_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 My love and her desert; that canst not dream, 150 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: Obey our will, which travails in thy good: 155 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 Into the staggers and the careless lapse 160 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. _Ber._ Pardon, my gracious lord; for I submit My fancy to your eyes: when I consider 165 What great creation and what dole of honour Flies where you bid it, I find that she, which late Was in my nobler thoughts most base, is now The praised of the king; who, so ennobled, Is as 't were born so. _King._ Take her by the hand, 170 And tell her she is thine: to whom I promise A counterpoise; if not to thy estate, A balance more replete. _Ber._ I take her hand. _King._ Good fortune and the favour of the king Smile upon this contract; whose ceremony 175 Shall seem expedient on the now-born brief, And be perform'd to-night: the solemn feast Shall more attend upon the coming space, Expecting absent friends. As thou lovest her, Thy love's to me religious; else, does err. 180 [_Exeunt all but Lafeu and Parolles._ _Laf._ Do you hear, monsieur? a word with you. _Par._ Your pleasure, sir? _Laf._ Your lord and master did well to make his recantation. _Par._ Recantation! My lord! my master! 185 _Laf._ Ay; is it not a language I speak? _Par._ A most harsh one, and not to be understood without bloody succeeding. My master! _Laf._ Are you companion to the Count Rousillon? _Par._ To any count, to all counts, to what is man. 190 _Laf._ To what is count's man: count's master is of another style. _Par._ You are too old, sir; let it satisfy you, you are too old. _Laf._ I must tell thee, sirrah, I write man; to which 195 title age cannot bring thee. _Par._ What I dare too well do, I dare not do.