Enter Lafeu.

Here is a purr of fortune's, sir, or of fortune's cat, -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, decayed, ingenious, foolish, rascally knave. I do pity his distress in my similes of comfort and leave him to your lordship. [Exit. Par. My lord, I am a man whom fortune hath cruelly scratched.

Laf. And what would you have me to do? 'Tis too late to pare her nails now. Wherein have you played the knave 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'écu for you: let the justices make you and fortune friends: I am for other business. [word. Par. I beseech your honour to hear me one single Laf. You beg a single penny more: come, you shall hat; save your word.

Par. My name, my good lord, is Parolles. Laf. You beg more than 'word,' then. Cox my passion! give me your hand. How does your drum? Par. O my good lord, you were the first that found me! [thee. Laf. Was I, in sooth? and I was the first that lost 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. The Count's palace.

SCENE III.- Rousillon.
Flourish. Enter King, Countess, Lafeu, the two
French Lords, with Attendants.

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 Natural rebellion, done i' the blaze of youth; When oil and fire, too strong for reason's force, O'erbears it and burns on. 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 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, whose words all ears took captive, Whose dear perfection hearts that scorn'd to serve Humbly call'd mistress.

King.

Praising what is lost

Makes the remembrance dear. Well, call him hither;
We are reconciled, 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 we do bury

The incensing relics of it: let him approach,
A stranger, no offender; and inform him
So 't is our will he should.

Gent.

I shall, my liege. [Exit. King. What says he to your daughter? Have you spoke?

Dear sovereign, pardon to me. King.

All is whole;

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
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 infixing,
Contempt his scornful perspective did lend me,
Which warp'd the line of every other favour;
Scorn'd a fair colour, or express'd it stolen;
Extended or contracted all proportions
To a most hideous object: thence it came
That she whom all men praised and whom myself,
Since I have lost, have loved, was in mine eye
The dust that did offend it.
King.
Well excused:
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 shame full late 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,
Or, ere they meet, in me, O nature, cesse! [bless!
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. [Bertram gives a ring.
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.

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 engaged: but when I had subscribed
To mine own fortune and inform'd her fully
I could not answer in that course of honor
As she had made the overture, she ceased
In heavy satisfaction and would never
Receive the ring again.

King.
Plutus himself,
That knows the tinct and multiplying medicine,
Hath not in nature's mystery more science
Than I have in this ring: 't was mine, 't was Helen's,
Whoever gave it you. Then, if you know
That you are well acquainted with yourself,
Confess 't was hers, and by what rough enforcement
You got it from her: she call'd the saints to surety
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;

And makest conjectural fears to come into me,
Which I would fain shut out. If it should prove
That thou art so inhuman,-'t will 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.
[Guards seize Bertram.
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.
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, guarded. King. I am wrapp'd in dismal thinkings.

Enter a Gentleman.

Gent. Gracious sovereign, Whether I have been to blame or no, I know not: 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 marry me when his wife was dead, I blush to say it, he won me. Now is the Count Rousillon a widower: his vows are forfeited to me, and my honour's paid to him. He stole from Florence, taking no leave, and I follow him to his country for justice: grant it me, O king! in you it best lies; otherwise a seducer flourishes, and a poor maid is undone. DIANA CAPILET. Laf. I will buy me a son-in-law in a fair, and toll for this: I'll none of him. [Lafeu,

King. The heavens have thought well on thee, To bring forth this discovery. Seek these suitors: Go speedily and bring again the count. I am afeard the life of Helen, lady, Was foully snatch'd. Count.

Now, justice on the doers! Re-enter Bertram, guarded. King. I wonder, sir, sith wives are monsters to you,

And that you fly them as you swear them lordship, Yet you desire to marry.

Enter Widow and Diana.

What woman's that?

Dia. I am, my lord, a wretched Florentine,
Derived from the ancient Capilet:

My suit, as I do understand, you know,
And therefore know how far I may be pitied. [our
Wid. I am her mother, sir, whose age
and hon-
Both suffer under this complaint we bring,
And both shall cease, without your remedy.
King. Come hither, count; do you know these
women?

Ber. My lord, I neither can nor will deny [ther?
But that I know them: do they charge me fur
Dia. Why do you look so strange upon your wife?
Ber. She's none of mine, my lord.
If you shall marry,

Dia.

You give away this hand, and that is mine;
You give away heaven's vows, and those are mine;
You give away myself, which is known mine;
For I by vow am so embodied yours,
That she which marries you must marry me,
Either both or none.

Laf. Your reputation comes too short for my daughter; you are no husband for her.

Ber. My lord, this is a fond and desperate creature, Whom sometime I have laugh'd with: let your highness

Lay a more noble thought upon mine honour
Than for to think that I would sink it here.

King. Sir, for my thoughts, you have them ill to friend

Till your deeds gain them: fairer prove your honou.
Than in my thought it lies.
Good my lord,

Dia.

Ask him upon his oath, if he does think
He had not my virginity.

King. What say'st thou to her?
Ber.

She's impudent, my lord,
And was a common gamester to the camp.
Dia. He does me wrong, my lord; if I were so,
He might have bought me at a common price:
Do not believe him. O, behold this ring,
Whose high respect and rich validity
Did lack a parallel; yet for all that
He gave it to a commoner o' the camp,
If I be one.

Count.

He blushes, and 't is it: Of six preceding ancestors, that gem, Conferr'd by testament to the sequent issue, Hath it been owned and worn. This is his wife; That ring 's a thousand proofs. King.

Methought you said You saw one here in court could witness it. Dia. I did, my lord, but loath am to produce So bad an instrument: his name 's Parolles. Laf. I saw the man to-day, if man be he. King. Find him, and bring him hither.

[Exit an Attendant. Ber. What of him? He's quoted for a most perfidious slave, With all the spots o' the world tax'd and debosh'd; Whose nature sickens but to speak a truth. Am I or that or this for what he'll utter, That will speak any thing? King. She hath that ring of yours. Ber. I think she has: certain it is I liked her, And boarded her i' the wanton way of youth: She knew her distance and did angle for me, Madding my eagerness with her restraint, As all impediments in fancy's course Are motives of more fancy; and, in fine, Her infinite cunning, with her modern grace, Subdued me to her rate: she got the ring; And I had that which any inferior might At market-price have bought. Dia.

I must be patient:

Ber. My lord, I do confess the ring was hers. King. You boggle shrewdly, every feather starts Is this the man you speak of? [you. Dia. Ay, my lord. King. Tell me, sirrah, but tell me true, I charge Not fearing the displeasure of your master, [you, Which on your just proceeding I'll keep off, By him and by this woman here what know you? Par. So please your majesty, my master hath been an honcurable gentleman: tricks he hath had in him, which gentlemen have.

King. Come, come, to the purpose: did he love this

woman?

Dia. Do you know he promised me marriage? Par. Faith, I know more than I'll speak. King. But wilt thou not speak all thou knowest? Par. Yes, so please your majesty. I did go between them, as I said; but more than that, he loved her: for indeed he was mad for her, and talked of Satan and of Limbo and of Furies and I know not what: yet I was in that credit with them at that time that I knew of their going to bed, and of other motions, as promising her marriage, and things which would derive me ill will to speak of; therefore I will not speak what I know.

King. Thou hast spoken all already, unless thou canst say they are married: but thou art too fine in thy evidence; therefore stand aside. This ring, you say, was yours?

Dia.

Ay, my good lord.

King. Where did you buy it? or who gave it you? Dia. It was not given me, nor I did not buy it. King. Who lent it you? Dia. It was not lent me neither. King. Where did you find it, then? Dia. I found it not. King. If it were yours by none of all these ways, How could you give it him? Dia. I never gave it him. Laf. This woman 's an easy glove, my lord; she goes off and on at pleasure.

King. This ring was mine; I gave it his first wife. Dia. It might be yours or hers, for aught I know. King. Take her away; I do not like her now; To prison with her: and away with him.

Unless thou tell 'st me where thou hadst this ring,
Thou diest within this hour.
Dia.

I'll never tell you.

King. Take her away.
Dia.
I'll put in bail, my liege.
King. I think thee now some common customer.
Dia. By Jove, if ever I knew man, 't was you.
King. Wherefore hast thou accused him all this
while?

Dia. Because he 's guilty, and he is not guilty:
He knows I am no maid, and he 'll swear to 't;
I'll swear I am a maid, and he knows not.
Great king, I am no strumpet, by my life;
I am either maid, or else this old man's wife.
King. She does abuse our ears: to prison with her.
Dia. Good mother, fetch my bail. Stay, royal sir:
[Exit Widow.
The jeweller that owes the ring is sent for,
And he shall surety me. But for this lord,
Who hath abused me, as he knows himself,
Though yet he never harm'd me, here I quit him:
He knows himself my bed he hath defiled;
And at that time he got his wife with child:
Dead though she be, she feels her young one kick:
So there's my riddle: one that 's dead is quick:
And now behold the meaning.

Re-enter Widow, with Helena.

King. Is there no exorcist Beguiles the truer office of mine eyes? Ist real that I see? Hel. No, my good lord; 'Tis but the shadow of a wife you see, The name and not the thing. Ber. Both, both. O. pardon! Hel. O my good lord, when I was like this maid, I found you wondrous kind. There is your ring; And, look you, here's your letter; this it says: 'When from my finger you can get this ring And are by me with child,' &c. This is done: Will you be mine, now you are doubly won? Ber. If she, my liege, can make me know this I'll love her dearly, ever, ever dearly. [clearly, Hel. If it appear not plain and prove untrue, Deadly divorce step between me and you! O my dear mother, do I see you living? Laf. Mine eyes smell onions; I shall weep anon: [To Parolles] Good Tom Drum, lend me a handkercher: so, [thee:

I thank thee: wait on me home, I'll make sport with Let thy courtesies alone, they are scurvy ones.

King. Let us from point to point this story know, To make the even truth in pleasure flow. [To Diana] If thou be 'st yet a fresh uncropped flower," Choose thou thy husband, and I'll pay thy dower; For I can guess that by thy honest aid Thou kept'st a wife herself, thyself a maid. Of that and all the progress, more or less, Resolvedly more leisure shall express: All yet seems well; and if it end so meet, The bitter past, more welcome is the sweet.

EPILOGUE.

[Flourish.

Duke. If music be the food of love, play on;
Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting,
The appetite may sicken, and so die.
That strain again! it had a dying fall:

O, it came o'er my ear like the sweet sound,
That breathes upon a bank of violets,

Stealing and giving odour! Enough; no more: 'Tis not so sweet now as it was before.

O spirit of love! how quick and fresh art thou,
That, notwithstanding thy capacity
Receiveth as the sea, nought enters there,
Of what validity and pitch soe'er,

But falls into abatement and low price,

Even in a minute: so full of shapes is fancy
That it alone is high fantastical.

Cur. Will you go hunt, my lord?
Duke.

Cur. The hart.

What, Curio?

Duke. Why, so I do, the noblest that I have:

O, when mine eyes did see Olivia first,

Methought she purged the air of pestilence!
That instant was I turn'd into a hart;

And my desires, like fell and cruel hounds,
E'er since pursue me.

Enter Valentine.

How now! what news from her? Val. So please my lord, I might not be admitted; But from her handmaid do return this answer:

The element itself, till seven years' heat,
Shall not behold her face at ample view;
But, like a cloistress, she will veiled walk
And water once a day her chamber round
With eye-offending brine: all this to season

A brother's dead love, which she would keep fresh
And lasting in her sad remembrance.

Duke. O, she that hath a heart of that fine frame To pay this debt of love but to a brother, How will she love, when the rich golden shaft Hath kill'd the flock of all affections else That live in her; when liver, brain and heart, These sovereign thrones, are all supplied, and fill'd Her sweet perfections with one self king! Away before me to sweet beds of flowers:

Love-thoughts lie rich when canopied with bow[Exeunt.

ers.

SCENE II.-The sea-coast.

Enter Viola, a Captain, and Sailors.

Vio. What country, friends, is this?
Cap. This is Illyria, lady.

Vio. And what should I do in Illyria?
My brother he is in Elysium.

[ors?

Perchance he is not drown'd: what think you, sail Cap. It is perchance that you yourself were saved. Vio. O my poor brother! and so perchance may

he be.

[chance,

Cap. True, madam: and, to comfort you with
Assure yourself, after our ship did split,
When you and those poor number saved with you
Hung on our driving boat, I saw your brother,
Most provident in peril, bind himself,

Courage and hope both teaching him the practice,
To a strong mast that lived upon the sea;
Where, like Arion on the dolphin's back,

I saw him hold acquaintance with the waves
So long as I could see.

Vio. For saying so, there 's gold:

Mine own escape unfoldeth to my hope,
Whereto thy speech serves for authority,

The like of him. Know'st thou this country?

Cap. Ay, madam, well; for I was bred and born Not three hours' travel from this very place.

Vio. Who governs here?

Cap. A noble duke, in nature as in name. Vio. What is his name?

Cap. Orsino.

Vio. Orsino! I have heard my father name him: He was a bachelor then.

Cap. And so is now, or was so very late; For but a month ago I went from hence, And then 't was fresh in murmur,-as, you know, What great ones do the less will prattle of,— That he did seek the love of fair Olivia. Vio. What's she?

Cap. A virtuous maid, the daughter of a count
That died some twelvemonth since, then leaving her
In the protection of his son, her brother,
Who shortly also died: for whose dear love,
They say, she hath abjured the company
And sight of men.

Vio.
O that I served that lady
And might not be delivered to the world,