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I dare not say I take you

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.
Why then, young Bertram, take her. She’s thy wife.
My wife, my liege? I shall beseech your Highness
In such a business give me leave to use
The help of mine own eyes.

Honors thrive
When rather from our acts we them derive
Than our foregoers

Know’st thou not, Bertram,
What she has done for me?
Yes, my good lord,
But never hope to know why I should marry her.
Thou know’st she has raised me from my sickly bed.
But follows it, my lord, to bring me down
Must answer for your raising? I know her well;
She had her breeding at my father’s charge.
A poor physician’s daughter my wife? Disdain
Rather corrupt me ever!
’Tis only title thou disdain’st in her, the which
I can build up. Strange is it that our bloods,
Of color, weight, and heat, poured all together,
Would quite confound distinction, yet stands off
In differences so mighty. If she be
All that is virtuous, save what thou dislik’st—
“A poor physician’s daughter”—thou dislik’st
Of virtue for the name. But do not so.
From lowest place whence virtuous things proceed,
The place is dignified by th’ doer’s deed.
Where great additions swell ’s, and virtue none,
It is a dropsied honor. Good alone
Is good, without a name; vileness is so;
The property by what it is should go,
Not by the title. She is young, wise, fair;
In these to nature she’s immediate heir,
And these breed honor. That is honor’s scorn
Which challenges itself as honor’s born
And is not like the sire. Honors thrive
When rather from our acts we them derive
Than our foregoers. The mere word’s a slave
Debauched on every tomb, on every grave
A lying trophy, and as oft is dumb
Where dust and damned oblivion is the tomb
Of honored bones indeed. What should be said?
If thou canst like this creature as a maid,
I can create the rest. Virtue and she
Is her own dower, honor and wealth from me.
I cannot love her, nor will strive to do ’t.
Thou wrong’st thyself if thou shouldst strive to choose.
That you are well restored, my lord, I’m glad.
Let the rest go.

Act 2
Scene 3
Line 110

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