We lost a jewel of her

King
We lost a jewel of her, and our esteem
Was made much poorer by it. But your son,
As mad in folly, lacked the sense to know
Her estimation home.
Countess
’Tis past, my liege,
And I beseech your Majesty to make it
Natural rebellion done i’ th’ blade of youth,
When oil and fire, too strong for reason’s force,
O’erbears it and burns on.

Praising what is lost
Makes the remembrance dear.

King
My honored lady,
I have forgiven and forgotten all,
Though my revenges were high bent upon him
And watched the time to shoot.
Lafew
This I must say—
But first I beg my pardon: the young lord
Did to his Majesty, his mother, and his lady
Offense of mighty note, but to himself
The greatest wrong of all. He lost a wife
Whose beauty did astonish the survey
Of richest eyes, whose words all ears took captive,
Whose dear perfection hearts that scorned to serve
Humbly called mistress.
King
Praising what is lost
Makes the remembrance dear. Well, call him hither.
We are reconciled, and the first view shall kill
All repetition. Let him not ask our pardon.
The nature of his great offense is dead,
And deeper than oblivion we do bury
Th’ incensing relics of it. Let him approach
A stranger, no offender, and inform him
So ’tis our will he should.