These boyes are boyes of Ice, they'le none
haue heere: sure they are bastards to the English, the
French nere got em
La. You are too young, too happie, and too good
To make your selfe a sonne out of my blood
4.Lord. Faire one, I thinke not so
Ol.Lord There's one grape yet, I am sure thy father
drunke wine. But if thou be'st not an asse, I am a youth
of fourteene: I haue knowne thee already
Hel. I dare not say I take you, but I giue
Me and my seruice, euer whilst I liue
Into your guiding power: This is the man
King. Why then young Bertram take her shee's thy
wife
Ber. My wife my Leige? I shal beseech your highnes
In such a busines, giue me leaue to vse
The helpe of mine owne eies
King. Know'st thou not Bertram what shee ha's
done for mee?
Ber. Yes my good Lord, but neuer hope to know
why I should marrie her
King. Thou know'st shee ha's rais'd me from my sickly
bed
Ber. But followes it my Lord, to bring me downe
Must answer for your raising? I knowe her well:
Shee had her breeding at my fathers charge:
A poore Physitians daughter my wife? Disdaine
Rather corrupt me euer
King. Tis onely title thou disdainst in her, the which
I can build vp: strange is it that our bloods
Of colour, waight, and heat, pour'd all together,
Would quite confound distinction: yet stands off
In differences so mightie.
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