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Enter a Gentleman.
Gent. And you.
Hel. I do presume, sir, that you are not fallen
goes upon your goodness;
Gent. What's your will ?
Hel. That it will please you
Gent. The king's not here.
Gent. Not, indeed.
Wid. Lord, how we lose our pains !
Hel. All's well that ends well yet,
Gent. Marry, as I take it, to Roufillon,
Hel. I beseech you, sir,
Gent. This I'll do for you.
Hel. And you shall find yourfelf to be well thank’d,
Enter Clown, and Parolles. Par. YOOD Mr. Levatch, give my lord Lafeu this letter : I
have ere now, fir, been better known to you, when I have held familiarity with fresher cloths; but I am now, sir, muddied in fortune's moat, and smell somewhat strong of her strong displeafure.
Clo. Truly, fortune’s displeasure is but sluttish, if it smell so strongly as thou speak'st of: I will henceforth eat no fish of fortune's butt'ring. Prythee, allow the wind.
Par. Nay, you need not to stop your nose, fir; I spake but by a metaphor.
Clo. Indeed, fir, if your metaphor stink, I will stop my nose against any man's metaphor. Pr’ythee, get thee further. Par. Pray you, sir, deliver me this paper. Clo
. Fohl pr’ythee, ftand away; a paper from fortune's clofestool, to give to a nobleman! look, here he comes himself.
Enter Lafeu. Clo. Here is a pur of fortune's, fir, or of fortune's cat, (but not a muskcat;) that hath fall’n into the unclean fishpond of her displeasure, and, as he says, is muddied withal. Pray you, sir, use the carp as you may, for he looks like a poor, decayed, ingenious, foolish, rascally knave. I do pity his distress in my similes of comfort, and leave him to your lordship.
Par. My lord, I am a man whom fortune hath cruelly scratch’d.
Laf. And what would you have me to do? ’tis too late to pare her nails now. Wherein have you play'd the knave with
fortune, that she should scratch you, who of herself is a good lady, and would not have knaves thrive long under her? there's a quart-d'ecu for you: let the justices make you and fortune friends; I am for other business.
Par. I beseech your honour to hear me one single word.
Laf. You beg a single penny more: come, you shall ha't; save your
word. Par. My name, my good lord, is Parolles.
Laf. You beg more than one word then. Cox' my passion ! give me your hand: how does your drum?
Par. O my good lord, you were the first that found me.
Par. It lies in you, my lord, to bring me in some grace, for you did bring me out.
Laf. Out upon thee, knave! dost thou put upon me at once both the office of god and the devil? one brings thee in grace, and the other brings thee out. The king's coming, I know by his trumpets. Sirrah, inquire further after me; I had talk of
you last night: though you are a fool and a knave, you shall eat; go to, follow. Par. I praise god for you.
Count. 'Tis past, my liege;
I have forgiven, and forgotten, all;
Laf. This I must say,
King. Praising what is loft,
King. Then shall we have a match. I have letters sent me That set him high in fame.
SC EN E IV.
King. I'm not a day of season,
Ber. My high-repented blames,
King. All is whole;
Ber. Admiringly, my liege: even at first
King. Well excus’d: