Our slow designs, when we ourselves are dull. 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; Have fought with equal fortune, and continue 1. Lord. So 'tis reported, sir. King. Nay, 'tis most credible; we here receive it A certainty, vouch'd from oúr cousin Austria, With caution, that the Florentine will move us For speedy aid; wherein our dearest friend Prejudicates the businefs, 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, 2. Lord. It may well serve A nursery to our gentry, who are sick 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 compos'd thee. Thy father's moral parts May'st 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. And bow'd his eminent top to their low ranks, In their poor praise he humbled: Such a man Might be a copy to these younger times; Which, follow'd well, would démonstrate them But goers backward. 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 On the catastrophe and heel of pastime, 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. King. I fill a place, I know't. How long is't, count, Since the physician at your father's died? 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 Welcome, count; Ber. Thank your majesty. [Exeunt.] Rousillon. SCENE III. A Room in the Count's Palace. Enter Countefs, Steward, and Clown. Count. I will now hear: what gentlewoman? say you of this Stew. Madam, the care I have had to even your content, I wish might be found in the calendar 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. Clown. "Tis not unknown to you, madam, that 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 damn'd: 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? I Clown. I do beg your good will in this case. Count. In what case? Clown. In Ishel's case, and mine own. Service is no heritage: and, I think, I shal! never have the blessing of God, till I have issue of my body; for, they say, bearns are blessings. 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, malam, 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 wickednefs. 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. Clown. You are shallow, madam; e'en great friends; for the knaves come to do that for me, which I am a-weary 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 blood, is friend: ergo, my he that kisses my wife, is my friend. If men could be contented to be what they are, there were no fear in marriage; for young Charbon the puritan, and old Poysam the papist, howsoe'er their hearts are sever'd in religion, their heads are both one, they may joll horns together, like any deer i' the herd. Count. Wilt thou ever be a foul-mouth'd and calumnious knave? Clown. A prophet I, madam; and I speak the truth the next way: For I the ballad will repeat, Which men full true shall find; Count. Get you gone, sir; I'll talk with you more anon. Stew. |