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[Exit an Attendant.]

       Sit, my preserver, by thy patient’s side;

       And with this healthful hand, whose banish’d sense

       Thou has repeal’d, a second time receive

       The confirmation of my promis’d gift,

       Which but attends thy naming.

       [Enter severaol Lords.]

       Fair maid, send forth thine eye: this youthful parcel

       Of noble bachelors stand at my bestowing,

       O’er whom both sovereign power and father’s voice

       I have to use: thy frank election make;

       Thou hast power to choose, and they none to forsake.

       HELENA.

       To each of you one fair and virtuous mistress

       Fall, when love please!—marry, to each, but one!

       LAFEU.

       I’d give bay Curtal and his furniture,

       My mouth no more were broken than these boys’,

       And writ as little beard.

       KING.

       Peruse them well:

       Not one of those but had a noble father.

       HELENA.

       Gentlemen,

       Heaven hath through me restor’d the king to health.

       ALL.

       We understand it, and thank heaven for you.

       HELENA.

       I am a simple maid, and therein wealthiest

       That I protest I simply am a maid.—

       Please it, your majesty, I have done already:

       The blushes in my cheeks thus whisper me—

       ‘We blush that thou shouldst choose; but, be refus’d,

       Let the white death sit on thy cheek for ever;

       We’ll ne’er come there again.’

       KING.

       Make choice; and, see:

       Who shuns thy love shuns all his love in me.

       HELENA.

       Now, Dian, from thy altar do I fly,

       And to imperial Love, that god most high,

       Do my sighs stream.—Sir, will you hear my suit?

       FIRST LORD.

       And grant it.

       HELENA.

       Thanks, sir; all the rest is mute.

       LAFEU.

       I had rather be in this choice than throw ames-ace for my life.

       HELENA.

       The honour, sir, that flames in your fair eyes,

       Before I speak, too threateningly replies:

       Love make your fortunes twenty times above

       Her that so wishes, and her humble love!

       SECOND LORD.

       No better, if you please.

       HELENA.

       My wish receive,

       Which great Love grant; and so I take my leave.

       LAFEU. Do all they deny her? An they were sons of mine I’d have them whipped; or I would send them to the Turk to make eunuchs of.

       HELENA.

       [To third Lord.] Be not afraid that I your hand should take;

       I’ll never do you wrong for your own sake:

       Blessing upon your vows! and in your bed

       Find fairer fortune, if you ever wed!

       LAFEU.

       These boys are boys of ice: they’ll none have her:

       Sure, they are bastards to the English; the French ne’er got ‘em.

       HELENA.

       You are too young, too happy, and too good,

       To make yourself a son out of my blood.

       FOURTH LORD.

       Fair one, I think not so.

       LAFEU. There’s one grape yet,—I am sure thy father drank wine.—But if thou beest not an ass, I am a youth of fourteen; I have known thee already.

       HELENA.

       [To BERTRAM.] I dare not say I take you; 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.

       BERTRAM.

       My wife, my liege! I shall beseech your highness,

       In such a business give me leave to use

       The help of mine own eyes.

       KING.

       Know’st thou not, Bertram,

       What she has done for me?

       BERTRAM.

       Yes, my good lord;

       But never hope to know why I should marry her.

       KING.

       Thou know’st she has rais’d me from my sickly bed.

       BERTRAM.

       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 title thou disdain’st in her, the which

       I can build up. Strange is it that our bloods,

       Of colour, weight, and heat, pour’d all together,

       Would quite confound distinction, yet stand off

       In differences so mighty. If she be

       All that is virtuous,—save what thou dislik’st,

       A poor physician’s daughter,—thou dislik’st

       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 swell’s, and virtue none,

       It is a dropsied honour: 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 honour: that is honour’s scorn

       Which challenges itself as honour’s born,

       And is not like the sire: honours 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 honour’d bones indeed. What should be said?

       If thou canst like this creature as a maid,

       I can

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