Bertram

Countess
In delivering my son from me, I bury a second husband.
Bertram
And I in going, madam, weep o’er my father’s
death anew; but I must attend his Majesty’s
command, to whom I am now in ward, evermore
in subjection.

Moderate lamentation is the right of the dead,
excessive grief the enemy to the living

Lafew
You shall find of the King a husband,
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Countess 
Be thou blessed, Bertram, and succeed thy father
In manners as in shape. Thy blood and virtue
Contend for empire in thee, and thy goodness
Share with thy birthright.

Love all, trust a few,
Do wrong to none

Love all, trust a few,
Do wrong to noneIsocolon.
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KING
Youth, thou bear’st thy father’s face.
 Frank nature, rather curious than in haste,
 Hath well composed thee. Thy father’s moral parts
 Mayst 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 friendship
 First tried our soldiership. 
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King 
I would I had that corporal soundness now
As when thy father and myself in friendship
First tried our soldiership. He did look far
Into the service of the time and was
Discipled of the bravest. He lasted long,
But on us both did haggish age steal on
And wore us out of act.

Methinks I hear him now;
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Helen, to Bertram 
I dare not say I take you, but I give
Me and my service ever whilst I live
Into your guiding power.—This is the man.
King
Why then, young Bertram, take her. She’s thy wife.
Bertram 
My wife, my liege? I shall beseech your Highness
In such a business give me leave to use
The help of mine own eyes.
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Bertram, to Parolles
Is there any unkindness
between my lord and you, monsieur?
Parolles
I know not how I have deserved to run into
my lord’s displeasure.

There can be no kernel in this light nut;
the soul of this man is his clothes.

Lafew
You have made shift to run into ’t,
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Helen
Pray, sir, your pardon.
Bertram
Well, what would you say?

Strangers and foes do sunder and not kiss

Helen
I am not worthy of the wealth I owe,
Nor dare I say ’tis mine—and yet it is—
But, like a timorous thief, most fain would steal
What law does vouch mine own.
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Duke, to Bertram
The general of our horse thou art, and we,
Great in our hope, lay our best love and credence
Upon thy promising fortune.

Great Mars, I put myself into thy file.
Make me but like my thoughts, and I shall prove
A lover of thy drum, hater of love.

Bertram
Sir,
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Parolles
I know not what the success will be, my
lord, but the attempt I vow.
Bertram
I know thou ‘rt valiant, and to the possibility
of thy soldiership will subscribe for thee. Farewell.

I love not many words.

Parolles
I love not many words. He exits.
First Lord
No more than a fish loves water.
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Bertram 
They told me that your name was Fontibell.
Diana 
No, my good lord, Diana.
Bertram
Titled goddess,
And worth it, with addition. But, fair soul,
In your fine frame hath love no quality?
If the quick fire of youth light not your mind,
You are no maiden but a monument.
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