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.
John Bell [1774], Bell's Edition of Shakespeare's Plays, As they are now performed at the Theatres Royal in London; Regulated from the Prompt Books of each House By Permission; with Notes Critical and Illustrative; By the Authors of the Dramatic Censor (Printed for John Bell... and C. Etherington [etc.], York) [word count] [S10401].
