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Under Mars, I.

      HELENA.

       I especially think, under Mars.

      PAROLLES.

       Why under Mars?

      HELENA.

       The wars hath so kept you under, that you must needs be born under Mars.

      PAROLLES.

       When he was predominant.

      HELENA.

       When he was retrograde, I think rather.

      PAROLLES.

       Why think you so?

      HELENA.

       You go so much backward when you fight.

      PAROLLES.

       That’s for advantage.

      HELENA.

       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.

      PAROLLES.

       I am so full of business 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.]

      HELENA.

       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.

      FIRST LORD.

       So ’tis reported, sir.

      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

       For speedy aid; wherein our dearest friend

       Prejudicates the business, and would seem

       To have us make denial.

      FIRST LORD.

       His love and wisdom,

       Approv’d so to your majesty, may plead

       For amplest credence.

      KING.

       He hath arm’d our answer,

       And Florence is denied before he comes:

       Yet, for our gentlemen that mean to see

       The Tuscan service, freely have they leave

       To stand on either part.

      SECOND LORD.

       It well may serve

       A nursery to our gentry, who are sick

       For breathing and exploit.

      KING.

       What’s he comes here?

      Enter Bertram, Lafew and Parolles.

      FIRST LORD.

       It is the Count Rossillon, 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

       Mayst thou inherit too! Welcome to Paris.

      BERTRAM.

       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 tried 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

       Today in our young lords; but they may jest

       Till their own scorn return to them unnoted

       Ere they can hide their levity in honour

       So like a courtier, contempt nor bitterness

       Were in his pride or sharpness; if they were,

       His equal had awak’d them, and his honour,

       Clock to itself, knew the true minute when

       Exception bid him speak, and at this time

       His tongue obey’d his hand. Who were below him

       He us’d as creatures of another place,

       And bow’d his eminent top to their low ranks,

       Making them proud of his humility,

       In their poor praise he humbled. Such a man

       Might be a copy to these younger times;

       Which, followed well, would demonstrate them now

       But goers backward.

      BERTRAM.

       His good remembrance, sir,

       Lies richer in your thoughts than on his tomb;

       So in approof lives not his epitaph

       As in your royal speech.

      KING.

       Would I were with him! He would always say—

       Methinks I hear him now; his plausive words

       He scatter’d not in ears, but grafted them

       To grow there and to bear—“Let me not live,”

       This his good melancholy oft began

       On the catastrophe and heel of pastime,

       When it was out—“Let me not live” quoth he,

       “After my flame lacks oil, to be the snuff

      

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