Laf. And not be all day neither. Nay, I'll fit you, [Exit LAFEL. King. Thus he his special nothing ever prologues. Re-enter LAFEU, with HELENA. This haste hath wings, indeed. Laf. Nay, come your ways. King. Laf. Nay, come your ways. This is his majesty, say your mind to him: A traitor you do look like; but such traitors His majesty seldom fears. I am Cressid's uncle, [Exit. King. Now, fair one, does your business follow us? Hel. Ay, my good lord. Gerard de Narbon was my father; In what he did profess well found. King. I knew him. Hel. The rather will I spare my praises towards him; Knowing him, is enough. Many receipts he gave me; chiefly one, Safer than mine own two, more dear. I have so; With all bound humbleness. King. We thank you, But may not be so credulous of cure: To empirics; or to dissever so maiden; Our great self and our credit, to esteem A senseless help, when help past sense we deem. Hel. My duty, then, shall pay me for my pains: King. I cannot give thee less, to be call'd grateful. Hel. What I can do, can do no hurt to try,, So holy writ in babes hath judgment shown, When judges have been babes. Great floods have flown King. I must not hear thee: fare thee well, kind maid. It is not so with him that all things knows, King. Art thou so confident? Within what space Hop'st thou my cure? Hel. The greatest grace lending grace, Ere twice the horses of the sun shall bring Hel. Tax of impudence, A strumpet's boldness, a divulged shame, Traduc'd by odious ballads; my maiden's name With vilest torture let my life be ended. King. Methinks, in thee some blessed spirit doth speak, In common sense, sense saves another way. Hel. If I break time, or flinch in property Of what I spoke, unpitied let me die; And well deserv'd. Not helping, death 's my fee; But, if I help, what do you promise me? King. Make thy demand. Hel. But will you make it even? King. Ay, by my sceptre, and my hopes of heaven. Hel. Then shalt thou give me with thy kingly hand What husband in thy power I will command: Exempted be from me the arrogance To choose from forth the royal blood of France, King. Here is my hand; the premises observ'd, More should I question thee, and more I must, SCENE II. - [Flourish. Exeunt. Rousillon. A Room in the COUNTESS's Palace. Enter COUNTESS and Clown. Count. Come on, Sir: I shall now put you to the height of your breeding. Clo. I will show myself highly fed, and lowly taught. Iknow my business is but to the court. Count. To the court! why, what place make you special, when you put off that with such contempt? But to the court! Clo. Truly, Madam, if God have lent a mau any manners, he may easily put it off at court: he that cannot make a leg, put off's cap, kiss his hand, and say nothing, has neither leg, hands, lip, nor cap; and, indeed, such a fellow, to say precisely, were not for the court. But, for me, I have an answer will serve all men. Count. Marry, that's a bountiful answer, that fits all ques tions. Clo. It is like a barber's chair, that fits all buttocks; the pin-buttock, the quatch-buttock, the brawn-buttock, or any buttock. Count. Will your answer serve fit to all questions? Clo. As fit as ten groats is for the hand of an attorney, as your French crown for your taffata punk, as Tib's rush for Tom's fore-finger, as a pancake for Shrove-Tuesday, a morris for Mayday, as the nail to his hole, the cuckold to his horn, as a scolding quean to a wrangling knave, as the nun's lip to the friar's mouth; nay, as the pudding to his skin. Count. Have you, I say, an answer of such fitness for all questions? Clo. From below your duke, to beneath your constable, it will fit any question. Count. It must be an answer of most monstrous size, that must fit all demands. Clo. But a trifle neither, in good faith, if the learned should speak truth of it. Here it is, and all that belongs to 't: ask me, if I am a courtier; it shall do you no harm to learn. Count. To be young again, if we could. I will be a fool in question, hoping to be the wiser by your answer. Sir, are you a courtier? I pray you, Count. Sir, I am a poor friend of yours, that loves you. 66 Count. Do you cry, "O Lord, Sir," at your whipping, and "spare not me?" Indeed, your O Lord, Sir," is very sequent to your whipping: you would answer very well to a whipping, if you were but bound to 't. Clo. I ne'er had worse luck in my life, in my - "O Lord, Sir." I see, things may serve long, but not serve ever. |