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.

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

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

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.

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.

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.

Laf.

Sirrah, your lord and master's married; there's news for you: you have a new mistress.

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.

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,

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.

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.

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.

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.

Ber.

Is she gone to the king?

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Clo.

O madam, yonder is heavy news within, between a gentleman and my young lady,

Count.

What is the matter?

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.

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.

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;

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.

Previous section

Next section