For speedy aid; wherein our dearest friend
Prejudicates the business, and would seem
To have us make denial.

1 Lord.

His love and wisdom,

Approved so to your majesty, may plead
For amplest credence.

King.

He hath arm'd our answer,
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.

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 composed thee. Thy father's moral parts Mayst 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 1 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 honor.
So like a courtier, contempt nor bitterness
Were in his pride or sharpness; if they were,
His equal had awaked them; and his honor,
Clock to itself, knew the true minute when
Exception bid him speak, and, at this time,
His tongue obey'd his 2 hand: who were below him
He used 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 demonstrate them now But goers backward.

Ber.

His good remembrance, sir,

Lies richer in your thoughts than on his tomb;

So in approof 3 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 ears, but grafted them,

1 Renovates.

2 Its.

3 Approbation.

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 judgments are
Mere fathers of their garments; 1 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 laborers room.

2 Lord.

They, that least lend it

You are loved, sir;

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 famed.

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. Florish.

1 Merely inventors of new modes of dress.

Rousillon.

SCENE III.

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,1 I wish might be found in the calendar of my past endeavors; 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.

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

Count. Well, sir.

Clown. 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?

Clown. I do beg your good will in this case.

To act up to your desires.

2 To be married.

Count. In what case?

Clown. In Isbel's case, and mine own. Service is no heritage; and, I think, I shall never have the blessing of God, till I have issue of my body; for, they say, bearns 1 are blessings.

1

Count. Tell me thy reason why thou wilt marry.

Clown. My poor body, madam, requires it: I am driven on by the flesh; and he must needs go, that the devil drives.

Count. Is this all your worship's reason?

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

Count. May the world know them?

Clown. 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. Clown. I am out of friends, madam; and I hope to have friends for my wife's sake.

Count. Such friends are thine enemies, knave.

2

Clown. You are shallow, madam; ev'n great friends; for the knaves come to do that for me, which I am aweary 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