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Paris. A Room in the KING’S Palace. | |
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Flourish of Cornets. Enter the KING OF FRANCE, with letters; Lords and Others attending. | |
| King. The Florentines and Senoys are by the ears; | |
| Have fought with equal fortune, and continue | |
| A braving war. | 5 |
| 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 | 10 |
| 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. | 15 |
| 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. | 20 |
| Sec. Lord. It well may serve. | |
| A nursery to our gentry, who are sick | |
| A nursery to our gentry, who are sick | |
| For breathing and exploit. | |
| King. What’s he comes here? | 25 |
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Enter BERTRAM, LAFEU, and PAROLLES. | |
| First Lord. It is the Count Rousillon, my good lord, | |
| Young Bertram. | |
| King. Youth, thou bear’st thy father’s face; | |
| Frank nature, rather curious than in haste, | 30 |
| Hath well compos’d thee. Thy father’s moral parts | |
| Mayst thou inherit too! Welcome to Paris. | |
| Ber. 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 | 35 |
| 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 | 40 |
| To talk of your good father. In his youth | |
| He had the wit which I can well observe | |
| To-day in our young lords; but they may jest | |
| Till their own scorn return to them unnoted | |
| Ere they can hide their levity in honour. | 45 |
| 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 | 50 |
| 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 | 55 |
| Might be a copy to these younger times, | |
| Which, follow’d well, would demonstrate them now | |
| But goers backward. | |
| Ber. His good remembrance, sir, | |
| Lies richer in your thoughts than on his tomb; | 60 |
| 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, | 65 |
| To grow there and to bear. ‘Let me not live,’— | |
| Thus 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 | 70 |
| Of younger spirits, whose apprehensive senses | |
| All but new things disdain; whose judgments are | |
| Mere fathers of their garments; whose constancies | |
| Expire before their fashions.’ This he wish’d: | |
| I, after him, do after him wish too, | 75 |
| Since I nor wax nor honey can bring home, | |
| I quickly were dissolved from my hive, | |
| To give some labourers room. | |
| Sec. Lord. You are lov’d, sir; | |
| They that least lend it you shall lack you first. | 80 |
| King. I fill a place, I know ’t. How long is ’t, count, | |
| Since the physician at your father’s died? | |
| He was much fam’d. | |
| Ber. Some six months since, my lord. | |
| King. If he were living, I would try him yet: | 85 |
| Lend me an arm: the rest have worn me out | |
| With several applications: nature and sickness | |
| Debate it at their leisure. Welcome, count; | |
| My son’s no dearer. | |
| Ber. Thank your majesty. [Exeunt. Flourish. | 90 |
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