Shakespeare's First Folio Part 201

Ros. What is it (my good Lord) the King languishes of?

Laf. A Fistula my Lord

Ros. I heard not of it before

Laf. I would it were not notorious. Was this Gentlewoman the Daughter of Gerard de Narbon?

Mo. His sole childe my Lord, and bequeathed to my ouer looking. I haue those hopes of her good, that her education promises her dispositions shee inherits, which makes faire gifts fairer: for where an vncleane mind carries vertuous qualities, there commendations go with pitty, they are vertues and traitors too: in her they are the better for their simplenesse; she deriues her honestie, and atcheeues her goodnesse

Lafew. Your commendations Madam get from her teares

Mo. 'Tis the best brine a Maiden can season her praise in. The remembrance of her father neuer approches her heart, but the tirrany of her sorrowes takes all liuelihood from her cheeke. No more of this Helena, go too, no more least it be rather thought you affect a sorrow, then to haue- h.e.l.l. I doe affect a sorrow indeed, but I haue it too

Laf. Moderate lamentation is the right of the dead, excessiue greefe the enemie to the liuing

Mo. If the liuing be enemie to the greefe, the excesse makes it soone mortall

Ros. Maddam I desire your holie wishes

Laf. How vnderstand we that?

Mo. Be thou blest Bertrame, and succeed thy father In manners as in shape: thy blood and vertue Contend for Empire in thee, and thy goodnesse Share with thy birth-right. Loue all, trust a few, Doe wrong to none: be able for thine enemie Rather in power then vse: and keepe thy friend Vnder thy owne lifes key. Be checkt for silence, But neuer tax'd for speech. What heauen more wil, That thee may furnish, and my prayers plucke downe, Fall on thy head. Farwell my Lord, 'Tis an vnseason'd Courtier, good my Lord Aduise him

Laf. He cannot want the best That shall attend his loue

Mo. Heauen blesse him: Farwell Bertram

Ro. The best wishes that can be forg'd in your thoghts be seruants to you: be comfortable to my mother, your Mistris, and make much of her

Laf. Farewell prettie Lady, you must hold the credit of your father

h.e.l.l. O were that all, I thinke not on my father, And these great teares grace his remembrance more Then those I shed for him. What was he like?

I haue forgott him. My imagination Carries no fauour in't but Bertrams.

I am vndone, there is no liuing, none, If Bertram be away. 'Twere all one, That I should loue a bright particuler starre, And think to wed it, he is so aboue me In his bright radience and colaterall light, Must I be comforted, not in his sphere; Th' ambition in my loue thus plagues it selfe: The hind that would be mated by the Lion Must die for loue. 'Twas prettie, though a plague To see him euerie houre to sit and draw His arched browes, his hawking eie, his curles In our hearts table: heart too capeable Of euerie line and tricke of his sweet fauour.

But now he's gone, and my idolatrous fancie Must sanctifie his Reliques. Who comes heere?

Enter Parrolles.

One that goes with him: I loue him for his sake, And yet I know him a notorious Liar, Thinke him a great way foole, solie a coward, Yet these fixt euils sit so fit in him, That they take place, when Vertues steely bones Lookes bleake i'th cold wind: withall, full ofte we see Cold wisedome waighting on superfluous follie

Par. Saue you faire Queene

Hel. And you Monarch

Par. No

Hel. And no

Par. Are you meditating on virginitie?

Hel. I: you haue some staine of souldier in you: Let mee aske you a question. Man is enemie to virginitie, how may we barracado it against him?

Par. Keepe him out

Hel. But he a.s.sailes, and our virginitie though valiant, in the defence yet is weak: vnfold to vs some war-like resistance

Par. There is none: Man setting downe before you, will vndermine you, and blow you vp

Hel. Blesse our poore Virginity from vnderminers and blowers vp. Is there no Military policy how Virgins might blow vp men?

Par. Virginity beeing blowne downe, Man will quicklier be blowne vp: marry in blowing him downe againe, with the breach your selues made, you lose your Citty. It is not politicke, in the Common-wealth of Nature, to preserue virginity. Losse of Virginitie, is rationall encrease, and there was neuer Virgin goe, till virginitie was first lost. That you were made of, is mettall to make Virgins. Virginitie, by beeing once lost, may be ten times found: by being euer kept, it is euer lost: 'tis too cold a companion: Away with't

Hel. I will stand for't a little, though therefore I die a Virgin

Par. There's little can bee saide in't, 'tis against the rule of Nature. To speake on the part of virginitie, is to accuse your Mothers; which is most infallible disobedience.

He that hangs himselfe is a Virgin: Virginitie murthers it selfe, and should be buried in highwayes out of all sanctified limit, as a desperate Offendresse against Nature. Virginitie breedes mites, much like a Cheese, consumes it selfe to the very payring, and so dies with feeding his owne stomacke. Besides, Virginitie is peeuish, proud, ydle, made of selfe-loue, which is the most inhibited sinne in the Cannon. Keepe it not, you cannot choose but loose by't. Out with't: within ten yeare it will make it selfe two, which is a goodly increase, and the princ.i.p.all it selfe not much the worse.

Away with't

Hel. How might one do sir, to loose it to her owne liking?

Par. Let mee see. Marry ill, to like him that ne're it likes. 'Tis a commodity wil lose the glosse with lying: The longer kept, the lesse worth: Off with't while 'tis vendible. Answer the time of request, Virginitie like an olde Courtier, weares her cap out of fashion, richly suted, but vnsuteable, iust like the brooch & the tooth-pick, which were not now: your Date is better in your Pye and your Porredge, then in your cheeke: and your virginity, your old virginity, is like one of our French wither'd peares, it lookes ill, it eates drily, marry 'tis a wither'd peare: it was formerly better, marry yet 'tis a wither'd peare: Will you any thing with it?

Hel. Not my virginity yet: There shall your Master haue a thousand loues, A Mother, and a Mistresse, and a friend, A Phenix, Captaine, and an enemy, A guide, a G.o.ddesse, and a Soueraigne, A Counsellor, a Traitoresse, and a Deare: His humble ambition, proud humility: His iarring, concord: and his discord, dulcet: His faith, his sweet disaster: with a world Of pretty fond adoptious christendomes That blinking Cupid gossips. Now shall he: I know not what he shall, G.o.d send him well, The Courts a learning place, and he is one

Par. What one ifaith?

Hel. That I wish well, 'tis pitty

Par. What's pitty?

Hel. That wishing well had not a body in't, Which might be felt, that we the poorer borne, Whose baser starres do shut vs vp in wishes, Might with effects of them follow our friends, And shew what we alone must thinke, which neuer Returnes vs thankes.

Enter Page.

Pag. Monsieur Parrolles, My Lord cals for you

Par. Little h.e.l.len farewell, if I can remember thee, I will thinke of thee at Court

Hel. Monsieur Parolles, you were borne vnder a charitable starre

Par. Vnder Mars I

Hel. I especially thinke, vnder Mars

Par. Why vnder Mars?

Hel. The warres hath so kept you vnder, that you must needes be borne vnder Mars

Par. When he was predominant

Hel. When he was retrograde I thinke rather

Par. Why thinke you so?

Hel. You go so much backward when you fight

Par. That's for aduantage

Hel. So is running away, When feare proposes the safetie: But the composition that your valour and feare makes in you, is a vertue of a good wing, and I like the weare well

Paroll. I am so full of businesses, I cannot answere thee acutely: I will returne perfect Courtier, in the which my instruction shall serue to naturalize thee, so thou wilt be capeable of a Courtiers councell, and vnderstand what aduice shall thrust vppon thee, else thou diest in thine vnthankfulnes, and thine ignorance makes thee away, farewell: When thou hast leysure, say thy praiers: when thou hast none, remember thy Friends: Get thee a good husband, and vse him as he vses thee: So farewell

Hel. Our remedies oft in our selues do lye, Which we ascribe to heauen: the fated skye Giues vs free scope, onely doth backward pull Our slow designes, when we our selues are dull.