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, Might with effects of them follow our friends, 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. Hel. You go so much backward, when you fight. 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. When thou hast leisure, say thy prayers; when thou hast none, 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 native things. Impossible be strange attempts, to those 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 th' ears; Have fought with equal fortune, and continue A braving war. King. Nay, 'tis most credible; we here receive it A certainty, vouch'd from our cousin Austria, With caution, that the Florentine will move us 1 Lord. His love and wisdom, Approv'd so to your majesty, may plead King. He hath arm'd our answer, And Florence is denied before he comes : 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. 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 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 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 now But goers backward. Ber. His good remembrance, sir, Lies richer in your thoughts, than on his tomb; As in your royal speech. King. 'Would, I were with him! He would always say, (Methinks, I hear him now; his plausive words To grow there, and to bear,)—Let me not live, On the catastrophe and heel of pastime, Expire before their fashions: This he wish'd: Since I nor wax, nor honey, can bring home, To give some labourers room. 2 Lord. You are lov'd, sir; They, that least lend it you, shall lack you first. He was much fam'd. Ber. Some six months since, my lord. Ber. Thank your majesty. [Exeunt. Flourish. SCENE III.-Rousillon. A room in the 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, 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. Get you gone, Count. What does this knave here? sirrah: The complaints, I have heard of you, I do not all believe; 'tis my slowness, that I do not: for, I know, |