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All's Well That Ends Well |
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Shakespeare homepage | All's Well That Ends Well | Entire play |
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ACT I |
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SCENE I. Rousillon. The COUNT's palace. |
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Enter BERTRAM, the COUNTESS of Rousillon, HELENA, and LAFEU, all in black |
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COUNTESS |
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In delivering my son from me, I bury a second husband. |
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BERTRAM |
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And I in going, madam, weep o'er my father's death |
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anew: but I must attend his majesty's command, to |
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whom I am now in ward, evermore in subjection. |
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LAFEU |
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You shall find of the king a husband, madam; you, |
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sir, a father: he that so generally is at all times |
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good must of necessity hold his virtue to you; whose |
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worthiness would stir it up where it wanted rather |
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than lack it where there is such abundance. |
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COUNTESS |
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What hope is there of his majesty's amendment? |
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LAFEU |
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He hath abandoned his physicians, madam; under whose |
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practises he hath persecuted time with hope, and |
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finds no other advantage in the process but only the |
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losing of hope by time. |
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COUNTESS |
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This young gentlewoman had a father,--O, that |
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'had'! how sad a passage 'tis!--whose skill was |
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almost as great as his honesty; had it stretched so |
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far, would have made nature immortal, and death |
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should have play for lack of work. Would, for the |
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king's sake, he were living! I think it would be |
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the death of the king's disease. |
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LAFEU |
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How called you the man you speak of, madam? |
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COUNTESS |
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He was famous, sir, in his profession, and it was |
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his great right to be so: Gerard de Narbon. |
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LAFEU |
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He was excellent indeed, madam: the king very |
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lately spoke of him admiringly and mourningly: he |
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was skilful enough to have lived still, if knowledge |
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could be set up against mortality. |
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BERTRAM |
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What is it, my good lord, the king languishes of? |
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LAFEU |
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A fistula, my lord. |
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BERTRAM |
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I heard not of it before. |
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LAFEU |
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I would it were not notorious. Was this gentlewoman |
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the daughter of Gerard de Narbon? |
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COUNTESS |
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His sole child, my lord, and bequeathed to my |
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overlooking. I have those hopes of her good that |
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her education promises; her dispositions she |
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inherits, which makes fair gifts fairer; for where |
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an unclean mind carries virtuous qualities, there |
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commendations go with pity; they are virtues and |
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traitors too; in her they are the better for their |
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simpleness; she derives her honesty and achieves her goodness. |
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LAFEU |
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Your commendations, madam, get from her tears. |
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COUNTESS |
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'Tis the best brine a maiden can season her praise |
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in. The remembrance of her father never approaches |
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her heart but the tyranny of her sorrows takes all |
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livelihood from her cheek. No more of this, Helena; |
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go to, no more; lest it be rather thought you affect |
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a sorrow than have it. |
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HELENA |
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I do affect a sorrow indeed, but I have it too. |
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LAFEU |
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Moderate lamentation is the right of the dead, |
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excessive grief the enemy to the living. |
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COUNTESS |
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If the living be enemy to the grief, the excess |
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makes it soon mortal. |
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BERTRAM |
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Madam, I desire your holy wishes. |
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LAFEU |
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How understand we that? |
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COUNTESS |
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Be thou blest, Bertram, and succeed thy father |
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In manners, as in shape! thy blood and virtue |
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Contend for empire in thee, and thy goodness |
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Share with thy birthright! Love all, trust a few, |
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Do wrong to none: be able for thine enemy |
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Rather in power than use, and keep thy friend |
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Under thy own life's key: be cheque'd for silence, |
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But never tax'd for speech. What heaven more will, |
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That thee may furnish and my prayers pluck down, |
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Fall on thy head! Farewell, my lord; |
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'Tis an unseason'd courtier; good my lord, |
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Advise him. |
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LAFEU |
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He cannot want the best |
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That shall attend his love. |
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COUNTESS |
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Heaven bless him! Farewell, Bertram. |
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Exit |
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BERTRAM |
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[To HELENA] The best wishes that can be forged in |
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your thoughts be servants to you! Be comfortable |
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to my mother, your mistress, and make much of her. |
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LAFEU |
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Farewell, pretty lady: you must hold the credit of |
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your father. |
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Exeunt BERTRAM and LAFEU |
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HELENA |
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O, were that all! I think not on my father; |
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And these great tears grace his remembrance more |
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Than those I shed for him. What was he like? |
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I have forgot him: my imagination |
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Carries no favour in't but Bertram's. |
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I am undone: there is no living, none, |
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If Bertram be away. 'Twere all one |
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That I should love a bright particular star |
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And think to wed it, he is so above me: |
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In his bright radiance and collateral light |
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Must I be comforted, not in his sphere. |
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The ambition in my love thus plagues itself: |
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The hind that would be mated by the lion |
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Must die for love. 'Twas pretty, though plague, |
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To see him every hour; to sit and draw |
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His arched brows, his hawking eye, his curls, |
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In our heart's table; heart too capable |
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Of every line and trick of his sweet favour: |
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But now he's gone, and my idolatrous fancy |
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Must sanctify his reliques. Who comes here? |
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Enter PAROLLES |
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Aside |
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One that goes with him: I love him for his sake; |
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And yet I know him a notorious liar, |
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Think him a great way fool, solely a coward; |
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Yet these fixed evils sit so fit in him, |
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That they take place, when virtue's steely bones |
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Look bleak i' the cold wind: withal, full oft we see |
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Cold wisdom waiting on superfluous folly. |
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PAROLLES |
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Save you, fair queen! |
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HELENA |
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And you, monarch! |
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PAROLLES |
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No. |
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HELENA |
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And no. |
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PAROLLES |
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Are you meditating on virginity? |
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HELENA |
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Ay. You have some stain of soldier in you: let me |
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ask you a question. Man is enemy to virginity; how |
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may we barricado it against him? |
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PAROLLES |
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Keep him out. |
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HELENA |
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But he assails; and our virginity, though valiant, |
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in the defence yet is weak: unfold to us some |
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warlike resistance. |
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PAROLLES |
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There is none: man, sitting down before you, will |
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undermine you and blow you up. |
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HELENA |
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Bless our poor virginity from underminers and |
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blowers up! Is there no military policy, how |
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virgins might blow up men? |
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PAROLLES |
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Virginity being blown down, man will quicklier be |
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blown up: marry, in blowing him down again, with |
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the breach yourselves made, you lose your city. It |
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is not politic in the commonwealth of nature to |
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preserve virginity. Loss of virginity is rational |
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increase and there was never virgin got till |
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virginity was first lost. That you were made of is |
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metal to make virgins. Virginity by being once lost |
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may be ten times found; by being ever kept, it is |
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ever lost: 'tis too cold a companion; away with 't! |
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HELENA |
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I will stand for 't a little, though therefore I die a virgin. |
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PAROLLES |
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There's little can be said in 't; 'tis against the |
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rule of nature. To speak on the part of virginity, |
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is to accuse your mothers; which is most infallible |
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disobedience. He that hangs himself is a virgin: |
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virginity murders itself and should be buried in |
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highways out of all sanctified limit, as a desperate |
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offendress against nature. Virginity breeds mites, |
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much like a cheese; consumes itself to the very |
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paring, and so dies with feeding his own stomach. |
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Besides, virginity is peevish, proud, idle, made of |
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self-love, which is the most inhibited sin in the |
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canon. Keep it not; you cannot choose but loose |
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by't: out with 't! within ten year it will make |
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itself ten, which is a goodly increase; and the |
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principal itself not much the worse: away with 't! |
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HELENA |
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How might one do, sir, to lose it to her own liking? |
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PAROLLES |
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Let me see: marry, ill, to like him that ne'er it |
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likes. 'Tis a commodity will lose the gloss with |
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lying; the longer kept, the less worth: off with 't |
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while 'tis vendible; answer the time of request. |
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Virginity, like an old courtier, wears her cap out |
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of fashion: richly suited, but unsuitable: just |
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like the brooch and the tooth-pick, which wear not |
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now. Your date is better in your pie and your |
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porridge than in your cheek; and your virginity, |
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your old virginity, is like one of our French |
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withered pears, it looks ill, it eats drily; marry, |
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'tis a withered pear; it was formerly better; |
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marry, yet 'tis a withered pear: will you anything with it? |
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HELENA |
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Not my virginity yet [ ] |
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There shall your master have a thousand loves, |
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A mother and a mistress and a friend, |
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A phoenix, captain and an enemy, |
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A guide, a goddess, and a sovereign, |
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A counsellor, a traitress, and a dear; |
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His humble ambition, proud humility, |
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His jarring concord, and his discord dulcet, |
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His faith, his sweet disaster; with a world |
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Of pretty, fond, adoptious christendoms, |
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That blinking Cupid gossips. Now shall he-- |
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I know not what he shall. God send him well! |
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The court's a learning place, and he is one-- |
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PAROLLES |
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What one, i' faith? |
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HELENA |
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That I wish well. 'Tis pity-- |
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PAROLLES |
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What's pity? |
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HELENA |
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That wishing well had not a body in't, |
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Which might be felt; that we, the poorer born, |
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Whose baser stars do shut us up in wishes, |
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Might with effects of them follow our friends, |
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And show what we alone must think, which never |
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Return us thanks. |
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Enter Page |
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Page |
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Monsieur Parolles, my lord calls for you. |
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Exit |
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PAROLLES |
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Little Helen, farewell; if I can remember thee, I |
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will think of thee at court. |
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HELENA |
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Monsieur Parolles, you were born under a charitable star. |
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PAROLLES |
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Under Mars, I. |
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HELENA |
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I especially think, under Mars. |
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PAROLLES |
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Why under Mars? |
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HELENA |
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The wars have so kept you under that you must needs |
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be born under Mars. |
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PAROLLES |
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When he was predominant. |
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HELENA |
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When he was retrograde, I think, rather. |
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PAROLLES |
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Why think you so? |
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HELENA |
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You go so much backward when you fight. |
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PAROLLES |
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That's for advantage. |
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HELENA |
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So is running away, when fear proposes the safety; |
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but the composition that your valour and fear makes |
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in you is a virtue of a good wing, and I like the wear well. |
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PAROLLES |
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I am so full of businesses, I cannot answer thee |
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acutely. I will return perfect courtier; in the |
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which, my instruction shall serve to naturalize |
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thee, so thou wilt be capable of a courtier's |
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counsel and understand what advice shall thrust upon |
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thee; else thou diest in thine unthankfulness, and |
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thine ignorance makes thee away: farewell. When |
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thou hast leisure, say thy prayers; when thou hast |
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none, remember thy friends; get thee a good husband, |
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and use him as he uses thee; so, farewell. |
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Exit |
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HELENA |
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Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie, |
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Which we ascribe to heaven: the fated sky |
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Gives us free scope, only doth backward pull |
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Our slow designs when we ourselves are dull. |
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What power is it which mounts my love so high, |
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That makes me see, and cannot feed mine eye? |
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The mightiest space in fortune nature brings |
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To join like likes and kiss like native things. |
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Impossible be strange attempts to those |
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That weigh their pains in sense and do suppose |
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What hath been cannot be: who ever strove |
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So show her merit, that did miss her love? |
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The king's disease--my project may deceive me, |
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But my intents are fix'd and will not leave me. |
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Exit |
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SCENE II. Paris. The KING's palace. |
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Flourish of cornets. Enter the KING of France, with letters, and divers Attendants |
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KING |
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The Florentines and Senoys are by the ears; |
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Have fought with equal fortune and continue |
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A braving war. |
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First Lord |
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So 'tis reported, sir. |
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KING |
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Nay, 'tis most credible; we here received it |
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A certainty, vouch'd from our cousin Austria, |
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With caution that the Florentine will move us |
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For speedy aid; wherein our dearest friend |
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Prejudicates the business and would seem |
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To have us make denial. |
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First Lord |
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His love and wisdom, |
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Approved so to your majesty, may plead |
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For amplest credence. |
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KING |
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He hath arm'd our answer, |
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And Florence is denied before he comes: |
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Yet, for our gentlemen that mean to see |
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The Tuscan service, freely have they leave |
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To stand on either part. |
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Second Lord |
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It well may serve |
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A nursery to our gentry, who are sick |
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For breathing and exploit. |
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KING |
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What's he comes here? |
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Enter BERTRAM, LAFEU, and PAROLLES |
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First Lord |
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It is the Count Rousillon, my good lord, |
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Young Bertram. |
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KING |
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Youth, thou bear'st thy father's face; |
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Frank nature, rather curious than in haste, |
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Hath well composed thee. Thy father's moral parts |
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Mayst thou inherit too! Welcome to Paris. |
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BERTRAM |
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My thanks and duty are your majesty's. |
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KING |
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I would I had that corporal soundness now, |
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As when thy father and myself in friendship |
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First tried our soldiership! He did look far |
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Into the service of the time and was |
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Discipled of the bravest: he lasted long; |
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But on us both did haggish age steal on |
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And wore us out of act. It much repairs me |
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To talk of your good father. In his youth |
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He had the wit which I can well observe |
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To-day in our young lords; but they may jest |
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Till their own scorn return to them unnoted |
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Ere they can hide their levity in honour; |
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So like a courtier, contempt nor bitterness |
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Were in his pride or sharpness; if they were, |
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His equal had awaked them, and his honour, |
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Clock to itself, knew the true minute when |
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Exception bid him speak, and at this time |
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His tongue obey'd his hand: who were below him |
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He used as creatures of another place |
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And bow'd his eminent top to their low ranks, |
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Making them proud of his humility, |
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In their poor praise he humbled. Such a man |
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Might be a copy to these younger times; |
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Which, follow'd well, would demonstrate them now |
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But goers backward. |
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BERTRAM |
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His good remembrance, sir, |
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Lies richer in your thoughts than on his tomb; |
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So in approof lives not his epitaph |
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As in your royal speech. |
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KING |
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Would I were with him! He would always say-- |
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Methinks I hear him now; his plausive words |
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He scatter'd not in ears, but grafted them, |
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To grow there and to bear,--'Let me not live,'-- |
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This his good melancholy oft began, |
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On the catastrophe and heel of pastime, |
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When it was out,--'Let me not live,' quoth he, |
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'After my flame lacks oil, to be the snuff |
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Of younger spirits, whose apprehensive senses |
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All but new things disdain; whose judgments are |
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Mere fathers of their garments; whose constancies |
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Expire before their fashions.' This he wish'd; |
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I after him do after him wish too, |
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Since I nor wax nor honey can bring home, |
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I quickly were dissolved from my hive, |
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To give some labourers room. |
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Second Lord |
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You are loved, sir: |
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They that least lend it you shall lack you first. |
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KING |
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I fill a place, I know't. How long is't, count, |
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Since the physician at your father's died? |
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He was much famed. |
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BERTRAM |
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Some six months since, my lord. |
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KING |
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If he were living, I would try him yet. |
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Lend me an arm; the rest have worn me out |
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With several applications; nature and sickness |
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Debate it at their leisure. Welcome, count; |
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My son's no dearer. |
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BERTRAM |
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Thank your majesty. |
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Exeunt. Flourish |
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SCENE III. Rousillon. The COUNT's palace. |
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Enter COUNTESS, Steward, and Clown |
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COUNTESS |
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I will now hear; what say you of this gentlewoman? |
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Steward |
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Madam, the care I have had to even your content, I |
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wish might be found in the calendar of my past |
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endeavours; for then we wound our modesty and make |
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foul the clearness of our deservings, when of |
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ourselves we publish them. |
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COUNTESS |
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What does this knave here? Get you gone, sirrah: |
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the complaints I have heard of you I do not all |
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believe: 'tis my slowness that I do not; for I know |
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you lack not folly to commit them, and have ability |
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enough to make such knaveries yours. |
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Clown |
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'Tis not unknown to you, madam, I am a poor fellow. |
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COUNTESS |
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Well, sir. |
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Clown |
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No, madam, 'tis not so well that I am poor, though |
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many of the rich are damned: but, if I may have |
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your ladyship's good will to go to the world, Isbel |
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the woman and I will do as we may. |
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COUNTESS |
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Wilt thou needs be a beggar? |
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Clown |
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I do beg your good will in this case. |
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COUNTESS |
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In what case? |
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Clown |
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In Isbel's case and mine own. Service is no |
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heritage: and I think I shall never have the |
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blessing of God till I have issue o' my body; for |
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they say barnes are blessings. |
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COUNTESS |
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Tell me thy reason why thou wilt marry. |
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Clown |
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My poor body, madam, requires it: I am driven on |
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by the flesh; and he must needs go that the devil drives. |
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COUNTESS |
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Is this all your worship's reason? |
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Clown |
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Faith, madam, I have other holy reasons such as they |
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are. |
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COUNTESS |
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May the world know them? |
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Clown |
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I have been, madam, a wicked creature, as you and |
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all flesh and blood are; and, indeed, I do marry |
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that I may repent. |
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COUNTESS |
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Thy marriage, sooner than thy wickedness. |
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Clown |
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I am out o' friends, madam; and I hope to have |
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friends for my wife's sake. |
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COUNTESS |
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Such friends are thine enemies, knave. |
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Clown |
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You're shallow, madam, in great friends; for the |
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knaves come to do that for me which I am aweary of. |
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He that ears my land spares my team and gives me |
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leave to in the crop; if I be his cuckold, he's my |
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drudge: he that comforts my wife is the cherisher |
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of my flesh and blood; he that cherishes my flesh |
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and blood loves my flesh and blood; he that loves my |
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flesh and blood is my friend: ergo, he that kisses |
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my wife is my friend. If men could be contented to |
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be what they are, there were no fear in marriage; |
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for young Charbon the Puritan and old Poysam the |
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Papist, howsome'er their hearts are severed in |
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religion, their heads are both one; they may jowl |
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horns together, like any deer i' the herd. |
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COUNTESS |
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Wilt thou ever be a foul-mouthed and calumnious knave? |
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Clown |
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A prophet I, madam; and I speak the truth the next |
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way: |
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For I the ballad will repeat, |
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Which men full true shall find; |
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Your marriage comes by destiny, |
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Your cuckoo sings by kind. |
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COUNTESS |
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Get you gone, sir; I'll talk with you more anon. |
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Steward |
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May it please you, madam, that he bid Helen come to |
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you: of her I am to speak. |
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COUNTESS |
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Sirrah, tell my gentlewoman I would speak with her; |
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Helen, I mean. |
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Clown |
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Was this fair face the cause, quoth she, |
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Why the Grecians sacked Troy? |
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Fond done, done fond, |
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Was this King Priam's joy? |
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With that she sighed as she stood, |
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With that she sighed as she stood, |
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And gave this sentence then; |
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Among nine bad if one be good, |
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Among nine bad if one be good, |
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There's yet one good in ten. |
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COUNTESS |
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What, one good in ten? you corrupt the song, sirrah. |
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Clown |
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One good woman in ten, madam; which is a purifying |
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o' the song: would God would serve the world so all |
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the year! we'ld find no fault with the tithe-woman, |
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if I were the parson. One in ten, quoth a'! An we |
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might have a good woman born but one every blazing |
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star, or at an earthquake, 'twould mend the lottery |
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well: a man may draw his heart out, ere a' pluck |
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one. |
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COUNTESS |
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You'll be gone, sir knave, and do as I command you. |
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Clown |
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That man should be at woman's command, and yet no |
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hurt done! Though honesty be no puritan, yet it |
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will do no hurt; it will wear the surplice of |
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humility over the black gown of a big heart. I am |
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going, forsooth: the business is for Helen to come hither. |
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Exit |
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COUNTESS |
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Well, now. |
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Steward |
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I know, madam, you love your gentlewoman entirely. |
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COUNTESS |
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Faith, I do: her father bequeathed her to me; and |
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she herself, without other advantage, may lawfully |
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make title to as much love as she finds: there is |
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more owing her than is paid; and more shall be paid |
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her than she'll demand. |
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Steward |
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Madam, I was very late more near her than I think |
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she wished me: alone she was, and did communicate |
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to herself her own words to her own ears; she |
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thought, I dare vow for her, they touched not any |
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stranger sense. Her matter was, she loved your son: |
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Fortune, she said, was no goddess, that had put |
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such difference betwixt their two estates; Love no |
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god, that would not extend his might, only where |
|
qualities were level; Dian no queen of virgins, that |
|
would suffer her poor knight surprised, without |
|
rescue in the first assault or ransom afterward. |
|
This she delivered in the most bitter touch of |
|
sorrow that e'er I heard virgin exclaim in: which I |
|
held my duty speedily to acquaint you withal; |
|
sithence, in the loss that may happen, it concerns |
|
you something to know it. |
|
COUNTESS |
|
You have discharged this honestly; keep it to |
|
yourself: many likelihoods informed me of this |
|
before, which hung so tottering in the balance that |
|
I could neither believe nor misdoubt. Pray you, |
|
leave me: stall this in your bosom; and I thank you |
|
for your honest care: I will speak with you further anon. |
|
Exit Steward |
|
|
|
Enter HELENA |
|
|
|
Even so it was with me when I was young: |
|
If ever we are nature's, these are ours; this thorn |
|
Doth to our rose of youth rightly belong; |
|
Our blood to us, this to our blood is born; |
|
It is the show and seal of nature's truth, |
|
Where love's strong passion is impress'd in youth: |
|
By our remembrances of days foregone, |
|
Such were our faults, or then we thought them none. |
|
Her eye is sick on't: I observe her now. |
|
HELENA |
|
What is your pleasure, madam? |
|
COUNTESS |
|
You know, Helen, |
|
I am a mother to you. |
|
HELENA |
|
Mine honourable mistress. |
|
COUNTESS |
|
Nay, a mother: |
|
Why not a mother? When I said 'a mother,' |
|
Methought you saw a serpent: what's in 'mother,' |
|
That you start at it? I say, I am your mother; |
|
And put you in the catalogue of those |
|
That were enwombed mine: 'tis often seen |
|
Adoption strives with nature and choice breeds |
|
A native slip to us from foreign seeds: |
|
You ne'er oppress'd me with a mother's groan, |
|
Yet I express to you a mother's care: |
|
God's mercy, maiden! does it curd thy blood |
|
To say I am thy mother? What's the matter, |
|
That this distemper'd messenger of wet, |
|
The many-colour'd Iris, rounds thine eye? |
|
Why? that you are my daughter? |
|
HELENA |
|
That I am not. |
|
COUNTESS |
|
I say, I am your mother. |
|
HELENA |
|
Pardon, madam; |
|
The Count Rousillon cannot be my brother: |
|
I am from humble, he from honour'd name; |
|
No note upon my parents, his all noble: |
|
My master, my dear lord he is; and I |
|
His servant live, and will his vassal die: |
|
He must not be my brother. |
|
COUNTESS |
|
Nor I your mother? |
|
HELENA |
|
You are my mother, madam; would you were,-- |
|
So that my lord your son were not my brother,-- |
|
Indeed my mother! or were you both our mothers, |
|
I care no more for than I do for heaven, |
|
So I were not his sister. Can't no other, |
|
But, I your daughter, he must be my brother? |
|
COUNTESS |
|
Yes, Helen, you might be my daughter-in-law: |
|
God shield you mean it not! daughter and mother |
|
So strive upon your pulse. What, pale again? |
|
My fear hath catch'd your fondness: now I see |
|
The mystery of your loneliness, and find |
|
Your salt tears' head: now to all sense 'tis gross |
|
You love my son; invention is ashamed, |
|
Against the proclamation of thy passion, |
|
To say thou dost not: therefore tell me true; |
|
But tell me then, 'tis so; for, look thy cheeks |
|
Confess it, th' one to th' other; and thine eyes |
|
See it so grossly shown in thy behaviors |
|
That in their kind they speak it: only sin |
|
And hellish obstinacy tie thy tongue, |
|
That truth should be suspected. Speak, is't so? |
|
If it be so, you have wound a goodly clew; |
|
If it be not, forswear't: howe'er, I charge thee, |
|
As heaven shall work in me for thine avail, |
|
Tell me truly. |
|
HELENA |
|
Good madam, pardon me! |
|
COUNTESS |
|
Do you love my son? |
|
HELENA |
|
Your pardon, noble mistress! |
|
COUNTESS |
|
Love you my son? |
|
HELENA |
|
Do not you love him, madam? |
|
COUNTESS |
|
Go not about; my love hath in't a bond, |
|
Whereof the world takes note: come, come, disclose |
|
The state of your affection; for your passions |
|
Have to the full appeach'd. |
|
HELENA |
|
Then, I confess, |
|
Here on my knee, before high heaven and you, |
|
That before you, and next unto high heaven, |
|
I love your son. |
|
My friends were poor, but honest; so's my love: |
|
Be not offended; for it hurts not him |
|
That he is loved of me: I follow him not |
|
By any token of presumptuous suit; |
|
Nor would I have him till I do deserve him; |
|
Yet never know how that desert should be. |
|
I know I love in vain, strive against hope; |
|
Yet in this captious and intenible sieve |
|
I still pour in the waters of my love |
|
And lack not to lose still: thus, Indian-like, |
|
Religious in mine error, I adore |
|
The sun, that looks upon his worshipper, |
|
But knows of him no more. My dearest madam, |
|
Let not your hate encounter with my love |
|
For loving where you do: but if yourself, |
|
Whose aged honour cites a virtuous youth, |
|
Did ever in so true a flame of liking |
|
Wish chastely and love dearly, that your Dian |
|
Was both herself and love: O, then, give pity |
|
To her, whose state is such that cannot choose |
|
But lend and give where she is sure to lose; |
|
That seeks not to find that her search implies, |
|
But riddle-like lives sweetly where she dies! |
|
COUNTESS |
|
Had you not lately an intent,--speak truly,-- |
|
To go to Paris? |
|
HELENA |
|
Madam, I had. |
|
COUNTESS |
|
Wherefore? tell true. |
|
HELENA |
|
I will tell truth; by grace itself I swear. |
|
You know my father left me some prescriptions |
|
Of rare and proved effects, such as his reading |
|
And manifest experience had collected |
|
For general sovereignty; and that he will'd me |
|
In heedfull'st reservation to bestow them, |
|
As notes whose faculties inclusive were |
|
More than they were in note: amongst the rest, |
|
There is a remedy, approved, set down, |
|
To cure the desperate languishings whereof |
|
The king is render'd lost. |
|
COUNTESS |
|
This was your motive |
|
For Paris, was it? speak. |
|
HELENA |
|
My lord your son made me to think of this; |
|
Else Paris and the medicine and the king |
|
Had from the conversation of my thoughts |
|
Haply been absent then. |
|
COUNTESS |
|
But think you, Helen, |
|
If you should tender your supposed aid, |
|
He would receive it? he and his physicians |
|
Are of a mind; he, that they cannot help him, |
|
They, that they cannot help: how shall they credit |
|
A poor unlearned virgin, when the schools, |
|
Embowell'd of their doctrine, have left off |
|
The danger to itself? |
|
HELENA |
|
There's something in't, |
|
More than my father's skill, which was the greatest |
|
Of his profession, that his good receipt |
|
Shall for my legacy be sanctified |
|
By the luckiest stars in heaven: and, would your honour |
|
But give me leave to try success, I'ld venture |
|
The well-lost life of mine on his grace's cure |
|
By such a day and hour. |
|
COUNTESS |
|
Dost thou believe't? |
|
HELENA |
|
Ay, madam, knowingly. |
|
COUNTESS |
|
Why, Helen, thou shalt have my leave and love, |
|
Means and attendants and my loving greetings |
|
To those of mine in court: I'll stay at home |
|
And pray God's blessing into thy attempt: |
|
Be gone to-morrow; and be sure of this, |
|
What I can help thee to thou shalt not miss. |
|
Exeunt |
|
|
|
ACT II |
|
|
|
SCENE I. Paris. The KING's palace. |
|
|
|
Flourish of cornets. Enter the KING, attended with divers young Lords taking leave for the Florentine war; BERTRAM, and PAROLLES |
|
KING |
|
Farewell, young lords; these warlike principles |
|
Do not throw from you: and you, my lords, farewell: |
|
Share the advice betwixt you; if both gain, all |
|
The gift doth stretch itself as 'tis received, |
|
And is enough for both. |
|
First Lord |
|
'Tis our hope, sir, |
|
After well enter'd soldiers, to return |
|
And find your grace in health. |
|
KING |
|
No, no, it cannot be; and yet my heart |
|
Will not confess he owes the malady |
|
That doth my life besiege. Farewell, young lords; |
|
Whether I live or die, be you the sons |
|
Of worthy Frenchmen: let higher Italy,-- |
|
Those bated that inherit but the fall |
|
Of the last monarchy,--see that you come |
|
Not to woo honour, but to wed it; when |
|
The bravest questant shrinks, find what you seek, |
|
That fame may cry you loud: I say, farewell. |
|
Second Lord |
|
Health, at your bidding, serve your majesty! |
|
KING |
|
Those girls of Italy, take heed of them: |
|
They say, our French lack language to deny, |
|
If they demand: beware of being captives, |
|
Before you serve. |
|
Both |
|
Our hearts receive your warnings. |
|
KING |
|
Farewell. Come hither to me. |
|
Exit, attended |
|
|
|
First Lord |
|
O, my sweet lord, that you will stay behind us! |
|
PAROLLES |
|
'Tis not his fault, the spark. |
|
Second Lord |
|
O, 'tis brave wars! |
|
PAROLLES |
|
Most admirable: I have seen those wars. |
|
BERTRAM |
|
I am commanded here, and kept a coil with |
|
'Too young' and 'the next year' and ''tis too early.' |
|
PAROLLES |
|
An thy mind stand to't, boy, steal away bravely. |
|
BERTRAM |
|
I shall stay here the forehorse to a smock, |
|
Creaking my shoes on the plain masonry, |
|
Till honour be bought up and no sword worn |
|
But one to dance with! By heaven, I'll steal away. |
|
First Lord |
|
There's honour in the theft. |
|
PAROLLES |
|
Commit it, count. |
|
Second Lord |
|
I am your accessary; and so, farewell. |
|
BERTRAM |
|
I grow to you, and our parting is a tortured body. |
|
First Lord |
|
Farewell, captain. |
|
Second Lord |
|
Sweet Monsieur Parolles! |
|
PAROLLES |
|
Noble heroes, my sword and yours are kin. Good |
|
sparks and lustrous, a word, good metals: you shall |
|
find in the regiment of the Spinii one Captain |
|
Spurio, with his cicatrice, an emblem of war, here |
|
on his sinister cheek; it was this very sword |
|
entrenched it: say to him, I live; and observe his |
|
reports for me. |
|
First Lord |
|
We shall, noble captain. |
|
Exeunt Lords |
|
|
|
PAROLLES |
|
Mars dote on you for his novices! what will ye do? |
|
BERTRAM |
|
Stay: the king. |
|
Re-enter KING. BERTRAM and PAROLLES retire |
|
|
|
PAROLLES |
|
[To BERTRAM] Use a more spacious ceremony to the |
|
noble lords; you have restrained yourself within the |
|
list of too cold an adieu: be more expressive to |
|
them: for they wear themselves in the cap of the |
|
time, there do muster true gait, eat, speak, and |
|
move under the influence of the most received star; |
|
and though the devil lead the measure, such are to |
|
be followed: after them, and take a more dilated farewell. |
|
BERTRAM |
|
And I will do so. |
|
PAROLLES |
|
Worthy fellows; and like to prove most sinewy sword-men. |
|
Exeunt BERTRAM and PAROLLES |
|
|
|
Enter LAFEU |
|
|
|
LAFEU |
|
[Kneeling] Pardon, my lord, for me and for my tidings. |
|
KING |
|
I'll fee thee to stand up. |
|
LAFEU |
|
Then here's a man stands, that has brought his pardon. |
|
I would you had kneel'd, my lord, to ask me mercy, |
|
And that at my bidding you could so stand up. |
|
KING |
|
I would I had; so I had broke thy pate, |
|
And ask'd thee mercy for't. |
|
LAFEU |
|
Good faith, across: but, my good lord 'tis thus; |
|
Will you be cured of your infirmity? |
|
KING |
|
No. |
|
LAFEU |
|
O, will you eat no grapes, my royal fox? |
|
Yes, but you will my noble grapes, an if |
|
My royal fox could reach them: I have seen a medicine |
|
That's able to breathe life into a stone, |
|
Quicken a rock, and make you dance canary |
|
With spritely fire and motion; whose simple touch, |
|
Is powerful to araise King Pepin, nay, |
|
To give great Charlemain a pen in's hand, |
|
And write to her a love-line. |
|
KING |
|
What 'her' is this? |
|
LAFEU |
|
Why, Doctor She: my lord, there's one arrived, |
|
If you will see her: now, by my faith and honour, |
|
If seriously I may convey my thoughts |
|
In this my light deliverance, I have spoke |
|
With one that, in her sex, her years, profession, |
|
Wisdom and constancy, hath amazed me more |
|
Than I dare blame my weakness: will you see her |
|
For that is her demand, and know her business? |
|
That done, laugh well at me. |
|
KING |
|
Now, good Lafeu, |
|
Bring in the admiration; that we with thee |
|
May spend our wonder too, or take off thine |
|
By wondering how thou took'st it. |
|
LAFEU |
|
Nay, I'll fit you, |
|
And not be all day neither. |
|
Exit |
|
|
|
KING |
|
Thus he his special nothing ever prologues. |
|
Re-enter LAFEU, with HELENA |
|
|
|
LAFEU |
|
Nay, come your ways. |
|
KING |
|
This haste hath wings indeed. |
|
LAFEU |
|
Nay, come your ways: |
|
This is his majesty; say your mind to him: |
|
A traitor you do look like; but such traitors |
|
His majesty seldom fears: I am Cressid's uncle, |
|
That dare leave two together; fare you well. |
|
Exit |
|
|
|
KING |
|
Now, fair one, does your business follow us? |
|
HELENA |
|
Ay, my good lord. |
|
Gerard de Narbon was my father; |
|
In what he did profess, well found. |
|
KING |
|
I knew him. |
|
HELENA |
|
The rather will I spare my praises towards him: |
|
Knowing him is enough. On's bed of death |
|
Many receipts he gave me: chiefly one. |
|
Which, as the dearest issue of his practise, |
|
And of his old experience the oily darling, |
|
He bade me store up, as a triple eye, |
|
Safer than mine own two, more dear; I have so; |
|
And hearing your high majesty is touch'd |
|
With that malignant cause wherein the honour |
|
Of my dear father's gift stands chief in power, |
|
I come to tender it and my appliance |
|
With all bound humbleness. |
|
KING |
|
We thank you, maiden; |
|
But may not be so credulous of cure, |
|
When our most learned doctors leave us and |
|
The congregated college have concluded |
|
That labouring art can never ransom nature |
|
From her inaidible estate; I say we must not |
|
So stain our judgment, or corrupt our hope, |
|
To prostitute our past-cure malady |
|
To empirics, or to dissever so |
|
Our great self and our credit, to esteem |
|
A senseless help when help past sense we deem. |
|
HELENA |
|
My duty then shall pay me for my pains: |
|
I will no more enforce mine office on you. |
|
Humbly entreating from your royal thoughts |
|
A modest one, to bear me back again. |
|
KING |
|
I cannot give thee less, to be call'd grateful: |
|
Thou thought'st to help me; and such thanks I give |
|
As one near death to those that wish him live: |
|
But what at full I know, thou know'st no part, |
|
I knowing all my peril, thou no art. |
|
HELENA |
|
What I can do can do no hurt to try, |
|
Since you set up your rest 'gainst remedy. |
|
He that of greatest works is finisher |
|
Oft does them by the weakest minister: |
|
So holy writ in babes hath judgment shown, |
|
When judges have been babes; great floods have flown |
|
From simple sources, and great seas have dried |
|
When miracles have by the greatest been denied. |
|
Oft expectation fails and most oft there |
|
Where most it promises, and oft it hits |
|
Where hope is coldest and despair most fits. |
|
KING |
|
I must not hear thee; fare thee well, kind maid; |
|
Thy pains not used must by thyself be paid: |
|
Proffers not took reap thanks for their reward. |
|
HELENA |
|
Inspired merit so by breath is barr'd: |
|
It is not so with Him that all things knows |
|
As 'tis with us that square our guess by shows; |
|
But most it is presumption in us when |
|
The help of heaven we count the act of men. |
|
Dear sir, to my endeavours give consent; |
|
Of heaven, not me, make an experiment. |
|
I am not an impostor that proclaim |
|
Myself against the level of mine aim; |
|
But know I think and think I know most sure |
|
My art is not past power nor you past cure. |
|
KING |
|
Are thou so confident? within what space |
|
Hopest thou my cure? |
|
HELENA |
|
The great'st grace lending grace |
|
Ere twice the horses of the sun shall bring |
|
Their fiery torcher his diurnal ring, |
|
Ere twice in murk and occidental damp |
|
Moist Hesperus hath quench'd his sleepy lamp, |
|
Or four and twenty times the pilot's glass |
|
Hath told the thievish minutes how they pass, |
|
What is infirm from your sound parts shall fly, |
|
Health shall live free and sickness freely die. |
|
KING |
|
Upon thy certainty and confidence |
|
What darest thou venture? |
|
HELENA |
|
Tax of impudence, |
|
A strumpet's boldness, a divulged shame |
|
Traduced by odious ballads: my maiden's name |
|
Sear'd otherwise; nay, worse--if worse--extended |
|
With vilest torture let my life be ended. |
|
KING |
|
Methinks in thee some blessed spirit doth speak |
|
His powerful sound within an organ weak: |
|
And what impossibility would slay |
|
In common sense, sense saves another way. |
|
Thy life is dear; for all that life can rate |
|
Worth name of life in thee hath estimate, |
|
Youth, beauty, wisdom, courage, all |
|
That happiness and prime can happy call: |
|
Thou this to hazard needs must intimate |
|
Skill infinite or monstrous desperate. |
|
Sweet practiser, thy physic I will try, |
|
That ministers thine own death if I die. |
|
HELENA |
|
If I break time, or flinch in property |
|
Of what I spoke, unpitied let me die, |
|
And well deserved: not helping, death's my fee; |
|
But, if I help, what do you promise me? |
|
KING |
|
Make thy demand. |
|
HELENA |
|
But will you make it even? |
|
KING |
|
Ay, by my sceptre and my hopes of heaven. |
|
HELENA |
|
Then shalt thou give me with thy kingly hand |
|
What husband in thy power I will command: |
|
Exempted be from me the arrogance |
|
To choose from forth the royal blood of France, |
|
My low and humble name to propagate |
|
With any branch or image of thy state; |
|
But such a one, thy vassal, whom I know |
|
Is free for me to ask, thee to bestow. |
|
KING |
|
Here is my hand; the premises observed, |
|
Thy will by my performance shall be served: |
|
So make the choice of thy own time, for I, |
|
Thy resolved patient, on thee still rely. |
|
More should I question thee, and more I must, |
|
Though more to know could not be more to trust, |
|
From whence thou camest, how tended on: but rest |
|
Unquestion'd welcome and undoubted blest. |
|
Give me some help here, ho! If thou proceed |
|
As high as word, my deed shall match thy meed. |
|
Flourish. Exeunt |
|
|
|
SCENE II. Rousillon. The COUNT's palace. |
|
|
|
Enter COUNTESS and Clown |
|
COUNTESS |
|
Come on, sir; I shall now put you to the height of |
|
your breeding. |
|
Clown |
|
I will show myself highly fed and lowly taught: I |
|
know my business is but to the court. |
|
COUNTESS |
|
To the court! why, what place make you special, |
|
when you put off that with such contempt? But to the court! |
|
Clown |
|
Truly, madam, if God have lent a man any manners, he |
|
may easily put it off at court: he that cannot make |
|
a leg, put off's cap, kiss his hand and say nothing, |
|
has neither leg, hands, lip, nor cap; and indeed |
|
such a fellow, to say precisely, were not for the |
|
court; but for me, I have an answer will serve all |
|
men. |
|
COUNTESS |
|
Marry, that's a bountiful answer that fits all |
|
questions. |
|
Clown |
|
It is like a barber's chair that fits all buttocks, |
|
the pin-buttock, the quatch-buttock, the brawn |
|
buttock, or any buttock. |
|
COUNTESS |
|
Will your answer serve fit to all questions? |
|
Clown |
|
As fit as ten groats is for the hand of an attorney, |
|
as your French crown for your taffeta punk, as Tib's |
|
rush for Tom's forefinger, as a pancake for Shrove |
|
Tuesday, a morris for May-day, as the nail to his |
|
hole, the cuckold to his horn, as a scolding queen |
|
to a wrangling knave, as the nun's lip to the |
|
friar's mouth, nay, as the pudding to his skin. |
|
COUNTESS |
|
Have you, I say, an answer of such fitness for all |
|
questions? |
|
Clown |
|
From below your duke to beneath your constable, it |
|
will fit any question. |
|
COUNTESS |
|
It must be an answer of most monstrous size that |
|
must fit all demands. |
|
Clown |
|
But a trifle neither, in good faith, if the learned |
|
should speak truth of it: here it is, and all that |
|
belongs to't. Ask me if I am a courtier: it shall |
|
do you no harm to learn. |
|
COUNTESS |
|
To be young again, if we could: I will be a fool in |
|
question, hoping to be the wiser by your answer. I |
|
pray you, sir, are you a courtier? |
|
Clown |
|
O Lord, sir! There's a simple putting off. More, |
|
more, a hundred of them. |
|
COUNTESS |
|
Sir, I am a poor friend of yours, that loves you. |
|
Clown |
|
O Lord, sir! Thick, thick, spare not me. |
|
COUNTESS |
|
I think, sir, you can eat none of this homely meat. |
|
Clown |
|
O Lord, sir! Nay, put me to't, I warrant you. |
|
COUNTESS |
|
You were lately whipped, sir, as I think. |
|
Clown |
|
O Lord, sir! spare not me. |
|
COUNTESS |
|
Do you cry, 'O Lord, sir!' at your whipping, and |
|
'spare not me?' Indeed your 'O Lord, sir!' is very |
|
sequent to your whipping: you would answer very well |
|
to a whipping, if you were but bound to't. |
|
Clown |
|
I ne'er had worse luck in my life in my 'O Lord, |
|
sir!' I see things may serve long, but not serve ever. |
|
COUNTESS |
|
I play the noble housewife with the time |
|
To entertain't so merrily with a fool. |
|
Clown |
|
O Lord, sir! why, there't serves well again. |
|
COUNTESS |
|
An end, sir; to your business. Give Helen this, |
|
And urge her to a present answer back: |
|
Commend me to my kinsmen and my son: |
|
This is not much. |
|
Clown |
|
Not much commendation to them. |
|
COUNTESS |
|
Not much employment for you: you understand me? |
|
Clown |
|
Most fruitfully: I am there before my legs. |
|
COUNTESS |
|
Haste you again. |
|
Exeunt severally |
|
|
|
SCENE III. Paris. The KING's palace. |
|
|
|
Enter BERTRAM, LAFEU, and PAROLLES |
|
LAFEU |
|
They say miracles are past; and we have our |
|
philosophical persons, to make modern and familiar, |
|
things supernatural and causeless. Hence is it that |
|
we make trifles of terrors, ensconcing ourselves |
|
into seeming knowledge, when we should submit |
|
ourselves to an unknown fear. |
|
PAROLLES |
|
Why, 'tis the rarest argument of wonder that hath |
|
shot out in our latter times. |
|
BERTRAM |
|
And so 'tis. |
|
LAFEU |
|
To be relinquish'd of the artists,-- |
|
PAROLLES |
|
So I say. |
|
LAFEU |
|
Both of Galen and Paracelsus. |
|
PAROLLES |
|
So I say. |
|
LAFEU |
|
Of all the learned and authentic fellows,-- |
|
PAROLLES |
|
Right; so I say. |
|
LAFEU |
|
That gave him out incurable,-- |
|
PAROLLES |
|
Why, there 'tis; so say I too. |
|
LAFEU |
|
Not to be helped,-- |
|
PAROLLES |
|
Right; as 'twere, a man assured of a-- |
|
LAFEU |
|
Uncertain life, and sure death. |
|
PAROLLES |
|
Just, you say well; so would I have said. |
|
LAFEU |
|
I may truly say, it is a novelty to the world. |
|
PAROLLES |
|
It is, indeed: if you will have it in showing, you |
|
shall read it in--what do you call there? |
|
LAFEU |
|
A showing of a heavenly effect in an earthly actor. |
|
PAROLLES |
|
That's it; I would have said the very same. |
|
LAFEU |
|
Why, your dolphin is not lustier: 'fore me, |
|
I speak in respect-- |
|
PAROLLES |
|
Nay, 'tis strange, 'tis very strange, that is the |
|
brief and the tedious of it; and he's of a most |
|
facinerious spirit that will not acknowledge it to be the-- |
|
LAFEU |
|
Very hand of heaven. |
|
PAROLLES |
|
Ay, so I say. |
|
LAFEU |
|
In a most weak-- |
|
pausing |
|
|
|
and debile minister, great power, great |
|
transcendence: which should, indeed, give us a |
|
further use to be made than alone the recovery of |
|
the king, as to be-- |
|
pausing |
|
|
|
generally thankful. |
|
PAROLLES |
|
I would have said it; you say well. Here comes the king. |
|
Enter KING, HELENA, and Attendants. LAFEU and PAROLLES retire |
|
|
|
LAFEU |
|
Lustig, as the Dutchman says: I'll like a maid the |
|
better, whilst I have a tooth in my head: why, he's |
|
able to lead her a coranto. |
|
PAROLLES |
|
Mort du vinaigre! is not this Helen? |
|
LAFEU |
|
'Fore God, I think so. |
|
KING |
|
Go, call before me all the lords in court. |
|
Sit, my preserver, by thy patient's side; |
|
And with this healthful hand, whose banish'd sense |
|
Thou hast repeal'd, a second time receive |
|
The confirmation of my promised gift, |
|
Which but attends thy naming. |
|
Enter three or four Lords |
|
|
|
Fair maid, send forth thine eye: this youthful parcel |
|
Of noble bachelors stand at my bestowing, |
|
O'er whom both sovereign power and father's voice |
|
I have to use: thy frank election make; |
|
Thou hast power to choose, and they none to forsake. |
|
HELENA |
|
To each of you one fair and virtuous mistress |
|
Fall, when Love please! marry, to each, but one! |
|
LAFEU |
|
I'ld give bay Curtal and his furniture, |
|
My mouth no more were broken than these boys', |
|
And writ as little beard. |
|
KING |
|
Peruse them well: |
|
Not one of those but had a noble father. |
|
HELENA |
|
Gentlemen, |
|
Heaven hath through me restored the king to health. |
|
All |
|
We understand it, and thank heaven for you. |
|
HELENA |
|
I am a simple maid, and therein wealthiest, |
|
That I protest I simply am a maid. |
|
Please it your majesty, I have done already: |
|
The blushes in my cheeks thus whisper me, |
|
'We blush that thou shouldst choose; but, be refused, |
|
Let the white death sit on thy cheek for ever; |
|
We'll ne'er come there again.' |
|
KING |
|
Make choice; and, see, |
|
Who shuns thy love shuns all his love in me. |
|
HELENA |
|
Now, Dian, from thy altar do I fly, |
|
And to imperial Love, that god most high, |
|
Do my sighs stream. Sir, will you hear my suit? |
|
First Lord |
|
And grant it. |
|
HELENA |
|
Thanks, sir; all the rest is mute. |
|
LAFEU |
|
I had rather be in this choice than throw ames-ace |
|
for my life. |
|
HELENA |
|
The honour, sir, that flames in your fair eyes, |
|
Before I speak, too threateningly replies: |
|
Love make your fortunes twenty times above |
|
Her that so wishes and her humble love! |
|
Second Lord |
|
No better, if you please. |
|
HELENA |
|
My wish receive, |
|
Which great Love grant! and so, I take my leave. |
|
LAFEU |
|
Do all they deny her? An they were sons of mine, |
|
I'd have them whipped; or I would send them to the |
|
Turk, to make eunuchs of. |
|
HELENA |
|
Be not afraid that I your hand should take; |
|
I'll never do you wrong for your own sake: |
|
Blessing upon your vows! and in your bed |
|
Find fairer fortune, if you ever wed! |
|
LAFEU |
|
These boys are boys of ice, they'll none have her: |
|
sure, they are bastards to the English; the French |
|
ne'er got 'em. |
|
HELENA |
|
You are too young, too happy, and too good, |
|
To make yourself a son out of my blood. |
|
Fourth Lord |
|
Fair one, I think not so. |
|
LAFEU |
|
There's one grape yet; I am sure thy father drunk |
|
wine: but if thou be'st not an ass, I am a youth |
|
of fourteen; I have known thee already. |
|
HELENA |
|
[To BERTRAM] I dare not say I take you; but I give |
|
Me and my service, ever whilst I live, |
|
Into your guiding power. This is the man. |
|
KING |
|
Why, then, young Bertram, take her; she's thy wife. |
|
BERTRAM |
|
My wife, my liege! I shall beseech your highness, |
|
In such a business give me leave to use |
|
The help of mine own eyes. |
|
KING |
|
Know'st thou not, Bertram, |
|
What she has done for me? |
|
BERTRAM |
|
Yes, my good lord; |
|
But never hope to know why I should marry her. |
|
KING |
|
Thou know'st she has raised me from my sickly bed. |
|
BERTRAM |
|
But follows it, my lord, to bring me down |
|
Must answer for your raising? I know her well: |
|
She had her breeding at my father's charge. |
|
A poor physician's daughter my wife! Disdain |
|
Rather corrupt me ever! |
|
KING |
|
'Tis only title thou disdain'st in her, the which |
|
I can build up. Strange is it that our bloods, |
|
Of colour, weight, and heat, pour'd all together, |
|
Would quite confound distinction, yet stand off |
|
In differences so mighty. If she be |
|
All that is virtuous, save what thou dislikest, |
|
A poor physician's daughter, thou dislikest |
|
Of virtue for the name: but do not so: |
|
From lowest place when virtuous things proceed, |
|
The place is dignified by the doer's deed: |
|
Where great additions swell's, and virtue none, |
|
It is a dropsied honour. Good alone |
|
Is good without a name. Vileness is so: |
|
The property by what it is should go, |
|
Not by the title. She is young, wise, fair; |
|
In these to nature she's immediate heir, |
|
And these breed honour: that is honour's scorn, |
|
Which challenges itself as honour's born |
|
And is not like the sire: honours thrive, |
|
When rather from our acts we them derive |
|
Than our foregoers: the mere word's a slave |
|
Debosh'd on every tomb, on every grave |
|
A lying trophy, and as oft is dumb |
|
Where dust and damn'd oblivion is the tomb |
|
Of honour'd bones indeed. What should be said? |
|
If thou canst like this creature as a maid, |
|
I can create the rest: virtue and she |
|
Is her own dower; honour and wealth from me. |
|
BERTRAM |
|
I cannot love her, nor will strive to do't. |
|
KING |
|
Thou wrong'st thyself, if thou shouldst strive to choose. |
|
HELENA |
|
That you are well restored, my lord, I'm glad: |
|
Let the rest go. |
|
KING |
|
My honour's at the stake; which to defeat, |
|
I must produce my power. Here, take her hand, |
|
Proud scornful boy, unworthy this good gift; |
|
That dost in vile misprision shackle up |
|
My love and her desert; that canst not dream, |
|
We, poising us in her defective scale, |
|
Shall weigh thee to the beam; that wilt not know, |
|
It is in us to plant thine honour where |
|
We please to have it grow. Cheque thy contempt: |
|
Obey our will, which travails in thy good: |
|
Believe not thy disdain, but presently |
|
Do thine own fortunes that obedient right |
|
Which both thy duty owes and our power claims; |
|
Or I will throw thee from my care for ever |
|
Into the staggers and the careless lapse |
|
Of youth and ignorance; both my revenge and hate |
|
Loosing upon thee, in the name of justice, |
|
Without all terms of pity. Speak; thine answer. |
|
BERTRAM |
|
Pardon, my gracious lord; for I submit |
|
My fancy to your eyes: when I consider |
|
What great creation and what dole of honour |
|
Flies where you bid it, I find that she, which late |
|
Was in my nobler thoughts most base, is now |
|
The praised of the king; who, so ennobled, |
|
Is as 'twere born so. |
|
KING |
|
Take her by the hand, |
|
And tell her she is thine: to whom I promise |
|
A counterpoise, if not to thy estate |
|
A balance more replete. |
|
BERTRAM |
|
I take her hand. |
|
KING |
|
Good fortune and the favour of the king |
|
Smile upon this contract; whose ceremony |
|
Shall seem expedient on the now-born brief, |
|
And be perform'd to-night: the solemn feast |
|
Shall more attend upon the coming space, |
|
Expecting absent friends. As thou lovest her, |
|
Thy love's to me religious; else, does err. |
|
Exeunt all but LAFEU and PAROLLES |
|
|
|
LAFEU |
|
[Advancing] Do you hear, monsieur? a word with you. |
|
PAROLLES |
|
Your pleasure, sir? |
|
LAFEU |
|
Your lord and master did well to make his |
|
recantation. |
|
PAROLLES |
|
Recantation! My lord! my master! |
|
LAFEU |
|
Ay; is it not a language I speak? |
|
PAROLLES |
|
A most harsh one, and not to be understood without |
|
bloody succeeding. My master! |
|
LAFEU |
|
Are you companion to the Count Rousillon? |
|
PAROLLES |
|
To any count, to all counts, to what is man. |
|
LAFEU |
|
To what is count's man: count's master is of |
|
another style. |
|
PAROLLES |
|
You are too old, sir; let it satisfy you, you are too old. |
|
LAFEU |
|
I must tell thee, sirrah, I write man; to which |
|
title age cannot bring thee. |
|
PAROLLES |
|
What I dare too well do, I dare not do. |
|
LAFEU |
|
I did think thee, for two ordinaries, to be a pretty |
|
wise fellow; thou didst make tolerable vent of thy |
|
travel; it might pass: yet the scarfs and the |
|
bannerets about thee did manifoldly dissuade me from |
|
believing thee a vessel of too great a burthen. I |
|
have now found thee; when I lose thee again, I care |
|
not: yet art thou good for nothing but taking up; and |
|
that thou't scarce worth. |
|
PAROLLES |
|
Hadst thou not the privilege of antiquity upon thee,-- |
|
LAFEU |
|
Do not plunge thyself too far in anger, lest thou |
|
hasten thy trial; which if--Lord have mercy on thee |
|
for a hen! So, my good window of lattice, fare thee |
|
well: thy casement I need not open, for I look |
|
through thee. Give me thy hand. |
|
PAROLLES |
|
My lord, you give me most egregious indignity. |
|
LAFEU |
|
Ay, with all my heart; and thou art worthy of it. |
|
PAROLLES |
|
I have not, my lord, deserved it. |
|
LAFEU |
|
Yes, good faith, every dram of it; and I will not |
|
bate thee a scruple. |
|
PAROLLES |
|
Well, I shall be wiser. |
|
LAFEU |
|
Even as soon as thou canst, for thou hast to pull at |
|
a smack o' the contrary. If ever thou be'st bound |
|
in thy scarf and beaten, thou shalt find what it is |
|
to be proud of thy bondage. I have a desire to hold |
|
my acquaintance with thee, or rather my knowledge, |
|
that I may say in the default, he is a man I know. |
|
PAROLLES |
|
My lord, you do me most insupportable vexation. |
|
LAFEU |
|
I would it were hell-pains for thy sake, and my poor |
|
doing eternal: for doing I am past: as I will by |
|
thee, in what motion age will give me leave. |
|
Exit |
|
|
|
PAROLLES |
|
Well, thou hast a son shall take this disgrace off |
|
me; scurvy, old, filthy, scurvy lord! Well, I must |
|
be patient; there is no fettering of authority. |
|
I'll beat him, by my life, if I can meet him with |
|
any convenience, an he were double and double a |
|
lord. I'll have no more pity of his age than I |
|
would of--I'll beat him, an if I could but meet him again. |
|
Re-enter LAFEU |
|
|
|
LAFEU |
|
Sirrah, your lord and master's married; there's news |
|
for you: you have a new mistress. |
|
PAROLLES |
|
I most unfeignedly beseech your lordship to make |
|
some reservation of your wrongs: he is my good |
|
lord: whom I serve above is my master. |
|
LAFEU |
|
Who? God? |
|
PAROLLES |
|
Ay, sir. |
|
LAFEU |
|
The devil it is that's thy master. Why dost thou |
|
garter up thy arms o' this fashion? dost make hose of |
|
sleeves? do other servants so? Thou wert best set |
|
thy lower part where thy nose stands. By mine |
|
honour, if I were but two hours younger, I'ld beat |
|
thee: methinks, thou art a general offence, and |
|
every man should beat thee: I think thou wast |
|
created for men to breathe themselves upon thee. |
|
PAROLLES |
|
This is hard and undeserved measure, my lord. |
|
LAFEU |
|
Go to, sir; you were beaten in Italy for picking a |
|
kernel out of a pomegranate; you are a vagabond and |
|
no true traveller: you are more saucy with lords |
|
and honourable personages than the commission of your |
|
birth and virtue gives you heraldry. You are not |
|
worth another word, else I'ld call you knave. I leave you. |
|
Exit |
|
|
|
PAROLLES |
|
Good, very good; it is so then: good, very good; |
|
let it be concealed awhile. |
|
Re-enter BERTRAM |
|
|
|
BERTRAM |
|
Undone, and forfeited to cares for ever! |
|
PAROLLES |
|
What's the matter, sweet-heart? |
|
BERTRAM |
|
Although before the solemn priest I have sworn, |
|
I will not bed her. |
|
PAROLLES |
|
What, what, sweet-heart? |
|
BERTRAM |
|
O my Parolles, they have married me! |
|
I'll to the Tuscan wars, and never bed her. |
|
PAROLLES |
|
France is a dog-hole, and it no more merits |
|
The tread of a man's foot: to the wars! |
|
BERTRAM |
|
There's letters from my mother: what the import is, |
|
I know not yet. |
|
PAROLLES |
|
Ay, that would be known. To the wars, my boy, to the wars! |
|
He wears his honour in a box unseen, |
|
That hugs his kicky-wicky here at home, |
|
Spending his manly marrow in her arms, |
|
Which should sustain the bound and high curvet |
|
Of Mars's fiery steed. To other regions |
|
France is a stable; we that dwell in't jades; |
|
Therefore, to the war! |
|
BERTRAM |
|
It shall be so: I'll send her to my house, |
|
Acquaint my mother with my hate to her, |
|
And wherefore I am fled; write to the king |
|
That which I durst not speak; his present gift |
|
Shall furnish me to those Italian fields, |
|
Where noble fellows strike: war is no strife |
|
To the dark house and the detested wife. |
|
PAROLLES |
|
Will this capriccio hold in thee? art sure? |
|
BERTRAM |
|
Go with me to my chamber, and advise me. |
|
I'll send her straight away: to-morrow |
|
I'll to the wars, she to her single sorrow. |
|
PAROLLES |
|
Why, these balls bound; there's noise in it. 'Tis hard: |
|
A young man married is a man that's marr'd: |
|
Therefore away, and leave her bravely; go: |
|
The king has done you wrong: but, hush, 'tis so. |
|
Exeunt |
|
|
|
SCENE IV. Paris. The KING's palace. |
|
|
|
Enter HELENA and Clown |
|
HELENA |
|
My mother greets me kindly; is she well? |
|
Clown |
|
She is not well; but yet she has her health: she's |
|
very merry; but yet she is not well: but thanks be |
|
given, she's very well and wants nothing i', the |
|
world; but yet she is not well. |
|
HELENA |
|
If she be very well, what does she ail, that she's |
|
not very well? |
|
Clown |
|
Truly, she's very well indeed, but for two things. |
|
HELENA |
|
What two things? |
|
Clown |
|
One, that she's not in heaven, whither God send her |
|
quickly! the other that she's in earth, from whence |
|
God send her quickly! |
|
Enter PAROLLES |
|
|
|
PAROLLES |
|
Bless you, my fortunate lady! |
|
HELENA |
|
I hope, sir, I have your good will to have mine own |
|
good fortunes. |
|
PAROLLES |
|
You had my prayers to lead them on; and to keep them |
|
on, have them still. O, my knave, how does my old lady? |
|
Clown |
|
So that you had her wrinkles and I her money, |
|
I would she did as you say. |
|
PAROLLES |
|
Why, I say nothing. |
|
Clown |
|
Marry, you are the wiser man; for many a man's |
|
tongue shakes out his master's undoing: to say |
|
nothing, to do nothing, to know nothing, and to have |
|
nothing, is to be a great part of your title; which |
|
is within a very little of nothing. |
|
PAROLLES |
|
Away! thou'rt a knave. |
|
Clown |
|
You should have said, sir, before a knave thou'rt a |
|
knave; that's, before me thou'rt a knave: this had |
|
been truth, sir. |
|
PAROLLES |
|
Go to, thou art a witty fool; I have found thee. |
|
Clown |
|
Did you find me in yourself, sir? or were you |
|
taught to find me? The search, sir, was profitable; |
|
and much fool may you find in you, even to the |
|
world's pleasure and the increase of laughter. |
|
PAROLLES |
|
A good knave, i' faith, and well fed. |
|
Madam, my lord will go away to-night; |
|
A very serious business calls on him. |
|
The great prerogative and rite of love, |
|
Which, as your due, time claims, he does acknowledge; |
|
But puts it off to a compell'd restraint; |
|
Whose want, and whose delay, is strew'd with sweets, |
|
Which they distil now in the curbed time, |
|
To make the coming hour o'erflow with joy |
|
And pleasure drown the brim. |
|
HELENA |
|
What's his will else? |
|
PAROLLES |
|
That you will take your instant leave o' the king |
|
And make this haste as your own good proceeding, |
|
Strengthen'd with what apology you think |
|
May make it probable need. |
|
HELENA |
|
What more commands he? |
|
PAROLLES |
|
That, having this obtain'd, you presently |
|
Attend his further pleasure. |
|
HELENA |
|
In every thing I wait upon his will. |
|
PAROLLES |
|
I shall report it so. |
|
HELENA |
|
I pray you. |
|
Exit PAROLLES |
|
|
|
Come, sirrah. |
|
Exeunt |
|
|
|
SCENE V. Paris. The KING's palace. |
|
|
|
Enter LAFEU and BERTRAM |
|
LAFEU |
|
But I hope your lordship thinks not him a soldier. |
|
BERTRAM |
|
Yes, my lord, and of very valiant approof. |
|
LAFEU |
|
You have it from his own deliverance. |
|
BERTRAM |
|
And by other warranted testimony. |
|
LAFEU |
|
Then my dial goes not true: I took this lark for a bunting. |
|
BERTRAM |
|
I do assure you, my lord, he is very great in |
|
knowledge and accordingly valiant. |
|
LAFEU |
|
I have then sinned against his experience and |
|
transgressed against his valour; and my state that |
|
way is dangerous, since I cannot yet find in my |
|
heart to repent. Here he comes: I pray you, make |
|
us friends; I will pursue the amity. |
|
Enter PAROLLES |
|
|
|
PAROLLES |
|
[To BERTRAM] These things shall be done, sir. |
|
LAFEU |
|
Pray you, sir, who's his tailor? |
|
PAROLLES |
|
Sir? |
|
LAFEU |
|
O, I know him well, I, sir; he, sir, 's a good |
|
workman, a very good tailor. |
|
BERTRAM |
|
[Aside to PAROLLES] Is she gone to the king? |
|
PAROLLES |
|
She is. |
|
BERTRAM |
|
Will she away to-night? |
|
PAROLLES |
|
As you'll have her. |
|
BERTRAM |
|
I have writ my letters, casketed my treasure, |
|
Given order for our horses; and to-night, |
|
When I should take possession of the bride, |
|
End ere I do begin. |
|
LAFEU |
|
A good traveller is something at the latter end of a |
|
dinner; but one that lies three thirds and uses a |
|
known truth to pass a thousand nothings with, should |
|
be once heard and thrice beaten. God save you, captain. |
|
BERTRAM |
|
Is there any unkindness between my lord and you, monsieur? |
|
PAROLLES |
|
I know not how I have deserved to run into my lord's |
|
displeasure. |
|
LAFEU |
|
You have made shift to run into 't, boots and spurs |
|
and all, like him that leaped into the custard; and |
|
out of it you'll run again, rather than suffer |
|
question for your residence. |
|
BERTRAM |
|
It may be you have mistaken him, my lord. |
|
LAFEU |
|
And shall do so ever, though I took him at 's |
|
prayers. Fare you well, my lord; and believe this |
|
of me, there can be no kernel in this light nut; the |
|
soul of this man is his clothes. Trust him not in |
|
matter of heavy consequence; I have kept of them |
|
tame, and know their natures. Farewell, monsieur: |
|
I have spoken better of you than you have or will to |
|
deserve at my hand; but we must do good against evil. |
|
Exit |
|
|
|
PAROLLES |
|
An idle lord. I swear. |
|
BERTRAM |
|
I think so. |
|
PAROLLES |
|
Why, do you not know him? |
|
BERTRAM |
|
Yes, I do know him well, and common speech |
|
Gives him a worthy pass. Here comes my clog. |
|
Enter HELENA |
|
|
|
HELENA |
|
I have, sir, as I was commanded from you, |
|
Spoke with the king and have procured his leave |
|
For present parting; only he desires |
|
Some private speech with you. |
|
BERTRAM |
|
I shall obey his will. |
|
You must not marvel, Helen, at my course, |
|
Which holds not colour with the time, nor does |
|
The ministration and required office |
|
On my particular. Prepared I was not |
|
For such a business; therefore am I found |
|
So much unsettled: this drives me to entreat you |
|
That presently you take our way for home; |
|
And rather muse than ask why I entreat you, |
|
For my respects are better than they seem |
|
And my appointments have in them a need |
|
Greater than shows itself at the first view |
|
To you that know them not. This to my mother: |
|
Giving a letter |
|
|
|
'Twill be two days ere I shall see you, so |
|
I leave you to your wisdom. |
|
HELENA |
|
Sir, I can nothing say, |
|
But that I am your most obedient servant. |
|
BERTRAM |
|
Come, come, no more of that. |
|
HELENA |
|
And ever shall |
|
With true observance seek to eke out that |
|
Wherein toward me my homely stars have fail'd |
|
To equal my great fortune. |
|
BERTRAM |
|
Let that go: |
|
My haste is very great: farewell; hie home. |
|
HELENA |
|
Pray, sir, your pardon. |
|
BERTRAM |
|
Well, what would you say? |
|
HELENA |
|
I am not worthy of the wealth I owe, |
|
Nor dare I say 'tis mine, and yet it is; |
|
But, like a timorous thief, most fain would steal |
|
What law does vouch mine own. |
|
BERTRAM |
|
What would you have? |
|
HELENA |
|
Something; and scarce so much: nothing, indeed. |
|
I would not tell you what I would, my lord: |
|
Faith yes; |
|
Strangers and foes do sunder, and not kiss. |
|
BERTRAM |
|
I pray you, stay not, but in haste to horse. |
|
HELENA |
|
I shall not break your bidding, good my lord. |
|
BERTRAM |
|
Where are my other men, monsieur? Farewell. |
|
Exit HELENA |
|
|
|
Go thou toward home; where I will never come |
|
Whilst I can shake my sword or hear the drum. |
|
Away, and for our flight. |
|
PAROLLES |
|
Bravely, coragio! |
|
Exeunt |
|
|
|
ACT III |
|
|
|
SCENE I. Florence. The DUKE's palace. |
|
|
|
Flourish. Enter the DUKE of Florence attended; the two Frenchmen, with a troop of soldiers. |
|
DUKE |
|
So that from point to point now have you heard |
|
The fundamental reasons of this war, |
|
Whose great decision hath much blood let forth |
|
And more thirsts after. |
|
First Lord |
|
Holy seems the quarrel |
|
Upon your grace's part; black and fearful |
|
On the opposer. |
|
DUKE |
|
Therefore we marvel much our cousin France |
|
Would in so just a business shut his bosom |
|
Against our borrowing prayers. |
|
Second Lord |
|
Good my lord, |
|
The reasons of our state I cannot yield, |
|
But like a common and an outward man, |
|
That the great figure of a council frames |
|
By self-unable motion: therefore dare not |
|
Say what I think of it, since I have found |
|
Myself in my incertain grounds to fail |
|
As often as I guess'd. |
|
DUKE |
|
Be it his pleasure. |
|
First Lord |
|
But I am sure the younger of our nature, |
|
That surfeit on their ease, will day by day |
|
Come here for physic. |
|
DUKE |
|
Welcome shall they be; |
|
And all the honours that can fly from us |
|
Shall on them settle. You know your places well; |
|
When better fall, for your avails they fell: |
|
To-morrow to the field. |
|
Flourish. Exeunt |
|
|
|
SCENE II. Rousillon. The COUNT's palace. |
|
|
|
Enter COUNTESS and Clown |
|
COUNTESS |
|
It hath happened all as I would have had it, save |
|
that he comes not along with her. |
|
Clown |
|
By my troth, I take my young lord to be a very |
|
melancholy man. |
|
COUNTESS |
|
By what observance, I pray you? |
|
Clown |
|
Why, he will look upon his boot and sing; mend the |
|
ruff and sing; ask questions and sing; pick his |
|
teeth and sing. I know a man that had this trick of |
|
melancholy sold a goodly manor for a song. |
|
COUNTESS |
|
Let me see what he writes, and when he means to come. |
|
Opening a letter |
|
|
|
Clown |
|
I have no mind to Isbel since I was at court: our |
|
old ling and our Isbels o' the country are nothing |
|
like your old ling and your Isbels o' the court: |
|
the brains of my Cupid's knocked out, and I begin to |
|
love, as an old man loves money, with no stomach. |
|
COUNTESS |
|
What have we here? |
|
Clown |
|
E'en that you have there. |
|
Exit |
|
|
|
COUNTESS |
|
[Reads] I have sent you a daughter-in-law: she hath |
|
recovered the king, and undone me. I have wedded |
|
her, not bedded her; and sworn to make the 'not' |
|
eternal. You shall hear I am run away: know it |
|
before the report come. If there be breadth enough |
|
in the world, I will hold a long distance. My duty |
|
to you. Your unfortunate son, |
|
BERTRAM. |
|
This is not well, rash and unbridled boy. |
|
To fly the favours of so good a king; |
|
To pluck his indignation on thy head |
|
By the misprising of a maid too virtuous |
|
For the contempt of empire. |
|
Re-enter Clown |
|
|
|
Clown |
|
O madam, yonder is heavy news within between two |
|
soldiers and my young lady! |
|
COUNTESS |
|
What is the matter? |
|
Clown |
|
Nay, there is some comfort in the news, some |
|
comfort; your son will not be killed so soon as I |
|
thought he would. |
|
COUNTESS |
|
Why should he be killed? |
|
Clown |
|
So say I, madam, if he run away, as I hear he does: |
|
the danger is in standing to't; that's the loss of |
|
men, though it be the getting of children. Here |
|
they come will tell you more: for my part, I only |
|
hear your son was run away. |
|
Exit |
|
|
|
Enter HELENA, and two Gentlemen |
|
|
|
First Gentleman |
|
Save you, good madam. |
|
HELENA |
|
Madam, my lord is gone, for ever gone. |
|
Second Gentleman |
|
Do not say so. |
|
COUNTESS |
|
Think upon patience. Pray you, gentlemen, |
|
I have felt so many quirks of joy and grief, |
|
That the first face of neither, on the start, |
|
Can woman me unto't: where is my son, I pray you? |
|
Second Gentleman |
|
Madam, he's gone to serve the duke of Florence: |
|
We met him thitherward; for thence we came, |
|
And, after some dispatch in hand at court, |
|
Thither we bend again. |
|
HELENA |
|
Look on his letter, madam; here's my passport. |
|
Reads |
|
|
|
When thou canst get the ring upon my finger which |
|
never shall come off, and show me a child begotten |
|
of thy body that I am father to, then call me |
|
husband: but in such a 'then' I write a 'never.' |
|
This is a dreadful sentence. |
|
COUNTESS |
|
Brought you this letter, gentlemen? |
|
First Gentleman |
|
Ay, madam; |
|
And for the contents' sake are sorry for our pain. |
|
COUNTESS |
|
I prithee, lady, have a better cheer; |
|
If thou engrossest all the griefs are thine, |
|
Thou robb'st me of a moiety: he was my son; |
|
But I do wash his name out of my blood, |
|
And thou art all my child. Towards Florence is he? |
|
Second Gentleman |
|
Ay, madam. |
|
COUNTESS |
|
And to be a soldier? |
|
Second Gentleman |
|
Such is his noble purpose; and believe 't, |
|
The duke will lay upon him all the honour |
|
That good convenience claims. |
|
COUNTESS |
|
Return you thither? |
|
First Gentleman |
|
Ay, madam, with the swiftest wing of speed. |
|
HELENA |
|
[Reads] Till I have no wife I have nothing in France. |
|
'Tis bitter. |
|
COUNTESS |
|
Find you that there? |
|
HELENA |
|
Ay, madam. |
|
First Gentleman |
|
'Tis but the boldness of his hand, haply, which his |
|
heart was not consenting to. |
|
COUNTESS |
|
Nothing in France, until he have no wife! |
|
There's nothing here that is too good for him |
|
But only she; and she deserves a lord |
|
That twenty such rude boys might tend upon |
|
And call her hourly mistress. Who was with him? |
|
First Gentleman |
|
A servant only, and a gentleman |
|
Which I have sometime known. |
|
COUNTESS |
|
Parolles, was it not? |
|
First Gentleman |
|
Ay, my good lady, he. |
|
COUNTESS |
|
A very tainted fellow, and full of wickedness. |
|
My son corrupts a well-derived nature |
|
With his inducement. |
|
First Gentleman |
|
Indeed, good lady, |
|
The fellow has a deal of that too much, |
|
Which holds him much to have. |
|
COUNTESS |
|
You're welcome, gentlemen. |
|
I will entreat you, when you see my son, |
|
To tell him that his sword can never win |
|
The honour that he loses: more I'll entreat you |
|
Written to bear along. |
|
Second Gentleman |
|
We serve you, madam, |
|
In that and all your worthiest affairs. |
|
COUNTESS |
|
Not so, but as we change our courtesies. |
|
Will you draw near! |
|
Exeunt COUNTESS and Gentlemen |
|
|
|
HELENA |
|
'Till I have no wife, I have nothing in France.' |
|
Nothing in France, until he has no wife! |
|
Thou shalt have none, Rousillon, none in France; |
|
Then hast thou all again. Poor lord! is't I |
|
That chase thee from thy country and expose |
|
Those tender limbs of thine to the event |
|
Of the none-sparing war? and is it I |
|
That drive thee from the sportive court, where thou |
|
Wast shot at with fair eyes, to be the mark |
|
Of smoky muskets? O you leaden messengers, |
|
That ride upon the violent speed of fire, |
|
Fly with false aim; move the still-peering air, |
|
That sings with piercing; do not touch my lord. |
|
Whoever shoots at him, I set him there; |
|
Whoever charges on his forward breast, |
|
I am the caitiff that do hold him to't; |
|
And, though I kill him not, I am the cause |
|
His death was so effected: better 'twere |
|
I met the ravin lion when he roar'd |
|
With sharp constraint of hunger; better 'twere |
|
That all the miseries which nature owes |
|
Were mine at once. No, come thou home, Rousillon, |
|
Whence honour but of danger wins a scar, |
|
As oft it loses all: I will be gone; |
|
My being here it is that holds thee hence: |
|
Shall I stay here to do't? no, no, although |
|
The air of paradise did fan the house |
|
And angels officed all: I will be gone, |
|
That pitiful rumour may report my flight, |
|
To consolate thine ear. Come, night; end, day! |
|
For with the dark, poor thief, I'll steal away. |
|
Exit |
|
|
|
SCENE III. Florence. Before the DUKE's palace. |
|
|
|
Flourish. Enter the DUKE of Florence, BERTRAM, PAROLLES, Soldiers, Drum, and Trumpets |
|
DUKE |
|
The general of our horse thou art; and we, |
|
Great in our hope, lay our best love and credence |
|
Upon thy promising fortune. |
|
BERTRAM |
|
Sir, it is |
|
A charge too heavy for my strength, but yet |
|
We'll strive to bear it for your worthy sake |
|
To the extreme edge of hazard. |
|
DUKE |
|
Then go thou forth; |
|
And fortune play upon thy prosperous helm, |
|
As thy auspicious mistress! |
|
BERTRAM |
|
This very day, |
|
Great Mars, I put myself into thy file: |
|
Make me but like my thoughts, and I shall prove |
|
A lover of thy drum, hater of love. |
|
Exeunt |
|
|
|
SCENE IV. Rousillon. The COUNT's palace. |
|
|
|
Enter COUNTESS and Steward |
|
COUNTESS |
|
Alas! and would you take the letter of her? |
|
Might you not know she would do as she has done, |
|
By sending me a letter? Read it again. |
|
Steward |
|
[Reads] |
|
I am Saint Jaques' pilgrim, thither gone: |
|
Ambitious love hath so in me offended, |
|
That barefoot plod I the cold ground upon, |
|
With sainted vow my faults to have amended. |
|
Write, write, that from the bloody course of war |
|
My dearest master, your dear son, may hie: |
|
Bless him at home in peace, whilst I from far |
|
His name with zealous fervor sanctify: |
|
His taken labours bid him me forgive; |
|
I, his despiteful Juno, sent him forth |
|
From courtly friends, with camping foes to live, |
|
Where death and danger dogs the heels of worth: |
|
He is too good and fair for death and me: |
|
Whom I myself embrace, to set him free. |
|
COUNTESS |
|
Ah, what sharp stings are in her mildest words! |
|
Rinaldo, you did never lack advice so much, |
|
As letting her pass so: had I spoke with her, |
|
I could have well diverted her intents, |
|
Which thus she hath prevented. |
|
Steward |
|
Pardon me, madam: |
|
If I had given you this at over-night, |
|
She might have been o'erta'en; and yet she writes, |
|
Pursuit would be but vain. |
|
COUNTESS |
|
What angel shall |
|
Bless this unworthy husband? he cannot thrive, |
|
Unless her prayers, whom heaven delights to hear |
|
And loves to grant, reprieve him from the wrath |
|
Of greatest justice. Write, write, Rinaldo, |
|
To this unworthy husband of his wife; |
|
Let every word weigh heavy of her worth |
|
That he does weigh too light: my greatest grief. |
|
Though little he do feel it, set down sharply. |
|
Dispatch the most convenient messenger: |
|
When haply he shall hear that she is gone, |
|
He will return; and hope I may that she, |
|
Hearing so much, will speed her foot again, |
|
Led hither by pure love: which of them both |
|
Is dearest to me. I have no skill in sense |
|
To make distinction: provide this messenger: |
|
My heart is heavy and mine age is weak; |
|
Grief would have tears, and sorrow bids me speak. |
|
Exeunt |
|
|
|
SCENE V. Florence. Without the walls. A tucket afar off. |
|
|
|
Enter an old Widow of Florence, DIANA, VIOLENTA, and MARIANA, with other Citizens |
|
Widow |
|
Nay, come; for if they do approach the city, we |
|
shall lose all the sight. |
|
DIANA |
|
They say the French count has done most honourable service. |
|
Widow |
|
It is reported that he has taken their greatest |
|
commander; and that with his own hand he slew the |
|
duke's brother. |
|
Tucket |
|
|
|
We have lost our labour; they are gone a contrary |
|
way: hark! you may know by their trumpets. |
|
MARIANA |
|
Come, let's return again, and suffice ourselves with |
|
the report of it. Well, Diana, take heed of this |
|
French earl: the honour of a maid is her name; and |
|
no legacy is so rich as honesty. |
|
Widow |
|
I have told my neighbour how you have been solicited |
|
by a gentleman his companion. |
|
MARIANA |
|
I know that knave; hang him! one Parolles: a |
|
filthy officer he is in those suggestions for the |
|
young earl. Beware of them, Diana; their promises, |
|
enticements, oaths, tokens, and all these engines of |
|
lust, are not the things they go under: many a maid |
|
hath been seduced by them; and the misery is, |
|
example, that so terrible shows in the wreck of |
|
maidenhood, cannot for all that dissuade succession, |
|
but that they are limed with the twigs that threaten |
|
them. I hope I need not to advise you further; but |
|
I hope your own grace will keep you where you are, |
|
though there were no further danger known but the |
|
modesty which is so lost. |
|
DIANA |
|
You shall not need to fear me. |
|
Widow |
|
I hope so. |
|
Enter HELENA, disguised like a Pilgrim |
|
|
|
Look, here comes a pilgrim: I know she will lie at |
|
my house; thither they send one another: I'll |
|
question her. God save you, pilgrim! whither are you bound? |
|
HELENA |
|
To Saint Jaques le Grand. |
|
Where do the palmers lodge, I do beseech you? |
|
Widow |
|
At the Saint Francis here beside the port. |
|
HELENA |
|
Is this the way? |
|
Widow |
|
Ay, marry, is't. |
|
A march afar |
|
|
|
Hark you! they come this way. |
|
If you will tarry, holy pilgrim, |
|
But till the troops come by, |
|
I will conduct you where you shall be lodged; |
|
The rather, for I think I know your hostess |
|
As ample as myself. |
|
HELENA |
|
Is it yourself? |
|
Widow |
|
If you shall please so, pilgrim. |
|
HELENA |
|
I thank you, and will stay upon your leisure. |
|
Widow |
|
You came, I think, from France? |
|
HELENA |
|
I did so. |
|
Widow |
|
Here you shall see a countryman of yours |
|
That has done worthy service. |
|
HELENA |
|
His name, I pray you. |
|
DIANA |
|
The Count Rousillon: know you such a one? |
|
HELENA |
|
But by the ear, that hears most nobly of him: |
|
His face I know not. |
|
DIANA |
|
Whatsome'er he is, |
|
He's bravely taken here. He stole from France, |
|
As 'tis reported, for the king had married him |
|
Against his liking: think you it is so? |
|
HELENA |
|
Ay, surely, mere the truth: I know his lady. |
|
DIANA |
|
There is a gentleman that serves the count |
|
Reports but coarsely of her. |
|
HELENA |
|
What's his name? |
|
DIANA |
|
Monsieur Parolles. |
|
HELENA |
|
O, I believe with him, |
|
In argument of praise, or to the worth |
|
Of the great count himself, she is too mean |
|
To have her name repeated: all her deserving |
|
Is a reserved honesty, and that |
|
I have not heard examined. |
|
DIANA |
|
Alas, poor lady! |
|
'Tis a hard bondage to become the wife |
|
Of a detesting lord. |
|
Widow |
|
I warrant, good creature, wheresoe'er she is, |
|
Her heart weighs sadly: this young maid might do her |
|
A shrewd turn, if she pleased. |
|
HELENA |
|
How do you mean? |
|
May be the amorous count solicits her |
|
In the unlawful purpose. |
|
Widow |
|
He does indeed; |
|
And brokes with all that can in such a suit |
|
Corrupt the tender honour of a maid: |
|
But she is arm'd for him and keeps her guard |
|
In honestest defence. |
|
MARIANA |
|
The gods forbid else! |
|
Widow |
|
So, now they come: |
|
Drum and Colours |
|
|
|
Enter BERTRAM, PAROLLES, and the whole army |
|
|
|
That is Antonio, the duke's eldest son; |
|
That, Escalus. |
|
HELENA |
|
Which is the Frenchman? |
|
DIANA |
|
He; |
|
That with the plume: 'tis a most gallant fellow. |
|
I would he loved his wife: if he were honester |
|
He were much goodlier: is't not a handsome gentleman? |
|
HELENA |
|
I like him well. |
|
DIANA |
|
'Tis pity he is not honest: yond's that same knave |
|
That leads him to these places: were I his lady, |
|
I would Poison that vile rascal. |
|
HELENA |
|
Which is he? |
|
DIANA |
|
That jack-an-apes with scarfs: why is he melancholy? |
|
HELENA |
|
Perchance he's hurt i' the battle. |
|
PAROLLES |
|
Lose our drum! well. |
|
MARIANA |
|
He's shrewdly vexed at something: look, he has spied us. |
|
Widow |
|
Marry, hang you! |
|
MARIANA |
|
And your courtesy, for a ring-carrier! |
|
Exeunt BERTRAM, PAROLLES, and army |
|
|
|
Widow |
|
The troop is past. Come, pilgrim, I will bring you |
|
Where you shall host: of enjoin'd penitents |
|
There's four or five, to great Saint Jaques bound, |
|
Already at my house. |
|
HELENA |
|
I humbly thank you: |
|
Please it this matron and this gentle maid |
|
To eat with us to-night, the charge and thanking |
|
Shall be for me; and, to requite you further, |
|
I will bestow some precepts of this virgin |
|
Worthy the note. |
|
BOTH |
|
We'll take your offer kindly. |
|
Exeunt |
|
|
|
SCENE VI. Camp before Florence. |
|
|
|
Enter BERTRAM and the two French Lords |
|
Second Lord |
|
Nay, good my lord, put him to't; let him have his |
|
way. |
|
First Lord |
|
If your lordship find him not a hilding, hold me no |
|
more in your respect. |
|
Second Lord |
|
On my life, my lord, a bubble. |
|
BERTRAM |
|
Do you think I am so far deceived in him? |
|
Second Lord |
|
Believe it, my lord, in mine own direct knowledge, |
|
without any malice, but to speak of him as my |
|
kinsman, he's a most notable coward, an infinite and |
|
endless liar, an hourly promise-breaker, the owner |
|
of no one good quality worthy your lordship's |
|
entertainment. |
|
First Lord |
|
It were fit you knew him; lest, reposing too far in |
|
his virtue, which he hath not, he might at some |
|
great and trusty business in a main danger fail you. |
|
BERTRAM |
|
I would I knew in what particular action to try him. |
|
First Lord |
|
None better than to let him fetch off his drum, |
|
which you hear him so confidently undertake to do. |
|
Second Lord |
|
I, with a troop of Florentines, will suddenly |
|
surprise him; such I will have, whom I am sure he |
|
knows not from the enemy: we will bind and hoodwink |
|
him so, that he shall suppose no other but that he |
|
is carried into the leaguer of the adversaries, when |
|
we bring him to our own tents. Be but your lordship |
|
present at his examination: if he do not, for the |
|
promise of his life and in the highest compulsion of |
|
base fear, offer to betray you and deliver all the |
|
intelligence in his power against you, and that with |
|
the divine forfeit of his soul upon oath, never |
|
trust my judgment in any thing. |
|
First Lord |
|
O, for the love of laughter, let him fetch his drum; |
|
he says he has a stratagem for't: when your |
|
lordship sees the bottom of his success in't, and to |
|
what metal this counterfeit lump of ore will be |
|
melted, if you give him not John Drum's |
|
entertainment, your inclining cannot be removed. |
|
Here he comes. |
|
Enter PAROLLES |
|
|
|
Second Lord |
|
[Aside to BERTRAM] O, for the love of laughter, |
|
hinder not the honour of his design: let him fetch |
|
off his drum in any hand. |
|
BERTRAM |
|
How now, monsieur! this drum sticks sorely in your |
|
disposition. |
|
First Lord |
|
A pox on't, let it go; 'tis but a drum. |
|
PAROLLES |
|
'But a drum'! is't 'but a drum'? A drum so lost! |
|
There was excellent command,--to charge in with our |
|
horse upon our own wings, and to rend our own soldiers! |
|
First Lord |
|
That was not to be blamed in the command of the |
|
service: it was a disaster of war that Caesar |
|
himself could not have prevented, if he had been |
|
there to command. |
|
BERTRAM |
|
Well, we cannot greatly condemn our success: some |
|
dishonour we had in the loss of that drum; but it is |
|
not to be recovered. |
|
PAROLLES |
|
It might have been recovered. |
|
BERTRAM |
|
It might; but it is not now. |
|
PAROLLES |
|
It is to be recovered: but that the merit of |
|
service is seldom attributed to the true and exact |
|
performer, I would have that drum or another, or |
|
'hic jacet.' |
|
BERTRAM |
|
Why, if you have a stomach, to't, monsieur: if you |
|
think your mystery in stratagem can bring this |
|
instrument of honour again into his native quarter, |
|
be magnanimous in the enterprise and go on; I will |
|
grace the attempt for a worthy exploit: if you |
|
speed well in it, the duke shall both speak of it. |
|
and extend to you what further becomes his |
|
greatness, even to the utmost syllable of your |
|
worthiness. |
|
PAROLLES |
|
By the hand of a soldier, I will undertake it. |
|
BERTRAM |
|
But you must not now slumber in it. |
|
PAROLLES |
|
I'll about it this evening: and I will presently |
|
pen down my dilemmas, encourage myself in my |
|
certainty, put myself into my mortal preparation; |
|
and by midnight look to hear further from me. |
|
BERTRAM |
|
May I be bold to acquaint his grace you are gone about it? |
|
PAROLLES |
|
I know not what the success will be, my lord; but |
|
the attempt I vow. |
|
BERTRAM |
|
I know thou'rt valiant; and, to the possibility of |
|
thy soldiership, will subscribe for thee. Farewell. |
|
PAROLLES |
|
I love not many words. |
|
Exit |
|
|
|
Second Lord |
|
No more than a fish loves water. Is not this a |
|
strange fellow, my lord, that so confidently seems |
|
to undertake this business, which he knows is not to |
|
be done; damns himself to do and dares better be |
|
damned than to do't? |
|
First Lord |
|
You do not know him, my lord, as we do: certain it |
|
is that he will steal himself into a man's favour and |
|
for a week escape a great deal of discoveries; but |
|
when you find him out, you have him ever after. |
|
BERTRAM |
|
Why, do you think he will make no deed at all of |
|
this that so seriously he does address himself unto? |
|
Second Lord |
|
None in the world; but return with an invention and |
|
clap upon you two or three probable lies: but we |
|
have almost embossed him; you shall see his fall |
|
to-night; for indeed he is not for your lordship's respect. |
|
First Lord |
|
We'll make you some sport with the fox ere we case |
|
him. He was first smoked by the old lord Lafeu: |
|
when his disguise and he is parted, tell me what a |
|
sprat you shall find him; which you shall see this |
|
very night. |
|
Second Lord |
|
I must go look my twigs: he shall be caught. |
|
BERTRAM |
|
Your brother he shall go along with me. |
|
Second Lord |
|
As't please your lordship: I'll leave you. |
|
Exit |
|
|
|
BERTRAM |
|
Now will I lead you to the house, and show you |
|
The lass I spoke of. |
|
First Lord |
|
But you say she's honest. |
|
BERTRAM |
|
That's all the fault: I spoke with her but once |
|
And found her wondrous cold; but I sent to her, |
|
By this same coxcomb that we have i' the wind, |
|
Tokens and letters which she did re-send; |
|
And this is all I have done. She's a fair creature: |
|
Will you go see her? |
|
First Lord |
|
With all my heart, my lord. |
|
Exeunt |
|
|
|
SCENE VII. Florence. The Widow's house. |
|
|
|
Enter HELENA and Widow |
|
HELENA |
|
If you misdoubt me that I am not she, |
|
I know not how I shall assure you further, |
|
But I shall lose the grounds I work upon. |
|
Widow |
|
Though my estate be fallen, I was well born, |
|
Nothing acquainted with these businesses; |
|
And would not put my reputation now |
|
In any staining act. |
|
HELENA |
|
Nor would I wish you. |
|
First, give me trust, the count he is my husband, |
|
And what to your sworn counsel I have spoken |
|
Is so from word to word; and then you cannot, |
|
By the good aid that I of you shall borrow, |
|
Err in bestowing it. |
|
Widow |
|
I should believe you: |
|
For you have show'd me that which well approves |
|
You're great in fortune. |
|
HELENA |
|
Take this purse of gold, |
|
And let me buy your friendly help thus far, |
|
Which I will over-pay and pay again |
|
When I have found it. The count he wooes your daughter, |
|
Lays down his wanton siege before her beauty, |
|
Resolved to carry her: let her in fine consent, |
|
As we'll direct her how 'tis best to bear it. |
|
Now his important blood will nought deny |
|
That she'll demand: a ring the county wears, |
|
That downward hath succeeded in his house |
|
From son to son, some four or five descents |
|
Since the first father wore it: this ring he holds |
|
In most rich choice; yet in his idle fire, |
|
To buy his will, it would not seem too dear, |
|
Howe'er repented after. |
|
Widow |
|
Now I see |
|
The bottom of your purpose. |
|
HELENA |
|
You see it lawful, then: it is no more, |
|
But that your daughter, ere she seems as won, |
|
Desires this ring; appoints him an encounter; |
|
In fine, delivers me to fill the time, |
|
Herself most chastely absent: after this, |
|
To marry her, I'll add three thousand crowns |
|
To what is passed already. |
|
Widow |
|
I have yielded: |
|
Instruct my daughter how she shall persever, |
|
That time and place with this deceit so lawful |
|
May prove coherent. Every night he comes |
|
With musics of all sorts and songs composed |
|
To her unworthiness: it nothing steads us |
|
To chide him from our eaves; for he persists |
|
As if his life lay on't. |
|
HELENA |
|
Why then to-night |
|
Let us assay our plot; which, if it speed, |
|
Is wicked meaning in a lawful deed |
|
And lawful meaning in a lawful act, |
|
Where both not sin, and yet a sinful fact: |
|
But let's about it. |
|
Exeunt |
|
|
|
ACT IV |
|
|
|
SCENE I. Without the Florentine camp. |
|
|
|
Enter Second French Lord, with five or six other Soldiers in ambush |
|
Second Lord |
|
He can come no other way but by this hedge-corner. |
|
When you sally upon him, speak what terrible |
|
language you will: though you understand it not |
|
yourselves, no matter; for we must not seem to |
|
understand him, unless some one among us whom we |
|
must produce for an interpreter. |
|
First Soldier |
|
Good captain, let me be the interpreter. |
|
Second Lord |
|
Art not acquainted with him? knows he not thy voice? |
|
First Soldier |
|
No, sir, I warrant you. |
|
Second Lord |
|
But what linsey-woolsey hast thou to speak to us again? |
|
First Soldier |
|
E'en such as you speak to me. |
|
Second Lord |
|
He must think us some band of strangers i' the |
|
adversary's entertainment. Now he hath a smack of |
|
all neighbouring languages; therefore we must every |
|
one be a man of his own fancy, not to know what we |
|
speak one to another; so we seem to know, is to |
|
know straight our purpose: choughs' language, |
|
gabble enough, and good enough. As for you, |
|
interpreter, you must seem very politic. But couch, |
|
ho! here he comes, to beguile two hours in a sleep, |
|
and then to return and swear the lies he forges. |
|
Enter PAROLLES |
|
|
|
PAROLLES |
|
Ten o'clock: within these three hours 'twill be |
|
time enough to go home. What shall I say I have |
|
done? It must be a very plausive invention that |
|
carries it: they begin to smoke me; and disgraces |
|
have of late knocked too often at my door. I find |
|
my tongue is too foolhardy; but my heart hath the |
|
fear of Mars before it and of his creatures, not |
|
daring the reports of my tongue. |
|
Second Lord |
|
This is the first truth that e'er thine own tongue |
|
was guilty of. |
|
PAROLLES |
|
What the devil should move me to undertake the |
|
recovery of this drum, being not ignorant of the |
|
impossibility, and knowing I had no such purpose? I |
|
must give myself some hurts, and say I got them in |
|
exploit: yet slight ones will not carry it; they |
|
will say, 'Came you off with so little?' and great |
|
ones I dare not give. Wherefore, what's the |
|
instance? Tongue, I must put you into a |
|
butter-woman's mouth and buy myself another of |
|
Bajazet's mule, if you prattle me into these perils. |
|
Second Lord |
|
Is it possible he should know what he is, and be |
|
that he is? |
|
PAROLLES |
|
I would the cutting of my garments would serve the |
|
turn, or the breaking of my Spanish sword. |
|
Second Lord |
|
We cannot afford you so. |
|
PAROLLES |
|
Or the baring of my beard; and to say it was in |
|
stratagem. |
|
Second Lord |
|
'Twould not do. |
|
PAROLLES |
|
Or to drown my clothes, and say I was stripped. |
|
Second Lord |
|
Hardly serve. |
|
PAROLLES |
|
Though I swore I leaped from the window of the citadel. |
|
Second Lord |
|
How deep? |
|
PAROLLES |
|
Thirty fathom. |
|
Second Lord |
|
Three great oaths would scarce make that be believed. |
|
PAROLLES |
|
I would I had any drum of the enemy's: I would swear |
|
I recovered it. |
|
Second Lord |
|
You shall hear one anon. |
|
PAROLLES |
|
A drum now of the enemy's,-- |
|
Alarum within |
|
|
|
Second Lord |
|
Throca movousus, cargo, cargo, cargo. |
|
All |
|
Cargo, cargo, cargo, villiando par corbo, cargo. |
|
PAROLLES |
|
O, ransom, ransom! do not hide mine eyes. |
|
They seize and blindfold him |
|
|
|
First Soldier |
|
Boskos thromuldo boskos. |
|
PAROLLES |
|
I know you are the Muskos' regiment: |
|
And I shall lose my life for want of language; |
|
If there be here German, or Dane, low Dutch, |
|
Italian, or French, let him speak to me; I'll |
|
Discover that which shall undo the Florentine. |
|
First Soldier |
|
Boskos vauvado: I understand thee, and can speak |
|
thy tongue. Kerely bonto, sir, betake thee to thy |
|
faith, for seventeen poniards are at thy bosom. |
|
PAROLLES |
|
O! |
|
First Soldier |
|
O, pray, pray, pray! Manka revania dulche. |
|
Second Lord |
|
Oscorbidulchos volivorco. |
|
First Soldier |
|
The general is content to spare thee yet; |
|
And, hoodwink'd as thou art, will lead thee on |
|
To gather from thee: haply thou mayst inform |
|
Something to save thy life. |
|
PAROLLES |
|
O, let me live! |
|
And all the secrets of our camp I'll show, |
|
Their force, their purposes; nay, I'll speak that |
|
Which you will wonder at. |
|
First Soldier |
|
But wilt thou faithfully? |
|
PAROLLES |
|
If I do not, damn me. |
|
First Soldier |
|
Acordo linta. |
|
Come on; thou art granted space. |
|
Exit, with PAROLLES guarded. A short alarum within |
|
|
|
Second Lord |
|
Go, tell the Count Rousillon, and my brother, |
|
We have caught the woodcock, and will keep him muffled |
|
Till we do hear from them. |
|
Second Soldier |
|
Captain, I will. |
|
Second Lord |
|
A' will betray us all unto ourselves: |
|
Inform on that. |
|
Second Soldier |
|
So I will, sir. |
|
Second Lord |
|
Till then I'll keep him dark and safely lock'd. |
|
Exeunt |
|
|
|
SCENE II. Florence. The Widow's house. |
|
|
|
Enter BERTRAM and DIANA |
|
BERTRAM |
|
They told me that your name was Fontibell. |
|
DIANA |
|
No, my good lord, Diana. |
|
BERTRAM |
|
Titled goddess; |
|
And worth it, with addition! But, fair soul, |
|
In your fine frame hath love no quality? |
|
If quick fire of youth light not your mind, |
|
You are no maiden, but a monument: |
|
When you are dead, you should be such a one |
|
As you are now, for you are cold and stem; |
|
And now you should be as your mother was |
|
When your sweet self was got. |
|
DIANA |
|
She then was honest. |
|
BERTRAM |
|
So should you be. |
|
DIANA |
|
No: |
|
My mother did but duty; such, my lord, |
|
As you owe to your wife. |
|
BERTRAM |
|
No more o' that; |
|
I prithee, do not strive against my vows: |
|
I was compell'd to her; but I love thee |
|
By love's own sweet constraint, and will for ever |
|
Do thee all rights of service. |
|
DIANA |
|
Ay, so you serve us |
|
Till we serve you; but when you have our roses, |
|
You barely leave our thorns to prick ourselves |
|
And mock us with our bareness. |
|
BERTRAM |
|
How have I sworn! |
|
DIANA |
|
'Tis not the many oaths that makes the truth, |
|
But the plain single vow that is vow'd true. |
|
What is not holy, that we swear not by, |
|
But take the High'st to witness: then, pray you, tell me, |
|
If I should swear by God's great attributes, |
|
I loved you dearly, would you believe my oaths, |
|
When I did love you ill? This has no holding, |
|
To swear by him whom I protest to love, |
|
That I will work against him: therefore your oaths |
|
Are words and poor conditions, but unseal'd, |
|
At least in my opinion. |
|
BERTRAM |
|
Change it, change it; |
|
Be not so holy-cruel: love is holy; |
|
And my integrity ne'er knew the crafts |
|
That you do charge men with. Stand no more off, |
|
But give thyself unto my sick desires, |
|
Who then recover: say thou art mine, and ever |
|
My love as it begins shall so persever. |
|
DIANA |
|
I see that men make ropes in such a scarre |
|
That we'll forsake ourselves. Give me that ring. |
|
BERTRAM |
|
I'll lend it thee, my dear; but have no power |
|
To give it from me. |
|
DIANA |
|
Will you not, my lord? |
|
BERTRAM |
|
It is an honour 'longing to our house, |
|
Bequeathed down from many ancestors; |
|
Which were the greatest obloquy i' the world |
|
In me to lose. |
|
DIANA |
|
Mine honour's such a ring: |
|
My chastity's the jewel of our house, |
|
Bequeathed down from many ancestors; |
|
Which were the greatest obloquy i' the world |
|
In me to lose: thus your own proper wisdom |
|
Brings in the champion Honour on my part, |
|
Against your vain assault. |
|
BERTRAM |
|
Here, take my ring: |
|
My house, mine honour, yea, my life, be thine, |
|
And I'll be bid by thee. |
|
DIANA |
|
When midnight comes, knock at my chamber-window: |
|
I'll order take my mother shall not hear. |
|
Now will I charge you in the band of truth, |
|
When you have conquer'd my yet maiden bed, |
|
Remain there but an hour, nor speak to me: |
|
My reasons are most strong; and you shall know them |
|
When back again this ring shall be deliver'd: |
|
And on your finger in the night I'll put |
|
Another ring, that what in time proceeds |
|
May token to the future our past deeds. |
|
Adieu, till then; then, fail not. You have won |
|
A wife of me, though there my hope be done. |
|
BERTRAM |
|
A heaven on earth I have won by wooing thee. |
|
Exit |
|
|
|
DIANA |
|
For which live long to thank both heaven and me! |
|
You may so in the end. |
|
My mother told me just how he would woo, |
|
As if she sat in 's heart; she says all men |
|
Have the like oaths: he had sworn to marry me |
|
When his wife's dead; therefore I'll lie with him |
|
When I am buried. Since Frenchmen are so braid, |
|
Marry that will, I live and die a maid: |
|
Only in this disguise I think't no sin |
|
To cozen him that would unjustly win. |
|
Exit |
|
|
|
SCENE III. The Florentine camp. |
|
|
|
Enter the two French Lords and some two or three Soldiers |
|
First Lord |
|
You have not given him his mother's letter? |
|
Second Lord |
|
I have delivered it an hour since: there is |
|
something in't that stings his nature; for on the |
|
reading it he changed almost into another man. |
|
First Lord |
|
He has much worthy blame laid upon him for shaking |
|
off so good a wife and so sweet a lady. |
|
Second Lord |
|
Especially he hath incurred the everlasting |
|
displeasure of the king, who had even tuned his |
|
bounty to sing happiness to him. I will tell you a |
|
thing, but you shall let it dwell darkly with you. |
|
First Lord |
|
When you have spoken it, 'tis dead, and I am the |
|
grave of it. |
|
Second Lord |
|
He hath perverted a young gentlewoman here in |
|
Florence, of a most chaste renown; and this night he |
|
fleshes his will in the spoil of her honour: he hath |
|
given her his monumental ring, and thinks himself |
|
made in the unchaste composition. |
|
First Lord |
|
Now, God delay our rebellion! as we are ourselves, |
|
what things are we! |
|
Second Lord |
|
Merely our own traitors. And as in the common course |
|
of all treasons, we still see them reveal |
|
themselves, till they attain to their abhorred ends, |
|
so he that in this action contrives against his own |
|
nobility, in his proper stream o'erflows himself. |
|
First Lord |
|
Is it not meant damnable in us, to be trumpeters of |
|
our unlawful intents? We shall not then have his |
|
company to-night? |
|
Second Lord |
|
Not till after midnight; for he is dieted to his hour. |
|
First Lord |
|
That approaches apace; I would gladly have him see |
|
his company anatomized, that he might take a measure |
|
of his own judgments, wherein so curiously he had |
|
set this counterfeit. |
|
Second Lord |
|
We will not meddle with him till he come; for his |
|
presence must be the whip of the other. |
|
First Lord |
|
In the mean time, what hear you of these wars? |
|
Second Lord |
|
I hear there is an overture of peace. |
|
First Lord |
|
Nay, I assure you, a peace concluded. |
|
Second Lord |
|
What will Count Rousillon do then? will he travel |
|
higher, or return again into France? |
|
First Lord |
|
I perceive, by this demand, you are not altogether |
|
of his council. |
|
Second Lord |
|
Let it be forbid, sir; so should I be a great deal |
|
of his act. |
|
First Lord |
|
Sir, his wife some two months since fled from his |
|
house: her pretence is a pilgrimage to Saint Jaques |
|
le Grand; which holy undertaking with most austere |
|
sanctimony she accomplished; and, there residing the |
|
tenderness of her nature became as a prey to her |
|
grief; in fine, made a groan of her last breath, and |
|
now she sings in heaven. |
|
Second Lord |
|
How is this justified? |
|
First Lord |
|
The stronger part of it by her own letters, which |
|
makes her story true, even to the point of her |
|
death: her death itself, which could not be her |
|
office to say is come, was faithfully confirmed by |
|
the rector of the place. |
|
Second Lord |
|
Hath the count all this intelligence? |
|
First Lord |
|
Ay, and the particular confirmations, point from |
|
point, so to the full arming of the verity. |
|
Second Lord |
|
I am heartily sorry that he'll be glad of this. |
|
First Lord |
|
How mightily sometimes we make us comforts of our losses! |
|
Second Lord |
|
And how mightily some other times we drown our gain |
|
in tears! The great dignity that his valour hath |
|
here acquired for him shall at home be encountered |
|
with a shame as ample. |
|
First Lord |
|
The web of our life is of a mingled yarn, good and |
|
ill together: our virtues would be proud, if our |
|
faults whipped them not; and our crimes would |
|
despair, if they were not cherished by our virtues. |
|
Enter a Messenger |
|
|
|
How now! where's your master? |
|
Servant |
|
He met the duke in the street, sir, of whom he hath |
|
taken a solemn leave: his lordship will next |
|
morning for France. The duke hath offered him |
|
letters of commendations to the king. |
|
Second Lord |
|
They shall be no more than needful there, if they |
|
were more than they can commend. |
|
First Lord |
|
They cannot be too sweet for the king's tartness. |
|
Here's his lordship now. |
|
Enter BERTRAM |
|
|
|
How now, my lord! is't not after midnight? |
|
BERTRAM |
|
I have to-night dispatched sixteen businesses, a |
|
month's length a-piece, by an abstract of success: |
|
I have congied with the duke, done my adieu with his |
|
nearest; buried a wife, mourned for her; writ to my |
|
lady mother I am returning; entertained my convoy; |
|
and between these main parcels of dispatch effected |
|
many nicer needs; the last was the greatest, but |
|
that I have not ended yet. |
|
Second Lord |
|
If the business be of any difficulty, and this |
|
morning your departure hence, it requires haste of |
|
your lordship. |
|
BERTRAM |
|
I mean, the business is not ended, as fearing to |
|
hear of it hereafter. But shall we have this |
|
dialogue between the fool and the soldier? Come, |
|
bring forth this counterfeit module, he has deceived |
|
me, like a double-meaning prophesier. |
|
Second Lord |
|
Bring him forth: has sat i' the stocks all night, |
|
poor gallant knave. |
|
BERTRAM |
|
No matter: his heels have deserved it, in usurping |
|
his spurs so long. How does he carry himself? |
|
Second Lord |
|
I have told your lordship already, the stocks carry |
|
him. But to answer you as you would be understood; |
|
he weeps like a wench that had shed her milk: he |
|
hath confessed himself to Morgan, whom he supposes |
|
to be a friar, from the time of his remembrance to |
|
this very instant disaster of his setting i' the |
|
stocks: and what think you he hath confessed? |
|
BERTRAM |
|
Nothing of me, has a'? |
|
Second Lord |
|
His confession is taken, and it shall be read to his |
|
face: if your lordship be in't, as I believe you |
|
are, you must have the patience to hear it. |
|
Enter PAROLLES guarded, and First Soldier |
|
|
|
BERTRAM |
|
A plague upon him! muffled! he can say nothing of |
|
me: hush, hush! |
|
First Lord |
|
Hoodman comes! Portotartarosa |
|
First Soldier |
|
He calls for the tortures: what will you say |
|
without 'em? |
|
PAROLLES |
|
I will confess what I know without constraint: if |
|
ye pinch me like a pasty, I can say no more. |
|
First Soldier |
|
Bosko chimurcho. |
|
First Lord |
|
Boblibindo chicurmurco. |
|
First Soldier |
|
You are a merciful general. Our general bids you |
|
answer to what I shall ask you out of a note. |
|
PAROLLES |
|
And truly, as I hope to live. |
|
First Soldier |
|
[Reads] 'First demand of him how many horse the |
|
duke is strong.' What say you to that? |
|
PAROLLES |
|
Five or six thousand; but very weak and |
|
unserviceable: the troops are all scattered, and |
|
the commanders very poor rogues, upon my reputation |
|
and credit and as I hope to live. |
|
First Soldier |
|
Shall I set down your answer so? |
|
PAROLLES |
|
Do: I'll take the sacrament on't, how and which way you will. |
|
BERTRAM |
|
All's one to him. What a past-saving slave is this! |
|
First Lord |
|
You're deceived, my lord: this is Monsieur |
|
Parolles, the gallant militarist,--that was his own |
|
phrase,--that had the whole theoric of war in the |
|
knot of his scarf, and the practise in the chape of |
|
his dagger. |
|
Second Lord |
|
I will never trust a man again for keeping his sword |
|
clean. nor believe he can have every thing in him |
|
by wearing his apparel neatly. |
|
First Soldier |
|
Well, that's set down. |
|
PAROLLES |
|
Five or six thousand horse, I said,-- I will say |
|
true,--or thereabouts, set down, for I'll speak truth. |
|
First Lord |
|
He's very near the truth in this. |
|
BERTRAM |
|
But I con him no thanks for't, in the nature he |
|
delivers it. |
|
PAROLLES |
|
Poor rogues, I pray you, say. |
|
First Soldier |
|
Well, that's set down. |
|
PAROLLES |
|
I humbly thank you, sir: a truth's a truth, the |
|
rogues are marvellous poor. |
|
First Soldier |
|
[Reads] 'Demand of him, of what strength they are |
|
a-foot.' What say you to that? |
|
PAROLLES |
|
By my troth, sir, if I were to live this present |
|
hour, I will tell true. Let me see: Spurio, a |
|
hundred and fifty; Sebastian, so many; Corambus, so |
|
many; Jaques, so many; Guiltian, Cosmo, Lodowick, |
|
and Gratii, two hundred and fifty each; mine own |
|
company, Chitopher, Vaumond, Bentii, two hundred and |
|
fifty each: so that the muster-file, rotten and |
|
sound, upon my life, amounts not to fifteen thousand |
|
poll; half of the which dare not shake snow from off |
|
their cassocks, lest they shake themselves to pieces. |
|
BERTRAM |
|
What shall be done to him? |
|
First Lord |
|
Nothing, but let him have thanks. Demand of him my |
|
condition, and what credit I have with the duke. |
|
First Soldier |
|
Well, that's set down. |
|
Reads |
|
|
|
'You shall demand of him, whether one Captain Dumain |
|
be i' the camp, a Frenchman; what his reputation is |
|
with the duke; what his valour, honesty, and |
|
expertness in wars; or whether he thinks it were not |
|
possible, with well-weighing sums of gold, to |
|
corrupt him to revolt.' What say you to this? what |
|
do you know of it? |
|
PAROLLES |
|
I beseech you, let me answer to the particular of |
|
the inter'gatories: demand them singly. |
|
First Soldier |
|
Do you know this Captain Dumain? |
|
PAROLLES |
|
I know him: a' was a botcher's 'prentice in Paris, |
|
from whence he was whipped for getting the shrieve's |
|
fool with child,--a dumb innocent, that could not |
|
say him nay. |
|
BERTRAM |
|
Nay, by your leave, hold your hands; though I know |
|
his brains are forfeit to the next tile that falls. |
|
First Soldier |
|
Well, is this captain in the duke of Florence's camp? |
|
PAROLLES |
|
Upon my knowledge, he is, and lousy. |
|
First Lord |
|
Nay look not so upon me; we shall hear of your |
|
lordship anon. |
|
First Soldier |
|
What is his reputation with the duke? |
|
PAROLLES |
|
The duke knows him for no other but a poor officer |
|
of mine; and writ to me this other day to turn him |
|
out o' the band: I think I have his letter in my pocket. |
|
First Soldier |
|
Marry, we'll search. |
|
PAROLLES |
|
In good sadness, I do not know; either it is there, |
|
or it is upon a file with the duke's other letters |
|
in my tent. |
|
First Soldier |
|
Here 'tis; here's a paper: shall I read it to you? |
|
PAROLLES |
|
I do not know if it be it or no. |
|
BERTRAM |
|
Our interpreter does it well. |
|
First Lord |
|
Excellently. |
|
First Soldier |
|
[Reads] 'Dian, the count's a fool, and full of gold,'-- |
|
PAROLLES |
|
That is not the duke's letter, sir; that is an |
|
advertisement to a proper maid in Florence, one |
|
Diana, to take heed of the allurement of one Count |
|
Rousillon, a foolish idle boy, but for all that very |
|
ruttish: I pray you, sir, put it up again. |
|
First Soldier |
|
Nay, I'll read it first, by your favour. |
|
PAROLLES |
|
My meaning in't, I protest, was very honest in the |
|
behalf of the maid; for I knew the young count to be |
|
a dangerous and lascivious boy, who is a whale to |
|
virginity and devours up all the fry it finds. |
|
BERTRAM |
|
Damnable both-sides rogue! |
|
First Soldier |
|
[Reads] 'When he swears oaths, bid him drop gold, and take it; |
|
After he scores, he never pays the score: |
|
Half won is match well made; match, and well make it; |
|
He ne'er pays after-debts, take it before; |
|
And say a soldier, Dian, told thee this, |
|
Men are to mell with, boys are not to kiss: |
|
For count of this, the count's a fool, I know it, |
|
Who pays before, but not when he does owe it. |
|
Thine, as he vowed to thee in thine ear, |
|
PAROLLES.' |
|
BERTRAM |
|
He shall be whipped through the army with this rhyme |
|
in's forehead. |
|
Second Lord |
|
This is your devoted friend, sir, the manifold |
|
linguist and the armipotent soldier. |
|
BERTRAM |
|
I could endure any thing before but a cat, and now |
|
he's a cat to me. |
|
First Soldier |
|
I perceive, sir, by the general's looks, we shall be |
|
fain to hang you. |
|
PAROLLES |
|
My life, sir, in any case: not that I am afraid to |
|
die; but that, my offences being many, I would |
|
repent out the remainder of nature: let me live, |
|
sir, in a dungeon, i' the stocks, or any where, so I may live. |
|
First Soldier |
|
We'll see what may be done, so you confess freely; |
|
therefore, once more to this Captain Dumain: you |
|
have answered to his reputation with the duke and to |
|
his valour: what is his honesty? |
|
PAROLLES |
|
He will steal, sir, an egg out of a cloister: for |
|
rapes and ravishments he parallels Nessus: he |
|
professes not keeping of oaths; in breaking 'em he |
|
is stronger than Hercules: he will lie, sir, with |
|
such volubility, that you would think truth were a |
|
fool: drunkenness is his best virtue, for he will |
|
be swine-drunk; and in his sleep he does little |
|
harm, save to his bed-clothes about him; but they |
|
know his conditions and lay him in straw. I have but |
|
little more to say, sir, of his honesty: he has |
|
every thing that an honest man should not have; what |
|
an honest man should have, he has nothing. |
|
First Lord |
|
I begin to love him for this. |
|
BERTRAM |
|
For this description of thine honesty? A pox upon |
|
him for me, he's more and more a cat. |
|
First Soldier |
|
What say you to his expertness in war? |
|
PAROLLES |
|
Faith, sir, he has led the drum before the English |
|
tragedians; to belie him, I will not, and more of |
|
his soldiership I know not; except, in that country |
|
he had the honour to be the officer at a place there |
|
called Mile-end, to instruct for the doubling of |
|
files: I would do the man what honour I can, but of |
|
this I am not certain. |
|
First Lord |
|
He hath out-villained villany so far, that the |
|
rarity redeems him. |
|
BERTRAM |
|
A pox on him, he's a cat still. |
|
First Soldier |
|
His qualities being at this poor price, I need not |
|
to ask you if gold will corrupt him to revolt. |
|
PAROLLES |
|
Sir, for a quart d'ecu he will sell the fee-simple |
|
of his salvation, the inheritance of it; and cut the |
|
entail from all remainders, and a perpetual |
|
succession for it perpetually. |
|
First Soldier |
|
What's his brother, the other Captain Dumain? |
|
Second Lord |
|
Why does be ask him of me? |
|
First Soldier |
|
What's he? |
|
PAROLLES |
|
E'en a crow o' the same nest; not altogether so |
|
great as the first in goodness, but greater a great |
|
deal in evil: he excels his brother for a coward, |
|
yet his brother is reputed one of the best that is: |
|
in a retreat he outruns any lackey; marry, in coming |
|
on he has the cramp. |
|
First Soldier |
|
If your life be saved, will you undertake to betray |
|
the Florentine? |
|
PAROLLES |
|
Ay, and the captain of his horse, Count Rousillon. |
|
First Soldier |
|
I'll whisper with the general, and know his pleasure. |
|
PAROLLES |
|
[Aside] I'll no more drumming; a plague of all |
|
drums! Only to seem to deserve well, and to |
|
beguile the supposition of that lascivious young boy |
|
the count, have I run into this danger. Yet who |
|
would have suspected an ambush where I was taken? |
|
First Soldier |
|
There is no remedy, sir, but you must die: the |
|
general says, you that have so traitorously |
|
discovered the secrets of your army and made such |
|
pestiferous reports of men very nobly held, can |
|
serve the world for no honest use; therefore you |
|
must die. Come, headsman, off with his head. |
|
PAROLLES |
|
O Lord, sir, let me live, or let me see my death! |
|
First Lord |
|
That shall you, and take your leave of all your friends. |
|
Unblinding him |
|
|
|
So, look about you: know you any here? |
|
BERTRAM |
|
Good morrow, noble captain. |
|
Second Lord |
|
God bless you, Captain Parolles. |
|
First Lord |
|
God save you, noble captain. |
|
Second Lord |
|
Captain, what greeting will you to my Lord Lafeu? |
|
I am for France. |
|
First Lord |
|
Good captain, will you give me a copy of the sonnet |
|
you writ to Diana in behalf of the Count Rousillon? |
|
an I were not a very coward, I'ld compel it of you: |
|
but fare you well. |
|
Exeunt BERTRAM and Lords |
|
|
|
First Soldier |
|
You are undone, captain, all but your scarf; that |
|
has a knot on't yet |
|
PAROLLES |
|
Who cannot be crushed with a plot? |
|
First Soldier |
|
If you could find out a country where but women were |
|
that had received so much shame, you might begin an |
|
impudent nation. Fare ye well, sir; I am for France |
|
too: we shall speak of you there. |
|
Exit with Soldiers |
|
|
|
PAROLLES |
|
Yet am I thankful: if my heart were great, |
|
'Twould burst at this. Captain I'll be no more; |
|
But I will eat and drink, and sleep as soft |
|
As captain shall: simply the thing I am |
|
Shall make me live. Who knows himself a braggart, |
|
Let him fear this, for it will come to pass |
|
that every braggart shall be found an ass. |
|
Rust, sword? cool, blushes! and, Parolles, live |
|
Safest in shame! being fool'd, by foolery thrive! |
|
There's place and means for every man alive. |
|
I'll after them. |
|
Exit |
|
|
|
SCENE IV. Florence. The Widow's house. |
|
|
|
Enter HELENA, Widow, and DIANA |
|
HELENA |
|
That you may well perceive I have not wrong'd you, |
|
One of the greatest in the Christian world |
|
Shall be my surety; 'fore whose throne 'tis needful, |
|
Ere I can perfect mine intents, to kneel: |
|
Time was, I did him a desired office, |
|
Dear almost as his life; which gratitude |
|
Through flinty Tartar's bosom would peep forth, |
|
And answer, thanks: I duly am inform'd |
|
His grace is at Marseilles; to which place |
|
We have convenient convoy. You must know |
|
I am supposed dead: the army breaking, |
|
My husband hies him home; where, heaven aiding, |
|
And by the leave of my good lord the king, |
|
We'll be before our welcome. |
|
Widow |
|
Gentle madam, |
|
You never had a servant to whose trust |
|
Your business was more welcome. |
|
HELENA |
|
Nor you, mistress, |
|
Ever a friend whose thoughts more truly labour |
|
To recompense your love: doubt not but heaven |
|
Hath brought me up to be your daughter's dower, |
|
As it hath fated her to be my motive |
|
And helper to a husband. But, O strange men! |
|
That can such sweet use make of what they hate, |
|
When saucy trusting of the cozen'd thoughts |
|
Defiles the pitchy night: so lust doth play |
|
With what it loathes for that which is away. |
|
But more of this hereafter. You, Diana, |
|
Under my poor instructions yet must suffer |
|
Something in my behalf. |
|
DIANA |
|
Let death and honesty |
|
Go with your impositions, I am yours |
|
Upon your will to suffer. |
|
HELENA |
|
Yet, I pray you: |
|
But with the word the time will bring on summer, |
|
When briers shall have leaves as well as thorns, |
|
And be as sweet as sharp. We must away; |
|
Our wagon is prepared, and time revives us: |
|
All's well that ends well; still the fine's the crown; |
|
Whate'er the course, the end is the renown. |
|
Exeunt |
|
|
|
SCENE V. Rousillon. The COUNT's palace. |
|
|
|
Enter COUNTESS, LAFEU, and Clown |
|
LAFEU |
|
No, no, no, your son was misled with a snipt-taffeta |
|
fellow there, whose villanous saffron would have |
|
made all the unbaked and doughy youth of a nation in |
|
his colour: your daughter-in-law had been alive at |
|
this hour, and your son here at home, more advanced |
|
by the king than by that red-tailed humble-bee I speak of. |
|
COUNTESS |
|
I would I had not known him; it was the death of the |
|
most virtuous gentlewoman that ever nature had |
|
praise for creating. If she had partaken of my |
|
flesh, and cost me the dearest groans of a mother, I |
|
could not have owed her a more rooted love. |
|
LAFEU |
|
'Twas a good lady, 'twas a good lady: we may pick a |
|
thousand salads ere we light on such another herb. |
|
Clown |
|
Indeed, sir, she was the sweet marjoram of the |
|
salad, or rather, the herb of grace. |
|
LAFEU |
|
They are not herbs, you knave; they are nose-herbs. |
|
Clown |
|
I am no great Nebuchadnezzar, sir; I have not much |
|
skill in grass. |
|
LAFEU |
|
Whether dost thou profess thyself, a knave or a fool? |
|
Clown |
|
A fool, sir, at a woman's service, and a knave at a man's. |
|
LAFEU |
|
Your distinction? |
|
Clown |
|
I would cozen the man of his wife and do his service. |
|
LAFEU |
|
So you were a knave at his service, indeed. |
|
Clown |
|
And I would give his wife my bauble, sir, to do her service. |
|
LAFEU |
|
I will subscribe for thee, thou art both knave and fool. |
|
Clown |
|
At your service. |
|
LAFEU |
|
No, no, no. |
|
Clown |
|
Why, sir, if I cannot serve you, I can serve as |
|
great a prince as you are. |
|
LAFEU |
|
Who's that? a Frenchman? |
|
Clown |
|
Faith, sir, a' has an English name; but his fisnomy |
|
is more hotter in France than there. |
|
LAFEU |
|
What prince is that? |
|
Clown |
|
The black prince, sir; alias, the prince of |
|
darkness; alias, the devil. |
|
LAFEU |
|
Hold thee, there's my purse: I give thee not this |
|
to suggest thee from thy master thou talkest of; |
|
serve him still. |
|
Clown |
|
I am a woodland fellow, sir, that always loved a |
|
great fire; and the master I speak of ever keeps a |
|
good fire. But, sure, he is the prince of the |
|
world; let his nobility remain in's court. I am for |
|
the house with the narrow gate, which I take to be |
|
too little for pomp to enter: some that humble |
|
themselves may; but the many will be too chill and |
|
tender, and they'll be for the flowery way that |
|
leads to the broad gate and the great fire. |
|
LAFEU |
|
Go thy ways, I begin to be aweary of thee; and I |
|
tell thee so before, because I would not fall out |
|
with thee. Go thy ways: let my horses be well |
|
looked to, without any tricks. |
|
Clown |
|
If I put any tricks upon 'em, sir, they shall be |
|
jades' tricks; which are their own right by the law of nature. |
|
Exit |
|
|
|
LAFEU |
|
A shrewd knave and an unhappy. |
|
COUNTESS |
|
So he is. My lord that's gone made himself much |
|
sport out of him: by his authority he remains here, |
|
which he thinks is a patent for his sauciness; and, |
|
indeed, he has no pace, but runs where he will. |
|
LAFEU |
|
I like him well; 'tis not amiss. And I was about to |
|
tell you, since I heard of the good lady's death and |
|
that my lord your son was upon his return home, I |
|
moved the king my master to speak in the behalf of |
|
my daughter; which, in the minority of them both, |
|
his majesty, out of a self-gracious remembrance, did |
|
first propose: his highness hath promised me to do |
|
it: and, to stop up the displeasure he hath |
|
conceived against your son, there is no fitter |
|
matter. How does your ladyship like it? |
|
COUNTESS |
|
With very much content, my lord; and I wish it |
|
happily effected. |
|
LAFEU |
|
His highness comes post from Marseilles, of as able |
|
body as when he numbered thirty: he will be here |
|
to-morrow, or I am deceived by him that in such |
|
intelligence hath seldom failed. |
|
COUNTESS |
|
It rejoices me, that I hope I shall see him ere I |
|
die. I have letters that my son will be here |
|
to-night: I shall beseech your lordship to remain |
|
with me till they meet together. |
|
LAFEU |
|
Madam, I was thinking with what manners I might |
|
safely be admitted. |
|
COUNTESS |
|
You need but plead your honourable privilege. |
|
LAFEU |
|
Lady, of that I have made a bold charter; but I |
|
thank my God it holds yet. |
|
Re-enter Clown |
|
|
|
Clown |
|
O madam, yonder's my lord your son with a patch of |
|
velvet on's face: whether there be a scar under't |
|
or no, the velvet knows; but 'tis a goodly patch of |
|
velvet: his left cheek is a cheek of two pile and a |
|
half, but his right cheek is worn bare. |
|
LAFEU |
|
A scar nobly got, or a noble scar, is a good livery |
|
of honour; so belike is that. |
|
Clown |
|
But it is your carbonadoed face. |
|
LAFEU |
|
Let us go see your son, I pray you: I long to talk |
|
with the young noble soldier. |
|
Clown |
|
Faith there's a dozen of 'em, with delicate fine |
|
hats and most courteous feathers, which bow the head |
|
and nod at every man. |
|
Exeunt |
|
|
|
ACT V |
|
|
|
SCENE I. Marseilles. A street. |
|
|
|
Enter HELENA, Widow, and DIANA, with two Attendants |
|
HELENA |
|
But this exceeding posting day and night |
|
Must wear your spirits low; we cannot help it: |
|
But since you have made the days and nights as one, |
|
To wear your gentle limbs in my affairs, |
|
Be bold you do so grow in my requital |
|
As nothing can unroot you. In happy time; |
|
Enter a Gentleman |
|
|
|
This man may help me to his majesty's ear, |
|
If he would spend his power. God save you, sir. |
|
Gentleman |
|
And you. |
|
HELENA |
|
Sir, I have seen you in the court of France. |
|
Gentleman |
|
I have been sometimes there. |
|
HELENA |
|
I do presume, sir, that you are not fallen |
|
From the report that goes upon your goodness; |
|
An therefore, goaded with most sharp occasions, |
|
Which lay nice manners by, I put you to |
|
The use of your own virtues, for the which |
|
I shall continue thankful. |
|
Gentleman |
|
What's your will? |
|
HELENA |
|
That it will please you |
|
To give this poor petition to the king, |
|
And aid me with that store of power you have |
|
To come into his presence. |
|
Gentleman |
|
The king's not here. |
|
HELENA |
|
Not here, sir! |
|
Gentleman |
|
Not, indeed: |
|
He hence removed last night and with more haste |
|
Than is his use. |
|
Widow |
|
Lord, how we lose our pains! |
|
HELENA |
|
ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL yet, |
|
Though time seem so adverse and means unfit. |
|
I do beseech you, whither is he gone? |
|
Gentleman |
|
Marry, as I take it, to Rousillon; |
|
Whither I am going. |
|
HELENA |
|
I do beseech you, sir, |
|
Since you are like to see the king before me, |
|
Commend the paper to his gracious hand, |
|
Which I presume shall render you no blame |
|
But rather make you thank your pains for it. |
|
I will come after you with what good speed |
|
Our means will make us means. |
|
Gentleman |
|
This I'll do for you. |
|
HELENA |
|
And you shall find yourself to be well thank'd, |
|
Whate'er falls more. We must to horse again. |
|
Go, go, provide. |
|
Exeunt |
|
|
|
SCENE II. Rousillon. Before the COUNT's palace. |
|
|
|
Enter Clown, and PAROLLES, following |
|
PAROLLES |
|
Good Monsieur Lavache, give my Lord Lafeu this |
|
letter: I have ere now, sir, been better known to |
|
you, when I have held familiarity with fresher |
|
clothes; but I am now, sir, muddied in fortune's |
|
mood, and smell somewhat strong of her strong |
|
displeasure. |
|
Clown |
|
Truly, fortune's displeasure is but sluttish, if it |
|
smell so strongly as thou speakest of: I will |
|
henceforth eat no fish of fortune's buttering. |
|
Prithee, allow the wind. |
|
PAROLLES |
|
Nay, you need not to stop your nose, sir; I spake |
|
but by a metaphor. |
|
Clown |
|
Indeed, sir, if your metaphor stink, I will stop my |
|
nose; or against any man's metaphor. Prithee, get |
|
thee further. |
|
PAROLLES |
|
Pray you, sir, deliver me this paper. |
|
Clown |
|
Foh! prithee, stand away: a paper from fortune's |
|
close-stool to give to a nobleman! Look, here he |
|
comes himself. |
|
Enter LAFEU |
|
|
|
Here is a purr of fortune's, sir, or of fortune's |
|
cat,--but not a musk-cat,--that has fallen into the |
|
unclean fishpond of her displeasure, and, as he |
|
says, is muddied withal: pray you, sir, use the |
|
carp as you may; for he looks like a poor, decayed, |
|
ingenious, foolish, rascally knave. I do pity his |
|
distress in my similes of comfort and leave him to |
|
your lordship. |
|
Exit |
|
|
|
PAROLLES |
|
My lord, I am a man whom fortune hath cruelly |
|
scratched. |
|
LAFEU |
|
And what would you have me to do? 'Tis too late to |
|
pare her nails now. Wherein have you played the |
|
knave with fortune, that she should scratch you, who |
|
of herself is a good lady and would not have knaves |
|
thrive long under her? There's a quart d'ecu for |
|
you: let the justices make you and fortune friends: |
|
I am for other business. |
|
PAROLLES |
|
I beseech your honour to hear me one single word. |
|
LAFEU |
|
You beg a single penny more: come, you shall ha't; |
|
save your word. |
|
PAROLLES |
|
My name, my good lord, is Parolles. |
|
LAFEU |
|
You beg more than 'word,' then. Cox my passion! |
|
give me your hand. How does your drum? |
|
PAROLLES |
|
O my good lord, you were the first that found me! |
|
LAFEU |
|
Was I, in sooth? and I was the first that lost thee. |
|
PAROLLES |
|
It lies in you, my lord, to bring me in some grace, |
|
for you did bring me out. |
|
LAFEU |
|
Out upon thee, knave! dost thou put upon me at once |
|
both the office of God and the devil? One brings |
|
thee in grace and the other brings thee out. |
|
Trumpets sound |
|
|
|
The king's coming; I know by his trumpets. Sirrah, |
|
inquire further after me; I had talk of you last |
|
night: though you are a fool and a knave, you shall |
|
eat; go to, follow. |
|
PAROLLES |
|
I praise God for you. |
|
Exeunt |
|
|
|
SCENE III. Rousillon. The COUNT's palace. |
|
|
|
Flourish. Enter KING, COUNTESS, LAFEU, the two French Lords, with Attendants |
|
KING |
|
We lost a jewel of her; and our esteem |
|
Was made much poorer by it: but your son, |
|
As mad in folly, lack'd the sense to know |
|
Her estimation home. |
|
COUNTESS |
|
'Tis past, my liege; |
|
And I beseech your majesty to make it |
|
Natural rebellion, done i' the blaze of youth; |
|
When oil and fire, too strong for reason's force, |
|
O'erbears it and burns on. |
|
KING |
|
My honour'd lady, |
|
I have forgiven and forgotten all; |
|
Though my revenges were high bent upon him, |
|
And watch'd the time to shoot. |
|
LAFEU |
|
This I must say, |
|
But first I beg my pardon, the young lord |
|
Did to his majesty, his mother and his lady |
|
Offence 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 scorn'd to serve |
|
Humbly call'd 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 offence is dead, |
|
And deeper than oblivion we do bury |
|
The incensing relics of it: let him approach, |
|
A stranger, no offender; and inform him |
|
So 'tis our will he should. |
|
Gentleman |
|
I shall, my liege. |
|
Exit |
|
|
|
KING |
|
What says he to your daughter? have you spoke? |
|
LAFEU |
|
All that he is hath reference to your highness. |
|
KING |
|
Then shall we have a match. I have letters sent me |
|
That set him high in fame. |
|
Enter BERTRAM |
|
|
|
LAFEU |
|
He looks well on't. |
|
KING |
|
I am not a day of season, |
|
For thou mayst see a sunshine and a hail |
|
In me at once: but to the brightest beams |
|
Distracted clouds give way; so stand thou forth; |
|
The time is fair again. |
|
BERTRAM |
|
My high-repented blames, |
|
Dear sovereign, pardon to me. |
|
KING |
|
All is whole; |
|
Not one word more of the consumed time. |
|
Let's take the instant by the forward top; |
|
For we are old, and on our quick'st decrees |
|
The inaudible and noiseless foot of Time |
|
Steals ere we can effect them. You remember |
|
The daughter of this lord? |
|
BERTRAM |
|
Admiringly, my liege, at first |
|
I stuck my choice upon her, ere my heart |
|
Durst make too bold a herald of my tongue |
|
Where the impression of mine eye infixing, |
|
Contempt his scornful perspective did lend me, |
|
Which warp'd the line of every other favour; |
|
Scorn'd a fair colour, or express'd it stolen; |
|
Extended or contracted all proportions |
|
To a most hideous object: thence it came |
|
That she whom all men praised and whom myself, |
|
Since I have lost, have loved, was in mine eye |
|
The dust that did offend it. |
|
KING |
|
Well excused: |
|
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 shame full late 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! |
|
LAFEU |
|
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 |
|
|
|
By my old beard, |
|
And every 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 at court, |
|
I saw upon her finger. |
|
BERTRAM |
|
Hers it was not. |
|
KING |
|
Now, pray you, let me see it; for mine eye, |
|
While I was speaking, oft was fasten'd to't. |
|
This ring was mine; and, when I gave it Helen, |
|
I bade her, if her fortunes ever stood |
|
Necessitied to help, that by this token |
|
I would relieve her. Had you that craft, to reave |
|
her |
|
Of what should stead her most? |
|
BERTRAM |
|
My gracious sovereign, |
|
Howe'er it pleases you to take it so, |
|
The ring was never hers. |
|
COUNTESS |
|
Son, on my life, |
|
I have seen her wear it; and she reckon'd it |
|
At her life's rate. |
|
LAFEU |
|
I am sure I saw her wear it. |
|
BERTRAM |
|
You are deceived, my lord; she never saw it: |
|
In Florence was it from a casement thrown me, |
|
Wrapp'd in a paper, which contain'd the name |
|
Of her that threw it: noble she was, and thought |
|
I stood engaged: but when I had subscribed |
|
To mine own fortune and inform'd her fully |
|
I could not answer in that course of honour |
|
As she had made the overture, she ceased |
|
In heavy satisfaction and would never |
|
Receive the ring again. |
|
KING |
|
Plutus himself, |
|
That knows the tinct and multiplying medicine, |
|
Hath not in nature's mystery more science |
|
Than I have in this ring: 'twas mine, 'twas Helen's, |
|
Whoever gave it you. Then, if you know |
|
That you are well acquainted with yourself, |
|
Confess 'twas hers, and by what rough enforcement |
|
You got it from her: she call'd the saints to surety |
|
That she would never put it from her finger, |
|
Unless she gave it to yourself in bed, |
|
Where you have never come, or sent it us |
|
Upon her great disaster. |
|
BERTRAM |
|
She never saw it. |
|
KING |
|
Thou speak'st it falsely, as I love mine honour; |
|
And makest conjectural fears to come into me |
|
Which I would fain shut out. If it should prove |
|
That thou art so inhuman,--'twill not prove so;-- |
|
And yet I know not: thou didst hate her deadly, |
|
And she is dead; which nothing, but to close |
|
Her eyes myself, could win me to believe, |
|
More than to see this ring. Take him away. |
|
Guards seize BERTRAM |
|
|
|
My fore-past proofs, howe'er the matter fall, |
|
Shall tax my fears of little vanity, |
|
Having vainly fear'd too little. Away with him! |
|
We'll sift this matter further. |
|
BERTRAM |
|
If you shall prove |
|
This ring was ever hers, you shall as easy |
|
Prove that I husbanded her bed in Florence, |
|
Where yet she never was. |
|
Exit, guarded |
|
|
|
KING |
|
I am wrapp'd in dismal thinkings. |
|
Enter a Gentleman |
|
|
|
Gentleman |
|
Gracious sovereign, |
|
Whether I have been to blame or no, I know not: |
|
Here's a petition from a Florentine, |
|
Who hath for four or five removes come short |
|
To tender it herself. I undertook it, |
|
Vanquish'd thereto by the fair grace and speech |
|
Of the poor suppliant, who by this I know |
|
Is here attending: her business looks in her |
|
With an importing visage; and she told me, |
|
In a sweet verbal brief, it did concern |
|
Your highness with herself. |
|
KING |
|
[Reads] Upon his many protestations to marry me |
|
when his wife 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. |
|
DIANA CAPILET. |
|
LAFEU |
|
I will buy me a son-in-law in a fair, and toll for |
|
this: I'll none of him. |
|
KING |
|
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. |
|
COUNTESS |
|
Now, justice on the doers! |
|
Re-enter BERTRAM, guarded |
|
|
|
KING |
|
I wonder, sir, sith wives are monsters to you, |
|
And that you fly them as you swear them lordship, |
|
Yet you desire to marry. |
|
Enter Widow and DIANA |
|
|
|
What woman's that? |
|
DIANA |
|
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. |
|
Widow |
|
I am her mother, sir, whose age and honour |
|
Both suffer under this complaint we bring, |
|
And both shall cease, without your remedy. |
|
KING |
|
Come hither, count; do you know these women? |
|
BERTRAM |
|
My lord, I neither can nor will deny |
|
But that I know them: do they charge me further? |
|
DIANA |
|
Why do you look so strange upon your wife? |
|
BERTRAM |
|
She's none of mine, my lord. |
|
DIANA |
|
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. |
|
LAFEU |
|
Your reputation comes too short for my daughter; you |
|
are no husband for her. |
|
BERTRAM |
|
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. |
|
KING |
|
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. |
|
DIANA |
|
Good my lord, |
|
Ask him upon his oath, if he does think |
|
He had not my virginity. |
|
KING |
|
What say'st thou to her? |
|
BERTRAM |
|
She's impudent, my lord, |
|
And was a common gamester to the camp. |
|
DIANA |
|
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. |
|
COUNTESS |
|
He blushes, and 'tis it: |
|
Of six preceding ancestors, that gem, |
|
Conferr'd by testament to the sequent issue, |
|
Hath it been owed and worn. This is his wife; |
|
That ring's a thousand proofs. |
|
KING |
|
Methought you said |
|
You saw one here in court could witness it. |
|
DIANA |
|
I did, my lord, but loath am to produce |
|
So bad an instrument: his name's Parolles. |
|
LAFEU |
|
I saw the man to-day, if man he be. |
|
KING |
|
Find him, and bring him hither. |
|
Exit an Attendant |
|
|
|
BERTRAM |
|
What of him? |
|
He's quoted for a most perfidious slave, |
|
With all the spots o' the world tax'd and debosh'd; |
|
Whose nature sickens but to speak a truth. |
|
Am I or that or this for what he'll utter, |
|
That will speak any thing? |
|
KING |
|
She hath that ring of yours. |
|
BERTRAM |
|
I think she has: certain it is I liked her, |
|
And boarded her i' the wanton way of youth: |
|
She knew her distance and did angle for me, |
|
Madding my eagerness with her restraint, |
|
As all impediments in fancy's course |
|
Are motives of more fancy; and, in fine, |
|
Her infinite cunning, with her modern grace, |
|
Subdued me to her rate: she got the ring; |
|
And I had that which any inferior might |
|
At market-price have bought. |
|
DIANA |
|
I must be patient: |
|
You, that have turn'd off a first so noble wife, |
|
May justly diet me. I pray you yet; |
|
Since you lack virtue, I will lose a husband; |
|
Send for your ring, I will return it home, |
|
And give me mine again. |
|
BERTRAM |
|
I have it not. |
|
KING |
|
What ring was yours, I pray you? |
|
DIANA |
|
Sir, much like |
|
The same upon your finger. |
|
KING |
|
Know you this ring? this ring was his of late. |
|
DIANA |
|
And this was it I gave him, being abed. |
|
KING |
|
The story then goes false, you threw it him |
|
Out of a casement. |
|
DIANA |
|
I have spoke the truth. |
|
Enter PAROLLES |
|
|
|
BERTRAM |
|
My lord, I do confess the ring was hers. |
|
KING |
|
You boggle shrewdly, every feather stars you. |
|
Is this the man you speak of? |
|
DIANA |
|
Ay, my lord. |
|
KING |
|
Tell me, sirrah, but tell me true, I charge you, |
|
Not fearing the displeasure of your master, |
|
Which on your just proceeding I'll keep off, |
|
By him and by this woman here what know you? |
|
PAROLLES |
|
So please your majesty, my master hath been an |
|
honourable gentleman: tricks he hath had in him, |
|
which gentlemen have. |
|
KING |
|
Come, come, to the purpose: did he love this woman? |
|
PAROLLES |
|
Faith, sir, he did love her; but how? |
|
KING |
|
How, I pray you? |
|
PAROLLES |
|
He did love her, sir, as a gentleman loves a woman. |
|
KING |
|
How is that? |
|
PAROLLES |
|
He loved her, sir, and loved her not. |
|
KING |
|
As thou art a knave, and no knave. What an |
|
equivocal companion is this! |
|
PAROLLES |
|
I am a poor man, and at your majesty's command. |
|
LAFEU |
|
He's a good drum, my lord, but a naughty orator. |
|
DIANA |
|
Do you know he promised me marriage? |
|
PAROLLES |
|
Faith, I know more than I'll speak. |
|
KING |
|
But wilt thou not speak all thou knowest? |
|
PAROLLES |
|
Yes, so please your majesty. I did go between them, |
|
as I said; but more than that, he loved her: for |
|
indeed he was mad for her, and talked of Satan and |
|
of Limbo and of Furies and I know not what: yet I |
|
was in that credit with them at that time that I |
|
knew of their going to bed, and of other motions, |
|
as promising her marriage, and things which would |
|
derive me ill will to speak of; therefore I will not |
|
speak what I know. |
|
KING |
|
Thou hast spoken all already, unless thou canst say |
|
they are married: but thou art too fine in thy |
|
evidence; therefore stand aside. |
|
This ring, you say, was yours? |
|
DIANA |
|
Ay, my good lord. |
|
KING |
|
Where did you buy it? or who gave it you? |
|
DIANA |
|
It was not given me, nor I did not buy it. |
|
KING |
|
Who lent it you? |
|
DIANA |
|
It was not lent me neither. |
|
KING |
|
Where did you find it, then? |
|
DIANA |
|
I found it not. |
|
KING |
|
If it were yours by none of all these ways, |
|
How could you give it him? |
|
DIANA |
|
I never gave it him. |
|
LAFEU |
|
This woman's an easy glove, my lord; she goes off |
|
and on at pleasure. |
|
KING |
|
This ring was mine; I gave it his first wife. |
|
DIANA |
|
It might be yours or hers, for aught I know. |
|
KING |
|
Take her away; I do not like her now; |
|
To prison with her: and away with him. |
|
Unless thou tell'st me where thou hadst this ring, |
|
Thou diest within this hour. |
|
DIANA |
|
I'll never tell you. |
|
KING |
|
Take her away. |
|
DIANA |
|
I'll put in bail, my liege. |
|
KING |
|
I think thee now some common customer. |
|
DIANA |
|
By Jove, if ever I knew man, 'twas you. |
|
KING |
|
Wherefore hast thou accused him all this while? |
|
DIANA |
|
Because he's guilty, and he is not guilty: |
|
He knows I am no maid, and he'll swear to't; |
|
I'll swear I am a maid, and he knows not. |
|
Great king, I am no strumpet, by my life; |
|
I am either maid, or else this old man's wife. |
|
KING |
|
She does abuse our ears: to prison with her. |
|
DIANA |
|
Good mother, fetch my bail. Stay, royal sir: |
|
Exit Widow |
|
|
|
The jeweller that owes the ring is sent for, |
|
And he shall surety me. But for this lord, |
|
Who hath abused me, as he knows himself, |
|
Though yet he never harm'd me, here I quit him: |
|
He knows himself my bed he hath defiled; |
|
And at that time he got his wife with child: |
|
Dead though she be, she feels her young one kick: |
|
So there's my riddle: one that's dead is quick: |
|
And now behold the meaning. |
|
Re-enter Widow, with HELENA |
|
|
|
KING |
|
Is there no exorcist |
|
Beguiles the truer office of mine eyes? |
|
Is't real that I see? |
|
HELENA |
|
No, my good lord; |
|
'Tis but the shadow of a wife you see, |
|
The name and not the thing. |
|
BERTRAM |
|
Both, both. O, pardon! |
|
HELENA |
|
O my good lord, when I was like this maid, |
|
I found you wondrous kind. There is your ring; |
|
And, look you, here's your letter; this it says: |
|
'When from my finger you can get this ring |
|
And are by me with child,' & c. This is done: |
|
Will you be mine, now you are doubly won? |
|
BERTRAM |
|
If she, my liege, can make me know this clearly, |
|
I'll love her dearly, ever, ever dearly. |
|
HELENA |
|
If it appear not plain and prove untrue, |
|
Deadly divorce step between me and you! |
|
O my dear mother, do I see you living? |
|
LAFEU |
|
Mine eyes smell onions; I shall weep anon: |
|
To PAROLLES |
|
|
|
Good Tom Drum, lend me a handkercher: so, |
|
I thank thee: wait on me home, I'll make sport with thee: |
|
Let thy courtesies alone, they are scurvy ones. |
|
KING |
|
Let us from point to point this story know, |
|
To make the even truth in pleasure flow. |
|
To DIANA |
|
|
|
If thou be'st yet a fresh uncropped flower, |
|
Choose thou thy husband, and I'll pay thy dower; |
|
For I can guess that by thy honest aid |
|
Thou keep'st a wife herself, thyself a maid. |
|
Of that and all the progress, more or less, |
|
Resolvedly more leisure shall express: |
|
All yet seems well; and if it end so meet, |
|
The bitter past, more welcome is the sweet. |
|
Flourish |
|
|
|
EPILOGUE |
|
KING |
|
The king's a beggar, now the play is done: |
|
All is well ended, if this suit be won, |
|
That you express content; which we will pay, |
|
With strife to please you, day exceeding day: |
|
Ours be your patience then, and yours our parts; |
|
Your gentle hands lend us, and take our hearts. |
|
Exeunt |