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?

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

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,

(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.

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

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.

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.

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.

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?

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.

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.

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