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.

SCENE III.-The same. A Room in the Coun-
tess's Palace. Flourish. Enter King, Coun-
tess, Lafeu, Lords, Gentlemen, guards, &c.
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.2

Count.

'Tis past, my liege:
And I beseech your majesty to make it
Natural rebellion, done i'the blaze of youth;
When oil and fire, too strong for reason's force,
O'erbears it, and burns on.

My honour'd lady,

King
I have forgiven and forgotten all;

Though my revenges were high bent upon him,
And watch'd the time to shoot.

This I must say,

Laf.
Did to his majesty, his mother, and his lady,
But first I beg my pardon,―The young lord
Offence of mighty note; but to himself
The greatest wrong of all: he lost a wife,
Whose beauty did astonish the survey

Of richest eyes ;3 whose words all ears took captive;
Whose dear perfection, hearts that scorn'd to serve,
Humbly call'd mistress.

(1) Reckoning or estimate.

Completely, in its full extent.

and to have nothing, is to have rich eyes and poor So in As you like it:-to have seen much

hands.'

King.

hither

Praising what is lost, Makes the remembrance dear. Well, call him

We are reconcil'd, and the first view shall kill
All repetition:-Let him not ask our pardon;
The nature of his great offence is dead,
And deeper than oblivion do we bury

The incensing relics of it: let him approach,
A stranger, no offender; and inform him,

So 'tis our will he should.

Gent.

I shall, my liege.

[Exit Gentleman.

King. What says he to your daughter? have you spoke?

Laf. All that he is hath reference to your high

ness.

King. Then shall we have a match. I have

letters sent me,

That set him high in fame.

Laf.

Enter Bertram.

He looks well on't.

King. I am not a day of season,2

For thou may'st see a sunshine and a hail
In me at once: But to the brightest beams

Distracted clouds give way; so stand thou forth,

The time is fair again.

Ber.

My high-repented blames,3

Dear sovereign, pardon to me.

All is whole;

King.
Not one word more of the consumed time,
Let's take the instant by the forward top;
For we are old, and on our quick'st decrees
The inaudible and noiseless foot of time
Steals ere we can effect them: You remember

(1) i. e. The first interview shall put an end to

all recollection of the past.

(2) i. e. Of uninterrupted rain.
(3) Faults repented of to the utmost.

2

The daughter of this lord?

Ber. Admiringly, my liege: at first I stuck my choice upon her, ere my heart Durst make too bold a herald of my tongue: Where the impression of mine eye enfixing, Contempt his scornful pérspective did lend me, Which warp'd the line of every other favour; Scorm'd a fair colour, or express'd it stol'n; Extended or contracted all proportions, To a most hideous object: Thence it came, That she, whom all men prais'd, and whom myself, Since I have lost, have lov'd, was in mine eye The dust that did offend it.

King.

Well excus'd:

That thou didst love her, strikes some scores 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, Crying, That's good that's gone: our rash faults, Make trivial price of serious things we have, Not knowing them, until we know their grave: Oft our displeasures, to ourselves unjust, Destroy our friends, and after weep their dust: Our own love waking cries to see what's done, While shameful hate sleeps out the afternoon. Be this sweet Helen's knell, and now forget her. Send forth your amorous token for fair Maudlin: The main consents are had; and here we'll stay To see our widower's second marriage-day. Count. Which better than the first, O dear heaven, bless! Or, ere they meet, in me, O nature, 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. By my old beard, And every hair that's on't, Helen, that's dead, Was a sweet creature; such a ring as this, The last that e'er I took her leave at court, I saw upon her finger.

Ber.

Hers it was not.

King. Now, pray you, let me see it; for mine

eye,

While I was speaking, oft was fastened to't.-
This ring was mine; and, when I gave it Helen,
I bade her, if her fortunes ever stood
Necessitied to help, that by this token

L

I would relieve her: Had you that craft, to reave her

Of what should stead her most?

Ber.

My gracious sovereign,

Howe'er it pleases you to take it so,

The ring was never hers.
Count.

I have seen her wear it; and she reckon'd it
Son, on my life,
At her life's rate.
Laf.
I am sure, I saw her wear it.
Ber. You are deceiv'd, my lord, she never saw it.
In Florence was it from a casement thrown me,
Wrapp'd in a paper, which contain'd the name
Of her that threw it: noble she was, and thought
I stood ingag'd:1 but when I had subscrib'd
To mine own fortune, and inform'd her fully,
I could not answer in that course of honour
As she had made the overture, she ceas'd,
In heavy satisfaction, and would never
Receive the ring again.

King.
Plutus himself,
That knows the tinct and multiplying medicine,2
Hath not in nature's mystery more science,
Than I have in this ring: 'twas mine, 'twas Helen's,

Whoever gave it you: Then, if you know
That you are well acquainted with yourself.3
Confess 'twas hers, and by what rough enforce-

ment

You got it from her: she call'd the saints to surety,

(1) In the sense of unengaged.

The philosopher's stone.

That you have the proper consciousness

That she would never put it from her finger,
Unless she gave it to yourself in bed
(Where you have never come,) or sent it us

Upon her great disaster.

Ber.

She never saw it.

King. Thou speak'st it falsely, as I love mine

honour;

het And mak'st conjectural fears to come into me, Which I would fain shut out: If it should prove That thou art so inhuman, 'twill not prove so:And yet I know not:-thou didst hate her deadly, And she is dead; which nothing, but to close Her eyes myself, could win me to believe,

More than to see this ring. Take him away.

My fore-past proofs, howe'er the matter fall,
Shall tax my fears of little vanity,
Having vainly fear'd too little. -Away with him ;
We'll sift this matter further.

[Guards seize Bertram.

Ber.

If you shall prove

This ring was ever hers, you shall as easy
Prove that I husbanded her bed in Florence,

Where yet she never was. [Exit Ber. guarded.

Gent.

Enter a Gentleman.

King. I am wrapp'd in dismal thinkings. Whether I have been to blame, or no, I know not; Gracious sovereign, Here's a petition from a Florentine, Who hath, for four or five removes, come short To tender it herself. I undertook it, Vanquish'd thereto by the fair grace and speech Of the poor suppliant, who by this, I know, Is here attending: her business looks in her With an importing visage; and she told me, In a sweet verbal brief, it did concern Your highness with herself.

King. [Reads.] Upon his many protestations to (1) Post-stages.