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drank wine.

But if thou be 'st not an ass, I am a

youth of fourteen: I have known thee already.

Hel. I dare not say, I take you; [to Bertram.] but I give

Me, and my service, ever whilst I live,

Into your guiding power.-This is the man.

King. Why then, young Bertram, take her: she's thy wife.

Ber. My wife, my liege? I shall beseech your highness,

In such a business give me leave to use

The help of mine own eyes.


Know'st thou not, Bertram,

Yes, my good lord;

What she has done for me?


But never hope to know why I should marry her. King. Thou know'st, she has raised me from my sickly bed.

Ber. But follows it, my lord, to bring me down Must answer for your raising? I know her well; She had her breeding at my father's charge. A poor physician's daughter my wife!-Disdain Rather corrupt me ever!

King. 'Tis only title1 thou disdain'st in her, the which

I can build up.

Strange is it, that our bloods, Of color, weight, and heat, pour'd all together, Would quite confound distinction, yet stand off

i. e. the want of title.

If she be

In differences so mighty.

All that is virtuous, save what thou dislikest,
A poor physician's daughter; thou dislikest
Of virtue for the name: but do not so:
From lowest place when virtuous things proceed,
The place is dignified by the doer's deed:
Where great additions 1 swell, and virtue none,
It is a dropsied honor: good alone


Is good, without a name; vileness is so :
The property by what it is should go,
Not by the title. She is young, wise, fair;
In these to Nature she's immediate heir;
And these breed honor: that is honor's scorn,
Which challenges itself as honor's born,
And is not like the sire. Honors thrive,
When rather from our acts we them derive
Than our fore-goers: the mere word's a slave,
Debauch'd on every tomb; on every grave,
A lying trophy; and as oft is dumb,

Where dust, and damn'd oblivion, is the tomb
Of honor'd bones indeed. What should be said?
If thou canst like this creature as a maid,

I can create the rest; virtue, and she,

Is her own dower; honor and wealth from me.
Ber. I cannot love her, nor will strive to do 't.
King. Thou wrong'st thyself, if thou shouldst
strive to choose.

1 Titles.

2 Good is good independent of any worldly distinction, and so is vileness vile.'-Malone.

Hel. That you are well restored, my lord, I am glad;

Let the rest go.

King, My honor's at the stake; which to defeat, I must produce my power. Here, take her hand, Proud scornful boy, unworthy this good gift; That dost in vile misprision1 shackle up My love and her desert; that canst not dream, We, poizing us in her defective scale,

Shall weigh thee to the beam; that wilt not know,
It is in us to plant thine honor where

We please to have it grow. Check thy contempt:
Obey our will, which travails in thy good:
Believe not thy disdain, but presently

Do thine own fortunes that obedient right,
Which both thy duty owes, and our power claims;
Or I will throw thee from my care for ever,
Into the staggers, and the careless lapse

Of youth and ignorance; both my revenge and hate,
Loosing upon thee in the name of justice,

Without all terms of pity. Speak; thine answer.
Ber. Pardon, my gracious lord; for I submit
My fancy to your eyes. When I consider,
What great creation, and what dole of honor,
Flies where you bid it, I find, that she, which late
Was in my nobler thoughts most base, is now
The praised of the king; who, so ennobled,
Is, as 'twere, born so.

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Take her by the hand,

And tell her, she is thine: to whom I promise
A counterpoize; if not to thy estate,

A balance more replete.


I take her hand.

King. Good fortune, and the favor of the king, Smile upon this contract; whose ceremony Shall seem expedient on the now-born brief,1 And be perform'd to-night; the solemn feast Shall more attend upon the coming space, Expecting absent friends. As thou lovest her, Thy love's to me religious; else, does err.

[Exeunt King, Ber. Hel. Lords, and Attendants. La. Do you hear, monsieur? a word with you. Par. Your pleasure, sir?

La. Your lord and master did well to make his recantation.

Par. Recantation?-My lord? my master?
La. Ay; is it not a language, I speak?

Par. A most harsh one; and not to be under-
stood without bloody succeeding. My master?
La. Are you companion to the count Rousillon ?
Par. To any count; to all counts; to what is


La. To what is count's man; count's master is of another style.

Par. You are too old, sir; let it satisfy you, you are too old.

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The ceremonial part of which shall follow close on the troth now briefly plighted between the parties.'-Malone.


La. I must tell thee, sirrah, I write man; to which title age cannot bring thee.

Par. What I dare too well do, I dare not do.

La. I did think thee, for two ordinaries,1 to be a pretty wise fellow: thou didst make tolerable vent of thy travel; it might pass: yet the scarfs and the bannerets about thee, did manifoldly dissuade me from believing thee a vessel of too great a burden. I have now found thee; when I lose thee again, I care not yet art thou good for nothing but taking up; and that thou art scarce worth.

Par. Hadst thou not the privilege of antiquity upon thee,

La. Do not plunge thyself too far in anger, lest thou hasten thy trial; which if-Lord have mercy on thee for a hen! So, my good window of lattice, fare thee well; thy casement I need not open, for I look through thee. Give me thy hand.

Par. My lord, you give me most egregious indignity.

La. Ay, with all my heart; and thou art worthy of it.

Par. I have not, my lord, deserved it.

La. Yes, good faith, every dram of it; and I will not bate thee a scruple.

Par. Well, I shall be wiser.

La. Ev'n as soon as thou canst, for thou hast to

While I sat twice with thee at dinner.
i. e. contradicting, calling to account.

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