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the third, the Reply churlish; the fourth, the Reproof valiant; the fifth, the Countercheck quarrelsome; the sixth, the Lie with circumstance; the seventh, the Lie direct. All these you may avoid but the lie direct; and you may avoid that too, with an If. I knew when seven justices could not take up a quarrel: but when the parties were met themselves, one of them thought but of an If, as If you said so, then I said so; and they shook hands, and swore brothers. Your If is the only peace-maker; much virtue in If.

Jaq. Is not this a rare fellow, my lord? he's as good as any thing, and yet a fool.

Duke S. He uses his folly like a stalking-horse, and under the presentation of that he shoots his wit.

Enter Hymen, leading Rosalind in woman's clothes; and Celia.

Still Musick.

HYM.Then is there mirth in heaven,
When earthly things made even
Atone together.

Good duke, receive thy daughter,
Hymen from heaven brought her,
Yea, brought her hither;

That thou mightst join her hand with his,
Whose heart within her bosom is.

Ros. [To Duke S.] To you I give myself, for I am yours. [yours. [To Orlando.] To you I give myself, for I am Duke S. If there be truth in sight, you are my daughter.

Orl. If there be truth in sight, you are my Phe. If sight and shape be true, [Rosalind. Why then,-my love, adieu!

Ros. [To Duke S.] I'll have no father, if you

be not he:

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[To Phebe.] Nor ne'er wed woman, if you be not she.

Hym. Peace, ho! I bar confusion:

"Tis I must make conclusion

Of these most strange events:
Here's eight that must take hands,
To join in Hymen's bands,

If truth holds true contents.1
You and you no cross shall part:

[To Orlando and Rosalind.
You and you are heart in heart:
[To Oliver and Celia.
You [To Phebe.] to his love must accord,
Or have a woman to your lord:-
You and you are sure together,

[To Touchstone and Audrey.

As the winter to foul weather.
Whiles a wedlock-hymn we sing,
Feed yourselves with questioning:
That reason wonder may diminish,
How thus we met, and these things finish.

SONG.

Wedding is great Juno's crown:

O blessed bond of board and bed! 'Tis Hymen peoples every town; High wedlock then be honoured: 1 Acquiescence.

Honour, high honour and renown, To Hymen, god of every town! Duke S. O my dear niece, welcome thou art Even daughter, welcome in no less degree. Phe. [To Silvius.] I will not eat my word, now thou art mine;

to me;

Thy faith my fancy to thee doth combine.
Enter Jaques de Bois.

Jaq. de B. Let me have audience for a word, or two;

I am the second son of old Sir Rowland,
That bring these tidings to this fair assembly:-
Duke Frederick, hearing how that every day
Men of great worth resorted to this forest,
Address'd1 a mighty power! which were on foot,
In his own conduct, purposely to take
His brother here, and put him to the sword:
And to the skirts of this wild wood he came;
Where, meeting with an old religious man,
After some questions with him, was converted
Both from his enterprize, and from the world:
His crown bequeathing to his banish'd brother,
And all their lands restor❜d to them again
That were with him exil'd: This to be true,
I do engage my life.
Duke S.

Welcome, young man ;
Thou offer'st fairly to thy brothers' wedding:
To one, his lands withheld: and to the other,
A land itself at large, a potent dukedom.
First, in this forest, let us do those ends
That here were well begun, and well begot:
And after, every of this happy number, [us,
That have endur'd shrewd days and nights with
Shall share the good of our returned fortune,
According to the measure of their states.
Meantime, forget this new-fall'n dignity,
And fall into our rustick revelry:- [all,
Play, musick; and you brides and bridegrooms
With measure heap'd in joy, to the measures fall.

Jaq. Sir, by your patience; if I heard you The duke hath put on a religious life, [rightly, And thrown into neglect the pompous court? Jaq. de B. He hath.

Jaq. To him will I: out of these converties3 There is much matter to be heard and learned.[To Duke S.] You to your former honour I bequeath;

Your patience, and your virtue, well deserves it:[doth merit:You [To Orlando. ] to a love, that your true faith You [To Oliver.] to your land, and love, and

great allies:

You [To Sil.] to a long and well deserved bed ;And you [To Touchstone.] to wrangling, for thy loving voyage [pleasures;

Is but for two months victual'd:-So to your I am for other than for dancing measures. Duke S. Stay, Jaques, stay.

Jaq. To see no pastime, I:-what you would have

I'll stay to know at your abandon'd cave. [Exit. Duke S. Proceed, proceed: we will begin these

rites,

And we do trust they'll end, in true delights. [A dance.

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EPILOGUE.

Ros. It is not the fashion to see the lady the epilogue: but it is no more unhandsome, than to see the lord the prologue. If it be true, that good wine needs no bush, 'tis true, that a good play needs no epilogue: Yet to good wine they do use good bushes; and good plays prove the better by the help of good epilogues. What a case am I in then, that am neither a good epilogue, nor cannot insinuate with you in the behalf of a good play? I am not furnished1 like a beggar, therefore to beg will not become me: my way is, to

and I'll begin with the women. I conjure you; charge you, O women, for the love you bear to men, to like as much of this play as pleases them: and so I charge you, O men, for the love you bear to women (as I perceive by your simpering, none of you hate them), that between you and the women, the play may please. If I were a woman I would kiss as many of you as had beards that pleased me, and complexions that liked1 me: and, I am sure, as many as have good beards, or good faces, will, for my kind offer, when I make curts'y, bid me farewell. [Exeunt.

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COUNTESS OF ROUSILLON, Mother to Bertram. HELENA, a Gentlewoman protected by the Countess.

An old Widow of Florence.

DIANA, Daughter to the Widow.

VIOLENTA, Neighbours and Friends to the MARIANA,

Widow.

Steward, Servants to the Countess of Rousillon. Lords, attending on the King; Officers, Soldiers,

Clown,

A Page.

&c., French and Florentine.

SCENE.-Partly in France, and partly in Tuscany.

Act First.

SCENE I.-ROUSILLON. A ROOM IN THE COUNTESS'S PALACE.

Enter Bertram, the Countess of Rousillon, Helena, and Lafeu, in mourning. Countess. In delivering my son from me, I bury a second husband.

Ber. And I, in going, madam, weep o'er my father's death anew: but I must attend his majesty's command, to whom I ain now in ward, evermore in subjection.

Laf. You shall find of the king a husband, madam;-you, sir, a father: He that so generally is at all times good, must of necessity hold his virtue to you; whose worthiness would stir it up where it wanted, rather than lack it where there is such abundance.

Count. What hope is there of his majesty's amendment?

Laf. He hath abandoned his physicians, madam; under whose practices he hath persecuted time with hope; and finds no other advantage in the process but only the losing of hope by time.

Count. This young gentlewoman had a father, 1 Dressed,

(0, that had! how sad a passage 'tis !) whose skill was almost as great as his honesty; had it stretched so far, would have made nature immortal, and death should have play for lack of work. 'Would, for the king's sake, he were living! I think, it would be the death of the king's disease. [madam?

Laf. How called you the man you speak of, C. He was famous, sir, in his profession, and it was his great right to be so: Gerard de Narbon.

Laf. He was excellent, indeed, madam; the king very lately spoke of him, admiringly, and mourningly; he was skilful enough to have lived still, if knowledge could be set up against mortality.-Was this gentlewoman the daughter of Gerard de Narbon?

Count. His sole child, my lord; and bequeathed to my overlooking. I have those hopes of her good, that her education promises: her dispositions she inherits, which make fair gifts fairer; for where an unclean mind carries virtuous qualities, there commendations go with pity, they are virtues and traitors too: in her they are the better for their simpleness; she derives her honesty, and achieves her goodness. Laf. Your commendations, madam, get from her tears.

1 That I liked.

Count. "Tis the best brine a maiden can season her praise in. The remembrance of her father never approaches her heart, but the tyranny of her sorrows takes all livelihood from her cheek. No more of this, Helena, go to,no more; lest it be rather thought you affect a sorrow, than to have. Hel. I do affect a sorrow, indeed, but I have it too.

Laf. Moderate lamentation is the right of the dead, excessive grief the enemy to the living. Count. If the living be enemy to the grief, the excess makes it soon mortal.

Ber. Madam, I desire your holy wishes.
Laj. How understand we that?
Count. Be thou blast, Bertram! and succeed
thy father

In manners, as in shape! thy blood, and virtue,
Contend for empire in thee; and thy goodness
Share with thy birth-right! Love all, trust a few,
Do wrong to none: be able for thine enemy
Rather in power, than use; and keep thy friend
Under thy own life's key: be check'd for silence,
But never tax'd for speech. What heaven more
will,

That thee may furnish, and my prayers pluck Fall on thy head! Farewell.-My lord, [down, "Tis an unseason'd courtier; good my lord, Advise him.

Laf. He cannot want the best That shall attend his love.

C. Heaven bless him!-Farewell, Bertram. [Exit Countess. Ber. [To Helena.] The best wishes, that can be forged in your thoughts, be servants to you! Be comfortable to my mother, your mistress, and make much of her.

Laj. Farewell, pretty lady: You must hold the credit of your father.

[Exeunt Bertram and Lafeu. Hel. O, were that all!-I think not on my father; [more And these great tears grace his remembrance Than those I shed for him. What was he like? I have forgot him: my imagination Carries no favour in it, but Bertram's. I am undone; there is no living, none, If Bertram be away. It were all one, That I should love a bright particular star, And think to wed it, he is so above me: In his bright radiance and collateral light Must I be comforted, not in his sphere. The ambition in my love thus plagues itself: The hind, that would be mated by the lion, Must die for love. "Twas pretty, though a plague, To see him every hour; to sit and draw His arched brows, his hawking eye, his curls, In our heart's table; heart, too capable Of every line and trick1 of his sweet favour2; But now he's gone, and my idolatrous fancy Must sanctify his relicks. Who comes here?

Enter Parolles.

One that goes with him: I love him for his sake;
And yet I know him a notorious liar,
Think him a great way fool, solely a coward;
Yet these fix'd evils sit so fit in him,
That they take place, when virtue's steely bones
1 Peculiarity of feature. 2 Countenance.

Look bleak in the cold wind: withal, full oft

we see

Cold wisdom waiting on superfluous folly.
Par. Save you, fair queen.

Hel. And you, monàrch.-You're for the court.
There shall your master have a thousand loves,
A mother, and a mistress, and a friend,
A phoenix, captain, and an enemy,
A guide, a goddess, and a sovereign,
A counsellor, a traitress, and a dear;
His humble ambition, proud humility,
His jarring concord, and his discord dulcet,
His faith, his sweet disaster; with a world
Of pretty, fond, adoptious Christendoms,
That blinking Cupid gossips. Now shall he-
I know not what he shall;-God send him well!-
The court's a learning-place; and he is one——————
Par. What one, i' faith?

Hel. That I wish well.-'Tis pity
Par. What's pity?

Hel. That wishing well had not a body in 't, Which might be felt: that we, the poorer born, Whose baser stars do shut us up in wishes, Might with effects of them follow our friends, And showwhat we alone must think; which never Returns us thanks.

Enter a Page.

Page. Monsieur Parolles, my lord calls for you. [Exit Page. Par. Little Helen, farewell: If I can remember thee, I will think of thee at court. Hel. Monsieur Parolles, you were born under a charitable star.

Par. Under Mars, I.

Hel. I especially think, under Mars.
Par. Why under Mars?

Hel. The wars have so kept you under, that you must needs be born under Mars. Par. When he was predominant.

Hel. When he was retrograde, I think, rather. Par. Why think you so?

H. You go so much backward, when you fight. Par. That's for advantage.

Hel. So is running away, when fear proposes the safety: But the composition, that your valour and fear makes in you, is a virtue of a good wing, and I like the wear well.

Par. I am so full of businesses, I cannot answer thee acutely: I will return perfect courtier: in the which, my instruction shall serve to naturalize thee, so thou wilt be capable of a courtier's counsel, and understand what advice shall thrust upon thee; else thou diest in thine unthankfulness, and thine ignorance makes thee away: farewell. Remember thy friends: get thee a good husband, and use him as he uses thee: so farewell.

[Exit.

Hel. Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie, Which we ascribe to heaven: the fated sky Gives us free scope; only, doth backward pull Our slow designs, when we ourselves are dull. What power is it, which mounts my love so high, That makes me see, and cannot feed mine eye? The mightiest space in fortune nature brings To join like likes, and kiss like nativel things Impossible be strange attempts, to those 1 Congenial.

That weigh their pains in sense; and do suppose, What hath been cannot be: Who ever strove To show her merit, that did miss her love? The king's disease-my project may deceive me, But my intents are fix'd, and will not leave me. (Exit.

SCENE II.

PARIS. A ROOM IN THE KING'S PALACE.

Flourish of Cornets. Enter the King of France with letters; Lords and others attending. King. The Florentines and Senoys are by the ears;

Having fought with equal fortune, and continue A braving war.

1 Lord.

So 'tis reported, sir.

King. Nay, 'tis most credible; we bere receive it A certainty, vouch'd from our cousin Austria, With caution, that the Florentine will move us For speedy aid; wherein our dearest friend Prejudicates the business, and would seem To have us make denial.

1 Lord. His love and wisdom, Approv'd 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.

Which, follow'd well, would demonstrate them
But goers hackward.
[now
Ber.
His good remembrance, sir,
Lies richer in your thoughts, than on his tomb;
So in approof 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,
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 frame lacks oil, to be the snuff
Of younger spirits, whose apprehensive senses
All but new things disdain, whose judgments are
Merefathersoftheir garments; 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 labourers room.

2 Lord.
You are lov'd, sir;
They, that least lend it you, shall lack you first.
K.Ifilla 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.

Thank your majesty.
[Exeunt. Flourish.

1 Lord. It is the Count Rousillon, my good lord, SCENE III.-ROUSILLION. A ROOM IN THE Young Bertram.

King. Youth, thou bear'st thy father's face; Frank nature, rather curious than in haste, [parts Hath well compos'd thee. Thy father's moral Mayst thou inherit too! Welcome to Paris.

Ber. My thanks and duty are your majesty's. K. I would I had that corporal soundness now As when thy father, and myself, in friendship First try'd 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, Making them proud of his humility, In their poor praise he humbled: Such a man Might be a copy to these younger times;

1 Siennese.

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, 2I wish might be found in the calender 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 perish: 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? Clo. I do beg your good will in this case. Count. In what case?

Clo. In Isbel's case, and mine own. Service is no heritage: and, I think. I shall never have the 1 Approbation. 2 Act to your desires. 3 To be married.

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Count. Is this all your worship's reason? Clo. Faith, madam, I have other holy reasons, such as they are.

Count. May the world know them?

Clo. I have been, malam, a wicked creature; as you and all flesh and blood are: and, indeed, I do marry, that I may repent.

Co. Thy marriage, sooner than thy wickedness. Clo. I am out of friends, madam; and I hope to have friends for my wife's sake.

Co. Such friends are thine enemies, knave. Cl. You are shallow, madam; e'en great friends. Count. Get you gone, sir; I'll talk with you

more anon.

Stew. May it please you, madam, that he bid Helen come to you; of her I am to speak. Count. Sirrah, tell my gentlewoman, I would speak with her; Helen I mean.

Clo. [Singing.] Was this fair face the cause, quoth she,

Why the Grecians sacked Troy?
Fond2 done, done fond,

Was this king Priam's joy?
With that she sighed as she stood,
With that she sighed as she stood,

And gave this sentence then:
Among nine bad if one be good,
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: 'Would Fortune serve the world so all the year! we'd find no fault with the tythe-woman. One in ten quoth a'! an we might have a good woman born but every blazing star, or at an earthquake,' twould mend the lottery well; a man may draw his heart out, ere he 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.-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. Indeed, 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 deinand.

Stew. Madam, I was very late more near her than, I think, she wished me: alone she was, aud 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 sou: Fortune, she said, was 1 Children. 2 Foolishly.

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 to be surprised, without rescue,in the first assault, or ransom afterwards: 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,1 in the loss that may happen, it concerns you something to know it.

Count. You have discharged this honestly; keep it to yourself: many likelihoods informed me of this before, which hung so tottering in the balance, that I could neither believe, nor misdoubt: Pray you, leave me; stall this in your bosom, and I thank you for your honest care: I will speak with you further anon. [Exit Steward. Enter Helena.

C. Even so it was with me, when I was young: If we are nature's, these are ours: this thorn Doth to our rose of youth rightly belong;

Our blood to us, this to our blood is born; It is the show and seal of nature's truth, Where love's strong passion is impress'd in By our remembrances of days foregone, [youth: Such were our faults:-or then we thought them Her eye is sick on't; I observe her now. [none. Hel. What is your pleasure, madam? You know, Helen,

Count.

I am a mother to you.

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: "Tis 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:Gramercy, 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. Count. I say, I am your mother.

Hel. Pardon, madam; The Count Rousillon cannot be my brother: I am from humble, he from honour'd naine; No note upon my parents, his all noble: My master, my dear lord he is; and I His servant live, and will his vassal die: He must not be my brother. Count. Nor I your mother? 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,

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;

I hope you mean it not! daughter, and mother

1 since.

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