Under thy own life's key: be check'd for silence,
But never tax'd for speech. What heaven more will,
That thee may furnish, and my prayers pluck down,
Fall on thy [head!] Farewell, my lord;
'Tis an unseason'd courtier; good my lord,
65
[Laf. He cannot] want the best
That shall attend his love.
Count. [Heaven] bless him! Farewell, Bertram. [Exit.