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KING. Well excus’d: That thou didst love her, strikes some scores away From the great compt: but love that comes too late, Like a remorseful pardon slowly carried, To the great sender turns a sour offence, Crying, That’s good that’s gone. Our rash faults Make trivial price of serious things we have, Not knowing them until we know their grave. Oft our displeasures, to ourselves unjust, Destroy our friends, and after weep their dust: Our own love waking cries to see what’s done, While shameful hate sleeps out the afternoon. Be this sweet Helen’s knell, and now forget her. Send forth your amorous token for fair Maudlin. The main consents are had, and here we’ll stay To see our widower’s second marriage-day.

COUNTESS. Which better than the first, O dear heaven, bless! Or, ere they meet, in me, O nature, cesse!

LAFEW. Come on, my son, in whom my house’s name Must be digested; give a favour from you, To sparkle in the spirits of my daughter, That she may quickly come.

[Bertram gives a ring to Lafew.]

By my old beard, And ev’ry hair that’s on ’t, Helen that’s dead Was a sweet creature: such a ring as this, The last that e’er I took her leave at court, I saw upon her finger.

BERTRAM. Hers it was not.

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