was dead, I blush to say it, he won me. Now is the Count Rousillon a widower: his vows are forfeited to me, and my honour's paid to him. He stole from Florence, taking no leave, and I follow him to his country for justice: grant it me, O king! in you it best lies; otherwise a seducer flourishes, and a poor maid is undone. I will buy me a son-in-law in a fair, and toll for this: I'll none of him. The heavens have thought well on thee Lafeu, To bring forth this discovery. Seek these suitors: Go speedily and bring again the count. I am afeard the life of Helen, lady, Was foully snatch'd. Now, justice on the doers! I wonder, sir, sith wives are monsters to you, And that you fly them as you swear them lordship, Yet you desire to marry. What woman's that? I am, my lord, a wretched Florentine, Derived from the ancient Capilet: My suit, as I do understand, you know, And therefore know how far I may be pitied. I am her mother, sir, whose age and honour Both suffer under this complaint we bring, And both shall cease, without your remedy. Come hither, count; do you know these women? My lord, I neither can nor will deny But that I know them: do they charge me further? Why do you look so strange upon your wife? She's none of mine, my lord. If you shall marry, You give away this hand, and that is mine; You give away heaven's vows, and those are mine; You give away myself, which is known mine; For I by vow am so embodied yours, That she which marries you must marry me, Either both or none. Your reputation comes too short for my daughter; you are no husband for her. My lord, this is a fond and desperate creature, Whom sometime I have laugh'd with: let your highness Lay a more noble thought upon mine honour Than for to think that I would sink it here. Sir, for my thoughts, you have them ill to friend Till your deeds gain them: fairer prove your honour Than in my thought it lies. Good my lord, Ask him upon his oath, if he does think He had not my virginity. What say'st thou to her? She's impudent, my lord, And was a common gamester to the camp. He does me wrong, my lord; if I were so, He might have bought me at a common price: Do not believe him. O, behold this ring, Whose high respect and rich validity Did lack a parallel; yet for all that He gave it to a commoner o' the camp, If I be one