ACT IV. SCENE 5. Rousillon. A room in the COUNTESS'S palace.
[Enter COUNTESS, LAFEU, and CLOWN.]
No, no, no, 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-tail'd humble-bee I speak
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.
'Twas a good lady, 'twas a good lady: we may pick a thousand
salads ere we light on such another herb.
Indeed, sir, she was the sweet marjoram of the salad, or,
rather, the herb of grace.
They are not salad-herbs, you knave; they are nose-herbs.
I am no great Nebuchadnezzar, sir; I have not much skill in
Whether dost thou profess thyself, — a knave or a fool?
A fool, sir, at a woman's service, and a knave at a man's.
I would cozen the man of his wife, and do his service.
So you were a knave at his service, indeed.
And I would give his wife my bauble, sir, to do her service.
I will subscribe for thee; thou art both knave and fool.
At your service.
No, no, no.
Why, sir, if I cannot serve you, I can serve as great a
prince as you are.
Who's that? a Frenchman?
Faith, sir, 'a has an English name; but his phisnomy is more
hotter in France than there.
What prince is that?
The black prince, sir; alias, the prince of darkness; alias,
Hold thee, there's my purse: I give thee not this to suggest
thee from thy master thou talkest of; serve him still.
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 his 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
flow'ry way that leads to the broad gate and the great fire.
Go thy ways, I begin to be a-weary 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.
If I put any tricks upon 'em, sir, they shall be jades' tricks,
which are their own right by the law of nature.
A shrewd knave, and an unhappy.
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 no pace, but runs where he will.
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?
With very much content, my lord; and I wish it happily effected.
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.
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.
Madam, I was thinking with what manners I might safely be
You need but plead your honourable privilege.
Lady, of that I have made a bold charter; but, I thank my
God, it holds yet.
O madam, yonder's my lord your son with a patch of velvet
on's face; whether there be a scar under it 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.
A scar nobly got, or a noble scar, is a good livery of honour; so
belike is that.
But it is your carbonadoed face.
Let us go see your son, I pray you; I long to talk with the young
Faith, there's a dozen of 'em, with delicate fine hats, and
most courteous feathers, which bow the head and nod at every man.