ACT IV. SCENE 1. Without the Florentine camp  Enter SECOND FRENCH LORD with five or six other SOLDIERS in ambush    SECOND LORD. He can come no other way but by this hedge-corner.     When you sally upon him, speak what terrible language you will;     though you understand it not yourselves, no matter; for we must     not seem to understand him, unless some one among us, whom we     must produce for an interpreter.   FIRST SOLDIER. Good captain, let me be th' interpreter.   SECOND LORD. Art not acquainted with him? Knows he not thy voice?   FIRST SOLDIER. No, sir, I warrant you.   SECOND LORD. But what linsey-woolsey has thou to speak to us again?   FIRST SOLDIER. E'en such as you speak to me.   SECOND LORD. He must think us some band of strangers i' th'     adversary's entertainment. Now he hath a smack of all     neighbouring languages, therefore we must every one be a man of     his own fancy; not to know what we speak one to another, so we     seem to know, is to know straight our purpose: choughs' language,     gabble enough, and good enough. As for you, interpreter, you must     seem very politic. But couch, ho! here he comes; to beguile two     hours in a sleep, and then to return and swear the lies he forges.                           Enter PAROLLES    PAROLLES. Ten o'clock. Within these three hours 'twill be time     enough to go home. What shall I say I have done? It must be a     very plausive invention that carries it. They begin to smoke me;     and disgraces have of late knock'd to often at my door. I find my     tongue is too foolhardy; but my heart hath the fear of Mars     before it, and of his creatures, not daring the reports of my     tongue.   SECOND LORD. This is the first truth that e'er thine own tongue was     guilty of.   PAROLLES. What the devil should move me to undertake the recovery     of this drum, being not ignorant of the impossibility, and     knowing I had no such purpose? I must give myself some hurts, and     say I got them in exploit. Yet slight ones will not carry it.     They will say 'Came you off with so little?' And great ones I     dare not give. Wherefore, what's the instance? Tongue, I must put     you into a butterwoman's mouth, and buy myself another of     Bajazet's mule, if you prattle me into these perils.   SECOND LORD. Is it possible he should know what he is, and be that     he is?   PAROLLES. I would the cutting of my garments would serve the turn,     or the breaking of my Spanish sword.   SECOND LORD. We cannot afford you so.   PAROLLES. Or the baring of my beard; and to say it was in     stratagem.   SECOND LORD. 'Twould not do.   PAROLLES. Or to drown my clothes, and say I was stripp'd.   SECOND LORD. Hardly serve.   PAROLLES. Though I swore I leap'd from the window of the citadel-   SECOND LORD. How deep?   PAROLLES. Thirty fathom.   SECOND LORD. Three great oaths would scarce make that be believed.   PAROLLES. I would I had any drum of the enemy's; I would swear I     recover'd it.   SECOND LORD. You shall hear one anon.          [Alarum within]   PAROLLES. A drum now of the enemy's!   SECOND LORD. Throca movousus, cargo, cargo, cargo.   ALL. Cargo, cargo, cargo, villianda par corbo, cargo.   PAROLLES. O, ransom, ransom! Do not hide mine eyes.                                             [They blindfold him]   FIRST SOLDIER. Boskos thromuldo boskos.   PAROLLES. I know you are the Muskos' regiment,     And I shall lose my life for want of language.     If there be here German, or Dane, Low Dutch,     Italian, or French, let him speak to me;     I'll discover that which shall undo the Florentine.   FIRST SOLDIER. Boskos vauvado. I understand thee, and can speak thy     tongue. Kerely-bonto, sir, betake thee to thy faith, for     seventeen poniards are at thy bosom.   PAROLLES. O!   FIRST SOLDIER. O, pray, pray, pray! Manka revania dulche.   SECOND LORD. Oscorbidulchos volivorco.   FIRST SOLDIER. The General is content to spare thee yet;     And, hoodwink'd as thou art, will lead thee on     To gather from thee. Haply thou mayst inform     Something to save thy life.   PAROLLES. O, let me live,     And all the secrets of our camp I'll show,     Their force, their purposes. Nay, I'll speak that     Which you will wonder at.   FIRST SOLDIER. But wilt thou faithfully?   PAROLLES. If I do not, damn me.   FIRST SOLDIER. Acordo linta.     Come on; thou art granted space.                    Exit, PAROLLES guarded. A short alarum within   SECOND LORD. Go, tell the Count Rousillon and my brother     We have caught the woodcock, and will keep him muffled     Till we do hear from them.   SECOND SOLDIER. Captain, I will.   SECOND LORD. 'A will betray us all unto ourselves-     Inform on that.   SECOND SOLDIER. So I will, sir.   SECOND LORD. Till then I'll keep him dark and safely lock'd.                                                           Exeunt     ACT IV. SCENE 2. Florence. The WIDOW'S house  Enter BERTRAM and DIANA    BERTRAM. They told me that your name was Fontibell.   DIANA. No, my good lord, Diana.   BERTRAM. Titled goddess;     And worth it, with addition! But, fair soul,     In your fine frame hath love no quality?     If the quick fire of youth light not your mind,     You are no maiden, but a monument;     When you are dead, you should be such a one     As you are now, for you are cold and stern;     And now you should be as your mother was     When your sweet self was got.   DIANA. She then was honest.   BERTRAM. So should you be.   DIANA. No.     My mother did but duty; such, my lord,     As you owe to your wife.   BERTRAM. No more o'that!     I prithee do not strive against my vows.     I was compell'd to her; but I love the     By love's own sweet constraint, and will for ever     Do thee all rights of service.   DIANA. Ay, so you serve us     Till we serve you; but when you have our roses     You barely leave our thorns to prick ourselves,     And mock us with our bareness.   BERTRAM. How have I sworn!   DIANA. 'Tis not the many oaths that makes the truth,     But the plain single vow that is vow'd true.     What is not holy, that we swear not by,     But take the High'st to witness. Then, pray you, tell me:     If I should swear by Jove's great attributes     I lov'd you dearly, would you believe my oaths     When I did love you ill? This has no holding,     To swear by him whom I protest to love     That I will work against him. Therefore your oaths     Are words and poor conditions, but unseal'd-     At least in my opinion.   BERTRAM. Change it, change it;     Be not so holy-cruel. Love is holy;     And my integrity ne'er knew the crafts     That you do charge men with. Stand no more off,     But give thyself unto my sick desires,     Who then recovers. Say thou art mine, and ever     My love as it begins shall so persever.   DIANA. I see that men make ropes in such a scarre     That we'll forsake ourselves. Give me that ring.   BERTRAM. I'll lend it thee, my dear, but have no power     To give it from me.   DIANA. Will you not, my lord?   BERTRAM. It is an honour 'longing to our house,     Bequeathed down from many ancestors;     Which were the greatest obloquy i' th' world     In me to lose.   DIANA. Mine honour's such a ring:     My chastity's the jewel of our house,     Bequeathed down from many ancestors;     Which were the greatest obloquy i' th' world     In me to lose. Thus your own proper wisdom     Brings in the champion Honour on my part     Against your vain assault.   BERTRAM. Here, take my ring;     My house, mine honour, yea, my life, be thine,     And I'll be bid by thee.   DIANA. When midnight comes, knock at my chamber window;     I'll order take my mother shall not hear.     Now will I charge you in the band of truth,     When you have conquer'd my yet maiden bed,     Remain there but an hour, nor speak to me:     My reasons are most strong; and you shall know them     When back again this ring shall be deliver'd.     And on your finger in the night I'll put     Another ring, that what in time proceeds     May token to the future our past deeds.     Adieu till then; then fail not. You have won     A wife of me, though there my hope be done.   BERTRAM. A heaven on earth I have won by wooing thee.  Exit   DIANA. For which live long to thank both heaven and me!     You may so in the end.     My mother told me just how he would woo,     As if she sat in's heart; she says all men     Have the like oaths. He had sworn to marry me     When his wife's dead; therefore I'll lie with him     When I am buried. Since Frenchmen are so braid,     Marry that will, I live and die a maid.     Only, in this disguise, I think't no sin     To cozen him that would unjustly win.                   Exit     ACT IV. SCENE 3. The Florentine camp  Enter the two FRENCH LORDS, and two or three SOLDIERS    SECOND LORD. You have not given him his mother's letter?   FIRST LORD. I have deliv'red it an hour since. There is something     in't that stings his nature; for on the reading it he chang'd     almost into another man.   SECOND LORD. He has much worthy blame laid upon him for shaking off     so good a wife and so sweet a lady.   FIRST LORD. Especially he hath incurred the everlasting displeasure     of the King, who had even tun'd his bounty to sing happiness to     him. I will tell you a thing, but you shall let it dwell darkly     with you.   SECOND LORD. When you have spoken it, 'tis dead, and I am the grave     of it.   FIRST LORD. He hath perverted a young gentlewoman here in Florence,     of a most chaste renown; and this night he fleshes his will in     the spoil of her honour. He hath given her his monumental ring,     and thinks himself made in the unchaste composition.   SECOND LORD. Now, God delay our rebellion! As we are ourselves,     what things are we!   FIRST LORD. Merely our own traitors. And as in the common course of     all treasons we still see them reveal themselves till they attain     to their abhorr'd ends; so he that in this action contrives     against his own nobility, in his proper stream, o'erflows     himself.   SECOND LORD. Is it not meant damnable in us to be trumpeters of our     unlawful intents? We shall not then have his company to-night?   FIRST LORD. Not till after midnight; for he is dieted to his hour.   SECOND LORD. That approaches apace. I would gladly have him see his     company anatomiz'd, that he might take a measure of his own     judgments, wherein so curiously he had set this counterfeit.   FIRST LORD. We will not meddle with him till he come; for his     presence must be the whip of the other.   SECOND LORD. In the meantime, what hear you of these wars?   FIRST LORD. I hear there is an overture of peace.   SECOND LORD. Nay, I assure you, a peace concluded.   FIRST LORD. What will Count Rousillon do then? Will he travel     higher, or return again into France?   SECOND LORD. I perceive, by this demand, you are not altogether     of his counsel.   FIRST LORD. Let it be forbid, sir! So should I be a great deal     of his act.   SECOND LORD. Sir, his wife, some two months since, fled from his     house. Her pretence is a pilgrimage to Saint Jaques le Grand;     which holy undertaking with most austere sanctimony she     accomplish'd; and, there residing, the tenderness of her nature     became as a prey to her grief; in fine, made a groan of her last     breath, and now she sings in heaven.   FIRST LORD. How is this justified?   SECOND LORD. The stronger part of it by her own letters, which     makes her story true even to the point of her death. Her death     itself, which could not be her office to say is come, was     faithfully confirm'd by the rector of the place.   FIRST LORD. Hath the Count all this intelligence?   SECOND LORD. Ay, and the particular confirmations, point from     point, to the full arming of the verity.   FIRST LORD. I am heartily sorry that he'll be glad of this.   SECOND LORD. How mightily sometimes we make us comforts of our     losses!   FIRST LORD. And how mightily some other times we drown our gain in     tears! The great dignity that his valour hath here acquir'd for     him shall at home be encount'red with a shame as ample.   SECOND LORD. The web of our life is of a mingled yarn, good and ill     together. Our virtues would be proud if our faults whipt them     not; and our crimes would despair if they were not cherish'd by     our virtues.                        Enter a MESSENGER      How now? Where's your master?   SERVANT. He met the Duke in the street, sir; of whom he hath taken     a solemn leave. His lordship will next morning for France. The     Duke hath offered him letters of commendations to the King.   SECOND LORD. They shall be no more than needful there, if they were     more than they can commend.   FIRST LORD. They cannot be too sweet for the King's tartness.     Here's his lordship now.                          Enter BERTRAM      How now, my lord, is't not after midnight?   BERTRAM. I have to-night dispatch'd sixteen businesses, a month's     length apiece; by an abstract of success: I have congied with the     Duke, done my adieu with his nearest; buried a wife, mourn'd for     her; writ to my lady mother I am returning; entertain'd my     convoy; and between these main parcels of dispatch effected many     nicer needs. The last was the greatest, but that I have not ended     yet.   SECOND LORD. If the business be of any difficulty and this morning     your departure hence, it requires haste of your lordship.   BERTRAM. I mean the business is not ended, as fearing to hear of it     hereafter. But shall we have this dialogue between the Fool and     the Soldier? Come, bring forth this counterfeit module has     deceiv'd me like a double-meaning prophesier.   SECOND LORD. Bring him forth.  [Exeunt SOLDIERS]  Has sat i' th'     stocks all night, poor gallant knave.   BERTRAM. No matter; his heels have deserv'd it, in usurping his     spurs so long. How does he carry himself?   SECOND LORD. I have told your lordship already the stocks carry     him. But to answer you as you would be understood: he weeps like     a wench that had shed her milk; he hath confess'd himself to     Morgan, whom he supposes to be a friar, from the time of his     remembrance to this very instant disaster of his setting i' th'     stocks. And what think you he hath confess'd?   BERTRAM. Nothing of me, has 'a?   SECOND LORD. His confession is taken, and it shall be read to his     face; if your lordship be in't, as I believe you are, you must     have the patience to hear it.                     Enter PAROLLES guarded, and                   FIRST SOLDIER as interpreter    BERTRAM. A plague upon him! muffled! He can say nothing of me.   SECOND LORD. Hush, hush! Hoodman comes. Portotartarossa.   FIRST SOLDIER. He calls for the tortures. What will you say without     'em?   PAROLLES. I will confess what I know without constraint; if ye     pinch me like a pasty, I can say no more.   FIRST SOLDIER. Bosko chimurcho.   SECOND LORD. Boblibindo chicurmurco.   FIRST SOLDIER. YOU are a merciful general. Our General bids you     answer to what I shall ask you out of a note.   PAROLLES. And truly, as I hope to live.   FIRST SOLDIER. 'First demand of him how many horse the Duke is     strong.' What say you to that?   PAROLLES. Five or six thousand; but very weak and unserviceable.     The troops are all scattered, and the commanders very poor     rogues, upon my reputation and credit, and as I hope to live.   FIRST SOLDIER. Shall I set down your answer so?   PAROLLES. Do; I'll take the sacrament on 't, how and which way you     will.   BERTRAM. All's one to him. What a past-saving slave is this!   SECOND LORD. Y'are deceiv'd, my lord; this is Monsieur Parolles,     the gallant militarist-that was his own phrase-that had the whole     theoric of war in the knot of his scarf, and the practice in the     chape of his dagger.   FIRST LORD. I will never trust a man again for keeping his sword     clean; nor believe he can have everything in him by wearing his     apparel neatly.   FIRST SOLDIER. Well, that's set down.   PAROLLES. 'Five or six thousand horse' I said-I will say true- 'or     thereabouts' set down, for I'll speak truth.   SECOND LORD. He's very near the truth in this.   BERTRAM. But I con him no thanks for't in the nature he delivers it.   PAROLLES. 'Poor rogues' I pray you say.   FIRST SOLDIER. Well, that's set down.   PAROLLES. I humbly thank you, sir. A truth's a truth-the rogues are     marvellous poor.   FIRST SOLDIER. 'Demand of him of what strength they are a-foot.'     What say you to that?   PAROLLES. By my troth, sir, if I were to live this present hour, I     will tell true. Let me see: Spurio, a hundred and fifty;     Sebastian, so many; Corambus, so many; Jaques, so many; Guiltian,     Cosmo, Lodowick, and Gratii, two hundred fifty each; mine own     company, Chitopher, Vaumond, Bentii, two hundred fifty each; so     that the muster-file, rotten and sound, upon my life, amounts not     to fifteen thousand poll; half of the which dare not shake the     snow from off their cassocks lest they shake themselves to     pieces.   BERTRAM. What shall be done to him?   SECOND LORD. Nothing, but let him have thanks. Demand of him my     condition, and what credit I have with the Duke.   FIRST SOLDIER. Well, that's set down. 'You shall demand of him     whether one Captain Dumain be i' th' camp, a Frenchman; what his     reputation is with the Duke, what his valour, honesty, expertness     in wars; or whether he thinks it were not possible, with     well-weighing sums of gold, to corrupt him to a revolt.' What say     you to this? What do you know of it?   PAROLLES. I beseech you, let me answer to the particular of the     inter'gatories. Demand them singly.   FIRST SOLDIER. Do you know this Captain Dumain?   PAROLLES. I know him: 'a was a botcher's prentice in Paris, from     whence he was whipt for getting the shrieve's fool with child-a     dumb innocent that could not say him nay.   BERTRAM. Nay, by your leave, hold your hands; though I know his     brains are forfeit to the next tile that falls.   FIRST SOLDIER. Well, is this captain in the Duke of Florence's     camp?   PAROLLES. Upon my knowledge, he is, and lousy.   SECOND LORD. Nay, look not so upon me; we shall hear of your     lordship anon.   FIRST SOLDIER. What is his reputation with the Duke?   PAROLLES. The Duke knows him for no other but a poor officer of     mine; and writ to me this other day to turn him out o' th' band.     I think I have his letter in my pocket.   FIRST SOLDIER. Marry, we'll search.   PAROLLES. In good sadness, I do not know; either it is there or it     is upon a file with the Duke's other letters in my tent.   FIRST SOLDIER. Here 'tis; here's a paper. Shall I read it to you?   PAROLLES. I do not know if it be it or no.   BERTRAM. Our interpreter does it well.   SECOND LORD. Excellently.   FIRST SOLDIER.  [Reads]  'Dian, the Count's a fool, and full of     gold.'   PAROLLES. That is not the Duke's letter, sir; that is an     advertisement to a proper maid in Florence, one Diana, to take     heed of the allurement of one Count Rousillon, a foolish idle     boy, but for all that very ruttish. I pray you, sir, put it up     again.   FIRST SOLDIER. Nay, I'll read it first by your favour.   PAROLLES. My meaning in't, I protest, was very honest in the behalf     of the maid; for I knew the young Count to be a dangerous and     lascivious boy, who is a whale to virginity, and devours up all     the fry it finds.   BERTRAM. Damnable both-sides rogue!   FIRST SOLDIER.                                         [Reads]     'When he swears oaths, bid him drop gold, and take it;     After he scores, he never pays the score.     Half won is match well made; match, and well make it;     He ne'er pays after-debts, take it before.     And say a soldier, Dian, told thee this:     Men are to mell with, boys are not to kiss;     For count of this, the Count's a fool, I know it,     Who pays before, but not when he does owe it.     Thine, as he vow'd to thee in thine ear,                                                    PAROLLES.'   BERTRAM. He shall be whipt through the army with this rhyme in's     forehead.   FIRST LORD. This is your devoted friend, sir, the manifold     linguist, and the amnipotent soldier.   BERTRAM. I could endure anything before but a cat, and now he's a     cat to me.   FIRST SOLDIER. I perceive, sir, by our General's looks we shall be     fain to hang you.   PAROLLES. My life, sir, in any case! Not that I am afraid to die,     but that, my offences being many, I would repent out the     remainder of nature. Let me live, sir, in a dungeon, i' th'     stocks, or anywhere, so I may live.   FIRST SOLDIER. We'll see what may be done, so you confess freely;     therefore, once more to this Captain Dumain: you have answer'd to     his reputation with the Duke, and to his valour; what is his     honesty?   PAROLLES. He will steal, sir, an egg out of a cloister; for rapes     and ravishments he parallels Nessus. He professes not keeping of     oaths; in breaking 'em he is stronger than Hercules. He will lie,     sir, with such volubility that you would think truth were a fool.     Drunkenness is his best virtue, for he will be swine-drunk; and     in his sleep he does little harm, save to his bedclothes about     him; but they know his conditions and lay him in straw. I have     but little more to say, sir, of his honesty. He has everything     that an honest man should not have; what an honest man should     have he has nothing.   SECOND LORD. I begin to love him for this.   BERTRAM. For this description of thine honesty? A pox upon him! For     me, he's more and more a cat.   FIRST SOLDIER. What say you to his expertness in war?   PAROLLES. Faith, sir, has led the drum before the English     tragedians-to belie him I will not-and more of his soldier-ship     I know not, except in that country he had the honour to be the     officer at a place there called Mile-end to instruct for the     doubling of files-I would do the man what honour I can-but of     this I am not certain.   SECOND LORD. He hath out-villain'd villainy so far that the rarity     redeems him.   BERTRAM. A pox on him! he's a cat still.   FIRST SOLDIER. His qualities being at this poor price, I need not     to ask you if gold will corrupt him to revolt.   PAROLLES. Sir, for a cardecue he will sell the fee-simple of his     salvation, the inheritance of it; and cut th' entail from all     remainders and a perpetual succession for it perpetually.   FIRST SOLDIER. What's his brother, the other Captain Dumain?   FIRST LORD. Why does he ask him of me?   FIRST SOLDIER. What's he?   PAROLLES. E'en a crow o' th' same nest; not altogether so great as     the first in goodness, but greater a great deal in evil. He     excels his brother for a coward; yet his brother is reputed one     of the best that is. In a retreat he outruns any lackey: marry,     in coming on he has the cramp.   FIRST SOLDIER. If your life be saved, will you undertake to betray     the Florentine?   PAROLLES. Ay, and the Captain of his Horse, Count Rousillon.   FIRST SOLDIER. I'll whisper with the General, and know his     pleasure.   PAROLLES.  [Aside]  I'll no more drumming. A plague of all drums!     Only to seem to deserve well, and to beguile the supposition of     that lascivious young boy the Count, have I run into this danger.     Yet who would have suspected an ambush where I was taken?   FIRST SOLDIER. There is no remedy, sir, but you must die.     The General says you that have so traitorously discover'd the     secrets of your army, and made such pestiferous reports of men     very nobly held, can serve the world for no honest use; therefore     you must die. Come, headsman, of with his head.   PAROLLES. O Lord, sir, let me live, or let me see my death!   FIRST SOLDIER. That shall you, and take your leave of all your     friends.  [Unmuffling him]  So look about you; know you any here?   BERTRAM. Good morrow, noble Captain.   FIRST LORD. God bless you, Captain Parolles.   SECOND LORD. God save you, noble Captain.   FIRST LORD. Captain, what greeting will you to my Lord Lafeu? I am     for France.   SECOND LORD. Good Captain, will you give me a copy of the sonnet     you writ to Diana in behalf of the Count Rousillon? An I were not     a very coward I'd compel it of you; but fare you well.                                         Exeunt BERTRAM and LORDS   FIRST SOLDIER. You are undone, Captain, all but your scarf; that     has a knot on 't yet.   PAROLLES. Who cannot be crush'd with a plot?   FIRST SOLDIER. If you could find out a country where but women were     that had received so much shame, you might begin an impudent     nation. Fare ye well, sir; I am for France too; we shall speak of     you there.                                Exit with SOLDIERS   PAROLLES. Yet am I thankful. If my heart were great,     'Twould burst at this. Captain I'll be no more;     But I will eat, and drink, and sleep as soft     As captain shall. Simply the thing I am     Shall make me live. Who knows himself a braggart,     Let him fear this; for it will come to pass     That every braggart shall be found an ass.     Rust, sword; cool, blushes; and, Parolles, live     Safest in shame. Being fool'd, by fool'ry thrive.     There's place and means for every man alive.     I'll after them.                                        Exit     ACT IV SCENE 4. The WIDOW'S house  Enter HELENA, WIDOW, and DIANA    HELENA. That you may well perceive I have not wrong'd you!     One of the greatest in the Christian world     Shall be my surety; fore whose throne 'tis needful,     Ere I can perfect mine intents, to kneel.     Time was I did him a desired office,     Dear almost as his life; which gratitude     Through flinty Tartar's bosom would peep forth,     And answer 'Thanks.' I duly am inform'd     His Grace is at Marseilles, to which place     We have convenient convoy. You must know     I am supposed dead. The army breaking,     My husband hies him home; where, heaven aiding,     And by the leave of my good lord the King,     We'll be before our welcome.   WIDOW. Gentle madam,     You never had a servant to whose trust     Your business was more welcome.   HELENA. Nor you, mistress,     Ever a friend whose thoughts more truly labour     To recompense your love. Doubt not but heaven     Hath brought me up to be your daughter's dower,     As it hath fated her to be my motive     And helper to a husband. But, O strange men!     That can such sweet use make of what they hate,     When saucy trusting of the cozen'd thoughts     Defiles the pitchy night. So lust doth play     With what it loathes, for that which is away.     But more of this hereafter. You, Diana,     Under my poor instructions yet must suffer     Something in my behalf.   DIANA. Let death and honesty     Go with your impositions, I am yours     Upon your will to suffer.   HELENA. Yet, I pray you:     But with the word the time will bring on summer,     When briers shall have leaves as well as thorns     And be as sweet as sharp. We must away;     Our waggon is prepar'd, and time revives us.     All's Well that Ends Well. Still the fine's the crown.     Whate'er the course, the end is the renown.           Exeunt     ACT IV SCENE 5. Rousillon. The COUNT'S palace  Enter COUNTESS, LAFEU, and CLOWN    LAFEU. No, no, no, son was misled with a snipt-taffeta fellow     there, whose villainous saffron would have made all the unbak'd     and doughy youth of a nation in his colour. Your daughter-in-law     had been alive at this hour, and your son here at home, more     advanc'd by the King than by that red-tail'd humble-bee I speak     of.   COUNTESS. I would I had not known him. It was the death of the most     virtuous gentlewoman that ever nature had praise for creating. If     she had partaken of my flesh, and cost me the dearest groans of a     mother. I could not have owed her a more rooted love.   LAFEU. 'Twas a good lady, 'twas a good lady. We may pick a thousand     sallets ere we light on such another herb.   CLOWN. Indeed, sir, she was the sweet-marjoram of the sallet, or,     rather, the herb of grace.   LAFEU. They are not sallet-herbs, you knave; they are nose-herbs.   CLOWN. I am no great Nebuchadnezzar, sir; I have not much skill in     grass.   LAFEU. Whether dost thou profess thyself-a knave or a fool?   CLOWN. A fool, sir, at a woman's service, and a knave at a man's.   LAFEU. Your distinction?   CLOWN. I would cozen the man of his wife, and do his service.   LAFEU. So you were a knave at his service, indeed.   CLOWN. And I would give his wife my bauble, sir, to do her service.   LAFEU. I will subscribe for thee; thou art both knave and fool.   CLOWN. At your service.   LAFEU. No, no, no.   CLOWN. Why, sir, if I cannot serve you, I can serve as great a     prince as you are.   LAFEU. Who's that? A Frenchman?   CLOWN. Faith, sir, 'a has an English name; but his fisnomy is more     hotter in France than there.   LAFEU. What prince is that?   CLOWN. The Black Prince, sir; alias, the Prince of Darkness; alias,     the devil.   LAFEU. Hold thee, there's my purse. I give thee not this to suggest     thee from thy master thou talk'st of; serve him still.   CLOWN. I am a woodland fellow, sir, that always loved a great fire;     and the master I speak of ever keeps a good fire. But, sure, he     is the prince of the world; let his nobility remain in's court. I     am for the house with the narrow gate, which I take to be too     little for pomp to enter. Some that humble themselves may; but     the many will be too chill and tender: and they'll be for the     flow'ry way that leads to the broad gate and the great fire.   LAFEU. Go thy ways, I begin to be aweary of thee; and I tell thee     so before, because I would not fall out with thee. Go thy ways;     let my horses be well look'd to, without any tricks.   CLOWN. If I put any tricks upon 'em, sir, they shall be jades'     tricks, which are their own right by the law of nature.  Exit   LAFEU. A shrewd knave, and an unhappy.   COUNTESS. So 'a is. My lord that's gone made himself much  sport     out of him. By his authority he remains here, which he thinks is     a patent for his sauciness; and indeed he has no pace, but runs     where he will.   LAFEU. I like him well; 'tis not amiss. And I was about to tell     you, since I heard of the good lady's death, and that my lord     your son was upon his return home, I moved the King my master to     speak in the behalf of my daughter; which, in the minority of     them both, his Majesty out of a self-gracious remembrance did     first propose. His Highness hath promis'd me to do it; and, to     stop up the displeasure he hath conceived against your son, there     is no fitter matter. How does your ladyship like it?   COUNTESS. With very much content, my lord; and I wish it happily     effected.   LAFEU. His Highness comes post from Marseilles, of as able body as     when he number'd thirty; 'a will be here to-morrow, or I am     deceiv'd by him that in such intelligence hath seldom fail'd.   COUNTESS. It rejoices me that I hope I shall see him ere I die.     I have letters that my son will be here to-night. I shall beseech     your lordship to remain with me tal they meet together.   LAFEU. Madam, I was thinking with what manners I might safely be     admitted.   COUNTESS. You need but plead your honourable privilege.   LAFEU. Lady, of that I have made a bold charter; but, I thank my     God, it holds yet.                           Re-enter CLOWN    CLOWN. O madam, yonder's my lord your son with a patch of velvet     on's face; whether there be a scar under 't or no, the velvet     knows; but 'tis a goodly patch of velvet. His left cheek is a     cheek of two pile and a half, but his right cheek is worn bare.   LAFEU. A scar nobly got, or a noble scar, is a good liv'ry of     honour; so belike is that.   CLOWN. But it is your carbonado'd face.   LAFEU. Let us go see your son, I pray you;     I long to talk with the young noble soldier.   CLOWN. Faith, there's a dozen of 'em, with delicate fine hats, and     most courteous feathers, which bow the head and nod at every man.                                                           Exeunt