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A stranger, no offender; and inform him |
So 'tis our will he should. |
GENTLEMAN. I shall, my liege. Exit GENTLEMAN |
KING. What says he to your daughter? Have you spoke? |
LAFEU. All that he is hath reference to your Highness. |
KING. Then shall we have a match. I have letters sent me |
That sets him high in fame. |
Enter BERTRAM |
LAFEU. He looks well on 't. |
KING. I am not a day of season, |
For thou mayst 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. |
BERTRAM. My high-repented blames, |
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 |
Th' inaudible and noiseless foot of Time |
Steals ere we can effect them. You remember |
The daughter of this lord? |
BERTRAM. Admiringly, my liege. At first |
I stuck my choice upon her, ere my heart |
Durst make too bold 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 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. |
COUNTESS. Which better than the first, O dear heaven, bless! |
Or, ere they meet, in me, O nature, cesse! |
LAFEU. 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 ev'ry 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. |
BERTRAM. Hers it was not. |
KING. Now, pray you, let me see it; for mine eye, |
While I was speaking, oft was fasten'd 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 |
I would relieve her. Had you that craft to reave her |
Of what should stead her most? |
BERTRAM. My gracious sovereign, |
Howe'er it pleases you to take it so, |
The ring was never hers. |
COUNTESS. Son, on my life, |
I have seen her wear it; and she reckon'd it |
At her life's rate. |
LAFEU. I am sure I saw her wear it. |
BERTRAM. 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 engag'd; 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 med'cine, |
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, |
Confess 'twas 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- |
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