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