Lafeu, all in Mourning.‡ note
Countess.
In delivering my son from me, I bury a second husband.
Ber.
And I, in going, madam, weep o'er my father's
death anew; but I must attend his majesty's command,
to whom I am now in ward,§ note evermore in subjection.
Laf.
You shall find of the king a husband, madam;
you, sir, a father. He, that so generally is at all
-- 238 --
times good, must of necessity hold his virtue to you,
whose worthiness would stir it up, were it wanted,
rather than slack it where there is such abundance.&verbar2; note
Count.
What hope is there of his majesty's amendment?
Laf.
He hath abandon'd his physicians, madam, under
whose practices he hath persecuted time with hope;
and finds no other advantage in the process, but only
the losing of hope by time.
Count.
This young gentlewoman had a father, (O,
that had! how sad a passage 'tis!) whose skill was
almost as great as his honesty; had it stretch'd so far,
it would have made nature immortal. 'Would, for
the king's sake, he were living!
Laf.
How call'd you the man you speak of, madam?
Count.
He was famous, sir, in his profession, and it
was his great right to be so: Gerard de Narbon.
Laf.
He was excellent, indeed, madam. Was this
gentlewoman the daughter of Gerard de Narbon?
Count.
His sole child, my lord, and bequeathed to
my overlooking. I have those hopes of her good,
that her education promises her.
Laf.
Your commendations, madam, get from her
tears.* note
Count.
'Tis the best brine a maiden can season her
praise in. The remembrance of her father never approaches
her heart, but the tyranny of her sorrows
takes all livelihood from her cheek. No more of this,
Helena. Go to; no more; lest it be rather thought
you affect a sorrow, than to have it.
Hel.
I do affect a sorrow, indeed, but I have it too.
Laf.
Moderate lamentation is the right of the dead;
excessive grief the enemy to the living.† note
Ber.
Madam, I desire your holy wishes.
-- 239 --
Count.
Be thou blest, Bertram, and succeed thy father,
In manners, as in shape! thy blood and virtue
Contend for empire in thee, and thy goodness
Share with thy birthright! Love all; trust a few;
Do wrong to none; be able for thine enemy,
Rather in power than use; and keep thy friend
Under thy own life's key: be check'd for silence,
But never tax'd for speech. What heav'n more will,
That thee may furnish, and my prayers pluck down,
Fall on thy head! Farewel, my lord;‡ note
'Tis an unseason'd courtier; good my lord,
Advise him.
Laf.
He cannot want the best,
That shall attend his love.
Count.
Heav'n bless him! Farewell, Bertram.
[Exit Countess.
Ber.
[to Hel,]
The best wishes that can be forg'd
in your thoughts, be servants to you! Be comfortable
to my mother, your mistress, and make much of her.
Laf.
Farewell, pretty lady; you must hold the credit
of your father.
[Exeunt Ber. and Laf.
Hel.
Oh, were that all!—I think not on my father;
My imagination
Carries no favour in it, but my Bertram's.§ note
'Twas pretty, tho' a plague,
To see him ev'ry hour; to sit and draw
His arched brows, his hawking eye, his curls,
-- 240 --
In our heart's table: heart, too capable
Of every line and trick of his sweet favour!—
But now he's gone, and my idolatrous fancy
Must sanctify his relicks. Who comes here?
Enter Parolles.&verbar2; note
One, that goes with him: I love him for his sake,
And yet I know him a notorious liar;
Think him a great way fool, solely a coward;
Cold wisdom waiting on superfluous folly.
Par.
Save you, fair queen.
Are you meditating on virginity?
Hel.
Ay: you have some stain of soldier in you:
let me ask you a question. Man is enemy to virginity;
how may we barricado against him?* note
Par.
Keep him out. Man, setting down before
you, will undermine you, and blow you up: but it
is not politick in the commonwealth of nature, to preserve
virginity. Loss of virginity is rational increase;
and there was never virgin got, 'till virginity
was first lost. Virginity, by being once lost, may be
ten times found: by being ever kept, it is ever lost;
'tis too cold a companion: away with't.
Hel.
I will stand for't a little, though therefore I
die a virgin.
Par.
There's little can be said in't; 'tis against the
rule of nature. To speak on the part of virginity, is
to accuse your mother; which is most infallible disobedience.
Besides, virginity is peevish, proud, idle,
made of self-love, which is the most prohibited sin in
the canon. Keep it not, you cannot chuse but lose
by't. Out with't; within ten years it will make itself
two, which is goodly increase, and the principal
-- 241 --
itself not much the worse. Away with't. 'Tis a
commodity will lose the gloss with lying. The longer
kept, the less worth. Off with't, while 'tis vendible.
Answer the time of request. Virginity, like an old
courtier, wears her cap out of fashion; richly suited,
but unsuitable. Your date is better in your pye and
your porridge, than in your cheek; and your virginity,
your old virginity, is like one of our French
wither'd pears; it looks ill, it eats dryly.
Enter Page.
Page.
Monsieur Parolles,
My lord calls for you.
[Exit Page.
Par.
Little Helen, farewell; if I can remember thee,
I will think of thee at court.
Hel.
Monsieur Parolles, you were born under a
charitable star.
Par.
Under Mars, I;
When he was predominant.
Hel.
When he was retrograde, I think, rather.
Par.
Why think you so? eh, child.
Hel.
You go so much backward, when you fight.
Par.
That's for advantage, my dear.
Hel.
So is running away, when fear proposes safety.
Par.
I am so full of business, as I cannot answer
thee acutely. Farewel. When thou hast leisure, say
thy prayers; when thou hast none, remember thy
friends. Get thee a good husband, and use him as
he uses thee. So farewel.
[Exeunt.
Scene
SCENE changes to the Court of France.
Flourish. The King of France, with Letters, and divers Attendants, discovered.
King.
The Florentines and Senoys are by th' ears;* note
Have fought with equal fortune, and continue
A braving war.
-- 242 --
1 Lord.
So 'tis reported, sir.
King.
Nay, 'tis most credible; we here receive it,
A certainty, vouch'd from our cousin Austria;
With caution, that the Florentine will move us,
For speedy aid; wherein our dearest friend
Prejudicates the business, and would seem
To have us make denial.
1 Lord.
His love, and wisdom,
Approv'd so to your majesty, may plead
For ample credence.
King.
He hath arm'd our answer;
And Florence is deny'd, before he comes:
Yet, for our gentlemen that mean to see
The Tuscan service, freely have they leave
To stand on either part.
King.
What's he comes here?
Enter Bertram, Lafeu, and Parolles.
1 Lord.
It is the count Rousillon, my good lord, young Bertram.
King.
Youth, thou bear'st thy father's face.
Frank nature, rather curious than in haste,
Hath well compos'd thee. Thy father's moral parts
May'st thou inherit, too! Welcome to Paris.
Ber.
My thanks and duty are your majesty's.
King.
I would I had that corporal soundness now,
As when thy father and myself, in friendship,
First try'd our soldiership. It much repairs me
To talk of your good father:* note
-- 243 --
Such a man,
Might be a copy to these younger times.
Ber.
His good remembrance, sir,
Lies richer in your thoughts, than on his tomb.
King.
'Would I were with him! he would always say,
(Methinks, I hear him now) let me not live,
(Thus, his good melancholy oft began,
On the catastrophe, and heel of pastime,
When it was out) Let me not live, (quoth he)
After my flame lacks oil; to be the snuff
Of younger spirits, whose apprehensive senses
All but new things disdain; whose judgments are
Mere fathers of their garments; whose constancies
Expire before their fashions.—This he wish'd.
I, after him, do, after him, wish too,
(Since I nor wax nor honey can bring home)
I quickly were dissolved from my hive,
To give some labourers room.* note
How long is't, count,
Since the physician at your father's, died?
He was much fam'd.
Ber.
Some six months since, my lord.
King.
If he were living, I would try him yet.—
Lend me an arm;—the rest have worn me out,
With several applications. Nature and sickness
Debate it, at their leisure. Welcome, count,
My son's no dearer.
Ber.
Thank your majesty.
[Exeunt.
-- 244 --
Scene
SCENE changes to the Countess's, at Rousillon.
Enter Countess, Steward, and Clown.* note
Count.
I will now hear. What say you of this gentlewoman?
What does this knave here? Get you gone, sirrah:
the complaints I have heard of you, I do not all believe;
'tis my slowness that I do not, for I know
you lack not folly to commit them, and have ability
enough to make such knaveries yours.
Clo.
'Tis not unknown to you, madam, I am a
poor fellow.
Count.
Well, sir,
Clo.
No, madam; 'tis not so well that I am poor,
tho' many of the rich are damn'd; but, if I have your
ladyship's good-will, Isbel, the woman, and I will
marry.
Count.
Wilt thou needs be a beggar?
Clo.
Service is no heritage, and, I think, I shall never
have the blessing of Heaven, till I have issue of my
body; for they say, bearns are blessings.
Count.
Tell me thy reason why thou wilt marry.
Clo.
My poor body, madam, requires it. I am driven
on by the flesh; and he must needs go, that the
devil drives. I have been, madam, a wicked creature,
as you and all flesh and blood are; and, indeed, I do
marry, that I may repent.
Count.
Thy marriage, sooner than thy wickedness.
Clo.
I am out of friends, madam, and I hope to have
friends for my wife's sake.
Count.
Such friends are thine enemies, knave.
Clo.
Y'are shallow, madam; for the knaves come to
-- 245 --
do that for me, which I am weary of. He that eares* note
my land, spares my team, and gives me leave to inne
the crop. If I be his cuckold, he's my drudge: he that
comforts my wife, is the cherisher of my flesh and
blood; he that cherisheth my flesh and blood, loves
my flesh and blood; he that loves my flesh and blood,
is my friend: ergo, he that kisses my wife is my
friend. If men could be contented to be what they
are, there were no fear in marriage; for young Charbon,
the puritan, and old Poysam, the papist, howsoe'er
their hearts are sever'd in religion, their heads are both
one: they may joul horns together, like any deer
i'th' herd.
Count.
Get you gone, sir, I'll talk with you more
anon.
Stew.
May it please you, madam, that he bid Helen
come to you; of her, I am to speak.
Count.
Sirrah, tell my gentlewoman, I would speak
with her; Helen I mean.
Clo.
Was this fair face the cause, quoth she,
[Singing.
Why the Grecians sacked Troy?
Fond done, fond done;—for Paris, he
Was this king Prima's joy.
With that she sighed as she stood,
And gave this sentence then;
Among nine bad, if one be good,
There's yet one good in ten.
Count.
What, one good in ten? You corrupt the
song, sirrah.
Clo.
One good woman in ten, madam; which is a
purifying o'th' song. 'Would Heav'n would serve the
world so all the year! we'd find no fault with the
tythe-woman, if I were the parson. One in ten,
quoth-a! an we might have a good woman born but
every blazing star, or at an earthquake, 'twould mend
the lottery well: a man may draw his heart out now,
ere he pluck one.
-- 246 --
Count.
You'll be gone, sir knave, and do as I command
you.
Clo.
I am gone, madam.
Count.
Well, now.
Stew.
I know, madam, you love your gentlewoman
intirely.
Count.
Troth, I do; her father bequeath'd her to
me; and she herself, without other advantages, may
lawfully make title to as much love as she finds. There
is more owing her, than is paid; and more shall be
paid her, than she'll demand.
Stew.
Madam, I was very late more near her than,
I think, she wish'd me: alone she was, and did communicate
to herself, her own words to her own ears;
she thought, I dare vow for her, they touch'd not any
stranger sense. Her matter was, she lov'd your son.
Fortune, she said, was no goddess, that had put such
difference betwixt their two estates; Love, no god,
that would not extend his might, only where qualities
were level. This she deliver'd in the most bitter
touch of sorrow, that e'er I heard a virgin exclaim in;
which, I held it my duty speedily to acquaint you
withal.
Count.
You have discharg'd this honestly, keep it to
yourself; many circumstances inform me of this before.
Pray you leave me; stall this in your bosom,
and I thank you for your honest care; I will speak
with you further, anon.
[Exit Steward.
Count.
Ev'n so it was with me, when I was young:
If we are nature's, these are ours. This thorn
Doth to our rose of youth rightly belong;
It is the show and seal of nature's truth,
Where love's strong passion is imprest in youth.
Enter Helena.
Hel.
What is your pleasure, madam?
Count.
Helen, you know, I am a mother to you.
-- 247 --
Hel.
Mine honourable mistress,
Count.
Nay, a mother;
Why not a mother? What's in mother,
That you start at it? I say, I'm your mother;
And put you in the catalogue of those
That were enwombed mine. 'Tis often seen
Adoption strives with nature; and choice breeds
A native slip to us from foreign seeds.
You ne'er opprest me with a mother's groan,
Yet I express to you a mother's care.
Heaven's! maiden, do's it curd thy blood,
To say, I am thy mother? What's the matter?
Why weep that you're my daughter?* note
Hel.
That I am not.
Count.
What! pale again?
My fear hath catch'd your fondness.—Now I see
The mist'ry of your loneliness, and find
Your salt tear' head;
You love my son. For, look, thy cheeks
Confess it one to th' other; and thine eyes
See it so grosly shown in thy behaviour,
That in their kind, they speak it.
Howe'er, I charge thee,
As Heav'n shall work in me for thine avail,
To tell me truly.
Hel.
Good madam, pardon me.
Count.
Do you love my son?
Hel.
Do not you love him, madam?
Count.
Go not about. Come, come, disclose
The state of your affection; for your passions
Have to the full appeach'd.† note
Hel.
Then, I confess,
Before high Heav'n and you,
That before you, and next unto high Heav'n,
I love your son.
My friends were poor, but honest; so's my love.
-- 248 --
Be not offended; for it hurts not him,
That he is lov'd of me.
My dearest madam,
Let not your hate encounter with my love,
But if yourself
Did ever, in so true a flame of liking,
Wish chastly, and love dearly,
O then give pity
To her, whose state is such.* note
Count.
Had you not lately an intent, speak truly,
To go to Paris?
Hel.
Madam, I had.
Count.
Wherefore? tell true.
Hel.
I will tell truth; by grace it self, I swear.
You know my father left me some prescriptions,
Of rare and prov'd effects. Amongst the rest,
There is a remedy, approv'd, set down,
To cure the desperate languishings whereof
The king is render'd lost.
Count.
This was your motive for Paris, was it? speak.
Hel.
My lord, your son, made me to think of this;† note
Else Paris, and the medicine, and the king,
Had from the conversation of my thoughts,
Haply, been absent.
Count.
But think you, Helen,
If you should tender your supposed aid,
He would receive it? He and his physicians
Are of a mind; he, that they cannot help him:
They, that they cannot help. How shall they credit
A poor unlearned virgin?
Hel.
There's something in't,
More than my father's skill, (which was the great'st
-- 249 --
Of his profession) that his good receipt
Shall for my legacy be sanctified,
By the luckiest stars in Heav'n. And would your honour
But give me leave to try success, I'd venture
The well-lost life of mine, on his grace's cure,
By such a day and hour.
Count.
Why, Helen, thou shalt have my leave and love;
Means, and attendants; and my loving greetings
To these of mine in court. I'll stay at home,
And pray Heav'n's blessing into thy attempt.
Begone, to-morrow; and be sure of this,
What I can help thee to, thou shalt not miss.* note
[Exeunt.
End of the First Act.
ACT II.
Scene
SCENE an Anti-chamber in the Court of France.
Enter Bertram, Parolles, and Lords.
Bertram.
I am commanded here, and kep't a coil with—† note
Too young, and the next year, and 'tis too early.—
By Heav'n I'll steal away.
-- 250 --
1 Lord.
There's honour in the theft.
Par.
Commit it, count.
2 Lord.
I am your accessary, and so farewel.
Ber.
I grow to you, and our parting is a tortur'd body.
1 Lord.
Farewel, captain.
[Exit Ber.
2 Lord.
Sweet monsieur Parolles!—
Par.
Good metals, you shall find in the regiment
of the Spinii, one captain Spurio, with his cicatrice,
an emblem of war, here, on his sinister cheek; it
was this very sword entrench'd. Say to him, I
live, and observe his reports of me.
1 Lord.
We shall, noble captain.
[Exeunt.
Scene
SCENE, the Palace.
The King, Lafeu, and Attendants discovered.
Laf.
Pardon, my lord, for me and for my tidings.
There's one arriv'd,
If you will see her. Now, by my faith and honour,
If seriously I may convey my thoughts
In this my light deliverance, I have spoke
With one that in her sex, her years, profession,
Wisdom and constancy, hath amaz'd me more,
Than I dare blame my weakness. Will you see her,
For that is her demand, and know her business?
That done, laugh well at me.
King.
Now, good Lafeu,
Bring in the admiration, that we with thee
May spend our wonder too, or take off thine,
By wond'ring how thou took'st it.
[Exeunt Attendants.
Laf.
Nay, I'll fit you,
And not be all day, neither.
[Exit Lafeu.
King.
What is all this?
Laf. [Returns.]
Nay, come your ways.
[Bringing in Helena.
King.
This haste hath wings, indeed.
Laf.
Nay, come your ways,
-- 251 --
This is his majesty, say your mind to him;
A traitor you do look like; but such traitors
His majesty seldom fears. I'm Cressid's uncle,
That dare leave together; fare you well.
[Exit.
King.
Now, fair one, does your business follow us?
Hel.
Ay, my good lord.
Gerard de Narbon was my father,
In what he did profess, well found.
King.
I knew him.
Hel.
The rather will I spare my praise towards him;
Knowing him is enough. On's bed of death,
Many receipts he gave me, chiefly one,
Which as the dearest issue of his practice,
And of his own experience th'only darling,
He bad, me store up, as a triple eye,
Safer than mine own two. More dear I have so;
And hearing your high majesty is touch'd
With that malignant cause, wherein the honour
Of my dear father's gift stands chief in power,
I come to tender it,
With all bound humbleness.
King.
We thank you, maiden;
But may not be so credulous of cure,
When our most learned doctors leave us; and
The congregated college have concluded,
That labouring art can never ransom nature,
From her unaidable estate.* note
Hel.
Dread sir, to my endeavours give consent,
Of heav'n, not me, make an experiment.
I am not an impostor,
But know, I think, and think I know most sure,
-- 252 --
My art is not past power, nor you past cure.* note
King.
Art thou so confident? within what space
Hop'st thou my cure?
Hel.
Ere twice the horses of the sun shall bring
Their fiery torcher his diurnal round;
Or four and twenty times the pilot's glass
Hath told the thievish minutes How they glide,
Health shall live free, and sickness freely die.
King.
Methinks, in thee some blessed spirit doth speak.† note
Hel.
If I break time, or flinch in property
Of what I spoke, unpitied let me die,
And well deserv'd!
But if I help, what do you promise me?
King.
Make thy demand.
Hel.
But will you make it even?
King.
Ay, by my scepter, and my hopes of heaven.
Hel.
Then shalt thou give me, with thy royal leave,
What husband in thy power I will command.
Exempted be from me the vanity
To chuse from forth the royal blood of France;
But such a one thy vassal, whom I know
Is free for me to ask and thee to give.‡ note
King.
Here is my hand, observe the premises,
Thy will by my performance shall be serv'd:
So, make the choice of thine own time; for I,
-- 253 --
Thy resolv'd patient, on thee still rely.
More should I question thee,
From whence thou cam'st, how tended on—but rest
Unquestion'd welcome, and undoubted blest.
Give me some help here, hoa! [Enter Attendants.] If thou proceed
As high as word, my deed shall match thy deed.
[Exeunt.
Scene
SCENE changes to Rousillon.
Enter Countess and Clown.* note
Count.
Come on, sir; I shall now put you to the
height of your breeding.
Clown.
I will shew myself highly fed, and lowly
taught; I know my business is but to the court.
Count.
But to the court? why, what place make you
special, when you put off that with such contempt?
but to the court!
Clown.
Truly, madam, if heav'n have lent a man
any manners, he may easily put it off at court: he that
cannot make a leg, put off's cap, kiss his hand, and
say nothing, has neither leg, hand, lip, nor cap;
and, indeed, such a fellow, to say precisely, were not
for the court: but for me, I have an answer will serve
all men.
Count.
Marry, that's a bountiful answer that fits all
questions.
Clo.
As fit as ten groats is for the hand of an attorney;
as your French crown for your taffaty punk; as
Tib's rush for Tom's fore-finger; as a pancake for Shrove
Tuesday; a morris for May-day; as the nail to his hole,
the cuckold to his horn; as a scolding quean to a wrangling
knave; as the nun's lip to the friar's mouth; nay,
as the pudding to his skin.
Count.
An end, sir; to your business: give Helen this,
And urge her to a present answer back.
Commend me to my kinsmen, and my son:
This is not much.
-- 254 --
Clo.
Not much commendation to them?
Count.
Not much imployment for you; you understand
me.
Clo.
Most fruitfully, I am there before my legs.
Count.
Haste you again.
[Exeunt.
Scene
SCENE, the Court of France.
Enter Betram, Lafeu, and Parolles.
Laf.
They say miracles are past; and we have our
philosophical persons to make modern and familiar,
things supernatural and causeless. Hence it is, that
we make trifles of terrors; ensconsing ourselves into
seeming knowledge, when we should submit ourselves
to an unknown fear.
Par.
Why 'tis the rarest argument of wonder, that
hath shot out in our later times.
Ber.
And so 'tis.
Laf.
To be relinquish'd of the artists—
Par.
So I say, both of Galen and Paracelsus.
Laf.
Of all the learned and authentic fellows—
Par.
Right, so I say.
Laf.
That gave him out incurable—
Par.
Why, there 'tis; so say I, too.
[A Flourish of Trumpets.
Enter King, Helena, and Attendants.
Par.
Here comes the king.
Laf.
Lustick, as the Dutchman says: I'll like a
maid the better, while I have a tooth in my head.
Why, he's able to lead her a Corranto.
Par.
Mort du Vinaigre! is not this Helen?
Laf.
'Fore Heav'n, I think so.
King.
Sir, my preserver, by thy patient's side;
And with this healthful hand, whose banisht sense
Thou hast repeal'd, a second time receive
The confirmation of my promis'd gift;
Which but attends thy naming.
Fair maid, send forth thine eye; this youthful parcel
-- 255 --
Of noble batchelors, stand at my bestowing,
O'er whom both sov'reign power and father's voice
I have to use; thy frank election make;
Thou hast power to chuse, and they none to forsake.
Laf.
I'd give bay Curtal and his furniture,
My mouth no more were broken than these boys,
And writ as little beard.
King.
Peruse them well:
Not one of those, but had a noble father.
Hel.
Gentlemen, heaven hath, through me, restor'd
The king to health.
[She addresses herself to a Lord.
I dare not say, I take you; but I offer
Myself and service, ever whilst I live,
Into your guided power: this is my choice.
[To Ber.
King.
Why then, young Bertram, take her, she's thy wife.
Ber.
My wife, my liege! I shall beseech your highness,
In such a business give me leave to use
The help of mine own eyes.
King.
Know'st thou not, Bertram,
What she hath done for me?
Ber.
Yes, my good lord,
But never hope to know why I should marry her.
King.
Thou know'st she has rais'd me from my sickly bed.
Ber.
But follows it, my liege, to bring me down
Must answer for your raising? I know her well:
She had her breeding at my father's charge
A poor physicians' daughter, my wife!—Disdain
Rather corrupt me ever!
King.
'Tis only title thou disdain'st in her, the which
I can build up. If she be
All that is virtuous, (save what thou dislik'st,
A poor physician's daughter) thou dislik'st
Of virtue for the name: but do not so.
From lowest place when virtuous things proceed,
The place is dignify'd by the possessor.
Where great addition swells, and virtue none,
It is a dropsied honour.* note
-- 256 --
She is young, wise, and fair;
And these breed honour: the mere word's a slave,
Debaucht on every grave, on every tomb;
A lying trophy.
If thou can'st like this maid,
I can create the rest; virtue and she
Is her own dow'r; honour and wealth from me.
Ber.
I cannot love her, nor will strive to do't.
Hel.
That you are well restor'd, my lord, I'm glad:
Let the rest go.
King.
My honour's at the stake; which to defend,
I must produce my power. Here, take her hand,
Proud, scornful boy, unworthy this good gift!
Do thine own fortunes that obedient right,
Which both thy duty owes, and our power claims;
Or I will throw thee from my care, for ever.
Speak thine answer.
Ber.
I take her hand.
King.
Good fortune, and the favour of the king
Smile upon this contract; the ceremony
Shall be perform'd to-night. As thou lov'st her,
Thy love's to me religious; else does err.† note
[Exeunt.
Manent Parolles and Lafeu.
Laf.
Do you hear, monsieur? a word with you.
Par.
Your pleasure, sir?
Laf.
Your lord and master did well to make his recantation.
Par.
My Lord? my master?
Laf.
Ay, is it not a language I speak?
Par.
A most harsh one, and not to be understood,
without bloody succeeding. My matter?
Laf.
Are you companion to the Count Rousillon?
Par.
To any Count; to all Counts; to what is man.
Laf.
To what is Count's man; Count's matter is of
another stile.
-- 257 --
Par.
You are too old, sir; let it satisfy you, you
are too old.—
Laf.
I must tell thee, sirrah, I write man; to which
title, age cannot bring thee.
Par.
Had'st thou not the privilege of antiquity
upon thee—
Laf.
Do not plunge thyself too far in anger, lest
thou hasten thy trial; which if—Lord have mercy
on thee for a hen! so my good window of lattice, fare
thee well; thy casement I need not open, I look
through thee. Give me thine hand.
Par.
My lord, you give me most egregious indignity.
Laf.
Ay, with all my heart, and thou art worthy
of it.
Par.
I have not, my lord, deserv'd it.
Laf.
Yes, good faith, every dram of it; and I will
not 'bate thee a scruple.
Par.
Well, I shall be wiser—
Laf.
Ev'n as soon as thou can'st, for thou hast to
pull at a smack o'th' contrary.
Par.
My lord, you do me most insupportable vexation.
Laf.
I would it were hell-pains, for thy sake, and
my poor doing eternal: for doing, I am past; as I
will by thee, in what motion age will give me leave.
[Exit.
Par.
Well, thou hast a son shall take this disgrace
off me; scurvy, old, filthy, scurvy lord!—Well, I
must be patient; there is no fettering of authority.
I'll beat him, by my life, if I can meet him with any
convenience, an he were double and double a lord.
I'll have no more pity on his age, than I would have
of—I'll beat him, an if I could but meet him again.
Re-enter Lafeu.
Laf.
Sirrah, your lord and master's married; there's
news for you: you have a new mistress.
-- 258 --
Par.
I most unfeignedly beseech your lordship to
make some reservation of your wrongs.* note
Laf.
By mine honour, if I were but two hours
younger, I'd beat thee; methinks thou art a general
offence, and every man should beat thee. I think
thou wast created for men to breathe themselves upon
thee.
Par.
This is hard and undeserv'd measure, my lord.
Laf.
Go to, sir; you were beaten in Italy, for picking
a kernel out of a pomegranate; you are a vagabond,
and no true traveller; you are more saucy with
lords and honourable personages, than the commission
of your birth and virtue gives you heraldry. You
are not worth another word, else I'd call you knave.
I leave you.
[Exit.
Enter Bertram.
Par.
Good, very good; it is so then.—Good, very
good; let it be conceal'd a while.
Ber.
Undone, and forfeited to cares for ever!
Par.
What is the matter, sweet heart?
Ber.
O my Parolles, they have married me:
I'll to the Tuscan wars, and never bed her.
Par.
France is a dog-hole, and no where merits
the tread of a man's foot: to th' wars.
Ber.
There's letters from my mother; what the
import is, I know not, yet.
Par.
To th' wars, my boy, to th' wars.
He wears his honour in a box, unseen,
That hugs his kicksy-wicksy here at home,
Wasting his manly vigour in her arms,
Which should sustain the bound and high curvet,
Of Mars's fiery steed: to other regions,
France is a stable; we that dwell in't jades;
Therefore, to th' war.
Ber.
It shall be so. I'll send her to my house,
Acquaint my mother with my hate to her,
-- 259 --
And wherefore I am fled; write to the king,
That which I durst not speak. War is no strife,
To the dark house, and the detested wife.* note
Par.
Why, these balls bound, there's noise in it.—'Tis hard;
A young man married, is a man that's marr'd:
Therefore away, and leave her bravely; go,
The king has done you wrong: but, hush! 'tis so.
[Exeunt.† note
Enter Helena and Clown.
Hel.
My mother greets me kindly. Is she well?
Clo.
She's very well, indeed, but for two things.
Hel.
What two things?
Clo.
One, that she's not in Heav'n, whither I pray
for her quick departure; the other, that she's on earth,
from whence Heav'n send her quick departure.
Enter Parolles.
Par.
Bless you, my fortunate lady!
Hel.
I hope, sir, I have your good will to have
mine own good fortune.
Par.
You had my prayers to lead them on; and
to keep them on, have them still. O, my knave,
how does my old lady?
Clo.
So that you had her wrinkles, and I her money,
I would, she did, as you say.
Par.
Why, I say nothing.
Clo.
Marry, you are the wiser man; for many a
man's tongue shakes out his master's undoing: to say
nothing, to do nothing, to know nothing, and to have
nothing, is to be a great part of your title; which is
within a very little of nothing.
Par.
Go to, thou art a fool; I have found thee.
-- 260 --
Clo.
Did you find me in yourself, sir? or were you
taught to find me? The search, sir, was profitable;
and much fool may you find in you, even to the
world's pleasure, and the increase of laughter.
Par.
A good knave, i'faith, and well fed.
Madam, my lord will go away, to-night,
A very ferious business calls on him.
The great prerogative and rite of love,
Which, as your due, time claims, he does acknowledge;
But puts it off, by a compell'd restraint.* note
Hel.
What's his will else?
Par.
That you will take your instant leave o'th' king,
And make this haste as your own good proceeding;
Strengthen'd with that apology, you think.
May make it probable need.
Hel.
What more commands he?
Par.
That having this obtain'd, you presently
Attend his further pleasure.
Hel.
In every thing I wait upon his will.
Par.
I shall report it so.
[Exit Parolles.
Hel.
I pray you do—Come with me, sirrah.
[To Clown.
Clo.
No, madam, not with you.
Hel.
How!
Clo.
After you. I know my distance.
[Exeunt.
Scene
SCENE, the Palace.
Enter Lafeu and Bertram.
Laf.
But, I hope, your lordship thinks not him a
soldier.
Ber.
Yes, my lord, and of very valiant approof.
-- 261 --
Laf.
You have it from his own deliverance.
Ber.
And by other warranted testimony.
Laf.
Then my dial goes not true; I took this lark
for a bunting.
Ber.
I do assure you, my lord, he is very great in
knowledge, and accordingly valiant.
Laf.
I have then sinned against his experience, and
transgress'd against his valour; and my state that way
is dangerous, since I cannot yet find in my heart to
repent. Here he comes; I pray you, make us friends,
I will pursue the amity.
Enter Parolles.
Ber.
Is she gone to the king?
[Aside to Parolles.
Par.
She is.
Ber.
Will she away, to-night?
Par.
As you'll have her.
Ber.
I have writ my letters, casketed my treasure,
given order for our horses.
Laf.
Save you, captain.
Ber.
Is there any unkindness between my lord and
you, monsieur?
Par.
I know not how I have deserved to run into
my lord's displeasure.
Laf.
You have made shift to run into't, boots and
spurs and all. Fare you well, my lord, and believe
this of me, there can be no kernel in this light nut: the
soul of this man is his cloaths. Trust him not, in
matter of heavy consequence. Farewel, monsieur, I
have spoken better of you, than you have, or will
deserve at my hand; but we must do good against evil.
[Exit.
Par.
An idle lord, I swear.
Ber.
I think not so.
Par.
Why, do you not know him?
Ber.
Yes, I know him well; and common speech
Gives him a worthy pass. Here comes my clog.
-- 262 --
Enter Helena.
Hel.
I have, sir, as I was commanded from you,
Spoke with the king, and have procur'd his leave,
For present parting; only, he desires
Some private speech with you.
Ber.
I shall obey his will.
You must not marvel, Helen, that I intreat;* note
For my respects are better than they seem,
And my appointments have in them a need,
Greater than shews itself at the first view,
To you that know them not. This to my mother.
[Giving a Letter.
'Twill be two days ere I shall see you, so
I leave you to your wisdom.† note
Hel.
Sir, I can nothing say,
But that I am your most obedient servant.
Ber.
Come, come, no more of that.
Hel.
And ever shall
With true observance seek to eke out that,
Wherein tow'rd me my homely stars have fail'd
To equal my great fortune.
Ber.
Let that go;
My haste is very great. Farewel; hie home.
Hel.
I shall not break your bidding, good my lord.
[Exit Helena.
Ber.
Farewel.
Go thou tow'rd home, where I will never come,
Whilst I can shake my sword, or hear the drum.
Par.
Bravely; Couragio!
Exeunt.
-- 263 --
Scene
SCENE, Rousillon, in France.
Enter Countess and Clown.
Count.
It hath happen'd all as I would have had it;
save, that he comes not along with her.
Clo.
By my troth, I take my young lord to be a
very melancholy man.
Count.
By what observance, pray you?
Clo.
Why, he will look upon his boot, and sing;
mend his ruff, and sing; ask questions, and sing;
pick his teeth, and sing. I knew a man that had
this trick of melancholy, sold a goodly manor for a
song.
Count.
Let me see what he writes, and when he
means to come.
Exit Clown.
Countess reads a letter.
I have sent you a daughter-in-law: she hath recovered
the king, and undone me. I have wedded her, not bedded
her; and sworn to make the not eternal. You shall hear
I am run away; know it before the report come. If
there be breadth enough in the world, I will hold a
long distance. My duty to you.
Your unfortunate son,
Bertram.
This is not well, rash and unbridled boy,
To fly the favours of so good a king;
To pluck his indignation on thy head,
By the misprizing of a maid, too virtuous
For the contempt of empire.
Re-enter Clown.
Clo.
O madam, yonder is heavy news within, between
a gentleman and my young lady,
Count.
What is the matter?
-- 264 --
Clo.
Nay, there is some comfort in the news; some
comfort; your son will not be kill'd so soon as I
thought he would.
Count.
Why?
Clo.
Because he's run away; but they come will
tell you more.
[Exit Clown.
Enter Helena, and two Gentlemen.
1. Gent.
Save you, good madam.
Hel.
Madam, my lord is gone, for ever gone.—
Count.
Do not say so.
Think upon patience: 'pray you, gentlemen,
I've felt so many quirks of joy and grief,
That the first face of neither, on the start,
Can woman me unto't.
Hel.
Look on this letter, madam; here's my passport.
When thou canst get the ring upon my finger which never
shall come off, and shew me a child of thine,
that I am father to, then call me husband: but in
such a then I write a never.
This is a dreadful sentence.
Count.
Brought you this letter, gentlemen?
1 Gent.
Ay, madam, and, for the contents sake,
are sorry for our pains.
Count.
I pr'ythee, lady, have a better cheer,
If thou engrossest all the griefs as thine,
Thou robb'st me of a moiety. He was my son,
But I do wash his name out of my blood,
And thou art all my child.
Hel.
'Till I have no wife, I have nothing in France.
[Reading.
Nothing in France, until he has no wife!
Thou shalt have none.
Poor lord! is't I
That chace thee from thy country, and expose thee
To the event of the none-sparing war?
Whoever shoots at him, I set him there;
-- 265 --
Whoever charges on his forward breast,
I am the caitiff, that doth hold him to it;
And tho' I kill him not, I am the cause
His death was so effected.
I will be gone:
My being here, it is, that holds thee hence.
Come, night; end day!
For with the dark, poor thief, I'll steal away.* note
[Exit.
Count.
Gone to serve the duke of Florence!
Who was with him?
1 Gent.
One Parolles.
Count.
A very tainted fellow.
My son corrupts a well inclining nature,
With his inducements.
1 Gent.
Indeed, good lady, report speaks
Strangely of him.
Count.
I will intreat you, when you see
My son, tell him, his sword can never
Win the honour that he loses. Let's in,
And comfort my despairing daughter;
Her sorrow is my own.
Both.
We attend you, lady.
[Exeunt.† note
End of the Second Act.
-- 266 --
ACT III.
Scene
SCENE continues.
Enter Countess and Steward.
Countess.
Alas! and would you take the letter of her?
Might you not know she would do as she has done,
By sending me a letter? Read it again.
LETTER.* note
I am St. Jaques' pilgrim, thither gone;
Ambitious love hath so in me offended,
That bare-foot plod I the cold ground upon,
With sainted vow my faults to have amended.
Write, write, that from the bloody course of war,
My dearest master, your dear son, may hie;
Bless him at home in peace, whilst I from far,
His name with zealous fervour sanctify.
He is too good and fair for death and me,
Whom I myself embrace, to set him free.
Ah, what sharp stings are in her mildest words?
Rynaldo, you did never lack advice so much,
As letting her pass so; had I spoke with her,
I could have well diverted her intents,
Which thus she hath prevented.
Stew.
Pardon, madam.
If I had given you this at over-night,
-- 267 --
She might have been o'erta'en; and yet, she writes,
Pursuit would be but vain.
Count.
What angel shall
Bless this unworthy husband? He cannot thrive,
Unless her prayers, whom Heaven delights to hear,
And loves to grant, reprieve him from the wrath
Of greater justice.* note Write, write, Rynaldo,
To this unworthy husband of his wife.
Let every word weigh heavy of her worth,
That he does weigh too light. My greatest grief,
Tho' little he do feel it, set down sharply.
Dispatch the most convenient messenger;† note
[Exit Steward.
My heart is heavy, and mine age is weak;
Grief would have tears, and sorrow bids me speak.
[Exit.
Scene
SCENE changes to a public place in Florence.
A March afar off.
Enter an old Widow of Florence, Diana, and Mariana, with other citizens.
Wid.
Nay, come, for if they do approach the
city, we shall lose all the sight.
Dia.
They say the French count has done most
honourable service.
Wid.
It is reported that he has ta'en their greatest
commander; and that, with his own hand, he flew
-- 268 --
the duke's brother. We have lost our labour, they
have gone a contrary way. Hark, you may know by
their trumpets.
Mar.
Come, let's return again, and suffice ourselves
with the report of it. Well, Diana, take heed of this
French earl; the honour of a maid is her name, and
no legacy is so rich as honesty.
Dia.
You shall not need to fear me.
Enter Helena, disguis'd like a pilgrim.
Wid.
I hope so.—Look, here comes a pilgrim;
I know she will lye at my house; thither they send
one another. I'll question her. Heav'n save you,
pilgrim! Whither are you bound?
Hel.
To St. Jacques le Grand. Where do the palmers
lodge, I do beseech you?
Wid.
At the St. Francis, beside the port.
Hel.
Is this the way?
[A march afar off.
Wid.
Ay, marry, is't. Hark you, they come this way.
If you will tarry, holy pilgrim, but 'till the troops come by,
I will conduct you where you shall be lodg'd.
You came, I think, from France?
Hel.
I did so.
Wid.
Here you shall see a countryman of yours,
That has done worthy service.
Hel.
His name, I pray you?
Dia.
The count Rousillon: know you such a one?
Hel.
By the ear, that hears most nobly of him.
His face I know not.
Dia.
Whatsoe'er he is,
He's bravely taken here. He stole from France,
As 'tis reported; for the king had married him
Against his liking. Think you, it is so?
Hel.
Ay, surely, mere the truth. I know his lady.
Dia.
There is a gentleman that serves the count,
Reports but coarsely of her.
-- 269 --
Hel.
What's his name?
Dia.
Monsieur Parolles.
Hel.
All her deserving,
Is a reserv'd honesty, and that
I have not heard examin'd.
Dia.
Alas, poor lady!
'Tis a hard bondage to become the wife
Of a detesting lord.
Wid.
Ah! right; good creature! wheresoe'er she is,
Her heart weighs sadly. This young maid might do her
A shrewd turn, if she pleas'd.
Hel.
How do you mean?
May be the am'rous count solicits her
In the unlawful purpose.
Wid.
He does, indeed;
And brokes* note with all, that can in such a suit
Corrupt the tender honour of a maid:
But she is arm'd for him, and keeps her guard,
In honestest defence.
Drum and Colours. Enter Bertram, Parolles, Officers and Soldiers attending.
Bert.
Let the troops march on, we'll take a nearer rout.
Wid.
So, now they come.
That is Antonio, the duke's eldest son;
That, Escalus.
Hel.
Which is the Frenchman?
Dia.
He;
That with the plume. 'Tis a most gallant fellow;
I would, he lov'd his wife! if he were honester,
He were much goodlier. Is't not a handsome gentleman?
Hel.
I like him well.
Dia.
'Tis pity he's not honest. Yon's that same knave,
That leads him to these paces; were I his lady,
I'd poison that vile rascal.
-- 270 --
Why is he melancholy?
Hel.
Perchance, he's hurt i' th' battle.
Par.
Lose our drum! Well.—Curst misfortune!
[Ex. Ber. Par. &c.
Wid.
He's shrewdly vext at something.
The troop is past. Come, pilgrim, I will bring you,
Where you shall host. Of injoyn'd penitents
There's four or five, to great St. Jacques bound,
Already at my house.
Hel.
I humbly thank you.
Please it this matron, and this gentle maid,
To eat with us to night, the charge and thanking
Shall be for me: and to requite you further,
I will bestow some precepts on this virgin,
Worthy the note.
Both.
We'll take your offer kindly.
[Exeunt.
Enter Bertram, and the two French Lords.
1 Lord.
Believe it, my lord, in mine own direct
knowledge, without any malice, but to speak of him as
my kinsman; he's a most notable coward, an infinite
and endless liar, an hourly promise-breaker, the owner
of no one good quality worthy your lordship's entertainment.
Ber.
I would I knew in what particular action to try him.
2 Lord.
None better, than to let him fetch off his
drum; which you hear him so confidently undertake
to do.
1 Lord.
I, with a troop of Florentines, will suddenly
surprize him: we will bind and hood-wink him so,
that he shall suppose no other but that he is carried
among the adversaries, when we bring him to our
tents. Be but your lordship present at his examination,
and mark the consequence.
2 Lord.
Let him fetch his drum; he says, he has a
stratagem for't. Here he comes.
-- 271 --
Enter Parolles.
1 Lord.
O, for the love of laughter, hinder not the
humour of his design, let him fetch off his drum in
any hand.
Ber.
How now, monsieur? this drum sticks sorely
in your disposition.
2 Lord.
A pox on't, let it go, 'tis but a drum.
Par.
But a drum! Is't but a drum? a drum so lost!
there was an excellent command! to charge in with
our horse upon our own wings, and to rend our own
soldiers.
Ber.
Well, we cannot greatly condemn our success.
Some dishonour we had in the loss of that drum, but
it is not to be recover'd.
Par.
It is to be recover'd; but that the merit of
service is seldom attributed to the true and exact performer,
I would have that drum or another, or, hic
jacet—
Ber.
Why, if you have a stomach to't, monsieur;
if you think your mistery in stratagem can bring this
instrument of honour again into his native quarter, be
magnanimous in the enterprize, and go on. I will
grace the attempt for a worthy exploit.
Par.
By the hand of a soldier, I will undertake it.
Ber.
But you must not now slumber in it.
Par.
I'll about it this evening; and I will presently
pen down my dilemma's, encourage myself in my
certainty, put myself into my mortal preparation; and,
by midnight, look to hear further from me.
Ber.
May I be bold to acquaint his grace you are
gone about it?
Par.
I know not what the success will be, my lord;
but the attempt I vow.
Ber.
I know, th'art valiant; and to the possibility
of thy soldiership, will subscribe for thee; farewel.
-- 272 --
Par.
I love not many words.* note
[Exit.
1 Lord.
No more than a fish loves water—Is
not this a strange fellow, my lord? that so confidently
seems to undertake this business, which he knows is
not to be done; damns himself to do it, and dares better
be damn'd than to do it.
2 Lord.
He shall be caught.
[Exit 2 Lord.
Ber.
Now will I lead you to the house, and shew
you the lass I spoke of.
1 Lord.
But you say, she's honest.
Ber.
That's all the fault. I spoke with her but once,
And found her wondrous cold; but I sent to her,
By this same coxcomb that we have i'th' wind,
Tokens and letters, which she did re-send:
And this is all I've done. She's a fair creature.
Will you go see her?
1 Lord.
With all my heart, my lord.
[Exeunt.
Scene
SCENE changes to the Widow's House.
Enter Helena, and Widow.
Hel.
If you misdoubt me that I am not she,
I know not how I shall assure you further.
Wid.
I should believe you,
For you have shew'd me that, which well approves
Y'are great in fortune.
Hel.
Take this purse of gold,
And let me buy your friendly help thus far.
The count wooes your daughter,
Lays down his wanton siege before her beauty,
Resolves to carry her. Let her consent,
As we'll direct her how, 'tis best to bear it.
-- 273 --
Now his important blood will nought deny,
That she'll demand: a ring, the count does wear,
That downward hath succeeded in his house,
From son to son, some four or five descents,
Since the first father wore it. This ring he holds
In most rich choice; yet in his idle fire,
To buy his will it would not seem too dear,
Howe'er repented after.
Wid.
Now I see the bottom of your purpose.
Hel.
You see it lawful then. It is no more,
But that your daughter, ere she seems as won,
Desires this ring; appoints him an encounter;
In fine, delivers me to fill the time,
Herself most chastly absent. After this,
To marry her, I'll add three thousand crowns,
To what is past already.* note
Wid.
I have yielded.
Instruct my daughter, how she shall persevere;
That time and place, with this deceit so lawful,
May prove coherent. Every night he comes,
With music of all sorts, and songs, compos'd
To her unworthiness. It nothing steads us
To chide him from our eaves, for he persists,
As if his life lay on't.
Hel.
Why then, to night
Let us essay our plot; which, if it speed,
Is wicked meaning in a lawful deed.‡ note
End of the Third Act.
-- 274 --
ACT IV.
Scene
SCENE, part of the French Camp, in Florence.
Enter one of the French Lords, with five or six Soldiers
in ambush, and Interpreter.
Lord.* note
He can come no other way, but by this hedge-corner.
When you sally upon him, speak
what terrible language you will; though you understand
it not yourselves, no matter; for we must not
seem to understand him, unless some one amongst us,
whom we must produce for an interpreter.
Int.
Good captain, let me be the interpreter.
Lord.
Art not acquainted with him? Knows he
not thy voice?
Int.
No, sir, I warrant you.
Lord.
But what hast thou to speak to us again?
Int.
Ev'n such as you speak to me.
Lord.
He must think us some band of strangers
among the adversaries. Now he hath a smack of all
neighbouring languages, therefore we must every
one be a man of his own fancy; not to know what we
speak one to another; only seem to know gabble
enough, and good enough.† note As for you, interpreter,
-- 275 --
you must seem very politic. But couch, hoa!
here he comes, to beguile two hours in a sleep, and
then to return, and swear the lies he forges.
Enter Parolles.
Par.
Ten o'clock; within these three hours 'twill
be time enough to go home. What shall I say, I have
done? It must be a very plausible invention that carries
it. They begin to smoke me, and disgraces have
of late knock'd too often at my door. I find my
tongue is too fool-hardy; but my heart hath the fear
of Mars before it, and of his creatures, not daring the
reports of my tongue.
Lord.
This is the first truth that e'er thine own
tongue was guilty of.
[Aside.
Par.
What the devil should move me to undertake
the recovery of this drum, being not ignorant of the
impossibility, and knowing I had no such purpose? I
must give myself some hurts, and say I got them in
exploit; yet slight ones will not carry it. They will
say, Came you off with so little? and great ones I
dare not give; wherefore, what's the instance?
Tongue, I must put you into a butter-woman's mouth,
and buy myself another, if you prattle me into these
perils.
Lord.
Is it possible, he should know what he is, and
be that he is?
[Aside.
Par.
I would the cutting of my garments would
serve the turn, or the breaking of my Spanish sword.
Lord.
'Twould not do.
[Aside.
Par.
Or to drown my cloaths, and say I was stript.
Lord.
Hardly serve.
[Aside.
Par.
Though I swore I leap'd from the window of
the citadel—
Lord.
How deep?
[Aside.
Par.
Thirty fathom.
Lord.
Three great oaths would scarce make that be
believed.
[Aside.
-- 276 --
Par.
I would I had any drum of the enemy's; I
would swear I recover'd it.
Lord.
You shall hear one, anon.
[Aside.
Par.
A drum now, of the enemies!
[Alarum within.
Lord.
Throco movousus, cargo, cargo, cargo.
All.
Cargo, cargo, villiando par corbo, cargo.
Par.
Oh! ransom, ransom.—Do not hide mine eyes.
[They seize him and blindfold him.
Inter.
Boskos thromuldo boskos.
Par.
I know you are the Muskos regiment,
And I shall lose my life for want of language.
If there be here German, or Dane, low Dutch,
Italian, or French, let him speak to me;
I'll discover that which shall undo the Florentine.
Int.
Boskos vauvado; I understand thee, and can
speak thy tongue; Kerelybonto.—Sir, betake thee
to thy faith, for seventeen poinards are at thy bosom.
Par.
Oh!
Int.
Oh, pray, pray, pray.
Mancha ravancha dulche.
Lord.
Osceoribi dulchos volivorco.
Int.
The general is content to spare thee yet,
And hood-wink'd as thou art, will lead thee on,
To gather from thee. Haply thou may'st inform
Something to save thy life.
Par.
Oh, let me live,
And all the secrets of our camp I'll shew;
Their force, their purposes; nay, I'll speak that
Which you will wonder at.
Int.
But wilt thou, faithfully?
Par.
If do not, damn me.
Int.
Acordo linta.
Come on, thou art granted space.
Lord.
Go, tell the Count Rousillon, and my brother,
We've caught the woodcock, and will keep him muffled,
'Till we do hear from them.
Int.
Captain, I will.
-- 277 --
Lord.
He will betray us all unto ourselves,
Inform 'em that.
Int.
So I will, sir.
Lord.
'Till then I'll keep him dark, and safely lockt.
[Exeunt.
Scene
SCENE, the Widow's House.
Enter Bertram and Diana.
Ber.
They told me that your name was Fontibell.
Dia.
No, my good lord, Diana.
Ber.
Titled goddess.
And worth it, with addition! but, fair soul,
In your fine frame hath love no quality?
If the quick fire of youth light not your mind,
You are no maiden, but a monument:
When you are dead, you should be such a one
As you are now, for you are cold and stern;
And now you should be as your mother was,
When your sweet self was got.
Dia.
She then was honest.
Ber.
So should you be.
Dia.
No.
My mother did but duty; such, my lord,
As you owe to your wife.
Ber.
No more o' that!
I pr'ythee do not strive against my vows:
I was compell'd to her, but I love thee,
By love's own sweet constraint, and will for ever
Do thee all rights of service.
Dia.
Ay, so you serve us,
'Till we serve you; but when you have our roses,
You barely leave our thorns to prick ourselves,
And mock us with our bareness.* note
Ber.
How have I sworn!
-- 278 --
Dia.
'Tis not the many oaths, that make the truth;
But the plain single vow.† note
Therefore your oaths
Are words, and poor conditions but unseal'd;
At least, in my opinion.
Ber.
Change it, change it:
Be not so holy cruel. Love is holy,
And my integrity ne'er knew the crafts,
That you do charge men with.
Say thou art mine; and ever
My love, as it begins, shall so persevere.
Dia.
Give me that ring, then.
Ber.
I'll lend it thee, my dear, but have no power
To give it from me.
Dia.
Will you not, my lord?
Ber.
It is an honour 'longing to our house,
Bequeathed down from many ancestors;
Which were the greatest obloquy i'th' world
In me to lose.
Dia.
Mine honour's such a ring;
My chastity's the jewel of our house,
Bequeathed down from many ancestors;
Which were the greatest obloquy i'th' world,
In me to lose. Thus your own proper wisdom
Brings in the champion Honour on my part,
Against your vain assault.
Ber.
Here, take my ring.
My house, my honour, yea, my life be thine,
And I'll be bid by thee.
-- 279 --
Dia.
When midnight comes, knock at my chamber window;
I'll order take, my mother shall not hear.
Now will I charge you in the band of truth,
When you have conquer'd my yet maiden-bed,
Remain there but an hour, nor speak to me:
My reasons are most strong, and you shall know them,
When back again this ring shall be deliver'd;
And on your finger, in the night, I'll put
Another ring, that what in time proceeds,
May token to the future our past deeds.
Adieu, 'till then; then, fail not.
Ber.
A heav'n on earth I've won by wooing thee.
[Exit.
Dia.
My mother told me just how he would woo,
As if she fate in's heart; she says, all men
Have the like oaths.
Since Frenchmen are so loose,
Marry 'em that will, I'll live and die a maid;
Only, in this disguise, I think't no sin
To cozen him, that would unjustly win.* note
[Exit.
Scene
SCENE, the French Camp in Florence.
Enter the two French Lords, and two or three Soldiers.
1 Lord.
What hear you of these wars?
2 Lord.
I hear, there is an overture of peace.
1 Lord.
Nay, I assure you, a peace concluded.
2 Lord.
What will Count Rousillon do then? Will
he travel higher, or return again to France?
1 Lord.
I perceive, by this demand, you are not
altogether of his council.
2 Lord.
Let it be forbid, sir! so should I be a great
deal of his act.
1 Lord.
Sir, his wife some two months since fled
from his house, her pretence is a pilgrimage to St.
-- 280 --
Jaques le Grand; which holy undertaking, with
most austere sanctimony, she accomplish'd; and there
residing, through the tenderness of her nature became
as a prey to her grief; in fine, made a groan of her
last breath, and now she sings in Heaven.
2 Lord.
Hath the count all this intelligence? The
great dignity that his valour hath here acquir'd for
him, shall at home be encounter'd with a shame as
ample.
1 Lord.
The web of our life is of a mingled yarn,
good and ill together: our virtues would be proud,
if our faults whipt them not; and our crimes would
despair, if they were not cherish'd by our virtues.* note
Enter Bertram.
1 Lord.
Here's his lordship now. How now, my
lord, is it not after midnight?
Ber.
I have to-night dispatcht sixteen businesses, a
month's length a-piece, by an abstract of success; I
have congied with the duke, done my adieu with his
nearest; buried a wife; mourn'd for her; writ to my
lady mother, I am returning; entertain'd my convoy;
and, between these main parcels of dispatch, effected
many nicer needs; the last was the greatest. But
come, bring forth this counterfeit medal; h'as deceiv'd
me, like a double-meaning prophesier.
2 Lord.
Bring him forth; h'as fate in the stocks, all
night, poor gallant knave.
Ber.
No matter; his heels have deserv'd it, in
usurping his spurs so long. How does he carry himself?
1 Lord.
He hath confess'd himself to Morgan,
whom he supposes to be a friar, from the time of his
remembrance to this very instant disaster of his setting
i'th' stocks; and what, think you, he has confest?
Ber.
Nothing of me, has he?
2 Lord.
His confession is taken, and it shall be read
to his face; if your lordship be in't, as I believe you
are, you must have the patience to hear it.
-- 281 --
Scene
SCENE, Parolles discovered, in the Stocks, blindfolded.
Ber.
Release him, and bring him forward.
Int.
Damabous news—you must down on your
knees.
Par.
O dear!
Int.
Partatorturossa—he calls for the torture.
Par.
I will confess what I know, without it; if
you pinch me like a pasty, I can say no more.
Int.
Bosko, chimarcho biblibindo chicurmurco,* note a
merciful general—you must answer to what I shall ask
you of note.
Par.
And truly, as I hope to live.
Int.
How many horse is the duke strong? What
say you to that?
Par.
Five or six thousand, but very weak and unserviceable;
the troops are all scatter'd, and the commanders
very poor rogues, upon my reputation and
credit, and as I hope to live.
Int.
Shall I set down your answer so?
Par.
Do, I'll take the sacrament on't, how and
which way you will: all's one to me.
Ber.
What a slave is this!
1 Lord.
I will never trust a man again for keeping
his sword clean; nor believe he can have every thing
in him by wearing his apparel neatly.
Int.
Well, that's set down.
Par.
Poor rogues, I pray you, say?
Int.
Well, that's set down.
Par.
I humbly thank you, sir; a truth's a truth;
the rogues are marvellous poor.
Int.
What strength are they a-foot.
Par.
By my troth, sir, I will tell true. The muster
file, rotten and sound, upon my life, amounts not to
fifteen thousand poll; half of the which dare not shake
the snow from off their cassocks, lest they shake themselves
to pieces.
-- 282 --
Ber.
What shall be done to him?
1 Lord.
Nothing, but let him have thanks. Demand
of him my conditions, and what credit I have
with the duke.
Int.
Well, that's set down, Is one Captain Dumain
i'th' camp, a Frenchman? what is his reputation with
the duke? what his valour, honesty, and expertness
in war? or is it not possible, with well-weighing sums
of gold, to corrupt him to a revolt? What say you
to this?
Par.
I beseech you let me answer to the particular
of the interrogatories. Demand them singly.
Int.
Do you know this Captain Dumain?
Par.
I know him; he was a butcher's prentice in
Paris, from whence he was whipt, for getting the
sheriff's fool with child; a dumb innocent, that
could not say him nay.
Ber.
Nay, by your leave, hold your hands; we'll
have it out.
Int.
Well, is this captain in the Duke of Florence's
camp?
Par.
Upon my knowledge he is, and lousy.
1 Lord.
Nay, look not so upon me, we shall hear
of your lordship, anon.
Int.
What is his reputation with the duke?
Par.
The duke knows him for no other but a poor
officer of mine, and writ to me the other day to turn
him out o'th' band. I think I have his letter in my
pocket.
Int.
Marry, we'll search.
[Examining his pockets.
Par.
In good sadness, I do not know; either it is
there, or it is upon the file with the duke's other
letters, in my tent.
Int.
Here 'tis, here's a paper, shall I read it to you?
Par.
I do not know if it be it or no.
Ber.
Our interpreter does it well.
1 Lord.
Excellently.
Int.
Dian, the count's a fool, and full of gold.
Par.
That is not the duke's letter, sir; that is an
advertisement to a proper maid in Florence, one Diana,
-- 283 --
to take heed of the allurement of one Count Rousillon,
a foolish, idle boy; but, for all that, very ruttish;‡ note
I pray you, sir, put it up again.
Int.
Nay, I'll read it first, by your favour.
Par.
My meaning in't, I protest, was very honest,
in behalf of the maid; for I knew the young count
to be a dangerous and lascivious boy, who is a whale
to virginity, and devours up all the fry it finds.
Ber.
Damnable! both sides rogue.
1 Lord.
Ha, ha, ha!
Interpreter reads the Letter.
When he swears oaths, bid him drop gold, and take it.
After he scores, he never pays the score:
Half won, is match well made; match, and well make it:
He ne'er pays after-debts, take it before.
And say, a soldier (Dian) told thee this:
Men are to mell with, boys are but to kiss.
For, count of this, the Count's a fool, I know it;
Who pays before, but not when he does owe it.
Thine, as he vow'd to thee in thine ear,
Parolles.&verbar2; note
Ber.
He shall be whipt through the army.
1 Lord.
This is your devoted friend, sir, the manifold
linguist, and the armi-potent soldier.
Int.
I perceive, sir, by the general's looks, we shall
be fain to hang you.
Par.
My life, sir, in any case; not that I am afraid
to die; but that my offences being many, I would
repent out the remainder of nature. Let me live, sir,
in a dungeon, i'th' stocks, any where, so I may live.
-- 284 --
Int.
We'll see what may be done, so you confess
freely; therefore, once more to this Captain Dumain:
you have answer'd to his reputation with the duke,
and to his valour. What is his honesty?
Par.
He will steal, sir, an egg out of a cloister;
for rapes and ravishments, he parallels Nessus. He
professes no keeping of oaths; in breaking them he is
stronger than Hercules. He will lie, sir, with such volubility,
that you would think truth were a fool;
drunkenness is his best virtue, for he will be swine-drunk,
and in his sleep he does little harm, save to
his bed-cloaths about him; they know his conditions,
and lay him in straw. I have but little more
to say, sir, of his honesty; he has every thing that an
honest man should not have; what an honest man
should have, he has nothing.* note
Int.
His qualities being at this poor price, I need
not to ask you, if gold will corrupt him to revolt.
Par.
Sir, for a fifteen-pence he will sell the fee-simple
of his salvation.
Int.
What's his brother, the other Captain Dumain?
2 Lord.
Don't ask him of me.
Ber.
By your leave but he shall.
Par.
He is a crow o' th' same nest; not altogether so
great as the first, in goodness, but greater a great deal,
in evil. He excels his brother for a coward, yet his
brother is reputed one of the best that is. In a retreat
-- 285 --
he out-runs any lacquey; marry, in coming on he has
the cramp.
Int.
If your life be saved, will you undertake to betray
the Florentine?
Par.
Ay, and the captain of his horse, Count Rousillon.
Int.
I'll whisper with the general, and know his
pleasure.
Par.
I'll no more drumming, a plague of all drums!
who would have suspected an ambush where I was taken?
[Aside.
Int.
There is no remedy, sir, but your must die; the
the general says, you, that have so traiterously discovered
the secrets of your army, and made such pestiferous reports
of men very nobly held, can serve the world for
no honest use; therefore you must die. Come, headsman,
off with his head.
Par.
O lord, sit, let me live, or let me see my death.
Int.
That shall you, and take your leave of all your
friends.
[Unbinding him.
So, look about you; know you any here?
Ber.
Good morrow, noble captain.
2 Lord.
God bless you, Captain Parolles.
1 Lord.
God save you, noble captain.
2 Lord.
Captain, what greeting will you to my
Lord Lafeu? I am for France.
1 Lord.
Good captain, will you give me a copy of
that same sonnet you writ to Diana, in behalf of the
Count Rousillon? If I were not a very coward, I'd compel
it of you; but fare you well.
[Exeunt.
Int.
You are undone, captain, all but your scarf;
that has a knot on't, yet.
Par.
Who cannot be crush'd with a plot?
Int.
If you could find out a country where but women
were that had receiv'd so much shame, you might
begin an impudent nation. Fare you well, sir, I am
for France too, we shall speak of you there?
[Exit.
Par.
Yet am I thankful: if my heart were great,
'Twould burst at this. Captain I'll be no more;
But I will eat and drink, and sleep as soft,
-- 286 --
As captain shall. Simply the thing I am
Shall make me live: who knows himself a braggart,
Let him fear this; for it will come to pass,
That every braggart shall be found an ass.* note
[Exit.
Scene
SCENE changes to the Widow's House at Florence.
Enter Helena, Widow, and Diana.
Hel.
That you may well perceive I have not wrong'd you,
One of the greatest in the christian world,
Shall be my surety. I duly am inform'd,
His grace is at Marseilles, to which place
We have convenient convoy; you must know,
I am supposed dead; the army breaking,
My husband hies him home; where, heaven aiding,
And by the leave of my good lord the king,
We'll be before our welcome.
Wid.
Gentle madam,
You never had a servant, to whose trust
Your business was more welcome.
Hel.
Nor you, mistress,
Ever a friend, whose thoughts more truly labour
To recompense your love. You, Diana,
Under my poor instructions, yet must suffer
Something in my behalf.
Dia.
Let death and honesty
Go with your impositions, I am yours,
Upon your will to suffer.
Hel.
We must away;
Our carriage is prepar'd, and time revives us.
[Exeunt.
End of the Fourth Act.
-- 287 --
note
ACT V.* [Footnote:
Scene
SCENE, Rousillon in France.
Enter Countess, Lafeu, and Clown.
Lafeu.
No, no, no, your son was misled with a snipttaffata
fellow there, whose villanous saffron
would have made all the unbak'd and doughy youth of
a nation in his colour. Your daughter-in-law had been
alive at this hour; and your son here at home more
advanc'd by the king.
Count.
I would, I had not known him! it was the
death of the most virtuous gentlewoman that ever nature
had praise for creating; if she had partaken of my
flesh, and cost me the dearest groans of a mother, I
could not have owed her a more rooted love.
Laf.
'Twas a good lady, 'twas a good lady. We may
pick a thousand sallets ere we light on such another herb.
Clo.
Indeed, sir, she was the sweet marjorum of the
sallet, or rather the herb of grace.
Laf.
Whether dost thou profess thyself, a knave or
a fool?
Clo.
A fool, sir, at a woman's service; and a knave
at a man's.
Laf.
I will subscribe for thee, thou art both knave
and fool.
Clo.
At your service.
Laf.
No, no, no,
Clo.
Why, sir, if I cannot serve you, I can serve as
great a prince as you are.
Laf.
What prince is that?
Clo.
The black prince, sir, alias the prince of darkness,
alias Monsieur Belzebub.
-- 288 --
Laf.
Hold thee, there's my purse; I give thee not
this to seduce thee from the master thou talk'st of, serve
him still. Go thy ways, let my horses be well look'd
to, without any tricks.
Clo.
If I put any tricks upon 'em, they shall be jades'
tricks, which are their own right by the law of nature.
[Exit.
Laf.
A shrewd knave. I was about to tell you,
since I heard of the good lady's death, and that my
lord your son was upon his return home, I mov'd the
king my master to speak in the behalf of my daughter;
which, in the minority of them both, his majesty, out
of a self-gracious remembrance, did first propose: his
highness hath promised me to do it; and to stop up the
displeasure he hath conceiv'd against your son, there is
no fitter matter. How does your ladyship like it?
Count.
With very much content, my lord, and I wish
it happily effected.
Laf.
His highness comes post from Marseilles, of as
able a body as when he number'd thirty; he will be
here, to-morrow, or I am deceived.
Count.
It rejoices me, that, I hope, I shall see him
ere I die. I have letters, that my son will be here, tonight:
I shall beseech your lordship to remain with me,
'till they meet together.
Enter Clown.
Clo.
O madam, yonders my lord your son with a
patch of velvet on's face; whether there be a scar under't,
or no, the velvet knows.
Count.
A scar nobly got, or a noble scar, is a good
livery of honour. So, belike, is that.
Laf.
Let us go see your son, I pray you: I long to
talk with the young noble soldier.
Clo.
'Faith there's a dozen of 'em, with delicate fine
hats and most courteous feathers, which bow the head,
and nod at every man.
[Exeunt Count. and Lafeu.* note
-- 289 --
Enter Parolles.
Par.
Good Mr. Levatch, give my lord Lafeu this
letter; I have ere now, sir, been better known to you,
when I have held familiarity with fresher cloaths; but
I am now, sir, muddied in fortune's moat, and smell
somewhat strong of her strong displeasure.
Clo.
Truly, fortune's displeasure is but fluttish, if it
smell so strongly as thou speak'st of: I will henceforth
eat no fish of fortune's butt'ring. Pr'ythee, allow the
wind.
Par.
Nay, you need not stop your nose, sir; I spake
but by a metaphor.
Clo.
Indeed, sir, if your metaphor stink, I will stop
my nose against any man's metaphor. Pr'ythee get thee
further.
Par.
Pray you, sir, deliver me this paper.
Clo.
Foh! pr'ythee, stand away; a paper from fortune's
close stool, to give to a nobleman! look, here he
comes himself.* note
Enter Lafeu.
Here is a pur of fortune's, sir, or fortune's cat, (but
not a musk cat;) that hath fall'n into the unclean fishpond
of her displeasure, and, as he says, is muddied
withal. Pray you, sir, use the carp as you may; for
he looks like a poor decayed, ingenious, foolish, rascally
knave. I do pity his distress in my similies of comfort,
and leave him to your lordship.
Par.
My lord, I am a man whom fortune hath cruelly
scratch'd.
Laf.
And what would you have me to do? 'tis too
late to pare her nails now. There's something for you;
let the justices make you and fortune friends; I am
for other business.
Par.
My name, my good lord, is Parolles.
Laf.
Give me your hand: how does your drum?
-- 290 --
Par.
O my good lord, you were the first, that found
me.
Laf.
Was I, in sooth? and I was the first, that lost
thee.
Par.
It lies in you, my lord, to bring me in some
grace, for you did bring me out.
[Sound Trumpets.
Laf.
The king's coming, I know, by his trumpets.
Sirrah, inquire further after me, I had talk of you, last
night; tho' you are a fool and a knave, you shall eat;
go to, follow.
Par.
I praise heav'n for you.
[Exeunt.
Scene
SCENE, the Palace.
Flourish. Enter King, Countess, Lafeu, the two French
Lords with Attendants.
Count.
'Tis past, my leige;
And I beseech your majesty to make it
Natural rebellion, done i' th' blade of youth,
When oil and fire, too strong for reason's force,
O'erbears it, and burns on.
King.
My honour'd lady,
I have forgiven and forgotten all.
Laf.
This I must say,
But first I beg my pardon; the young lord
Did to his majesty, his mother, and his lady,
Offence of mighty note; but to himself
The greatest wrong of all. He lost a wife,
Whose beauty did astonish the survey
Of richest eyes; whose words all ears took captive;
Whose dear perfection, hearts, that scorn'd to serve,
Humbly call'd mistress.
King.
Praising what is lost,
Makes the remembrance dear. Well—call him hither;
We're reconcil'd, and the first view shall kill
All repetition. Let him approach,
A stranger, no offender; and inform him,
So 'tis our will he should.
2 Gent.
I shall, my liege.
[Exit.
King.
What says he to your daughter? Have you spoke?
-- 291 --
Laf.
All, that he is, hath reference to your highness.
King.
Then shall we have a march. I have letters sent me,
That set him high in fame.
Enter Bertram.
Ber.
My high repented blames,
Dear sovereign, pardon to me.
King.
All is whole,
Not one word more of the consumed time,
Let's take the instant by the forward top;
You remember
The daughter of this lord?
Ber.
Admiringly, my liege. At first
I stuck my choice upon her, ere my heart
Durst make too bold a herald of my tongue:* note
Thence it came,
That she, whom all men prais'd, and whom myself,
Since I have lost, have lov'd, was in mine eye
The dust that did offend it.
King.
Well excus'd:—
That thou dost love her strikes some scores away,
From the great 'compt.† note
-- 292 --
Send forth your amorous token for fair Maudlin,
The main consents are had, and here we'll stay,
To see our widower's second marriage day.
Laf.
Come on, my son, in whom my house's name
Must be digested: give a favour from you
To sparkle in the spirits of my daughter,
That she may quickly come. By my old beard,
And ev'ry hair that's on't, Helen, that's dead,
Was a sweet creature: such a ring as this,
The last that e'er she took her leave at court,
I saw upon her finger.* note
Ber.
Her's it was not.
King.
Now, pray you, let me see it: For mine eye,
While I was speaking, oft was fasten'd to't.
This ring was mine; and, when I gave it Helen,
I bade her, if her fortunes ever stood
Necessitied to help, that by this token
I would relieve her, Had you that craft to reave her
Of what should stead her most?
Ber.
My gracious sovereign,
Howe'er it pleases you to take it so,
The ring was never her's.
Count.
Son, on my life,
I've seen her wear it, and she reckon'd it
At her life's rate.
Laf.
I'm sure, I saw her wear it.
Ber.
You are deceiv'd, my lord, she never saw it;
In Florence was it from a casement thrown me,
Wrap'd in a paper, which contain'd the name
Of her that threw it.
King.
'Twas mine, 'twas Helen's,
Whoever gave it you: then if you know,
That you are well acquainted with yourself,
Confess 'twas hers, and by what rough enforcement,
You got it from her. She call'd the saints to surety,
That she would never put it from her finger,
Unless she gave it to yourself in bed,
-- 293 --
(Where you have never come) or sent it us,
Upon her great disaster.
Ber.
She never saw it.
King.
Thou speak'st it falsely, as I love mine honour;
And mak'st conject'ral fears to come into me,
Which I would fain shut out;
Thou didst hate her, deadly,
And she is dead; which nothing, but to close
Her eyes myself, could win me to believe,
More than to see this ring. Take him away.
[Guards seize Bertram.
Ber.
If you shall prove
This ring was over hers, you shall as easy
Prove that I husbanded her bed in Florence,
Where yet she never was.
[Exit Bertram guarded.
Enter a Gentleman.
King.
I'm wrap'd in dismal thinkings.
Gent.
Gracious sovereign,
Whether I've been to blame or no, I know not:
Here's a petition from a Florentine;
Her business looks in her
With an importing visage; and she told me,
In a sweet verbal brief, it did concern
Your highness, with herself.
The King reads a Letter.
Upon his many protestations to marry me, when his
wife was dead, I blush to say it, he won me. Now is
the Count Rousillon a widower, his vows are forfeited
to me, and my honour's paid to him. He stole from Florence,
taking no leave, and I follow him to this country
for justice: grant it me, O king! in you it best lies; otherwise
a seducer flourishes, and a poor maid is undone.
Diana Capulet.
Laf.
I will buy me a son-in-law in a fair, and toll
for him. I'll none of this.
-- 294 --
King.
The heavens have thought well on thee, Lafeu,
To bring forth this discov'ry. Seek these suitors;
Go speedily, and bring again the count.
Enter Bertram.
I am afraid the life of Helen, lady,
Was foully snatch'd.
Count.
Now justice on the doers!
King.
I wonder, sir, wives are so monstrous to you,
And that you fly them as you swear to them:
Yet you desire to wed. What woman's that?
Enter Widow and Diana.
Dia.
I am, my lord, a wretched Florentine,
Derived from the antient Capulet;
My suit, as I do understand, you know,
And therefore know how far I may be pitied.
Wid.
I am her mother, sir, whose age and honour
Both suffer under this complaint we bring,
And both shall cease, without your remedy.
King.
Come hither, count; do you know these women?
Ber.
My lord, I neither can, nor will, deny
But that I know them; do they charge me further?
Dia.
Why do you look so strange upon your wife?
Ber.
She's none of mine, my lord.
Dia.
If you shall marry,
You give away this hand, and that is mine;
You give away heav'n's vows, and those are mine;
You give away myself, which is known mine;
For I by vow am so embodied yours,
That she, which marries you, must marry me,
Either both or none.
King.
What say'st thou to her?
Ber.
She's impudent, my lord;
And was a common gamester to the camp.* note
-- 295 --
Dia.
He does me wrong, my lord; if I were so,
He might have bought me at a common price.
Do not believe him. O behold this ring,
Whose high respect and rich validity
Did lack a parallel: yet for all that,
He gave it to a commoner o'th' camp,
If I be one.
Count.
He blushes, and 'tis his:
Of six preceding ancestors, that gem,
Confer'd by testament to th' sequent issue,
Hath it been own'd and worn. This is his wife,
That ring's a thousand proofs.
King.
Methought, you said,
You saw one here in court could witness it.
Dia.
I did, my lord, but loth am to produce
So bad an instrument; his name's Parolles.
Laf.
I saw the man, to-day, if man he be.
King.
Find him, and bring him hither.
Ber.
What of him?
He's quoted for a most perfidious slave,
With all the spots o'th' world tax'd and debosh'd,
Which nature sickens with.
Am I or that or this, for what he'll utter,
That will speak any thing?
King.
She hath that ring of yours.
Ber.
I think she has; certain it is I lik'd her,
And courted her i'th' wanton way of youth:
She knew her distance, and did angle for me,
Madding my eagerness with her restraint:
As all impediments in fancy's course,
Are motives of more fancy: and in fine,
She got the ring;
And I had that, which any inferior might
At market-price have bought.
Dia.
I must be patient:
You, that turn'd off a first so noble wife,
May justly diet me. I pray you, yet,
(Since you lack virtue, I will lose a husband)
Send for your ring, I will return it home,
And give me mine again.
-- 296 --
Ber.
I have it not.
King.
What ring was yours, I pray you?
Dia.
Sir, much like the same upon your finger.
King.
Know you this ring? This ring was his, of late.
Dia.
And this was it I gave him, being a-bed.
King.
The story then goes false, you threw it him,
Out of a casement.
Dia.
I have spoke the truth.
Enter Parolles and Clown.
Ber.
My lord, I do confess the ring was hers.
King.
You boggle shrewdly, every feather starts you!—
Is this the man you speak of?
Dia.
It is, my lord.
King.
Tell me, sirrah, but tell me true, I charge you,
Not fearing the displeasure of your master,
Which, on your just proceeding, I'll keep off:
By him and by this woman here, what know you?
Par.
So please your majesty, my master hath been
an honourable gentleman. Tricks he hath had in him,
which gentlemen have.
King.
Come, come, to the purpose; did he love
this woman?
Par.
'Faith, sir, he did love her; but how?
King.
How, I pray you?
Par.
He did love her, sir, as a gentleman loves a
woman.
King.
How is that?
Par.
He lov'd her, sir, and lov'd her not.
King.
What an equivocal companion is this!
Par.
I am a poor man, and at your majesty's command.
Laf.
He's a good drum, my lord, but a naughty
orator.
Dia.
Do you know he promis'd me marriage?
Par.
'Faith, I know more than I'll speak.
-- 297 --
King.
But wilt thou not speak all thou know'st?
Par.
Yes, so please your majesty. I did go between
them, as I said; but more than that, he lov'd
her: for, indeed, he was mad for her, and talk'd of
Satan, and of limbo, and of furies, and I know not
what; yet I was in that credit with them, at that
time, that I knew of their going to bed, and of other
motions, as promising her marriage, and things that
would derive me ill will to speak of; therefore I
will not speak what I know.‡ note
King.
Thou hast spoken all, already, unless thou
canst say they are married; but thou art too fine in
thy evidence; therefore stand aside. This ring, you
say, was yours?
Dia.
Ay, my good lord.
King.
Where did you buy it? or who gave it you?
Dia.
It was not given me, nor did I buy it.
King.
Who lent it you?
Dia.
It was not lent me, neither.
King.
Where did you find it, then?
Dia.
I found it not.
King.
If it were yours by none of all these ways,
How could you give it him?
Dia.
I never gave it him.
Laf.
This woman's an easy glove, my lord, she
goes off and on, at pleasure.
King.
This ring was mine, I gave it his first wife.
Dia.
It might be yours, or hers, for aught I know.
King.
Take her away, I do not like her now;
To prison with her: and away with him.
Unless thou tell'st me where thou hadst this ring,
Thou diest within this hour.
Dia.
I'll never tell you.
King.
Take her away.§ note
Dia.
I'll put in bail, my liege.
-- 298 --
King.
I think thee now some common customer.
Dia.
By Jove, if ever I knew man, 'twas you.
King.
Wherefore hast thou accus'd him, all this while?
Dia.
Because he's guilty, and he is not guilty;
He knows I am no maid, and he'll swear to't;
I'll swear I am a maid, and he knows not.
Great king, I am no strumpet, by my life;
I'm either maid, or else this old man's wife.&verbar2; note
[Pointing to Lafeu.
King.
She does abuse our ears; to prison with her.
Dia.
Good mother, fetch my bail. Stay, royal sir,
[Exit Widow.
The jeweller, that owes the ring, is sent for,
And he shall surety me. But for this lord,
[To Bert.
Who hath abus'd me, as he knows himself,
Tho' yet he never harm'd me, here I quit him.
He knows himself, my bed he hath defil'd,
And from that time his wife grew big with child.* note
And now behold the meaning.
Enter Helena, and Widow.
King.
Is there no exorcist
Beguiles the truer office of mine eyes?
Is't real, that I see?
Hel.
No, my good lord,
'Tis but a shadow of a wife you see,
The name, and not the thing.
Ber.
Both, both; oh, pardon!
Hel.
Oh, my good lord, when I was like this maid,
I found you wond'rous kind; there is your ring,
And look you, here's your letter.
Will you be mine, now you are doubly won?
-- 299 --
Ber.
If she, my liege, can make me know this clearly,
I'll love her dearly, ever, ever dearly.
Hel.
If it appear not plain, and prove untrue,
Deadly divorce step between me and you!
O my dear mother, do I see you living?
[To the Countess.
Laf.
Mine eyes smell onions, I shall weep anon:
Good Tom Drum, lend me a handkerchief,‡ note
[To Parolles.
King.
Let us from point to point this story know,
To make the even truth in pleasure flow:
If thou beest yet a fresh uncropped flower,
[To Diana.
Chuse thou thy husband, and I'll pay thy dower;† note
All yet seems well; and if it end so meet,
The bitter past, more welcome is the sweet.* note
[Exeunt.
End of the Fifth Act.
-- 300 --
EPILOGUE
Spoken by the KING.
The King's a beggar, now the play is done:
All is well ended, if this suit be won,
That you express content, which we will pay,
With strife to please you, day exceeding day;
Ours be your patience then, and yours our parts;
Your gentle hands lend us, and take our hearts.
