Act I · Scene II
Paris. The KING's palace.
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Flourish of cornets. Enter the KING of France, with letters, and divers Attendants
KING
The Florentines and Senoys are by the ears;Have fought with equal fortune and continueA braving war.
First Lord
So 'tis reported, sir.
KING
Nay, 'tis most credible; we here received itA certainty, vouch'd from our cousin Austria,With caution that the Florentine will move usFor speedy aid; wherein our dearest friendPrejudicates the business and would seemTo have us make denial.
First Lord
His love and wisdom,Approved so to your majesty, may pleadFor amplest credence.
KING
He hath arm'd our answer,And Florence is denied before he comes:Yet, for our gentlemen that mean to seeThe Tuscan service, freely have they leaveTo stand on either part.
Second Lord
It well may serveA nursery to our gentry, who are sickFor breathing and exploit.
KING
What's he comes here?
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,Hath well composed thee. Thy father's moral partsMayst thou inherit too! Welcome to Paris.
BERTRAM
My thanks and duty are your majesty's.
KING
I would I had that corporal soundness now,As when thy father and myself in friendshipFirst tried our soldiership! He did look farInto the service of the time and wasDiscipled of the bravest: he lasted long;But on us both did haggish age steal onAnd wore us out of act. It much repairs meTo talk of your good father. In his youthHe had the wit which I can well observeTo-day in our young lords; but they may jestTill their own scorn return to them unnotedEre they can hide their levity in honour;So like a courtier, contempt nor bitternessWere in his pride or sharpness; if they were,His equal had awaked them, and his honour,Clock to itself, knew the true minute whenException bid him speak, and at this timeHis tongue obey'd his hand: who were below himHe used as creatures of another placeAnd bow'd his eminent top to their low ranks,Making them proud of his humility,In their poor praise he humbled. Such a manMight be a copy to these younger times;Which, follow'd well, would demonstrate them nowBut goers backward.
BERTRAM
His good remembrance, sir,Lies richer in your thoughts than on his tomb;So in approof lives not his epitaphAs in your royal speech.
KING
Would I were with him! He would always say--Methinks I hear him now; his plausive wordsHe scatter'd not in ears, but grafted them,To grow there and to bear,--'Let me not live,'--This 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 snuffOf younger spirits, whose apprehensive sensesAll but new things disdain; whose judgments areMere fathers of their garments; whose constanciesExpire before their fashions.' This he wish'd;I after him do after him wish too,Since I nor wax nor honey can bring home,I quickly were dissolved from my hive,To give some labourers room.
Second Lord
You are loved, sir:They that least lend it you shall lack you first.
KING
I fill a place, I know't. How long is't, count,Since the physician at your father's died?He was much famed.
BERTRAM
Some six months since, my lord.
KING
If he were living, I would try him yet.Lend me an arm; the rest have worn me outWith several applications; nature and sicknessDebate it at their leisure. Welcome, count;My son's no dearer.
BERTRAM
Thank your majesty.
Exeunt. Flourish