SCENE I.
The Countess of Rousillon's house in France.
Enter Bertram, the Countess of Rousillon, Helena, and Lafeu, all in black.
Count.
5 note
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
-- 4 --
command, to whom I am now 6 note
in ward, evermore
in subjection.
Laf.
You shall find of the king a husband, madam;
—you, sir, a father: He that so generally is at
all times good, must of necessity hold his virtue to
you; 7 notewhose worthiness would stir it up where it
wanted, rather than lack it where there is such abundance.
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.
8 note
This young gentlewoman had a father,
(O, that had! how sad a passage 'tis) 9Q0393 whose skill
-- 5 --
was almost as great as his honesty; had it stretch'd
so far, it would have made nature immortal, and death
should have play'd for lack of work. 'Would, for
the king's sake, he were living! I think, it would be
the death of the king's disease.
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; the king
very lately spoke of him, admiringly, and mourningly:
-- 6 --
he was skilful enough to have liv'd still, if
knowledge could have been set up against mortality.
Ber.
What is it, my good lord, the king languishes
of?
Laf.
A fistula, my lord.
Ber.
I heard not of it before.
Laf.
I would, it were not notorious.—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 dispositions she inherits,
which makes fair gifts fairer: for 9 note
where an
unclean mind carries virtuous qualities, there commendations
go with pity, they are virtues and traitors
-- 7 --
too; in her they are the better for their simpleness;
she derives her honesty, and atchieves her goodness.
Laf.
Your commendations, madam, get from her
tears.
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 1 noteall 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.
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.
Count.
2 note
If the living be enemy to the grief, the
excess makes it soon mortal.
-- 8 --
Ber.
Madam, I desire your holy wishes.
Laf.
How understand we that?
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 birth-right! 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 heaven more will,
3 noteThat thee may furnish, and my prayers pluck down,
Fall on thy head! Farewell. My lord,
'Tis an unseason'd courtier, good my lord,
Advise him.
Laf.
He cannot want the best,
That shall attend his love.
Count.
Heaven bless him! Farewell, Bertram.
[Exit Countess.
Ber. [To Helena.]
4 noteThe 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 Bertram and Lafeu.
-- 9 --
Hel.
Oh, were that all!—I think not on my father;
5 noteAnd these great tears grace his remembrance more,
Than those I shed for him. What was he like?
I have forgot him: my imagination
Carries no favour in it, but Bertram's.
I am undone; there is no living, none,
If Bertram be away. It were all one,
That I should love a bright particular star,
And think to wed it, he is so above me:
6 note
In his bright radiance and collateral light
Must I be comforted, not in his sphere.
The ambition in my love thus plagues itself:
The hind, that would be mated by the lion,
Must die for love. 'Twas pretty, though a plague,
To see him every hour; to sit and draw
His arched brows, his hawking eye, his curls,
In our heart's table; heart, too capable
Of every line and 7 note
trick of his sweet favour,
But now he's gone, and my idolatrous fancy
Must sanctify his relicks. Who comes here?
Enter Parolles.
One that goes with him: I love him for his sake;
And yet I know him a notorious liar,
-- 10 --
Think him a great way fool, solely a coward;
Yet these fix'd evils sit so fit in him,
That they take place, when virtue's steely bones
Look bleak in the cold wind: withal, full oft we see
8 noteCold wisdom waiting on superfluous folly.
Par.
Save you, fair queen.
Hel.
And you, monarch9 note.
Par.
No.
Hel.
And no.
Par.
Are you meditating on virginity?
Hel.
Ay. You have some 1 note
stain of soldier in you;
let me ask you a question: Man is enemy to virginity;
how may we barricado it against him?
Par.
Keep him out.
Hel.
But he assails; and our virginity, though valiant,
in the defence yet is weak: unfold to us some
warlike resistance.
Par.
There is none; man, sitting down before you,
will undermine you, and blow you up.
Hel.
Bless our poor virginity from underminers, and
-- 11 --
blowers up!—Is there no military policy, how virgins
might blow up men?
Par.
Virginity being blown down, man will quicklier
be blown up: marry, in blowing him down again,
with the breach yourselves made, you lose your city.
It is not politick in the commonwealth of nature, to
preserve virginity. 2 note
Loss of virginity is rational increase;
and there was never virgin got, till virginity
was first lost. That, you were made of, is metal to
make virgins. Virginity, by being once lost, may be
ten times found: by being ever kept, is ever lost:
'tis too cold a companion; away with it.
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 mothers; which is most infallible disobedience.
3 note
He, that hangs himself, is a virgin: virginity
murders itself; and should be buried in highways,
out of all sanctified limit, as a desperate offendress
against nature. Virginity breeds mites, much
like a cheese; consumes itself to the very paring, and
-- 12 --
so dies with feeding its own stomach. Besides, virginity
is peevish, proud, idle, made of self-love, which
is the most inhibited sin4 note
in the canon. Keep it not;
you cannot chuse but lose by't: Out with't: within
ten years it will make itself two5 note, which is a goodly increase;
and the principal itself not much the worse:
Away with't.
Hel.
How might one do, sir, to lose it to her own
liking?
Par.
Let me see: 6 noteMarry, ill, to like him that
ne'er it likes. '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: just like the
brooch and the tooth-pick, which7 note wear not now: Your
date8 note
is better in your pye and your porridge, than
in your cheek: And your virginity, your old virginity,
-- 13 --
is like one of our French wither'd pears: it looks ill,
it eats dryly; marry, 'tis a wither'd pear: it was formerly
better; marry, 9 noteyet, 'tis a wither'd pear:
Will you any thing with it?
Hel.
1 note
Not my virginity yet.
There shall your master have a thousand loves,
A mother, and a mistress, and a friend,
-- 14 --
2 note
A phœnix, captain, and an enemy,
A guide, a goddess, and a sovereign,
A counsellor, a 3 note
traitress, and a dear;
His humble ambition, proud humility,
His jarring concord, and his discord dulcet,
His faith, his sweet disaster; with a world
Of pretty, fond, adoptious christendoms4 note,
That blinking Cupid gossips. Now shall he—
I know not what he shall:—God send him well!—
The court's a learning place;—and he is one—
-- 15 --
Par.
What one, i'faith?
Hel.
That I wish well.—'Tis pity—
Par.
What's pity?
Hel.
That wishing well had not a body in't,
Which might be felt: that we, the poorer born,
Whose baser stars do shut us up in wishes,
Might with effects of them follow our friends,
5 noteAnd shew what we alone must think; which never
Returns us thanks.
Enter Page.
Page.
Monsieur Parolles, my lord calls for you.
[Exit page.
Par.
Little Helen, farewel: 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.
Hel.
I especially think, under Mars.
Par.
Why under Mars?
Hel.
The wars have kept you so under, that you
must needs be born under Mars.
Par.
When he was predominant.
Hel.
When he was retrograde, I think, rather.
Par.
Why think you so?
Hel.
You go so much backward, when you fight.
Par.
That's for advantage.
Hel.
So is running away, when fear proposes the
safety: But the composition, that your valour and
fear makes in you, 6 note
is a virtue of a good wing, and
I like the wear well.
-- 16 --
Par.
I am so full of businesses, I cannot answer
thee acutely: I will return perfect courtier; in the
which, my instruction shall serve to naturalize thee,
so thou wilt be capable of courtier's counsel, and understand
what advice shall thrust upon thee; else thou
diest in thine unthankfulness, and thine ignorance
makes thee away; farewel. When thou hast leisure,
say thy prayers; when thou hast none, remember
-- 17 --
thy friends: get thee a good husband, and use him
as he uses thee: so farewel.
[Exit.
Hel.
Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie,
Which we ascribe to heaven: the fated sky
Gives us free scope; only, doth backward pull
Our slow designs, when we ourselves are dull.
7 note
What power is it, which mounts my love so high;
That makes me see, and cannot feed mine eye?
8 note
The mightiest space 9Q0397 in fortune nature brings
To join like likes, and kiss like native things.
-- 18 --
Impossible be strange attempts, to those
That weigh their pain in sense; and do suppose,
What hath been cannot be: Whoever strove
To shew her merit, that did miss her love?
The king's disease—my project may deceive me,
But my intents are fix'd, and will not leave me.
[Exit.
SCENE II.
The court of France.
Flourish cornets. Enter the king of France, with letters, and divers attendants.
King.
The Florentines and 9 noteSenoys are by the ears;
Have fought with equal fortune, and continue
A braving war.
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 amplest 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.
-- 19 --
2 Lord.
It may well serve
A nursery to our gentry, who are sick
For breathing and exploit.
King.
What's he comes here?
Enter Bertram, Lafeu, and Parolles.
1 Lord.
It is the count Rousillon1 note, 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! He did look far
Into the service of the time, and was
Discipled of the bravest: he lasted long;
But on us both did haggish age steal on,
And wore us out of act. It much repairs me
To talk of your good father: In his youth
2 note
He had the wit, which I can well observe
-- 20 --
To-day in our young lords; but they may jest,
Till their own scorn return to them unnoted,
Ere they can hide their levity in honour.
3 note
So like a courtier, contempt nor bitterness
Were in his pride or sharpness; if they were,
His equal had awak'd them; and his honour,
Clock to itself, knew the true minute when
Exception bid him speak, and, at that time,
4 note
His tongue obey'd his hand: who were below him
-- 21 --
5 noteHe us'd as creatures of another place;
And bow'd his eminent top to their low ranks,
6 note
Making them proud of his humility,
In their poor praise he humbled: Such a man
Might be a copy to these younger times;
Which, follow'd well, would demonstrate them now
But goers backward.
Ber.
His good remembrance, sir,
Lies richer in your thoughts, than on his tomb;
7 note
So in approof lives not his epitaph,
As in your royal speech.
-- 22 --
King.
Would, I were with him! He would always say,
(Methinks, I hear him now; his plausive words
He scatter'd not in ears, but grafted them
To grow there, and to bear)—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
8 note
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 labourer room.
2 Lord.
You are lov'd, sir;
They, that least lend it you, shall lack you first.
King.
I fill a place, I know't.—How long is't, count,
-- 23 --
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.
[Flourish. Exeunt.
SCENE III.
A room in the count's palace.
Enter Countess, Steward, and Clown9 note
.
Count.
I will now hear: what say you of this gentlewoman?
-- 24 --
Stew.
Madam, the care I have had to 1 noteeven your
content, I wish might be found in the calendar of my
past endeavours; for then we wound our modesty,
and make foul the clearness of our deservings, when
of ourselves we publish them.
Count.
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, you2 note
lack not folly to commit them, and have
ability enough to make such knaveries yours.
Clo.
'Tis not unknown to you, madam, that I am a
poor fellow.
Count.
Well, sir.
Clo.
No, madam, 'tis not so well, that I am poor;
though many of the rich are damn'd: But, if I may
-- 25 --
have your ladyship's good will to go to the world3 note,
Isbel the woman and I will do as we may.
Count.
Wilt thou needs be a beggar?
Clo.
I do beg your good will in this case.
Count.
In what case?
Clo.
In Isbel's case, and mine own. Service is no
heritage: and, I think, I shall never have the blessing
of God, 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.
Count.
Is this all your worship's reason?
Clo.
Faith, madam, I have other holy reasons, such
as they are.
Count.
May the world know them?
Clo.
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.
You are shallow, madam, in great friends4 note
;
for the knaves come to do that for me, which I am a
-- 26 --
weary of. He, that ears my land5 note
, spares my team,
and gives me leave to inn 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 cherishes
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' the herd.
Count.
Wilt thou ever be a foul-mouth'd and calumnious
knave?
Clo.
6 note
A prophet, I, madam; and I speak the truth
the next way:
For I the ballad will repeat,
Which men full true shall find;
-- 27 --
Your marriage comes by destiny,
Your cuckoo sings by kind7 note
.
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.
8 note
Was this fair face the cause, quoth she,
[Singing.
Why the Grecians sacked Troy?
Fond done, done fond9 note
,
Was this king Priam's joy.
With that she sighed as she stood,
With that she sighed as she stood1 note,
And gave this sentence then;
-- 28 --
Among nine bad if one be good,
2 note
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' the song: 'Would God 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 star3 note, or at an earthquake, 'twould
mend the lottery well; a man may draw his heart out,
ere he pluck one.
Count.
You'll be gone, sir knave, and do as I command
you?
Clo.
4 note
That man should be at a woman's command,
-- 29 --
and yet no hurt done!—Though honesty be no puritan,
yet it will do no hurt; it will wear the surplice
of humility over the black gown of a big heart.—I
am going, forsooth: the business is for Helen to
come hither.
[Exit.
Count.
Well, now.
Stew.
I know, madam, you love your gentlewoman
intirely.
Count.
Faith, I do: her father bequeath'd her to me;
and she herself, without other advantage, 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
-- 30 --
son: 5 note
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; Diana, no queen of virgins,
that would suffer her poor knight to be surprised
without rescue in the first assault, or ransom
afterward: This she deliver'd in the most bitter
touch of sorrow, that e'er I heard a virgin exclaim
in: which I held my duty, speedily to acquaint you
withal; sithence, in the loss that may happen, it concerns
you something to know it.
Count.
You have discharg'd this honestly; keep it
to yourself: many likelihoods inform'd me of this
before, which hung so tottering in the balance, that
I could neither believe, nor misdoubt: 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.
Enter Helena.
Count.
Even so it was with me, when I was young:
If we are nature's6 note, these are ours; this thorn
-- 31 --
Doth to our rose of youth rightly belong;
Our blood to us, this to our blood is born;
It is the shew and seal of nature's truth,
Where love's strong passion is imprest in youth:
7 noteBy our remembrances of days foregone,
8 note
Such were our faults, O! then we thought them none.
Her eye is sick on't; I observe her now.
Hel.
What is your pleasure, madam?
Count.
You know, Helen,
I am a mother to you.
Hel.
Mine honourable mistress.
Count.
Nay, a mother;
Why not a mother? When I said, a mother,
Methought you saw a serpent: What's in mother,
That you start at it? I say, I am 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 oppress'd me with a mother's groan,
Yet I express to you a mother's care:—
God's mercy, maiden! does it curd thy blood,
To say, I am thy mother? What's the matter,
That this distemper'd messenger of wet,
The many-colour'd Iris, rounds thine eye?
Why?—that you are my daughter?
Hel.
That I am not.
Count.
I say, I am your mother.
Hel.
Pardon, madam;
The count Rousillon cannot be my brother:
I am from humble, he from honour'd name;
-- 32 --
No note upon my parents, his all noble:
My master, my dear lord he is; and I
His servant live, and will his vassal die:
He must not be my brother.
Count.
Nor I your mother?
Hel.
You are my mother, madam; 'Would you were
(So that my lord, your son, were not my brother)
Indeed, my mother!—9 note
or were you both our mothers,
I care no more for, than I do for heaven,
So I were not his sister: 1 note
Can't no other,
But, I your daughter, he must be my brother?
-- 33 --
Count.
Yes, Helen, you might be my daughter-in-law;
God shield, you mean it not! daughter, and mother,
So strive upon your pulse: What, pale again?
My fear hath catch'd your fondness: 2 note
Now I see
The mystery of your loneliness, and find
3 noteYour salt tears' head. Now to all sense 'tis gross,
You love my son; invention is asham'd,
Against the proclamation of thy passion,
To say, thou dost not: therefore tell me true;
But tell me then, 'tis so:—for, look, thy cheeks
Confess it one to the other; and thine eyes
See it so grosly shewn in thy behaviours,
That in their kind they speak it; only sin
And hellish obstinacy tie thy tongue,
That truth should be suspected: Speak, is't so?
If it be so, you have wound a goodly clue;
If it be not, forswear't: howe'er, I charge thee,
As heaven shall work in me for thine avail,
To tell me truly.
Hel.
Good madam, pardon me!
-- 34 --
Count.
Do you love my son?
Hel.
Your pardon, noble mistress!
Count.
Love you my son?
Hel.
Do not you love him, madam?
Count.
Go not about; my love hath in't a bond,
Whereof the world takes note: come, come, disclose
The state of your affection; for your passions
Have to the full appeach'd.
Hel.
Then, I confess,
Here on my knee, before high heaven and you,
That before you, and next unto high heaven,
I love your son:—
My friends were poor, but honest; so's my love:
Be not offended; for it hurts not him,
That he is lov'd of me: I follow him not
By any token of presumptuous suit;
Nor would I have him, 'till I do deserve him;
Yet never know how that desert should be.
I know I love in vain, strive against hope;
Yet, in this 4 note
captious and intenible sieve, 9Q0403
I still pour in the waters of my love,
And lack not to lose still5 note
: thus, Indian-like,
Religious in mine error, I adore
The sun, that looks upon his worshipper,
But knows of him no more. My dearest madam,
Let not your hate encounter with my love,
For loving where you do: but, if yourself,
Whose aged honour cites a virtuous youth,
Did ever, in so true a flame of liking,
Wish chastly, and love dearly, that your Dian
-- 35 --
Was both herself and love; O then, give pity
To her, whose state is such, that cannot chuse
But lend and give, where she is sure to lose;
That seeks not to find that, her search implies,
But, riddle-like, lives sweetly where she dies.
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 itself, I swear.
You know, my father left me some prescriptions
Of rare and prov'd effects, such as his reading,
And manifest experience, had collected
For general sovereignty; and that he will'd me
In heedfullest reservation to bestow them,
As 6 notenotes, whose faculties inclusive were,
More than they were in note: 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;
Else Paris, and the medicine, and the king,
Had, from the conversation of my thoughts,
Haply, been absent then.
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, when the schools,
-- 36 --
Embowell'd of their doctrine7 note
, have left off
The danger to itself?
Hel.
8 note
There's something hints,
More than my father's skill, which was the greatest
Of his profession, that his good receipt
Shall, for my legacy, be sanctified
By the luckiest stars in heaven: 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.
Dost thou believe't?
Hel.
Ay, madam, knowingly.
Count.
Why, Helen, thou shalt have my leave, and love,
Means, and attendants, and my loving greetings
To those of mine in court; I'll stay at home,
And pray God's blessing into thy attempt9 note:
Be gone to-morrow; and be sure of this,
What I can help thee to, thou shalt not miss.
[Exeunt.
-- 37 --
ACT II.
SCENE I.
The Court of France.
Enter the King, with young lords taking leave for the Florentine war. Bertram and Parolles.
Flourish cornets.
King.
1 note
Farewel, young lords, these warlike principles
Do not throw from you:—and you, my lords, 2 note
farewel:—
Share the advice betwixt you; if both gain all,
The gift doth stretch itself as 'tis receiv'd,
And is enough for both.
-- 38 --
1 Lord.
'Tis our hope, sir,
After well-enter'd soldiers, to return
And find your grace in health.
King.
No, no, it cannot be; and yet my heart
Will not confess, he owes the malady
That does my life besiege. Farewel, young lords;
Whether I live or die, be you the sons
Of worthy Frenchmen: 3 note
let higher Italy
-- 39 --
(Those 'bated, that inherit but the fall
Of the last monarchy) see, that you come
Not to woo honour, but to wed it; when
The bravest questant shrinks, find what you seek,
That fame may cry you loud: I say, farewel.
2 Lord.
Health, at your bidding, serve your majesty!
King.
Those girls of Italy, take heed of them;
They say, our French lack language to deny,
If they demand: 4 note
beware of being captives,
Before you serve.
Both.
Our hearts receive your warnings.
King.
Farewel.—Come hither to me.
[The King retires to a couch.
1 Lord.
Oh my sweet lord, that you will stay behind us!
Par.
'Tis not his fault; the spark—
2 Lord.
Oh, 'tis brave wars!
Par.
Most admirable: I have seen those wars.
-- 40 --
Ber.
I am commanded here, and kept a coil with;
Too young, and the next year, and 'tis too early.
Par.
An thy mind stand to it, boy, steal away bravely.
Ber.
I shall stay here the forehorse to a smock,
Creaking my shoes on the plain masonry,
'Till honour be bought up, and no sword worn,
But one to dance with! By heaven, I'll steal away.
1 Lord.
There's honour in the theft.
Par.
Commit it, count.
2 Lord.
I am your accessary; and so farewel.
Ber.
6 note
I grow to you, and our parting is a tortur'd
body.
1 Lord.
Farewel, captain.
2 Lord.
Sweet monsieur Parolles!
Par.
Noble heroes, my sword and yours are kin.
Good sparks and lustrous, a word, good metals:—
5 noteYou 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
it: say to him, I live; and observe his reports
for me.
2 Lord.
We shall, noble captain.
-- 41 --
Par.
Mars doat on you for his novices! what will
you do?
Ber.
Stay; the king—
Par.
Use a more spacious ceremony to the noble
lords; you have restrain'd yourself within the list of
too cold an adieu: be more expressive to them; for
7 note
they wear themselves in the cap of the time, there
do muster true gait, eat, speak, and move under the
influence of the most receiv'd star; and though the
devil lead the measure, such are to be follow'd: after
them, and take a more dilated farewel.
Ber.
And I will do so.
Par.
Worthy fellows; and like to prove most
sinewy sword-men.
[Exeunt.
Enter Lafeu.
[Lafeu kneels.
Laf.
Pardon, my lord, for me and for my tidings.
King.
I'll see thee to stand up.
-- 42 --
Laf.
Then here's a man
Stands, that has bought his pardon8 note. I would, you
Had kneel'd, my lord, to ask me mercy; and
That, at my bidding, you could so stand up.
King.
I would I had; so I had broke thy pate,
And ask'd thee mercy for't.
Laf.
Goodfaith, 9 noteacross:—but, my good lord, 'tis thus;
Will you be cur'd of your infirmity?
King.
No.
Laf.
O, will you eat
No grapes, my royal fox? 1 noteyes, but you will,
My noble grapes, an if my royal fox
Could reach them: 2 note
I have seen a medecin,
That's able to breathe life into a stone;
Quicken a rock, and make you dance canary
With sprightly fire and motion; whose simple touch
Is powerful to araise king Pepin, nay,
To give great Charlemain a pen in his hand,
And write to her a love-line.
King.
What her is this?
-- 43 --
Laf.
Why, doctor she: My lord, 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, 3 noteher years, profession,
Wisdom, and constancy, hath amaz'd me more
Than I dare blame my weakness4 note: 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.
Laf.
Nay, I'll fit you,
And not be all day neither.
[Exit Lafeu.
King.
Thus he his special nothing ever prologues.
Laf. [Returns.]
Nay, come your ways.
[Bringing in Helena.
King.
This haste hath wings indeed.
Laf.
Nay, come your ways;
This is his majesty, say your mind to him:
A traitor you do look like; but such traitors
His majesty seldom fears: I am Cressid's uncle5 note,
That dare leave two 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 praises toward him;
Knowing him, is enough. On his bed of death
-- 44 --
Many receipts he gave me; chiefly one,
Which, as the dearest issue of his practice,
And of his old experience the only darling,
He bad me store up, as a triple eye6 note,
Safer than mine own two, more dear; I have so:
And, hearing your high majesty is touch'd
With that malignant cause wherein the honour7 note
Of my dear father's gift stands chief in power,
I come to tender it, and my appliance,
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 answer nature
From her inaidable estate,—I say we must not
So stain our judgment, or corrupt our hope,
To prostitute our past-cure malady
To empericks; or to dissever so
Our great self and our credit, to esteem
A senseless help, when help past sense we deem.
Hel.
My duty then shall pay me for my pains:
I will no more enforce mine office on you;
Humbly intreating from your royal thoughts
A modest one, to bear me back again.
King.
I cannot give thee less, to be call'd grateful:
Thou thought'st to help me; and such thanks I give,
As one near death to those that wish him live:
But, what at full I know, thou know'st no part;
I knowing all my peril, thou no art.
Hel.
What I can do, can do no hurt to try,
Since you set up your rest 'gainst remedy:
-- 45 --
He that of greatest works is finisher,
Oft does them by the weakest minister:
So holy writ in babes hath judgment shown,
When judges have been babes. Great floods have flown
From simple sources; and great seas have dry'd,
When miracles have by the greatest been deny'd8 note
.
Oft expectation fails, and most oft there
Where most it promises; and oft it hits,
Where hope is coldest, and despair most sits.
King.
I must not hear thee; fare thee well, kind maid;
Thy pains, not us'd, must by thyself be paid:
Proffers, not took, reap thanks for their reward.
Hel.
Inspired merit so by breath is barr'd:
It is not so with him that all things knows,
As 'tis with us that square our guess by shows:
But most it is presumption in us, when
The help of heaven we count the act of men.
Dear sir, to my endeavours give consent;
Of heaven, not me, make an experiment.
I am not an impostor, that proclaim
9 note
Myself against the level of mine aim;
But know I think, and think I know most sure,
My art is not past power, nor you past cure.
-- 46 --
King.
Art thou so confident? Within what space
Hop'st thou my cure?
Hel.
The greatest grace lending grace1 note,
Ere twice the horses of the sun shall bring
Their fiery torcher his diurnal ring;
Ere twice in murk and occidental damp
Moist Hesperus hath quench'd his sleepy lamp;
Or four and twenty times the pilot's glass
Hath told the thievish minutes how they pass;
What is infirm from your sound parts shall fly,
Health shall live free, and sickness freely die.
King.
Upon thy certainty and confidence,
What dar'st thou venture?
Hel.
Tax of impudence,
A strumpet's boldness, a divulged shame2 note
,
Traduc'd by odious ballads; my maiden's name
-- 47 --
Sear'd otherwise; no worse of worst extended,
With vilest torture let my life be ended.
King.
3 note
Methinks, in thee some blessed spirit doth speak;
His powerful sound, within an organ weak:
-- 48 --
And what impossibility would slay
In common sense, sense saves another way.
Thy life is dear; for all, that life can rate
Worth name of life, in thee hath estimate4 note;
5 noteYouth, beauty, wisdom, courage, virtue, all
That happiness and 6 note
prime, can happy call:
Thou this to hazard, needs must intimate
Skill infinite, or monstrous desperate.
Sweet practiser, thy physick I will try;
That ministers thine own death, if I die.
Hel.
If I break time, or flinch in property
Of what I spoke, unpitied let me die;
-- 49 --
And well deserv'd: Not helping, death's my fee;
But, if I help, what do you promise me?
King.
7 note
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 kingly hand,
What husband in thy power I will command:
Exempted be from me the arrogance
To chuse from forth the royal blood of France;
My low and humble name to propagate
With any branch or image of thy state8 note
:
But such a one, thy vassal, whom I know
Is free for me to ask, thee to bestow.
King.
Here is my hand; the premises observ'd,
Thy will by my performance shall be serv'd:
So make the choice of thine own time; for I,
Thy resolv'd patient, on thee still rely.
More should I question thee, and more I must;
Though, more to know, could not be more to trust;
From whence thou cam'st, how tended on,—But rest
Unquestion'd welcome, and undoubted blest.—
Give me some help here, ho!—If thou proceed
As high as word, my deed shall match thy deed.
[Exeunt.
-- 50 --
SCENE II.
Rousillon.
Enter Countess and Clown.
Count.
Come on, sir; I shall now put you to the
height of your breeding.
Clo.
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!
Clo.
Truly, madam, if God 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, hands, 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.
It is like a barber's chair, that fits all buttocks9 note;
the pin-buttock, the quatch-buttock, the
brawn-buttock, or any buttock.
Count.
Will your answer serve fit to 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-finger1 note
, as a pancake for
-- 51 --
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.
Have you, I say, an answer of such fitness
for all questions?
Clo.
From below your duke, to beneath your constable,
it will fit any question.
Count.
It must be an answer of most monstrous size,
that must fit all demands.
-- 52 --
Clo.
But a trifle neither, in good faith, if the learned
should speak truth of it: here it is, and all that belongs
to't: Ask me, if I am a courtier; it shall do
you no harm to learn.
Count.
2 noteTo be young again, if we could:—I will be
a fool in question, hoping to be the wiser by your
answer. I pray you, sir, are you a courtier?
Clo.
3 note
O Lord, sir,—There's a simple putting
off:—more, more, a hundred of them.
Count.
Sir, I am a poor friend of yours, that loves
you.
Clo.
O Lord, sir,—Thick, thick, spare not me.
Count.
I think, sir, you can eat none of this homely
meat.
Clo.
O Lord, sir,—Nay, put me to't, I warrant
you.
Count.
You were lately whip'd, sir, as I think.
Clo.
O Lord, sir,—Spare not me.
Count.
Do you cry, O Lord, sir, at your whipping,
and spare not me? Indeed, your O Lord, sir, is very
sequent to your whipping; you would answer very
well to a whipping, if you were but bound to't.
Clo.
I ne'er had worse luck in my life, in my—
O Lord, sir: I see, things may serve long, but not
serve ever.
Count.
I play the noble housewife with the time, to
entertain it so merrily with a fool.
Clo.
O Lord, sir,—Why, there't serves well again.
-- 53 --
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.
Clo.
Not much commendation to them.
Count.
Not much employment for you: You understand
me?
Clo.
Most fruitfully; I am there before my legs.
Count.
Haste you again.
[Exeunt.
SCENE III.
The Court of France.
Enter Bertram, 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
is it, that we make trifles of terrors; ensconcing ourselves
into seeming knowledge, when we should submit
ourselves to an unknown fear4 note.
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 Paracelsus5 note
.
-- 54 --
Laf.
Of all the learned and authentic fellows6 note,—
Par.
Right, so I say.
Laf.
That gave him out incurable,—
Par.
Why, there 'tis; so say I too.
Laf.
Not to be help'd,—
Par.
Right; as 'twere, a man assur'd of an—
Laf.
Uncertain life, and sure death.
Par.
Just, you say well; so would I have said.
Laf.
I may truly say, it is a novelty to the world.
Par.
It is, indeed: if you will have it in shewing7 note,
you shall read it in,—What do you call there?—
Laf.
A shewing of a heavenly effect in an earthly
actor8 note.
Par.
That's it I would have said; the very same.
Laf.
9 noteWhy, your dolphin is not lustier: 'fore me
I speak in respect—
-- 55 --
Par.
Nay, 'tis strange, 'tis very strange, that is the
brief and the tedious of it; and he is of a most facinorous
spirit1 note
, that will not acknowledge it to be the—
Laf.
Very hand of heaven.
Par.
Ay, so I say.
Laf.
In a most weak—
Par.
And debile minister, great power, great transcendence:
which should, indeed, give us2 note
a farther
use to be made, than alone the recovery of the king;
as to be—
Laf.
Generally thankful.
Enter King, Helena, and attendants.
Par.
I would have said it; you say well: Here
comes the king.
-- 56 --
Laf.
Lustick, as the Dutchman says3 note
: 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 God, I think so.
King.
Go, call before me all the lords in court.—
Sit, my preserver, by thy patient's side;
And with this healthful hand, whose banish'd sense
Thou hast repeal'd, a second time receive
The confirmation of my promis'd gift,
Which but attends thy naming.
Enter several Lords.
Fair maid, send forth thine eye: this youthful parcel
Of noble bachelors stand at my bestowing,
O'er whom both sovereign power and father's voice
I have to use: thy frank election make;
Thou hast power to chuse, and they none to forsake.
Hel.
To each of you one fair and virtuous mistress
Fall, when love please!—marry, to each but one4 note!
Laf.
I'd give bay curtal5 note, and his furniture,
My mouth no more were broken6 note than these boys',
And writ as little beard.
-- 57 --
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.
All.
We understand it, and thank heaven for you.
Hel.
I am a simple maid; and therein wealthiest,
That, I protest, I simply am a maid:—
Please it your majesty, I have done already:
The blushes in my cheeks thus whisper me,
We blush, that thou should'st chuse, but be refus'd;
Let the white death sit on thy cheek for ever7 note
,
We'll ne'er come there again.
King.
Make choice; and, see,
Who shuns thy love, shuns all his love in me.
Hel.
Now, Dian, from thy altar do I fly;
And to imperial8 note
love, that god most high,
Do my sighs stream.—Sir, will you hear my suit?
1 Lord.
And grant it.
Hel.
Thanks, sir; all the rest is mute* note.
Laf.
I had rather be in this choice, than throw
ames-ace9 note for my life.
Hel.
The honour, sir, that flames in your fair eyes,
Before I speak, too threatningly replies:
-- 58 --
Love make your fortunes twenty times above
Her that so wishes, and her humble love!
2 Lord.
No better, if you please.
Hel.
My wish receive,
Which great love grant! and so I take my leave.
Laf.
Do all they deny her1 note? An they were sons
of mine, I'd have them whipt; or I would send them
to the Turk, to make eunuchs of.
Hel.
Be not afraid that I your hand should take;
I'll never do you wrong for your own sake:
Blessing upon your vows! and in your bed
Find fairer fortune, if you ever wed!
Laf.
These boys are boys of ice, they'll none of
her: sure, they are bastards to the English; the
French ne'er got them.
Hel.
You are too young, too happy, and too good,
To make yourself a son out of my blood.
4 Lord.
Fair one, I think not so.
Laf.
2 note
There's one grape yet,—I am sure, thy father
drunk wine.—But if thou be'st not an ass, I am a
youth of fourteen; I have known thee already.
Hel.
I dare not say, I take you; but I give
Me, and my service, ever whilst I live,
Into your guiding power. This is the man.
[To Bertram.
-- 59 --
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 lord, to bring me down
Must answer for your raising? I know her well;
She had her breeding at my father's charge:
A poor physician's daughter my wife!—Disdain
Rather corrupt me ever!
King.
'Tis only title thou disdain'st in her, the which
I can build up. Strange is it, that our bloods,
Of colour, weight, and heat, pour'd all together,
Would quite confound distinction, yet stand off
In differences so mighty: 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:
3 noteFrom lowest place when virtuous things proceed,
The place is dignify'd by the doer's deed:
Where great addition swells, and virtue none,
It is a dropsied honour: 4 note
good alone
-- 60 --
Is good 9Q0405, without a name; vileness is so:
The property by what it is should go,
Not by the title. She is young, wise, fair5 note
;
In these to nature she's immediate heir;
-- 61 --
And these breed honour: that is honour's scorn,
Which challenges itself as honour's born, 9Q0406
And is not like the sire: Honours best thrive,
When rather from our acts we them derive
Than our fore-goers: the mere word's a slave,
Debauch'd on every tomb; on every grave,
A lying trophy; and as oft is dumb,
Where dust, and damn'd oblivion, is the tomb
Of honour'd bones indeed. What should be said?
If thou can'st like this creature as a maid,
I can create the rest: virtue, and she,
Is her own dower; honour, and wealth, from me.
Ber.
I cannot love her, nor will strive to do't.
-- 62 --
King.
Thou wrong'st thyself, if thou should'st strive to chuse.
Hel.
That you are well restor'd, my lord, I'm glad;
Let the rest go.
King.
6 note
My honour's at the stake; which to defeat,
I must produce my power: Here, take her hand,
Proud scornful boy, unworthy this good gift;
That dost in vile misprision shackle up
My love, and her desert; that canst not dream,
We, poizing us in her defective scale,
Shall weigh thee to the beam; that wilt not know,
It is in us to plant thine honour, where
We please to have it grow: Check thy contempt:
Obey our will, which travails in thy good:
Believe not thy disdain, but presently
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,
Into the staggers7 note
, and the careless lapse
-- 63 --
Of youth and ignorance; both my revenge and hate,
Loosing upon thee in the name of justice,
Without all terms of pity: Speak; thine answer.
Ber.
Pardon, my gracious lord; for I submit
My fancy to your eyes: When I consider,
What great creation, and what dole of honour,
Flies where you bid it, I find, that she, which late
Was in my nobler thoughts most base, is now
The praised of the king; who, so ennobled,
Is, as 'twere, born so.
King.
Take her by the hand,
And tell her, she is thine: to whom I promise
A counterpoize; if not to thy estate,
A balance more repleat.
Ber.
I take her hand.
King.
Good fortune, and the favour of the king,
Smile upon this contract; whose ceremony
Shall seem expedient on the new-born brief8 note
,
And be perform'd to-night; the solemn feast
Shall more attend upon the coming space,
-- 64 --
Expecting absent friends. As thou lov'st her,
Thy love's to me religious; else, does err.
[Exeunt all but Parolles and Lafeu9 note.
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.
Recantation?—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 master?
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 master 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.
What I dare too well do, I dare not do.
Laf.
I did think thee, for two ordinaries1 note, to
be a pretty wise fellow; thou didst make tolerable
vent of thy travel; it might pass: yet the scarfs, and
the bannerets, about thee, did manifoldly dissuade me
from believing thee a vessel of too great a burden. I
have now found thee; when I lose thee again, I care
not: yet art thou good for nothing but taking up2 note;
and that thou art scarce worth.
Par.
Hadst thou not the privilege of antiquity
upon thee,—
-- 65 --
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, for I
look through thee. Give me thy 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.
E'en as soon as thou can'st, for thou hast to
pull at a smack o'the contrary. If ever thou be'st
bound in thy scarf, and beaten, thou shalt find what it
is to be proud of thy bondage. I have a desire to
hold my acquaintance with thee, or rather my knowledge;
that I may say, in the default3 note, he is a man
I know.
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
leave4 note
.
[Exit.
-- 66 --
Par.
Well, thou hast a son shall take this disgrace
off me5 note; 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 of 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 marry'd, there's
news for you; you have a new mistress.
Par.
I most unfeignedly beseech your lordship to
make some reservation of your wrongs: He is my
good lord: whom I serve above, is my master.
Laf.
Who? God?
Par.
Ay, sir.
Laf.
The devil it is, that's thy master. Why dost
thou garter up thy arms o' this fashion? dost make
hose of thy sleeves? do other servants so? Thou wert
best set thy lower part where thy nose stands. 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.
-- 67 --
Par.
This is hard and undeserved 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, than6 note
the heraldry
of your birth and virtue gives you commission. 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.
Although before the solemn priest I have sworn,
I will not bed her.
Par.
What? what, 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 it no more merits
The tread of a man's foot: to the wars!
Ber.
There's letters from my mother; what the import is,
I know not yet.
Par.
Ay, that would be known: To the wars, my boy, to the wars!
He wears his honour in a box unseen,
7 noteThat hugs his kicksy-wicksy here at home;
Spending his manly marrow in her arms,
-- 68 --
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 the 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: His present gift
Shall furnish me to those Italian fields,
Where noble fellows strike: War is no strife
To the dark house8 note
, and the detested wife.
Par.
Will this capricio hold in thee, art sure?
Ber.
Go with me to my chamber, and advise me.
I'll send her straight away: To-morrow
I'll to the wars, she to her single sorrow.
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.
SCENE IV.
Enter Helena and Clown.
Hel.
My mother greets me kindly; Is she well?
Clo.
She is not well; but yet she has her health:
-- 69 --
she's very merry; but yet she's not well: but, thanks
be given, she's very well, and wants nothing i'the
world; but yet she is not well.
Hel.
If she be very well, what does she ail, that
she's not very well?
Clo.
Truly, she's very well, indeed, but for two
things.
Hel.
What two things?
Clo.
One, that she's not in heaven, whither God
send her quickly! the other, that she's in earth, from
whence God send her quickly!
Enter Parolles.
Par.
Bless you, my fortunate lady!
Hel.
I hope, sir, I have your good will to have mine
own good fortunes.
Par.
You have 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.
Away, thou'rt a knave.
Clo.
You should have said, sir, before a knave,
thou art a knave; that is, before me thou art a knave:
this had been truth, sir.
Par.
Go to, thou art a witty 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.
-- 70 --
Par.
A good knave, i'faith, and well fed.—
Madam, my lord will go away to-night;
A very serious business calls on him.
The great prerogative and right of love,
Which, as your due, time claims, he does acknowledge;
But puts it off by a compell'd restraint;
Whose want, and whose delay,9 note is strew'd with sweets,
Which they distil now in the curbed time,
To make the coming hour o'erflow with joy,
And pleasure drown the brim.
Hel.
What's his will else?
Par.
That you will take your instant leave o'the king,
And make this haste as your own good proceeding,
Strengthen'd with what apology you think,
May make it probable need1 note.
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.—Come, sirrah.
[To the Clown.
[Exeunt.
SCENE V.
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.
-- 71 --
Laf.
Then my dial goes not true; I took this lark
for a bunting2 note.
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.
Par.
These things shall be done, sir.
Laf.
I pray you, sir, who's his taylor?
Par.
Sir?
Laf.
O, I know him well: Ay, sir; he, sir, is a
good workman, a very good taylor.
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; and to-night,
When I should take possession of the bride,—
And, ere I do begin,—
Laf.
A good traveller is something at the latter end
of a dinner; but one that lies three thirds, and uses
a known truth to pass a thousand nothings with,
should be once heard, and thrice beaten.—God
save you, captain.
Ber.
Is there any unkindness between my lord and
you, monsieur?
-- 72 --
Par.
I know not how I have deserv'd to run into
my lord's displeasure.
Laf.
3 note
You have made shift to run into't, boots and
spurs and all, like him that leapt into the custard;
and out of it you'll run again, rather than suffer
question for your residence.
Ber.
It may be, you have mistaken him, my lord.
Laf.
And shall do so ever, though I took him at's
prayers. 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 clothes: trust him not in
matter of heavy consequence; I have kept of them
tame, and know their natures.—Farewell, 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 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
-- 73 --
For present parting; only, he desires
Some private speech with you.
Ber.
I shall obey his will.
You must not marvel, Helen, at my course,
Which holds not colour with the time, nor does
The ministration and required office
On my particular: prepar'd I was not
For such a business; therefore am I found
So much unsettled: This drives me to intreat you,
That presently you take your way for home;
And rather muse4 note, than ask, why I entreat you:
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.
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 toward 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.
Pray, sir, your pardon.
Ber.
Well, what would you say?
Hel.
I am not worthy of the wealth I owe5 note;
Nor dare I say, 'tis mine; and yet it is;
But, like a timorous thief, most fain would steal
What law does vouch mine own.
Ber.
What would you have?
-- 74 --
Hel.
Something; and scarce so much:—nothing, indeed.—
I would not tell you what I would; my lord,—'faith, yes;—
Strangers, and foes, do sunder, and not kiss.
Ber.
I pray you, stay not, but in haste to horse.
Hel.
6 note
I shall not break your bidding, good my lord.
[Exit Helena.
Ber.
Where are my other men, monsieur?—Farewel.
Go thou toward home; where I will never come,
Whilst I can shake my sword, or hear the drum:—
Away, and for our flight.
Par.
Bravely, coragio!
[Exeunt.
ACT III.
SCENE I.
The Duke's court in Florence.
Flourish. Enter the Duke of Florence, two French Lords, with soldiers.
Duke.
So that, from point to point, now have you heard
The fundamental reasons of this war;
Whose great decision hath much blood let forth
And more thirsts after.
-- 75 --
1 Lord.
Holy seems the quarrel
Upon your grace's part; black and fearful
On the opposer.
Duke.
Therefore we marvel much, our cousin France
Would, in so just a business, shut his bosom
Against our borrowing prayers.
2 Lord.
Good my lord,
The reasons of our state I cannot yield7 note,
But like a common and an outward man8 note
,
That the great figure of a council frames
By self-unable motion9 note
: therefore dare not
Say what I think of it; since I have found
Myself in my uncertain grounds to fail
As often as I guess'd.
Duke.
Be it his pleasure.
2 Lord.
But I am sure, the younger of our nature1 note,
That surfeit on their ease, will, day by day,
Come here for physick.
Duke.
Welcome shall they be;
And all the honours, that can fly from us,
Shall on them settle: You know your places well;
When better fall, for your avails they fell:
To-morrow to the field.
[Exeunt.
-- 76 --
SCENE II.
Rousillon, in France.
Enter Countess and Clown.
Count.
It hath happened 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, I pray you?
Clo.
Why, he will look upon his boot, and sing;
mend the ruff, and sing; ask questions, and sing;
pick his teeth, and sing: I know a man that had this
trick of melancholy, sold a goodly manor for a song2 note.
Count.
Let me see what he writes, and when he
means to come.
Clo.
I have no mind to Isbel, since I was at court:
our old ling and our Isbels o'the country, are nothing
like your old ling and your Isbels o'the court:
the brain of my Cupid's knock'd out; and I begin to
love, as an old man loves money, with no stomach.
Count.
What have we here?
Clo.
E'en that you have there.
[Exit.
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.
-- 77 --
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
two soldiers 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 should he be kill'd?
Clo.
So say I, madam, if he run away, as I hear
he does: the danger is in standing to't; that's the loss
of men, though it be the getting of children. Here
they come, will tell you more: for my part, I only
hear, your son was run away.
Enter Helena, and two gentlemen.
1 Gen.
Save you, good madam.
Hel.
Madam, my lord is gone, for ever gone.
2 Gen.
Do not say so.
Count.
Think upon patience.—'Pray you, gentlemen,—
I have felt so many quirks of joy, and grief,
That the first face of neither, on the start,
Can woman me unto't:—Where is my son, I pray you?
2 Gen.
Madam, he's gone to serve the duke of Florence:
We met him thitherward; for thence we came,
And, after some dispatch in hand at court,
Thither we bend again.
Hel.
Look on this letter, madam; here's my passport.
-- 78 --
3 note
When thou canst get the ring upon my finger, which never
shall come off, and shew me a child begotten of thy
body, 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 Gen.
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 are 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.—Towards Florence is he?
2 Gen.
Ay, madam.
Count.
And to be a soldier?
2 Gen.
Such is his noble purpose: and, believe't,
The duke will lay upon him all the honour
That good convenience claims.
Count.
Return you thither?
1 Gen.
Ay, madam, with the swiftest wing of speed.
Hel.
'Till I have no wife, I have nothing in France.
'Tis bitter.
[Reading.
Count.
Find you that there?
Hel.
Ay, madam.
1 Gen.
'Tis but the boldness of his hand, haply, which
His heart was not consenting to.
Count.
Nothing in France, until he have no wife!
There's nothing here, that is too good for him,
But only she; and she deserves a lord,
-- 79 --
That twenty such rude boys might tend upon,
And call her hourly, mistress. Who was with him?
1 Gen.
A servant only, and a gentleman
Which I have some time known.
Count.
Parolles, was't not?
1 Gen.
Ay, my good lady, he.
Count.
A very tainted fellow, and full of wickedness:
My son corrupts a well-derived nature
With his inducement.
1 Gen.
Indeed, good lady,
The fellow has a deal of that, too much,
Which holds him much to have4 note
.
Count.
You are welcome gentlemen.
I will intreat you, when you see my son,
To tell him, that his sword can never win
The honour that he loses: more I'll intreat you
Written to bear along.
2 Gen.
We serve you, madam,
In that and all your worthiest affairs.
Count.
5 noteNot so, but as we change our courtesies.
Will you draw near?
[Exeunt Countess and gentlemen.
Hel.
'Till I have no wife, I have nothing in France.
Nothing in France, until he has no wife!
Thou shalt have none, Rousillon, none in France,
Then hast thou all again. Poor lord! is't I
That chase thee from thy country, and expose
-- 80 --
Those tender limbs of thine to the event
Of the none-sparing war? and is it I
That drive thee from the sportive court, where thou
Wast shot at with fair eyes, to be the mark
Of smoky muskets? O you leaden messengers,
That ride upon the violent speed of fire,
Fly with false aim; move the still-piecing air6 note
,
That sings with piercing, do not touch my lord!
Whoever shoots at him, I set him there;
Whoever charges on his forward breast,
I am the caitiff, that do hold him to it;
And, though I kill him not, I am the cause
His death was so effected: better 'twere,
I met the ravin lion when he roar'd
With sharp constraint of hunger; better 'twere,
That all the miseries, which nature owes,
Were mine at once: No, come thou home, Rousillon,
Whence honour but of danger wins a scar;
As oft it loses all; I will be gone:
My being here it is, that holds thee hence;
Shall I stay here to do't? no, no, although
The air of paradise did fan the house,
And angels offic'd all: I will be gone;
-- 81 --
That pitiful rumour may report my flight,
To consolate thine ear. Come, night; end, day!
For, with the dark, poor thief, I'll steal away.
[Exit.
SCENE III.
The Duke's court in Florence.
Flourish. Enter the Duke of Florence, Bertram, drum and trumpets, soldiers, &c.
Duke.
The general of our horse thou art; and we,
Great in our hope, lay our best love and credence,
Upon thy promising fortune.
Ber.
Sir, it is
A charge too heavy for my strength; but yet
We'll strive to bear it for your worthy sake,
To the extream edge of hazard7 note
.
Duke.
Then go forth;
And fortune play upon thy prosperous helm,
As thy auspicious mistress!
Ber.
This very day,
Great Mars, I put myself into thy file:
Make me but like my thoughts; and I shall prove
A lover of thy drum, hater of love.
[Exeunt.
SCENE IV.
Rousillon in France.
Enter Countess and Steward.
Count.
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.
-- 82 --
Stew.
I am 8 noteSt. 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 hye;
Bless him at home in peace, whilst I from far,
His name with zealous fervour sanctify:
His taken labours bid him me forgive;
I, his despightful 9 noteJuno, sent him forth
From courtly friends, with camping foes to live,
Where death and danger dog the heels of worth:
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!—
Rinaldo, you did never lack advice1 note 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 me, madam:
If I had given you this at over-night,
She might have been o'er-ta'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
-- 83 --
Of greatest justice.—Write, write, Rinaldo,
To this unworthy husband of his wife;
Let every word weigh heavy of her worth,
That he does weigh too light: my greatest grief,
Though little he do feel it, set down sharply.
Dispatch the most convenient messenger:—
When, haply, he shall hear that she is gone,
He will return; and hope I may, that she,
Hearing so much, will speed her foot again,
Led hither by pure love: which of them both
Is dearest to me, I have no skill in sense
To make distinction:—Provide this messenger:—
My heart is heavy, and mine age is weak;
Grief would have tears, and sorrow bids me speak.
[Exeunt.
SCENE V.
Without the walls of Florence.
A tucket afar off.
Enter an old Widow of Florence, Diana, Violenta, 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 slew the
duke's brother. We have lost our labour; they are
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.
-- 84 --
Wid.
I have told my neighbour, how you have
been solicited by a gentleman his companion.
Mar.
I know the knave; hang him! one Parolles:
a filthy officer he is in those suggestions for the
young earl.—Beware of them, Diana; their promises,
enticements, oaths, tokens, and all these engines of
lust, 2 note
are not the things they go under: many a maid
hath been seduced by them; and the misery is, example,
that so terrible shews in the wreck of maidenhood,
cannot for all that dissuade succession, but that
they are limed with the twigs that threaten them. I
hope, I need not to advise you further; but, I hope,
your own grace will keep you where you are, though
there were no further danger known, but the modesty
which is so lost.
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.—
God save you, pilgrim! Whither are you bound?
-- 85 --
Hel.
To St. Jaques le grand.
Where do the palmers3 note lodge, I do beseech you?
Wid.
At the St. Francis here, beside the port.
Hel.
Is this the way?
[A march afar off.
Wid.
Ay, marry, is it. 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;
The rather, for, I think, I know your hostess
As ample as myself.
Hel.
Is it yourself?
Wid.
If you shall please so, pilgrim.
Hel.
I thank you, and will stay upon your leisure.
Wid.
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.
But 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, meer the truth; I know his lady.
Dia.
There is a gentleman, that serves the count,
Reports but coarsely of her.
-- 86 --
Hel.
What's his name?
Dia.
Monsieur Parolles.
Hel.
Oh, I believe with him,
In argument of praise, or to the worth
Of the great count himself, she is too mean
To have her name repeated; all her deserving
Is a reserved honesty, and that
I have not heard examined4 note.
Dia.
Alas, poor lady!
'Tis a hard bondage, to become the wife
Of a detesting lord.
Wid.
A right good creature 9Q0409: wheresoe'er she is,
Her heart weighs sadly5 note
: this young maid might do her
A shrewd turn, if she pleas'd.
Hel.
How do you mean?
May be, the amorous count solicits her
In the unlawful purpose.
Wid.
He does, indeed;
And brokes6 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.
-- 87 --
Enter with drum and colours, Bertram, Parolles, Officers and Soldiers attending.
Mar.
The gods forbid else!
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 is not honest: Yond's that same knave7 note
,
That leads him to these places; were I his lady,
I'd poison that vile rascal.
Hel.
Which is he?
Dia.
That jack-an-apes with scarfs: Why is he
melancholy?
Hel.
Perchance he's hurt i' the battle.
Par.
Lose our drum! well.
Mar.
He's shrewdly vex'd at something: Look,
he has spied us.
Wid.
Marry, hang you!
[Exeunt Bertram, Parolles, &c.
Mar.
And your courtesy, for a ring-carrier!
-- 88 --
Wid.
The troop is past: Come, pilgrim, I will bring you
Where you shall host: of enjoin'd penitents
There's four or five, to great Saint Jaques 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.
SCENE VI.
Enter Bertram, and the two French Lords.
1 Lord.
Nay, good my lord, put him to't; let
him have his way.
2 Lord.
If your lordship find him not a hilding,
hold me no more in your respect.
1 Lord.
On my life, my lord, a bubble.
Ber.
Do you think, I am so far deceiv'd in him?
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.
2 Lord.
It were fit you knew him; lest, reposing
too far in his virtue, which he hath not, he might, at
some great and trusty business, in a main danger, fail
you.
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.
-- 89 --
1 Lord.
I, with a troop of Florentines, will suddenly
surprize him; such I will have, whom, I am sure,
he knows not from the enemy: we will bind and
hood-wink him so, that he shall suppose no other but
that he is carried into the leaguer of the adversaries,
when we bring him to our own tents: Be but your
lordship present at his examination; if he do not, for
the promise of his life, and in the highest compulsion
of base fear, offer to betray you, and deliver all
the intelligence in his power against you, and that
with the divine forfeit of his soul upon oath, never
trust my judgment in any thing.
2 Lord.
O, for the love of laughter, let him fetch
his drum; he says, he has a stratagem for't: 8 note
when
your lordship sees the bottom of his success in't, and
-- 90 --
to what metal this counterfeit lump of ore will be
melted, if you give him not John Drum's entertainment,
your inclining cannot be removed. Here he
comes.
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 hand1 note.
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.
2 Lord.
That was not to be blamed in the command
of the service; it was a disaster of war that Cæsar
himself could not have prevented, if he had been there
to command.
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.
-- 91 --
Par.
It might have been recover'd.
Ber.
It might; but it is not now.
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 mystery in stratagem can bring this
instrument of honour again into its native quarter, be
magnanimous in the enterprize, and go on; I will
grace the attempt for a worthy exploit: if you speed
well in it, the duke shall both speak of it, and extend
to you what further becomes his greatness, even
to the utmost syllable of your worthiness.
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 2 note
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, thou art valiant; and, to the 3 note
possibility
of thy soldiership, will subscribe for thee.
Farewel.
-- 92 --
Par.
I love not many words.
[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, and dares better
be damn'd than do't?
2 Lord.
You do not know him, my lord, as we
do: certain it is, that he will steal himself into a man's
favour, and, for a week, escape a great deal of discoveries;
but when you find him out, you have him
ever after.
Ber.
Why, do you think, he will make no deed
at all of this, that so seriously he does address himself
unto?
2 Lord.
None in the world; but return with an invention,
and clap upon you two or three probable
lies: but we have almost4 note
imboss'd him, you shall
-- 93 --
see his fall to-night; for, indeed, he is not for your
lordship's respect.
1 Lord.
We'll make you some sport with the fox,
ere5 note we case him. He was first smok'd by the old
lord Lafeu: when his disguise and he is parted, tell
me what a sprat you shall find him; which you shall
see this very night.
2 Lord.
I must go look my twigs; he shall be
caught.
Ber.
Your brother, he shall go along with me.
2 Lord.
As't please your lordship: I'll leave you.
[Exit.
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'the wind,
Tokens and letters, which she did re-send;
And this is all I have done: She's a fair creature;
Will you go see her?
1 Lord.
With all my heart, my lord.
[Exeunt.
SCENE VII.
Florence. 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,
6 noteBut I shall lose the grounds I work upon.
-- 94 --
Wid.
Though my estate be fallen, I was well born,
Nothing acquainted with these businesses;
And would not put my reputation now
In any staining act.
Hel.
Nor would I wish you.
First, give me trust, the count he is my husband;
And, 7 notewhat to your sworn counsel I have spoken,
Is so, from word to word; and then you cannot,
By the good aid that I of you shall borrow,
Err in bestowing it.
Wid.
I should believe you;
For you have shew'd me that, which well approves
You are great in fortune.
Hel.
Take this purse of gold,
And let me buy your friendly help thus far,
Which I will over-pay, and pay again,
When I have found it. The count he wooes your daughter,
Lays down his wanton siege before her beauty,
Resolves to carry her; let her, in fine, consent,
As we'll direct her how 'tis best to bear it,
8 note
Now his important blood will nought deny
That she'll demand: A ring the county wears,
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.
-- 95 --
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.
Wid.
I have yielded:
Instruct my daughter how she shall persever,
That time, and place, with this deceit so lawful,
May prove coherent. Every night he comes
With musicks 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 assay our plot; which, if it speed,
9 note
Is wicked meaning in a lawful deed,
-- 96 --
And lawful meaning in a lawful act;
Where both not sin, and yet a sinful fact:
But let's about it.
[Exeunt.
ACT IV.
SCENE I.
Part of the French camp in Florence.
Enter one of the French Lords, with five or six Soldiers in ambush.
Lord.
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.
Sol.
Good captain, let me be the interpreter.
Lord.
Art not acquainted with him? knows he not
thy voice?
Sol.
No, sir, I warrant you.
Lord.
But what linsy-woolsy hast thou to speak to
us again?
Sol.
Even such as you speak to me.
Lord.
He must think us 1 notesome band of strangers
i'the adversary's entertainment. 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; so we seem to know,
is to know 9Q0411 straight our purpose: chough's language,
gabble enough, and good enough. As for you, interpreter,
-- 97 --
you must seem very politick. But couch,
ho! 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 plausive 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 not 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 the2 note instance?
Tongue, I must put you into a butter-woman's
mouth, and buy another of3 note
Bajazet's mule, if you
prattle me into these perils.
Lord.
Is it possible, he should know what he is,
and be that he is?
[Aside.
-- 98 --
Par.
I would, the cutting of my garments would
serve the turn; or the breaking of my Spanish sword.
Lord.
We cannot afford you so.
[Aside.
Par.
Or the baring of my beard; and to say, it was
in stratagem.
Lord.
'Twould not do.
[Aside.
Par.
Or to drown my clothes, 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
believ'd.
[Aside.
Par.
I would, I had any drum of the enemies'; I
would swear, I recover'd it.
Lord.
You shall hear one anon.
[Aside.
Par.
A drum now of the enemies!
[Alarum within.
Lord.
Throca movousus, cargo, cargo, cargo.
All.
Cargo, cargo, villianda 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.
Inter.
Boskos vauvado:—
I understand thee, and can speak thy tongue:—
Kerelybonto:—Sir,
Betake thee to thy faith, for seventeen poniards
Are at thy bosom.
Par.
Oh!
Inter.
Oh, pray, pray, pray.—
Manka revania dulche.
Lord.
Oscorbi dulchos volivorco.
Inter.
The general is content to spare thee yet;
-- 99 --
And, hood-winkt 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.
Inter.
But wilt thou faithfully?
Par.
If I do not, damn me.
Inter.
Acorda linta.—
Come on, thou art granted space.
[Exit with Parolles.
[A short alarum within.
Lord.
Go, tell the count Rousillon, and my brother,
We have caught the woodcock, and will keep him muffled
'Till we do hear from them.
Sol.
Captain, I will.
Lord.
He will betray us all unto ourselves;—
Inform 'em that.
Sol.
So I will, sir.
Lord.
'Till then I'll keep him dark, and safely lock'd.
[Exeunt.
SCENE II.
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.
-- 100 --
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.
4 note
No more of 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.
-- 101 --
Ber.
How have I sworn?
Dia.
'Tis not the many oaths, that make the truth;
But the plain single vow, that is vow'd true.
5 note
What is not holy, that we swear not by,
But take the Highest to witness: Then, pray you, tell me,
-- 102 --
6 noteIf I should swear by Jove's great attributes,
I lov'd you dearly, would you believe my oaths,
When I did love you ill? this has no holding* note
,
-- 103 --
7 note
To swear by him whom I protest to love,
That I will work against him: 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: Stand no more off,
But give thyself unto my sick desire,
Who then recovers: say, thou art mine, and ever
My love, as it begins, shall so persever.
Dia.
I see, that men make hopes in such affairs8 note
,
That we'll forsake ourselves. Give me that ring.
Ber.
I'll lend it thee, my dear, but have no power
To give it from me.
-- 104 --
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' the 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'the 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, mine honour, yea, my life be thine,
And I'll be bid by thee.
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: You have won
A wife of me, though there my hope be done.
Ber.
A heaven on earth I have won, by wooing thee.
[Exit.
Dia.
For which live long to thank both heaven and me!
You may so in the end.—
My mother told me just how he would woo,
As if she sat in his heart; she says, all men
Have the like oaths: he had sworn to marry me,
When his wife's dead; therefore I'll lie with him,
-- 105 --
When I am bury'd. 9 note
Since Frenchmen are so braid,
Marry that will, I live and die a maid:
Only, in this disguise, I think't no sin
To cozen him, that would unjustly win.
[Exit.
SCENE III.
The Florentine camp.
Enter the two French Lords, and two or three Soldiers.
1 Lord.
You have not given him his mother's letter?
2 Lord.
I have deliver'd it an hour since: there is
something in't that stings his nature; for, on the
reading it, he chang'd almost into another man.
-- 106 --
1 Lord1 note
.
He has much worthy blame laid upon him,
for shaking off so good a wife, and so sweet a lady.
2 Lord.
Especially he hath incurred the everlasting
displeasure of the king, who had even tun'd his bounty
to sing happiness to him. I will tell you a thing,
but you shall let it dwell darkly with you.
1 Lord.
When you have spoken it, 'tis dead, and I
am the grave of it.
2 Lord.
He hath perverted a young gentlewoman
here in Florence, of a most chaste renown; and this
night he fleshes his will in the spoil of her honour:
he hath given her his monumental ring, and thinks
himself made in the unchaste composition.
1 Lord.
Now God delay our rebellion; as we are
ourselves, what things are we!
2 Lord.
Merely our own traitors. And as in the
common course of all treasons, we still see them reveal
themselves, till they attain to their abhorr'd ends2 note;
so he, that in this action contrives against his own
nobility, 3 notein his proper stream o'erflows himself.
1 Lord.
Is it not meant damnable 9Q0413 in us, to be
-- 107 --
trumpeters of our unlawful intents? We shall not
then have his company to-night?
2 Lord.
Not 'till after midnight; for he is dieted
to his hour.
1 Lord.
That approaches apace: I would gladly
have him see his company anatomized; that he might
take a measure of his own judgment4 note, wherein so
curiously he had set this counterfeit.
2 Lord.
We will not meddle with him till he come;
for his presence must be the whip of the other.
1 Lord.
In the mean time, 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 into France?
1 Lord.
I perceive by this demand, you are not altogether
of his counsel.
2 Lord.
Let it be forbid, sir! so should I be a
great deal of his act.
2 Lord.
Sir, his wife, some two months since, fled
from his house; her pretence is a pilgrimage to Saint
Jaques le grand; which holy undertaking, with most
austere sanctimony, she accomplish'd: and, there residing,
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.
How is this justified?
1 Lord.
The stronger part of it by her own letters;
which makes her story true, even to the point of her
death: her death itself, which could not be her office
to say, is come, was faithfully confirm'd by the rector
of the place.
2 Lord.
Hath the count all this intelligence?
-- 108 --
1 Lord.
Ay, and the particular confirmations, point
from point, to the full arming of the verity.
2 Lord.
I am heartily sorry, that he'll be glad of
this.
1 Lord.
How mightily, sometimes, we make us
comforts of our losses!
2 Lord.
And how mightily, some other times, we
drown our gain in tears! the great dignity, that his
valour hath here acquired 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 whip'd them not; and our crimes would
despair, if they were not cherish'd by our virtues.—
Enter a Servant.
How now? where's your master?
Serv.
He met the duke in the street, sir, of whom
he hath taken a solemn leave; his lordship will next
morning for France. The duke hath offered him
letters of commendations to the king.
2 Lord.
They shall be no more than needful there,
if they were more than they can commend.
Enter Bertram.
1 Lord.
They cannot be too sweet for the king's
tartness. Here's his lordship now. How now, my
lord, is't not after midnight?
Ber.
I have to-night dispatch'd sixteen businesses, a
month's length a-piece, by an abstract of success: I
have conge'd 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 that
I have not ended yet.
2 Lord.
If the business be of any difficulty, and this
-- 109 --
morning your departure hence, it requires haste of
your lordship.
Ber.
I mean, the business is not ended, as fearing
to hear of it hereafter: But shall we have this dialogue
between the fool and the soldier?—Come, 5 note
bring
forth this counterfeit module; he has deceiv'd me,
like a double-meaning prophesier.
2 Lord.
Bring him forth: he has sat 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.
I have told your lordship already; the
stocks carry him. But, to answer you as you would
be understood; he weeps, like a wench that had shed
her milk: 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'the stocks: And what, think you, he hath 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.
Re-enter Soldiers with Parolles.
Ber.
A plague upon him! muffled! he can say nothing
of me; hush! hush!
1 Lord.
Hoodman comes!—Porto tartarossa.
Inter.
He calls for the tortures; What will you
say without 'em?
-- 110 --
Par.
I will confess what I know without constraint:
if ye pinch me like a pasty, I can say no more.
Inter.
Bosko chimurcho.
2 Lord.
Boblibindo chicurmurco.
Inter.
You are a merciful general:—Our general
bids you answer to what I shall ask you out of a note.
Par.
And truly, as I hope to live.
Inter.
First demand of him how many horse the duke is
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.
Inter.
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 him6 note.
Ber.
What a past-saving slave is this!
1 Lord.
You are deceiv'd, my lord; this is monsieur
Parolles, the gallant militarist, (that was his own
phrase) that had the wholetheorique of war in the knot
of his scarf, and the practice in the chape of his dagger.
2 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.
Inter.
Well, that's set down.
Par.
Five or six thousand horse, I said,—I will say
true,—or thereabouts, set down,—for I'll speak truth.
1 Lord.
He's very near the truth in this.
Ber.
But I con him no thanks for't7 note
, in the nature
he delivers it.
-- 111 --
Par.
Poor rogues, I pray you, say.
Inter.
Well, that's set down.
Par.
I humbly thank you, sir: a truth's a truth,
the rogues are marvellous poor.
Inter.
Demand of him, of what strength they are a-foot.
What say you to that?
Par.
By my troth, sir, if I were to live this present
hour8 note
, I will tell true. Let me see: Spurio a
hundred and fifty, Sebastian so many, Corambus so
many, Jaques so many; Guiltian, Cosmo, Lodowick,
and Gratii, two hundred fifty each: mine own company,
Chitopher, Vaumond, Bentii, two hundred
and fifty each: so that 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 cassocks9 note
, lest they shake themselves to pieces.
-- 112 --
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.
Inter.
Well, that's set down. You shall demand of
him, whether one captain Dumain be i'the camp, a Frenchman;
what his reputation is with the duke, what his
valour, honesty, and expertness in wars; or whether he
thinks, it were not possible with well-weighing sums of
gold to corrupt him to a revolt. What say you to this?
what do you know of it?
Par.
I beseech you, let me answer to the particular
of the interrogatories: Demand them singly.
Inter.
Do you know this captain Dumain?
Par.
I know him: he was a botcher's 'prentice in
Paris, from whence he was whip'd for getting the sheriff's
fool with child; a dumb innocent, that could
not say him, nay. 9Q0414
[Dumain lifts up his hand in anger.
Ber.
Nay, by your leave, hold your hands; though
I know, his brains are forfeit to the next tile that falls.
Inter.
Well, is this captain in the duke of Florence's
camp?
Par.
Upon my knowledge, he is, and lousy.
-- 113 --
1 Lord.
Nay, look not so upon me; we shall hear
of your lordship anon.
Inter.
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'the band: I think, I have his letter in
my pocket.
Inter.
Marry, we'll search.
Par.
In good sadness, I do not know; either it is
there, or it is upon a file, with the duke's other letters,
in my tent.
Inter.
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.
Inter.
1 note
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,
to take heed of the allurement of one count
Rousillon, a foolish idle boy, but, for all that, very
ruttish: I pray you, sir, put it up again.
Inter.
Nay, I'll read it first, by your favour.
Par.
My meaning in't, I protest, was very honest
in the 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!
-- 114 --
Interpreter reads the letter.
When he swears oaths, bid him drop gold, and take it;
After he scores, he never pays the score:
2 note
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,
3 note
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.
-- 115 --
Ber.
He shall be whip'd through the army, with
this rhime in his forehead.
2 Lord.
This is your devoted friend, sir, the manifold
linguist, and the armipotent soldier.
Ber.
I could endure any thing before but a cat, and
now he's a cat to me.
Inter.
I perceive, sir, by our 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'the stocks, or any where, so I may
live.
Inter.
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?
-- 116 --
Par.
He will steal, sir, 4 notean 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; but 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.
1 Lord.
I begin to love him for this.
Ber.
For this description of thine honesty? A pox
upon him for me, he is more and more a cat.
Inter.
What say you to his expertness in war?
Par.
Faith, sir, he has led the drum before the
English tragedians,—to belie him, I will not,—and
more of his soldiership I know not; except, in that
country, he had the honour to be the officer at a place
there call'd Mile-end, to instruct for the doubling of
files: I would do the man what honour I can, but
of this I am not certain.
1 Lord.
He hath out-villain'd villany so far, that
the rarity redeems him.
Ber.
A pox on him! 5 note
he's a cat still.
-- 117 --
Inter.
His qualities being at this poor price, I need
not to ask you, if gold will corrupt him to revolt.
Par.
Sir, for a quart d'ecu he will sell the fee-simple
of his salvation, the inheritance of it; and cut
the intail from all remainders, and a perpetual succession
for it perpetually.
Inter.
What's his brother, the other captain Dumain?
2 Lord.
6 noteWhy does he ask him of me?
Inter.
What's he?
Par.
E'en a crow of the 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
he out-runs any lacquey; marry, in coming on
he has the cramp.
Inter.
If your life be saved, will you undertake to
betray the Florentine?
Par.
Ay, and the captain of his horse, count Rousillon.
-- 118 --
Inter.
I'll whisper with the general, and know his
pleasure.
Par.
I'll no more drumming; a plague of all drums!
Only to seem to deserve well, and 7 noteto beguile the supposition
of that lascivious young boy the count, have
I run into this danger: Yet, who would have suspected
an ambush where I was taken?
[Aside.
Inter.
There is no remedy, sir, but you must die:
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 very honest use; therefore you must die.
Come, headsman, off with his head.
Par.
O Lord, sir; let me live, or let me see my
death!
Inter.
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? an I were not a very coward, I'd
compel it of you; but fare you well.
[Exeunt.
Inter.
You are undone, captain; all but your scarf,
that has a knot on't yet.
Par.
Who cannot be crush'd with a plot?
Inter.
If you could find out a country where but
women were that had received so much shame, you
-- 119 --
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
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.
Rust, sword! cool, blushes! and, Parolles, live
Safest in shame! being fool'd, by foolery thrive!
There's place, and means, for every man alive.
I'll after them.
[Exit.
SCENE IV.
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; 'fore whose throne, 'tis needful,
Ere I can perfect mine intents, to kneel:
Time was, I did him a desired office,
Dear almost as his life; which gratitude
Through flinty Tartar's bosom would peep forth,
And answer, thanks: 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.
-- 120 --
Hel.
Nor you, mistress,
Ever a friend, whose thoughts more truly labour
To recompence your love; doubt not, but heaven
Hath brought me up to be your daughter's dower,
As it hath fated her to be 8 notemy motive
And helper to a husband. But O strange men!
That can such sweet use make of what they hate,
9 note
When saucy trusting of the cozen'd thoughts
Defiles the pitchy night! so lust doth play
With what it loaths, for that which is away:
But more of this hereafter:—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.
Yet, I pray you,—
1 note
But with the word, the time will bring on summer,
When briars shall have leaves as well as thorns,
-- 121 --
And be as sweet as sharp. We must away;
2 note
Our waggon is prepar'd, and time revives us:
All's well, that ends well: still the fine's the crown;
Whate'er the course, the end is the renown.
[Exeunt.
SCENE V.
Rousillon.
Enter Countess, Lafeu, and Clown.
Laf.
No, no, no, your son was mis-led with a
-- 122 --
snipt-taffata fellow there; 3 note
whose villainous saffron
would have made all the unbak'd and doughy youth
-- 123 --
of a nation in his colour: your daughter-in-law had
been alive at this hour; and your son here at home,
more advanced by the king, than by that red-tail'd
humble-bee I speak of.
Count.
4 noteI 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 sallads, ere we light on such
another herb.
Clo.
Indeed, sir, she was the sweet-marjoram, of the
sallet, or, rather, the herb of grace.
Laf.
They are not sallet-herbs, you knave, they
are nose-herbs.
-- 124 --
Clo.
I am no great Nebuchadnezzar, sir, I have
not much skill in grass.
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.
Your distinction?
Clo.
I would cozen the man of his wife, and do his
service.
Laf.
So you were a knave at his service, indeed.
Clo.
And I would give his wife my bauble, sir, to
do her service5 note
.
-- 125 --
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.
Who's that? a Frenchman?
Clo.
Faith, sir, he has an English name6 note; but his
7 note
phisnomy is more hotter in France, than there.
Laf.
What prince is that?
Clo.
The black prince, sir, alias, the prince of
darkness; alias, the devil.
Laf.
Hold thee, there's my purse: I give thee not
this to suggest thee8 note
from thy master thou talk'st of;
serve him still.
Clo.
9 noteI am a woodland fellow, sir, that always lov'd
-- 126 --
a great fire; and the master I speak of, ever keeps a
good fire. But, sure, he is the prince of the world1 note,
let his nobility remain in his court. I am for the house
with the narrow gate, which I take to be too little for
pomp to enter: some, that humble themselves, may;
but the many will be too chill and tender; and they'll
be for the flowery way, that leads to the broad gate,
and the great fire.
Laf.
Go thy ways, I begin to be a-weary of thee;
and I tell thee so before, because I would not fall out
with thee. Go thy ways; let my horses be well look'd
to, without any tricks.
Clo.
If I put any tricks upon 'em, sir, they shall be
jades' tricks; which are their own right by the law of
nature.
[Exit.
Laf.
A shrewd knave, and an 2 note
unhappy.
Count.
So he is. 3 note
My lord, that's gone, made
himself much sport out of him: by his authority he
remains here, which he thinks is a patent for his sauciness;
and, indeed, he has no pace, but runs where
he will.
Laf.
I like him well; 'tis not amiss: and 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
-- 127 --
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 has promis'd
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 deceiv'd by him that in
such intelligence hath seldom fail'd.
Count.
It rejoices me, that I hope I shall see him
ere I die. I have letters, that my son will be here
to-night: I shall beseech your lordship, to remain
with me till they meet together.
Laf.
Madam, I was thinking, with what manners I
might safely be admitted.
Count.
You need but plead your honourable privilege.
Laf.
Lady, of that I have made a bold charter;
but, I thank my God, it holds yet.
Re-enter Clown.
Clo.
O madam, yonder's my lord your son with a
patch of velvet on's face: whether there be a scar
under't, or no, the velvet knows; but 'tis a goodly
patch of velvet: his left cheek is a cheek of two pile
and a half, but his right cheek is worn bare.
Count.
A scar nobly got, or a noble scar, is a good
livery of honour: so, belike, is that.
Clo.
But it is your4 note
carbonado'd face.
-- 128 --
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.
ACT V.
SCENE I.
The Court of France at Marseilles.
Enter Helena, Widow, and Diana, with two Attendants.
Hel.
But this exceeding posting, day and night,
Must wear your spirits low: we cannot help it;
But, since you have made the days and nights as one,
To wear your gentle limbs in my affairs,
Be bold, you do so grow in my requital,
As nothing can unroot you. In happy time;—
Enter a gentle Astringer5 note
.
This man may help me to his majesty's ear,
-- 129 --
If he would spend his power.—God save you, sir.
Gent.
And you.
Hel.
Sir, I have seen you in the court of France.
Gent.
I have been sometimes there.
Hel.
I do presume, sir, that you are not fallen
From the report that goes upon your goodness;
And therefore, goaded with most sharp occasions,
Which lay nice manners by, I put you to
The use of your own virtues, for the which
I shall continue thankful.
Gent.
What's your will?
Hel.
That it will please you
To give this poor petition to the king;
And aid me with that store of power you have,
To come into his presence.
Gent.
The king's not here.
Hel.
Not here, sir?
Gent.
Not, indeed:
He hence remov'd last night, and with more haste
Than is his use.
Wid.
Lord, how we lose our pains!
Hel.
All's well, that ends well, yet;
Though time seem so adverse, and means unfit.—
I do beseech you, whither is he gone?
Gent.
Marry, as I take it, to Rousillon;
Whither I am going.
Hel.
I do beseech you, sir,
Since you are like to see the king before me,
Commend the paper to his gracious hand;
Which, I presume, shall render you no blame,
But rather make you thank your pains for it:
I will come after you, with what good speed
6 noteOur means will make us means.
-- 130 --
Gent.
This I'll do for you.
Hel.
And you shall find yourself to be well thank'd,
What-e'er falls more.—We must to horse again;—
Go, go, provide.
[Exeunt.
SCENE II.
Rousillon.
Enter Clown and Parolles.
Par.
Good Mr. Lavatch, give my lord Lafeu this
letter: I have ere now, sir, been better known to
you, when I have held familiarity with fresher
clothes; 7 note
but I am now, sir, muddy'd in fortune's
moat, and smell somewhat strong of her strong displeasure.
-- 131 --
Clo.
Truly, fortune's displeasure is but sluttish, if
it smell so strongly as thou speak'st of: I will henceforth
eat no fish of fortune's buttering. Pr'ythee, allow
the wind8 note.
Par.
Nay, you need not to stop your nose, sir; I
spake but by a metaphor.
Clo.
Indeed, sir, if your metaphor stink, I will
stop my nose; or against any man's9 note
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.
Enter Lafeu.
Here is a pur of fortune's, sir, or of fortune's cat,
(but not a musk-cat) that has fallen into the unclean
fishpond of her displeasure, and, as he says, is muddy'd
-- 132 --
withal: Pray you, sir, use the carp as you may;
for he looks like a poor, decay'd, ingenious, foolish,
rascally knave. 1 note
I do pity his distress in my smiles
of comfort, and leave him to your lordship.
[Exit Clown.
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. Wherein have you play'd
the knave with fortune, that she should scratch you,
who of herself is a good lady, and would not have
knaves thrive long under her? There's a quart d'ecu
for you: Let the justices make you and fortune
friends; I am for other business.
Par.
I beseech your honour, to hear me one single
word.
Laf.
You beg a single penny more: come, you
shall ha't; save your word.
Par.
My name, my good lord, is Parolles.
Laf.
You beg more than one word then2 note.—Cox' my
passion! give me your hand:—How does your drum?
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.
-- 133 --
Par.
It lies in you, my lord, to bring me in some
grace, for you did bring me out.
Laf.
Out upon thee, knave! dost thou put upon
me at once both the office of God and the devil? one
brings thee in grace, and the other brings thee out.
[Sound trumpets.] The king's coming, I know by
his trumpets.—Sirrah, inquire further after me; I
had talk of you last night: though you are a fool and
a knave, you shall eat3 note; go to, follow.
Par.
I praise God for you.
[Exeunt.
SCENE III.
Flourish. Enter King, Countess, Lafeu, Lords, Attendants, &c.
King.
We lost a jewel of her; and our 4 noteesteem
Was made much poorer by it: but your son,
As mad in folly, lack'd the sense to know
Her estimation home5 note.
Count.
'Tis past, my liege:
And I beseech your majesty to make it
Natural rebellion, done i'the blade of youth6 note;
-- 134 --
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:
Though my revenges were high bent upon him,
And watch'd the time to shoot.
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 eyes7 note; 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 are reconcil'd, and the first view shall kill8 note
All repetition:—Let him not ask our pardon;
The nature of his great offence is dead,
And deeper than oblivion we do bury
The incensing relicks of it: let him approach,
-- 135 --
A stranger, no offender; and inform him,
So 'tis our will he should.
Gent.
I shall, my liege.
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 match. I have letters sent me,
That set him high in fame.
Enter Bertram.
Laf.
He looks well on't.
King.
I am not a day of season,
For thou may'st see a sun-shine and a hail
In me at once: But to the brightest beams
Distracted clouds give way; so stand thou forth,
The time is fair again.
Ber.
My high-repented blames9 note,
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;
For we are old, and on our quick'st decrees
The inaudible and noiseless foot of time
Steals, ere we can effect them: 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:
Where the impression of mine eye enfixing,
Contempt his scornful perspective did lend me,
Which warp'd the line of every other favour;
-- 136 --
Scorn'd a fair colour, or express'd it stol'n1 note
;
Extended or contracted all proportions,
To a most hideous object: 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: But love, that comes too late,
Like a remorseful pardon slowly carried,
-- 137 --
To the great sender turns a sour offence,
Crying, That's good that's gone: our rash faults
Make trivial price of serious things we have,
Not knowing them, until we know their grave:
Oft our displeasures, to ourselves unjust,
Destroy our friends, and after weep their dust:
2 note
Our own love waking cries to see what's done,
While shameful hate sleeps out the afternoon.
Be this sweet Helen's knell, and now forget her.
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.
Count.
3 note
Which better than the first, O dear heaven bless!
Or, ere they meet, in me, O nature, cease!
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 every hair that's on't, Helen, that's dead,
Was a sweet creature; such a ring as this,
-- 138 --
The last that e'er she took her leave at court,
I saw upon her finger.
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
Necessity'd 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 have seen her wear it; and she reckon'd it
At her life's rate.
Laf.
I am 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 me4 note,
Wrap'd in a paper, which contain'd the name
Of her that threw it: 5 note
noble she was, and thought
-- 139 --
I stood engag'd; but when I had subscrib'd
To mine own fortune, and inform'd her fully,
I could not answer in that course of honour
As she had made the overture, she ceas'd,
In heavy satisfaction, and would never
Receive the ring again.
King.
Plutus himself,
That knows the tinct and multiplying medicine6 note
,
Hath not in nature's mystery more science,
Than I have in this ring: 'twas mine, 'twas Helen's,
Whoever gave it you: Then, if you know7 note
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 conjectural fears to come into me,
-- 140 --
Which I would fain shut out: If it should prove
That thou art so inhuman,—'twill not prove so;—
And yet I know not:—thou didst hate her deadly,
And she is dead; which nothing, but to close
Her eyes myself, could win me to believe,
More than to see this ring.—Take him away.—
[Guards seize Bertram.
My fore-past proofs, howe'er the matter fall8 note
,
Shall tax my fears of little vanity,
Having vainly fear'd too little.—Away with him;—
We'll sift this matter further.
Ber.
If you shall prove
This ring was ever 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 am wrap'd in dismal thinkings.
Gent.
Gracious sovereign,
Whether I have been to blame, or no, I know not;
Here's a petition from a Florentine,
Who hath, for four or five removes, come short9 note
To tender it herself. I undertook it,
Vanquish'd thereto by the fair grace and speech
Of the poor suppliant, who by this, I know,
-- 141 --
Is here attending: 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.
—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 his 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 this. I'll none of him1 note
.
King.
The heavens have thought well on thee, Lafeu,
To bring forth this discovery.—Seek these suitors:—
Go, speedily, and bring again the count.—
-- 142 --
Enter Bertram, guarded.
I am afeard, the life of Helen, lady,
Was foully snatch'd.
Count.
Now, justice on the doers!
King.
I wonder, sir, since wives are monsters to you2 note
;
And that you fly them as you swear them lordship,
Yet you desire to marry.—What woman's that?
Enter Widow, and Diana.
Dia.
I am, my lord, a wretched Florentine,
Derived from the ancient 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 cease3 note, 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?
-- 143 --
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 heaven's vows, and those are mine;
You give away myself, which is known mine;
For I by vow am so embody'd yours,
That she, which marries you, must marry me,
Either both, or none.
Laf.
Your reputation comes too short for my
daughter, you are no husband for her.
[To Bertram.
Ber.
My lord, this is a fond and desperate creature,
Whom sometime I have laugh'd with: let your highness
Lay a more noble thought upon mine honour,
Than for to think that I would sink it here.
King.
Sir, for my thoughts, you have them ill to friend,
'Till your deeds gain them: Fairer prove your honour,
Than in my thought it lies!
Dia.
Good my lord,
Ask him upon his oath, if he does think
He had not my virginity.
King.
What say'st thou to her?
Ber.
She's impudent, my lord;
And was a common gamester to the camp.
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 validity5 note
,
-- 144 --
Did lack a parallel; yet, for all that,
He gave it to a commoner o'the camp,
If I be one.
Count.
He blushes, and 'tis it6 note
:
Of six preceding ancestors, that gem
Conferr'd by testament to the sequent issue,
Hath it been ow'd, and worn. This is his wife;
That ring's a thousand proofs.
King.
Methought you said, 9Q0419
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 quoted7 note
for a most perfidious slave,
With all the spots o'the world tax'd and debosh'd8 note;
Whose nature sickens but to speak a truth9 note
:
Am I or that, or this, for what he'll utter,
That will speak any thing?
King.
She hath that ring of yours.
-- 145 --
Ber.
I think, she has: certain it is, I lik'd her,
And boarded her i'the wanton way of youth:
She knew her distance, and did angle for me,
Madding my eagerness with her restraint,
As 1 note
all impediments in fancy's course,
Are motives of more fancy; and, in fine,
Her insuit coming with her modern grace,
Subdu'd me to her rate: 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 me2 note. 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?
-- 146 --
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.
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? 9Q0421
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.
As thou art a knave, and no knave:—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.
-- 147 --
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 loved
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.
King.
Thou hast spoken all already, unless thou
canst say they are marry'd: But thou art too fine in
thy evidence3 note; 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.
The 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.
-- 148 --
Dia.
I'll put in bail, my liege.
King.
I think thee now some common customer4 note
.
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 am either maid, or else this old man's wife.
[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,
Though yet he never harm'd me, here I quit him:
5 noteHe knows himself, my bed he hath defil'd;
And at that time he got his wife with child:
Dead though she be, she feels her young one kick;
So there's my riddle, One, that's dead, is quick.
And now behold the meaning.
Re-enter Widow, with Helena.
King.
Is there no exorcist6 note,
Beguiles the truer office of mine eyes?
Is't real, that I see?
Hel.
No, my good lord;
-- 149 --
'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; This it says,
When from my finger you can get this ring,
And are by me with child, &c.—This is done:
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: [To Parolles.]
So, I thank thee; wait on me home, I'll
make sport with thee: Let thy courtesies alone, they
are scurvy ones.
King.
Let us from point to point this story know,
To make the even truth in pleasure flow:—
If thou be'st yet a fresh uncropped flower,
[To Diana.
Chuse thou thy husband, and I'll pay thy dower;
For I can guess, that, by thy honest aid,
Thou kept'st a wife herself, thyself a maid.—
Of that, and all the progress, more and less,
Resolvedly more leisure shall express:
All yet seems well; and, if it end so meet,
The bitter past, more welcome is the sweet.
Advancing.
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:
-- 150 --
7 noteOurs be your patience then, and yours our parts;
Your gentle hands lend us, and take our hearts.
[Exeunt.
