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What power is it which mounts my love so high,
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That makes me see, and cannot feed mine eye?
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The mightiest space in fortune nature brings
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To join like likes, and kiss like native things.
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Impossible be strange attempts to those
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That weigh their pains in sense, and do suppose
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What hath been cannot be. Who ever strove
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To show her merit that did miss her love?
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The King's disease-my project may deceive me,
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But my intents are fix'd, and will not leave me. Exit
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ACT I. SCENE 2.
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Paris. The KING'S palace
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Flourish of cornets. Enter the KING OF FRANCE, with letters,
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and divers ATTENDANTS
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KING. The Florentines and Senoys are by th' ears;
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Have fought with equal fortune, and continue
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A braving war.
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FIRST LORD. So 'tis reported, sir.
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KING. Nay, 'tis most credible. We here receive it,
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A certainty, vouch'd from our cousin Austria,
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With caution, that the Florentine will move us
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For speedy aid; wherein our dearest friend
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Prejudicates the business, and would seem
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To have us make denial.
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FIRST LORD. His love and wisdom,
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Approv'd so to your Majesty, may plead
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For amplest credence.
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KING. He hath arm'd our answer,
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And Florence is denied before he comes;
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Yet, for our gentlemen that mean to see
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The Tuscan service, freely have they leave
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To stand on either part.
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SECOND LORD. It well may serve
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A nursery to our gentry, who are sick
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For breathing and exploit.
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KING. What's he comes here?
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Enter BERTRAM, LAFEU, and PAROLLES
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FIRST LORD. It is the Count Rousillon, my good lord,
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Young Bertram.
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KING. Youth, thou bear'st thy father's face;
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Frank nature, rather curious than in haste,
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Hath well compos'd thee. Thy father's moral parts
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Mayst thou inherit too! Welcome to Paris.
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BERTRAM. My thanks and duty are your Majesty's.
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KING. I would I had that corporal soundness now,
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As when thy father and myself in friendship
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First tried our soldiership. He did look far
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Into the service of the time, and was
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Discipled of the bravest. He lasted long;
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But on us both did haggish age steal on,
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And wore us out of act. It much repairs me
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To talk of your good father. In his youth
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He had the wit which I can well observe
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To-day in our young lords; but they may jest
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Till their own scorn return to them unnoted
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Ere they can hide their levity in honour.
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So like a courtier, contempt nor bitterness
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Were in his pride or sharpness; if they were,
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His equal had awak'd them; and his honour,
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Clock to itself, knew the true minute when
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Exception bid him speak, and at this time
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His tongue obey'd his hand. Who were below him
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He us'd as creatures of another place;
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And bow'd his eminent top to their low ranks,
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Making them proud of his humility
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In their poor praise he humbled. Such a man
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Might be a copy to these younger times;
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Which, followed well, would demonstrate them now
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But goers backward.
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BERTRAM. His good remembrance, sir,
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Lies richer in your thoughts than on his tomb;
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So in approof lives not his epitaph
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As in your royal speech.
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KING. Would I were with him! He would always say-
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Methinks I hear him now; his plausive words
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He scatter'd not in ears, but grafted them
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To grow there, and to bear- 'Let me not live'-
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This his good melancholy oft began,
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On the catastrophe and heel of pastime,
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When it was out-'Let me not live' quoth he
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'After my flame lacks oil, to be the snuff
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Of younger spirits, whose apprehensive senses
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All but new things disdain; whose judgments are
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Mere fathers of their garments; whose constancies
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Expire before their fashions.' This he wish'd.
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I, after him, do after him wish too,
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Since I nor wax nor honey can bring home,
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I quickly were dissolved from my hive,
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To give some labourers room.
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SECOND LORD. You're loved, sir;
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They that least lend it you shall lack you first.
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KING. I fill a place, I know't. How long is't, Count,
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