state of your affection, for your passions Have to the full appeach'd.

HEL.
Then, I confess,
Here on my knee, before high heaven and you,
That before you, and next unto high heaven,
I love your son :—

My friends were poor, but honest; so's my
Be not offended, for it hurts not him,
That he is lov'd of me; I follow him not
By any token of presumptuous suit,

love:

Nor would I have him, till I do deserve him ;
Yet never know how that desert should be.
I know I love in vain, strive against hope;
Yet, in this captious and intenible ‡ sieve,

I still pour in the waters of my love,

And lack not to lose still: thus, Indian-like,
Religious in mine error, I adore

The sun, that looks upon his worshipper,
But knows of him no more.

My dearest madam,

Let not your hate encounter with my love,
For loving where you do: but, if yourself,
Whose aged honour cites a virtuous youth,
Did ever, in so true a flame of liking,
Wish chastely, and love dearly, that your Dian
Was both herself and Love; O then, give pity
To her, whose state is such that cannot choose,
But lend and give where she is sure to lose;
That seeks not to find that her search implies,
But, riddle-like, lives sweetly where she dies.
COUNT. Had you not lately an intent, speak
truly,

To go to Paris?

HEL,

COUNT.

Madam, I had.

Wherefore? tell true. HEL. I will tell truth; by grace itself, I swear.