that Ends Laf. And what would you have me to do? 'tis too late to pare her nails now. Wherein have you play'd the knave with fortune, that she should scratch you, who of her felf is a good Lady, and would not have knaves thrive long under her? there's a Quart-decu for you: let the juftices make you and fortune friends; I am for other bufinefs. Par. I beseech your honour, to hear me one fingle word. Laf. You beg a fingle penny more: come, you fhall ha't, fave your word. Par. My name, my good Lord, is Parolles. Laf. You beg more than one word then. Cox' my paffion! give me your hand: how does your drum ? Par. O my good lord, you were the firft, that found ne. Laf. Was I, infooth? and I was the firft, that loft hee. Par. It lyes in you, my Lord, to bring me in fome race, for you did bring me out. Laf. Out upon thee, knave! doft thou put upon me tonce both the office of God and the Devil? one brings hee in grace, and the other brings thee out. [Sound rumpets.]he King's coming, I know, by his trumets. S ire further after me, I had talk of you A nigh at go Par are a fool and a knave, you shall [Exeunt efs, Lafeu, the twa Pendants. our esteem Meaning Helen ? at Senfe by, her Lofe As mad in folly, lack'd the sense to know Her edimation home. Tis paft, my Liege; And I beleech your Majefty to make it Ang My honour'd Lady, Tho' my revenges were high bent upon him, Laf. This I muft fay, But first I beg my pardon; the young Lord Of richeft eyes; whose words all ears took captive ; King. Praifing what is loft, Makes the remembrance dear. Well hithers . We're reconcil'd, and the first view fhall kill All repetition: let him not ask our pardon. Gent. I fhall, my Liege. call him Lofs. But how fo? Did the King contribute to her Misforfunes? Nothing like it. Or did he not do all in his Power to prevent them? Yes? he married Bertram to her. We must ertainly read therefore; We loft a Jewel of ber; our Estate Was made much poorer by it That's the certain Confequence of any one's lofing a Jewel, be their fate to be made proportionably poorer according to of the Lofs Mr. Warburton. King What fays he to your daughter? Have you fpoke? Laf. All, that he is, hath reference to your Highness. King. Then fhall we have a match. I have letters fent me, That fet him high in fame. Enter Bretram. Laf. He looks well on't. King. I'm not a day of feafon, 1 For thou may'ft fee a fun-fhine and a hail Ber.. My high repented blames, Dear Sovereign, pardon to me. Not one word more of the confumed time, Ber. Admiringly, my Liege. At first To a most hideous object: thence it came, data (9) King. Well excus'd; That thou doft love her, ftrikes fome fcores away As mad in folly, lack'd the sense to know Count. 'Tis paft, my Liege; And I beseech your Majesty to make it King. My honour'd Lady, I have forgiven and forgotten all; Tho' my revenges were high bent upon him, Laf. This I must say, But first I beg my pardon; the young Lord Of richest eyes; whose words all ears took captive; King, Praifing what is loft, Makes the remembrance dear. Well hither, We're reconcil'd, and the first view fhall kill Gent. I fhall, my Liege.. 4 call him Lofs. But how fo? Did the King contribute to her Misfortunes? Nothing like it. Or did he not do all in his Power to prevent them? Yes? he married Bertram to her. We must certainly read therefore; We loft a Jewel of ber; our Eftate. Was made much poorer by it : That's the certain Confequence of any one's lofing a Jewel, for their Estate to be made proportionably poorer according to to the Value of the Loss, 2 râul sw 9HA Mr. Warburton. King. What fays he to your daughter? Have you fpoke? Laf. All, that he is, hath reference to your Highness. King. Then fhall we have a match. I have letters fent me, That fet him high in fame. Enter Bretram. Laf. He looks well on't.. King. I'm not a day of feafon, For thou may'st see a fun-fhine and a hail Distracted clouds give way; fo ftand thou forth, The time is fair again. Ber. My high repented blames, Dear Sovereign, pardon to me. King. All is whole, Not one word more of the confumed time, alkowi To a most hideous object: thence it came (19 King. Well excus'd; That thou doft love her, ftrikes fome scores away, From the great compt; but love, that comes too late, Like a remorseful pardon flowly carried, To the great fender turns a fowre offence, Σ Crying, |