_Ber._ Admiringly, my liege, at first I stuck my choice upon her, ere my heart 45 Durst make too bold a herald of my tongue: Where the impression of mine eye infixing, Contempt his scornful perspective did lend me, Which warp'd the line of every other favour; Scorn'd a fair colour, or express'd it stolen; 50 Extended or contracted all proportions To a most hideous object: thence it came That she whom all men praised and whom myself, Since I have lost, have loved, was in mine eye The dust that did offend it.
_King._ Well excused: 55 That thou didst love her, strikes some scores away From the great compt: but love that comes too late. Like a remorseful pardon slowly carried, To the great sender turns a sour offence, Crying 'That's good that's gone.' Our rash faults 60 Make trivial price of serious things we have, Not knowing them until we know their grave: Oft our displeasures, to ourselves unjust, Destroy our friends and after weep their dust: Our own love waking cries to see what's done, 65 While shameful hate sleeps out the afternoon. Be this sweet Helen's knell, and now forget her. Send forth your amorous token for fair Maudlin: The main consents are had; and here we'll stay To see our widower's second marriage-day. 70
_Count._ Which better than the first, O dear heaven, bless! Or, ere they meet, in me, O nature, cesse!
_Laf._ Come on, my son, in whom my house's name Must be digested, give a favour from you To sparkle in the spirits of my daughter, 75 That she may quickly come. [_Bertram gives a ring._] By my old beard, And every hair that's on't, Helen, that's dead, Was a sweet creature: such a ring as this, The last that e'er I took her leave at court, I saw upon her finger.
_King._ Now, pray you, let me see it; for mine eye, While I was speaking, oft was fasten'd to't. This ring was mine; and, when I gave it Helen, I bade her, if her fortunes ever stood Necessitied to help, that by this token 85 I would relieve her. Had you that craft, to reave her Of what should stead her most?
_Ber._ My gracious sovereign, Howe'er it pleases you to take it so, The ring was never hers.
_Count._ Son, on my life, I have seen her wear it; and she reckon'd it 90 At her life's rate.
_Ber._ You are deceived, my lord; she never saw it: In Florence was it from a casement thrown me, Wrapp'd in a paper, which contain'd the name Of her that threw it: noble she was, and thought 95 I stood engaged: but when I had subscribed To mine own fortune and inform'd her fully I could not answer in that course of honour As she had made the overture, she ceased In heavy satisfaction and would never 100 Receive the ring again.