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LAFEU. O, I know him well, I, sir; he, sir, is a good workman, a very good tailor.

       BERTRAM.

       [Aside to PAROLLES.] Is she gone to the king?

       PAROLLES.

       She is.

       BERTRAM.

       Will she away tonight?

       PAROLLES.

       As you’ll have her.

       BERTRAM.

       I have writ my letters, casketed my treasure,

       Given order for our horses; and tonight,

       When I should take possession of the bride,

       End ere I do begin.

       LAFEU. A good traveller is something at the latter end of a dinner; but one that lies three-thirds and uses a known truth to pass a thousand nothings with, should be once heard and thrice beaten.— God save you, Captain.

       BERTRAM.

       Is there any unkindness between my lord and you, monsieur?

       PAROLLES.

       I know not how I have deserved to run into my lord’s displeasure.

       LAFEU. You have made shift to run into ‘t, boots and spurs and all, like him that leapt into the custard; and out of it you’ll run again, rather than suffer question for your residence.

       BERTRAM.

       It may be you have mistaken him, my lord.

       LAFEU. And shall do so ever, though I took him at his prayers. Fare you well, my lord; and believe this of me, there can be no kernal in this light nut; the soul of this man is his clothes; trust him not in matter of heavy consequence; I have kept of them tame, and know their natures.—Farewell, monsieur; I have spoken better of you than you have or will to deserve at my hand; but we must do good against evil.

       [Exit.]

       PAROLLES.

       An idle lord, I swear.

       BERTRAM.

       I think so.

       PAROLLES.

       Why, do you not know him?

       BERTRAM.

       Yes, I do know him well; and common speech

       Gives him a worthy pass. Here comes my clog.

       [Enter HELENA.]

       HELENA.

       I have, sir, as I was commanded from you,

       Spoke with the king, and have procur’d his leave

       For present parting; only he desires

       Some private speech with you.

       BERTRAM.

       I shall obey his will.

       You must not marvel, Helen, at my course,

       Which holds not colour with the time, nor does

       The ministration and required office

       On my particular. Prepared I was not

       For such a business; therefore am I found

       So much unsettled: this drives me to entreat you:

       That presently you take your way for home,

       And rather muse than ask why I entreat you:

       For my respects are better than they seem;

       And my appointments have in them a need

       Greater than shows itself at the first view

       To you that know them not. This to my mother:

       [Giving a letter.]

       ‘Twill be two days ere I shall see you; so

       I leave you to your wisdom.

       HELENA.

       Sir, I can nothing say

       But that I am your most obedient servant.

       BERTRAM.

       Come, come, no more of that.

       HELENA.

       And ever shall

       With true observance seek to eke out that

       Wherein toward me my homely stars have fail’d

       To equal my great fortune.

       BERTRAM.

       Let that go:

       My haste is very great. Farewell; hie home.

       HELENA.

       Pray, sir, your pardon.

       BERTRAM.

       Well, what would you say?

       HELENA.

       I am not worthy of the wealth I owe;

       Nor dare I say ‘tis mine, and yet it is;

       But, like a timorous thief, most fain would steal

       What law does vouch mine own.

       BERTRAM.

       What would you have?

       HELENA.

       Something; and scarce so much:—nothing, indeed.—

       I would not tell you what I would, my lord:—Faith, yes;—

       Strangers and foes do sunder and not kiss.

       BERTRAM.

       I pray you, stay not, but in haste to horse.

       HELENA.

       I shall not break your bidding, good my lord.

       BERTRAM.

       Where are my other men, monsieur?—

       Farewell,

       [Exit HELENA.]

       Go thou toward home, where I will never come

       Whilst I can shake my sword or hear the drum:—

       Away, and for our flight.

       PAROLLES.

       Bravely, coragio!

       [Exeunt.]

       ACT III.

      SCENE 1. Florence. A room in the DUKE’s palace.

       [Flourish. Enter the DUKE OF FLORENCE, attended; two French

       Lords, and Soldiers.]

       DUKE.

       So that, from point to point, now have you heard

       The fundamental reasons of this war;

       Whose great decision hath much blood let forth,

       And more thirsts after.

       FIRST LORD.

       Holy seems the quarrel

       Upon your grace’s part; black and fearful

       On the opposer.

       DUKE.

       Therefore we marvel much our cousin France

       Would, in so just a business, shut his bosom

       Against our borrowing prayers.

       SECOND LORD.

       Good my lord,

       The reasons of our state I cannot yield,

       But like a common and an outward man

       That the great figure of a council frames

       By self-unable motion; therefore dare not

       Say what I think of it, since I have found

       Myself in my incertain grounds to fail

       As often as I guess’d.

       DUKE.

       Be it his pleasure.

       FIRST LORD.

       But I am

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