SCENE II. Rousillon. The inner Court of the Countess's Palace. Enter Clown and PAROLLES. Par. Good Monsieur Lavatch, give my lord Lafeu this letter: I have ere now, Sir, been better known to you, when I have held familiarity with fresher clothes; but I am now, Sir, muddied in fortune's moat, and smell somewhat strong of her strong displeasure. Clo. Truly, fortune's displeasure is but sluttish, if it smells so strong as thou speak'st of: I will henceforth eat no fish of fortune's buttering. Pr'ythee, allow the wind. Par. Nay, you need not to stop your nose, Sir; I spake but by a metaphor. Clo. Indeed, Sir, if your metaphor stink, I will stop my nose; or against any man's metaphor, Pr'ythce, get thee. further. :. Par. Pray you, Sir, deliver me this paper. Cla. Foh, pr'ythee, stand away; A paper from fortune's close-stool to give to a nobleman! Look, here he comes himself. cat, Enter LAFEU. Here is a pur of fortune's, Sir, or of fortune's (but not a musk-cat,) that has fallen into the unclean fishpond of her displeasure, and, as he says, is muddied withal: Pray you, Sir, use the carp as you may, for he looks like a poor VOL. V. 13 decay'd, ingenious, foolish, rascally knave. I do pity his distress in my smiles of comfort, and leave him to your Lordship. [Exit Clown. I am a man whom fortune Par. My Lord, hath cruelly scratch'd. Laf. And what would you have me to do? 'tis too late to pare her nails now. Wherein have you play'd the kuave with fortune, that she should scratch you, who of herself is a good lady, and would not have knaves thrive long under her? There's a quart d'ecu for you: Let the justices make you and fortune friends; I am for other business, Par. I beseech your Honour, to hear me one single word. 1 Laf. You beg a single penny more: come, you shall ha't; save your word. Par. My name, my good Lord, is Parolles. How Laf. You beg more than one word then.' Cox' my passion! give me your hand: does your drum? Par, O my good Lord, you were the first that found me. Iaf. Was I, in sooth? and I was the first that lost thee. Par. It lies in you, my Lord, to bring me in some grace, for you did bring me out. Laf. Out upon thee knave! dost thou put upon me at once both the office of God and the devil? one brings thee in grace, and the other brings thee out. [Trumpets sound. ] The King's coming, I know by his trumpets. Sirrah, inquire further after me; I had talk of you last night: though you are a fool and a knave, you shall eat; go to, follow. Par. I praise God for you. [Exeunt. AS CENE 111. The same. A Room in the Countess's Palace. Flourish. Enter King, Countess, LAFEU, Lords, Gentlemen, Guards, etc. King. We lost a jewel of her; and our esteem Was made much poorer by it: but your son, As mad in folly, lack'd the sense to know Her estimation home. Count. Tis past, my Liege: And I beseech your Majesty to make it King. My honour'd Lady, I have forgiven and forgotten all; Though my revenges were high bent upon him, And watch'd the time to shoot. Laf. This I must say, But first I beg my pardon, The young lord Did to his Majesty, his mother, and his lady, Of richest eyes; whose words all ears took captive; Whose dear perfection, hearts that scorn'd to Humbly call'd mistress. serve, King. Praising what is lost, Makes the remembrance dear. hither, We are reconcil'd, and the first view shall kill The incensing relicks of it: let him approach, Gent. I shall, my Licge. [Exit Gentleman. letters sent me, Enter BERTRAM. Laf. He looks well on't. King. I am not a day of season, For thou may'st see a sun-shine and a hail Ber. My high-repented blames," Dear Sovereign pardou to me. King. All is whole; Not one word more of the consumed time. Ber. Admiringly; My Liege: At first I stuck my choice upon her, ere my heart Durst make too bold a herald of my tongue: T To a most hideous object: Thence it came, King. Well excus'd: That thou did'st love her, strikes some scores 714 away From the great compt: But love, that comes too late, Like a remorseful pardon slowly carried, To the great sender turns a sour offence, I Or, ere they meet, in me, O nattire, cease Laf. Come on, my son, in whom my house's name Must be digested, give a favour from you, To sparkle in the spirits of my daughter, That she may quickly come, — Ey my old beard, |