Imatges de pÓgina

Per. Well, thou hast a fon shall take this disgrace off

me; scurvy, old, filthy, scurvy Lord !--well, I muft 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 ofmI'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 mistrefs.

Par. I moft unfeignedly beseech your Lordfhip to make some reservation of your wrongs. He, my good Lord, whom I serve above, is my master.'

Laf. Who? Godi
Par. Ay, Sir.

Laf. The devil it is, that's thy master. Why doft thou garter up thy arms o'this fashion doft make hofe of thy Reeves: do other fervants for thou wert beft fet thy lower part where thy nose stands. By mine: honour, if I were but two hours younger, I'd beat thee: methinks, thou art a general offence, and every man should beat thee. I think, thou waft created for men to breathe themselves upon thee.

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 faucy with Lords and honourable personages, than the commission of your birth and virtue gives you heraldry. You are not worth another word, elle I'd call you knave. I

Enter Bertram.
Par. Good, very good, it is fo then.-Good, very
good, let it be conceal'd awhile.

Ber. Undone, and forfeited to cares for ever?
Par. What is the matter, fweet heart ?

Ber. Although before the folemn priest I've sworn,
I will not bed her.


leave you.

Par. What? what, sweet 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 unseen,
That hugs his kicksy-wickfy here at home;
Spending his manly marrow in her arms,
Which should suftain the bound and high curvet
Of Mars's fiery steed: to other regions
France is a stable, we that dwell in't jades,
Therefore to th' war.

Ber. It shall be so, I'll fend her to my house,
Acquaint my mother with my hate to her,
And wherefore I am fled; write to the King
That which I durft not speak. His present 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.
P'll fend her straight away: to-morrow
· I'll to the wars, the to her single forrow.
Par hy, these balls bound, there's noise in ic.

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, huh! 'tis so.

[Exeunt. Enter Helena and Clown. Hel. My mother greets me kindly, is the well?

Clo. She is not well, but yet he has her health ;, The's

very merry, but yet fhe is not well; but, thanks be given, The's very well, and wants nothing i' th' world; but yet she is not well.


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Hel. I me be very well, what does he ail, that she's

well ? Clo. Truly, she's very well, indeed, but for two things. Hel. What two things?

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

Enter Parolles.
Par, Bless 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


ħad her wrinkles and I her money, I would, she did, as you say.

Par. Why, I say nothing.

Clo. Marry, you are the wiser man; for many a man's tongue shakes out his master's undoing : to say 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 said, “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 search, Sir, was profitable, and much fool may you find in you, even to the world's pleasure, and the encrease of laughter.

Par. A good knave, i' faith, and well fed. Madam, my Lord will go away to-night, A very serious business 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 whose delay, is strew'd with sweets Whịch they distil now in the curbed time,


To make the coming hour o'erflow with joy,
And pleasure drown the brim.

Hel. What's his will else?

Par. That you will take your inftant leave o'th'King, And make this haste as your own good proceeding; Strengthen’d with what apology, you think, May make it probable need.

Hel. What more commands he ?

Par. That having this obtain'd, you prefently
Attend his further pleasure.

Hel. (24) In every thing I wait upon his will.
Par. I shall report it so.

[Exit Par. Hel. I pray you.--Come, firrah. [To Clown.

[Exeunt. Enter Lafeu and Bertram. Laf. But, I hope, your Lordship thinks not him a soldier.

Ber. Yes, my Lord, and of very valiant approof.
Laf. You have it from his own deliverance.
Ber. And by other warranted teftimony.

Laf. Then my dial goes not true; I took this lark for a bunting

Ber. I do assure you, my Lord, he is very great in knowledge, and accordingly valiant.

Laf. I have then finned against his experience, and transgress'd against his valour; and my state that way is dangerous, since I cannot yet find in my heart to repent: here he comes; I pray you, make us friends, I will pursue the amity,

Enter Paroiles.
Par. These things thall be done, Sir,
(24) Hel. In every thing I wait upon bis will.

Par. I shall report it fo.

Hel. I pray you come, firrah.] The pointing of Helen's last short speech stands thus abfurdly, through all the editions. My regulation restores the true meaning. Upon Parolles saying, he shall report it so; Helena is intended to reply, I pray you, do so; and then, turning to the Clown, the more familiarly addresses him, and bids him come along with her,


Laf. I pray you, Sir, who's his taylor ;
Par. Sir?

Laf. O, I know him well; I, Sir, he, Sir's, a good workman, a very good taylor,

Ber. Is she gone to the King? [ Afide to Parolles.
Par. She is.
Ber. Will the away to-night?
Par. As you'll have her.

Ber. I have writ my letters, casketed my treasure, given order for our horses; and to-night, when I thould take possession of the bride-and ere I do begin

Laf. A good traveller is something at the latter end of a dinner; but one that lyes three thirds, and uses

known truth to pass a thousand nothings with, should be once heard and thrice beaten-God save you, Captain.

Ber. Is there any unkindness between my Lord and


you, Monsieur ?

Par. know not, how I have deserved to run into my Lord's displeasure.

Laf. (25) You have made thift to run into't, boots and spurs and all, like him that leapt into the custard; and out of it you'll run again, rather than suffer queftion for


residence. Ber. It may be, you have mistaken him, my Lord.

Laf. And shall do so ever, tho' I took him at's prayers. Fare you well, my Lord, and believe this

(25) You bave made shift to run into't, boots and spurs and all, like bim ibat leapt into the custard.] This odd allusion is not introduc'd, without a view to satire. It was a foolery practis'd at city-entertainments, whilst the Jefter or Zany was in vogue, for him to jump into a large deep custard; set for the purpose, to set on a quantity of barren spectators to laugh; as our poet says in his Hamlet. I do not advance this without some authority: and a quotation from Ben Jonson will very well explain it.

He ne'er will be admitted there, where Vennor comes.
He may, perchance, in tail of a Sherriff's dinner,
Skip with a rhyme o'th' table, from new-nothing;
And take his Almaine leap into a custard,
Shall make my Lady Mayoress and her sisters
Laugh all their hoods over their shoulders.

Devil's an Ass, Act I, Sc. I.


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