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SCENE V

Rousillon. The COUNT'S palace.
Enter COUNTESS, LAFEU, and CLOWN.

Laf.
No, no, no, your son was misled with
a snipt-taffeta fellow there, whose villanous
saffron would have made all the unbaked 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 advanced by
the king than by that red-tailed humble-bee I
speak of.

Count.
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.

Laf.
'Twas a good lady, 'twas a good lady:
we may pick a thousand salads ere we light on
such another herb.

Clo.
Indeed, sir, she was the sweet marjoram
of the salad, or rather, the herb of grace.

Laf.
They are not herbs, you knave; they (20)
are nose-herbs.

Clo.
I am no great Nebuchadnezzar, sir;
I have not much skill in grass.

Laf.
Whether dost thou profess thyself, a
knave or a fool?

Clo.
A fool, sir, at a woman's service, and
a knave at a man's.

Laf.
Your distinction?

Clo.
I would cozen the man of his wife and
do his service.

Laf.
So you were a knave at his service, (31)
indeed.

Clo.
And I would give his wife my bauble,
sir, to do her service.

Laf.
I will subscribe for thee, thou art
both knave and fool.

Clo.
At your service.

Laf.
No, no, no.

Clo.
Why, sir, if I cannot serve you, I can
serve as great a prince as you are. (40)

Laf.
Who's that? a Frenchman?

Clo.
Faith, sir, a' has an English name;
but his fisnomy is more hotter in France than
there.

Laf.
What prince is that?

Clo.
The black prince, sir; alias, the
prince of darkness; alias, the devil.

Laf.
Hold thee, there's my purse; I give
thee not this to suggest thee from thy master
thou talkest of; serve him still.

Clo.
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 flowery way that
leads to the broad gate and the great fire.

Laf.
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 looked to, without any
tricks.

Clo.
If I put any tricks upon 'em, sir, they
shall be jades' tricks; which are their own
right by the law of nature. [Exit.

Laf.
A shrewd knave and an unhappy.

Count.
So he 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 (71)
no pace, but runs where he will.

Laf.
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 promised
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?

Count.
With very much content, my lord;
and I wish it happily effected.

Laf.
His highness comes post from Marseilles,
of as able body as when he numbered
thirty: he will be here to-morrow, or I am deceived
by him that in such intelligence hath
seldom failed.

Count.
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 till they meet together.

Laf.
Madam, I was thinking with what
manners I might safely be admitted.

Count.
You need but plead your honorable
privilege.

Laf.
Lady, of that I have made a bold
charter; but I thank my God it holds yet. Re-enter CLOWN.

Clo.
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.

Laf.
A scar nobly got, or a noble scar, is
a good livery of honour; so belike is that.

Clo.
But it is your carbonadoed face.

Laf.
Let us go see your son, I pray you: I
long to talk with the young noble soldier.

Clo.
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.

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