Page 825 - Shakespeare - Vol. 3

I cannot love her nor will strive to do’t.

KING
Thou wrongest thyself if thou shouldst strive to choose.

HELENA
That you are well restored, my lord, I’m glad. [145]
Let the rest go.

KING
My honour’s at the stake, which to defeat,
I must produce my power. Here, take her hand,

Proud, scornful boy, unworthy this good gift,
That dost in vile misprision shackle up [150]
My love and her desert; that canst not dream

We, poising us in her defective scale,
Shall weigh thee to the beam; that wilt not know
It is in us to plant thine honour where
We please to have it grow. Check thy contempt. [155]
Obey our will which travails in thy good.

Believe not thy disdain, but presently
Do thine own fortunes that obedient right
Which both thy duty owes and our power claims;

Or I will throw thee from my care for ever [160]
Into the staggers and the careless lapse
Of youth and ignorance, both my revenge and hate
Loosing upon thee in the name of justice,
Without all terms of pity. Speak. Thine answer.

BERTRAM
Pardon, my gracious lord; for I submit [165]
My fancy to your eyes. When I consider
What great creation and what dole of honour
Flies where to bid it, I find that she, which late

Was in my nobler thoughts most base, is now
The praisèd of the King; who, so ennobled, [170]
Is as ‘twere born so.