Scœna Prima. Enter yong Bertram Count of Rossillion, his Mother, and Helena, Lord Lafew, all in blacke.

Mother.

In deliuering my sonne from me, I burie a second husband.

Ros.

And I in going Madam, weep ore my fathers death anew; but I must attend his maiesties command, to whom I am now in Ward, ouermore in subiection.

Laf.

You shall find of the King a husband Madame, you sir a father. He that so generally is at all times good, must of necessitie hold his vertue to you, whose worthinesse would stirre it vp where it wanted rather then lack it where there is such abundance.

Mo.

What hope is there of his Maiesties amendment?

Laf.

He hath abandon'd his Phisitions Madam, vnder whose practises he hath persecuted time with hope, and finds no other aduantage in the processe, but onely the loosing of hope by time.

Mo.

This yong Gentlewoman had a father, O that had, how sad a passage tis, whose skill was almost as great as his honestie, had it stretch'd so far, would haue made nature immortall, and death should haue play for lacke of worke. Would for the Kings sake hee were liuing, I thinke it would be the death of the Kings disease.

Laf.

How call'd you the man you speake of Madam?

Mo.

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 latelie spoke of him admiringly, and mourningly: hee was skilfull enough to haue liu'd stil, if knowledge could be set vp against mortallitie.

Ros.

What is it (my good Lord) the King languishes of?

Laf.

A Fistula my Lord.

Ros.

I heard not of it before.

Laf.

I would it were not notorious. Was this Gentlewoman the Daughter of Gerard de Narbon?

Mo.

His sole childe my Lord, and bequeathed to my ouer looking. I haue those hopes of her good, that her education promises her dispositions shee inherits, which makes faire gifts fairer: for where an vncleane mind carries vertuous qualities, there commendations go with pitty, they are vertues and traitors too: in her they are the better for their simplenesse; she deriues her honestie, and atcheeues her goodnesse.

Lafew.

Your commendations Madam get from her teares.

Mo.

'Tis the best brine a Maiden can season her praise in. The remembrance of her father neuer approches her heart, but the tirrany of her sorrowes takes all liuelihood from her cheeke. No more of this Helena, go too, no more least it be rather thought you affect a sorrow, then to haue—

Hell.

I doe affect a sorrow indeed, but I haue it too.

Laf.

Moderate lamentation is the right of the dead, excessiue greefe the enemie to the liuing.

Mo.

If the liuing be enemie to the greefe, the excesse makes it soone mortall.

Ros.

Maddam I desire your holie wishes,

Laf.

How vnderstand we that?

Mo.
Be thou blest Bertrame, and succeed thy father
In manners as in shape: thy blood and vertue
Contend for Empire in thee, and thy goodnesse
Share with thy birth-right. Loue all, trust a few,
Doe wrong to none: be able for thine enemie
Rather in power then vse: and keepe thy friend
Vnder thy owne lifes key. Be checkt for silence,
But neuer tax'd for speech. What heauen more wil,
That thee may furnish, and my prayers plucke downe,
Fall on thy head. Farwell my Lord,
'Tis an vnseason'd Courtier, good my Lord
Aduise him.

Laf.
He cannot want the best
That shall attend his loue.

Mo.

Heauen blesse him: Farwell Bertram.

Ro.

The best wishes that can be forg'd in your thoghts be seruants to you: be comfortable to my mother, your Mistris, and make much of her.

Laf.

Farewell prettie Lady, you must hold the credit of your father.

Hell.
O were that all, I thinke not on my father,
And these great teares grace his remembrance more
Then those I shed for him. What was he like?
I haue forgott him. My imagination
Carries no fauour in't but Bertrams.
I am vndone, there is no liuing, none,
If Bertram be away. 'Twere all one,
That I should loue a bright particuler starre,
And think to wed it, he is so aboue me
In his bright radience and colaterall light,

Must I be comforted, not in his sphere;
Th'ambition in my loue thus plagues it selfe:
The hind that would be mated by the Lion
Must die for loue. 'Twas prettie, though a plague
To see him euerie houre to sit and draw
His arched browes, his hawking eie, his curles
In our hearts table: heart too capeable
Of euerie line and tricke of his sweet fauour.
But now he's gone, and my idolatrous fancie
Must sanctifie his Reliques. Who comes heere? Enter Parolles.
One that goes with him: I loue him for his sake,
And yet I know him a notorious Liar,
Thinke him a great way foole, solie a coward,
Yet these fixt euils sit to fit in him,
That they take place, when Vertues steely bones
Lookes bleake i'th cold wind: withall, full ofte we see
Cold wisedome waighting on superfluous follie.

Par.

Saue you faire Queene.

Hel.

And you Monarch.

Par.

No.

Hel.

And no.

Par.

Are you meditating on virginitie?

Hel.

I: you haue some staine of souldier in you: Let mee aske you a question. Man is enemie to virginitie, how may we barracado it against him?

Par.

Keepe him out.

Hel.

But he assailes, and our virginitie though valiant, in the defence yet is weak: vnfold to vs some warlike resistance.

Par.

There is none: Man setting downe before you, will vndermine you, and blow you vp.

Hel.

Blesse our poore Virginity from vnderminers and blowers vp. Is there no Military policy how Virgins might blow vp men?

Par.

Virginity beeing blowne downe, Man will quicklier be blowne vp: marry in blowing him downe againe, with the breach your selues made, you lose your Citty. It is not politicke, in the Common-wealth of Nature, to preserue virginity. Losse of Virginitie, is rationall encrease, and there was neuer Virgin goe, till virginitie was first lost. That you were made of, is mettall to make Virgins. Virginitie, by beeing once lost, may be ten times found: by being euer kept, it is euer lost: 'tis too cold a companion: Away with't.

Hel.

I will stand for't a little, though therefore I die a Virgin.

Par.

There's little can bee saide in't, 'tis against the rule of Nature. To speake on the part of virginitie, is to accuse your Mothers; which is most infallible disobedience. He that hangs himselfe is a Virgin: Virginitie murthers it selfe, and should be buried in highwayes out of all sanctified limit, as a desperate Offendresse against Nature. Virginitie breedes mites, much like a Cheese, consumes it selfe to the very payring, and so dies with feeding his owne stomacke. Besides, Virginitie is peeuish, proud, ydle, made of selfe-loue, which is the most inhibited sinne in the Cannon. Keepe it not, you cannot choose but loose by't. Out with't within ten yeare it will make it selfe two, which is a goodly increase, and the principall it selfe not much the worse. Away with't.

Hel.

How might one do sir, to loose it to her owne liking?

Par.

Let mee see. Marry ill, to like him that ne're it likes. 'Tis a commodity wil lose the glosse with lying: The longer kept, the lesse worth: Off with't while 'tis vendible. Answer the time of request, Virginitie like an olde Courtier, weares her cap out of fashion, richly suted, but vnsuteable, iust like the brooch & the toothpick, which were not now: your Date is better in your Pye and your Porredge, then in your cheeke: and your virginity, your old virginity, is like one of our French wither'd peares, it lookes ill, it eates drily, marry 'tis a wither'd peare: it was formerly better, marry yet 'tis a wither'd peare: Will you any thing with it?

Hel.
Not my virginity yet:
There shall your Master haue a thousand loues,
A Mother, and a Mistresse, and a friend,
A Phenix, Captaine, and an enemy,
A guide, a Goddesse, and a Soueraigne,
A Counsellor, a Traitoresse, and a Deare:
His humble ambition, proud humility:
His iarring, concord: and his discord, dulcet:
His faith, his sweet disaster: with a world
Of pretty fond adoptious christendomes
That blinking Cupid gossips. Now shall he:
I know not what he shall, God send him well,
The Courts a learning place, and he is one.

Par.
What one ifaith?

Hel.
That I wish well, 'tis pitty.

Par.
What's pitty?

Hel.
That wishing well had not a body in't,
Which might be felt, that we the poorer borne,
Whose baser starres do shut vs vp in wishes,
Might vvith effects of them follow our friends,
And shew what vve alone must thinke, which neuer
Returnes vs thankes. Enter Page.

Pag.
Monsieur Parrolles,
My Lord cals for you.

Par.

Little Hellen farewell, if I can remember thee, I will thinke of thee at Court.

Hel.

Monsieur Parolles, you were borne vnder a charitable starre.

Par.

Vnder Mars I.

Hel.

I especially thinke, vnder Mars.

Par

Why vnder Mars?

Hel.

The warres hath so kept you vnder, that you must needes be borne vnder Mars.

Par.

When he was predominant.

Hel.

When he was retrograde I thinke rather.

Par.

Why thinke you so?

Hel.

You go so much backward when you fight.

Par.

That's for aduantage.

Hel.

So is running away, When feare proposes the safetie: But the composition that your valour and feare makes in you, is a vertue of a good wing, and I like the weare well.

Paroll.

I am so full of businesses, I cannot answere thee acutely: I will returne perfect Courtier, in the which my instruction shall serue, to naturalize thee, so thou wilt be capeable of a Courtiers councell, and vnderstand what aduice shall thrust vppon thee, else thou diest in thine vnthankfulnes, and thine ignorance makes thee away, farewell: When thou hast leysure, say thy praiers: when thou hast none, remember thy Friends:

Get thee a good husband, and vse him as he vses thee: So farewell.

Hel.
Our remedies oft in our selues do lye,
Which we ascribe to heauen: the fated skye
Giues vs free scope, onely doth backward pull
Our slow designes, when we our selues are dull.
What power is it, which mounts my loue so hye,
That makes me see, and cannot feede mine eye?
The mightiest space in fortune, Nature brings
To ioyne like, likes; and kisse like natiue things.
Impossible be strange attempts to those
That weigh their paines in sence, and do suppose
What hath beene, cannot be. Who euer stroue
To shew her merit, that did misse her loue?
(The Kings disease) my proiect may deceiue me,
But my intents are fixt, and will not leaue me. Exit Flourish Cornets. Enter the King of France with Letters, and diuers Attendants.

King.
The Florentines and Senoys are by th'eares,
Haue fought with equall fortune, and continue
A brauing warre.

1. Lo. G.
So tis reported sir.

King.
Nay tis most credible, we heere receiue it,
A certaintie vouch'd from our Cosin Austria,
With caution, that the Florentine will moue vs
For speedie ayde: wherein our deerest friend
Preiudicates the businesse, and would seeme
To haue vs make deniall.

1. Lo. G.
His loue and wisedome
Approu'd so to your Maiesty, may pleade
For amplest credence.

King.
He hath arm'd our answer,
And Florence is deni'de before he comes.
Yet for our Gentlemen that meane to see
The Tuscan seruice, freely haue they leaue
To stand on either part.

2. Lo. E.
It well may serue
A nursserie to our Gentrie, who are sicke
For breathing, and exploit.

King.
What's he comes heere. Enter Bertram, Lafew, and Parolles.

1. Lo. G.
It is the Count Rosignoll my good Lord,
Yong Bertram.

King.
Youth, thou bear'st thy Fathers face,
Franke Nature rather curious then in hast
Hath well compos'd thee: Thy Fathers morall parts
Maist thou inherit too: Welcome to Paris.

Ber.
My thankes and dutie are your Maiesties.

Kin.
I would I had that corporall soundnesse now,
As when thy father, and my selfe, in friendship
First tride our souldiership: he did looke farre
Into the seruice of the time, and was
Discipled of the brauest. He lasted long,
But on vs both did haggish Age steale on,
And wore vs out of act: It much repaires me
To talke of your good father; in his youth
He had the wit, which I can well obserue
To day in our yong Lords; but they may iest
Till their owne scorne returne to them vnnoted
Ere they can hide their leuitie in honour:
So like a Courtier, contempt nor bitternesse
Were in his pride, or sharpnesse; if they were,
His equall had awak'd them, and his honour
Clocke to it selfe, knew the true minute when
Exception bid him speake: and at this time
His tongue obeyd his hand. Who were below him,
He vs'd as creatures of another place,
Aud bow'd his eminent top to their low rankes,
Making them proud of his humilitie,
In their poore praise he humbled: Such a man
Might be a copie to these yonger times;
Which followed well, would demonstrate them now
But goers backward.

Ber.
His good remembrance sir
Lies richer in your thoughts, then on his tombe:
So in approofe liues not his Epitaph,
As in your royall speech.

King.
Would I were with him he would alwaies say,
(Me thinkes I heare him now) his plausiue words
He scatter'd not in eares, but grafted them
To grow there and to beare: Let me not liue,
This his good melancholly oft began
On the Catastrophe and heele of pastime
When it was out: Let me not liue (quoth hee)
After my flame lackes oyle, to be the snuffe
Of yonger spirits, whose apprehensiue senses
All but new things disdaine; whose iudgements are
Meere 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 honie can bring home,
I quickly were dissolued from my hiue
To giue some Labourers roome.

L. 2. E.
You'r loued Sir,
They that least lend it you, shall lacke you first.

Kin.
I fill a place I know't: how long ist Count
Since the Physitian at your fathers died?
He was much fam'd.

Ber.
Some six moneths since my Lord.

Kin.
If he were liuing, I would try him yet.
Lend me an arme: the rest haue worne me out
With seuerall applications: Nature and sicknesse
Debate it at their leisure. Welcome Count,
My sonne's no deerer.

Ber.
Thanke your Maiesty. Exit Flourish. Enter Countesse, Steward, and Clowne.

Coun.

I will now heare, what say you of this gentlewoman.

Ste.

Maddam the care I haue had to euen your content, I wish might be found in the Kalender of my past endeuours, for then we wound our Modestie, and make foule the clearnesse of our deseruings, when of our selues we publish them.

Coun.

What doe's this knaue heere? Get you gone sirra: the complaints I haue heard of you I do not all beleeue, 'tis my slownesse that I doe not: For I know you lacke not folly to commit them, & haue abilitie enough to make such knaueries yours.

Clo.

'Tis not vnknown to you Madam, I am a poore fellow.

Coun.

Well sir.

Clo.

No maddam,

'Tis not so well that I am poore, though manie

of the rich are damn'd, but if I may haue your Ladiships good will to goe to the world, Isbell the woman and w will doe as we may.

Coun.

Wilt thou needes be a begger?

Clo.

I doe beg your good will in this case.

Cou.

In what case?

Clo.

In Isbels case and mine owne: seruice is no heritage, and I thinke I shall neuer haue the blessing of God, till I haue issue a my bodie: for they say barnes are blessings.

Cou.

Tell me thy reason why thou wilt marrie?

Clo.

My poore bodie Madam requires it, I am driuen onby the flesh, and hee must needes goe that the diuell driues.

Cou.

Is this all your worships reason?

Clo.

Faith Madam I haue other holie reasons, such as they are.

Con.

May the world know them?

Clo.

I haue beene Madam a wicked creature, as you and all flesh and blood are, and indeede I doe marrie that I may repent.

Cou.

Thy marriage sooner then thy wickednesse.

Clo.

I am out a friends Madam, and I hope to haue friends for my wiues sake.

Cou.

Such friends are thine enemies knaue.

Clo.

Y'are shallow Madam in great friends, for the knaues come to doe that for me which I am a wearie of: he that eres my Land, spares my teame, and giues mee leaue to Inne the crop: if I be his cuckold hee's my drudge; he that comforts my wife, is the cherisher of my flesh and blood; hee that cherishes my flesh and blood, loues my flesh and blood; he that loues 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 feare in marriage, for yong Charbon the Puritan, and old Poysam the Papist, how somere their hearts are seuer'd in Religion, their heads are both one, they may ioule horns together like any Deare i'th Herd.

Cou.

Wilt thou euer be a foule mouth'd and calumnious knaue?

Clo.

A Prophet I Madam, and I speake the truth the next waie, for I the Ballad will repeate, which men full true shall finde, your marriage comes by destinie, your Cuckow sings by kinde.

Cou.

Get you gone sir, Ile talke with you more anon.

Stew.

May it please you Madam, that hee bid Hellen come to you, of her I am to speake.

Cou.

Sirra tell my gentlewoman I would speake with her, Hellen I meane.

Clo.
Was this faire face the cause, quoth she,
Why the Grecians sacked Troy,
Fond done, done, fond was this King Priams ioy,
With that she sighed as she stood, bis

And gaue this sentence then, among nine bad if one be good, among nine bad if one be good, there's yet one good in ten.

Cou.

What, one good in tenne? you corrupt the song sirra.

Clo.

One good woman in ten Madam, which is a purifying ath' song: would God would serue the world so all the yeere, weed finde no fault with the tithe woman if I were the Parson, one in ten quoth a? and wee might haue a good woman borne but ore euerie blazing starre, or at an earthquake, 'twould mend the Lotterie well, a man may draw his heart out ere a pluck one.

Cou.

Youle be gone sir knaue, and doe as I command you?

Clo.

That man should be at womans command, and yet no hurt done, though honestie be no Puritan, yet it will doe no hurt, it will weare the Surplis of humilitie ouer the blacke-Gowne of a bigge heart: I am going forsooth, the businesse is for Helen to come hither.

Cou.

Well now.

Stew.

I know Madam you loue your Gentlewoman intirely.

Cou.

Faith I doe: her Father bequeath'd her to mee, and she her selfe without other aduantage, may lawfullie make title to as much loue as shee findes, there is more owing her then is paid, and more shall be paid her then sheele demand.

Stew.

Madam, I was verie late more neere her then I thinke shee wisht mee, alone shee was, and did communicate to her selfe her owne words to her owne eares, shee thought, I dare vowe for her, they toucht not anie stranger sence, her matter was, shee loued your Sonne; Fortune shee said was no goddesse, that had put such difference betwixt their two estates: Loue no god, that would not extend his might onelie, where qualities were leuell, Queene of Virgins, that would suffer her poore Knight surpris'd without rescue in the first assault or ransome afterward: This shee deliuer'd in the most bitter touch of sorrow that ere I heard Virgin exclaime in, which I held my dutie speedily to acquaint you withall, sithence in the losse that may happen, it concernes you something to know it.

Cou.

You haue discharg'd this honestlie, keepe it to your selfe, manie likelihoods inform'd mee of this before, which hung so tottring in the ballance, that I could neither beleeue nor misdoubt: praie you leaue mee, stall this in your bosome, and I thanke you for your honest care: I will speake with you further anon.

Old. Cou.
Euen so it vvas vvith me when I was yong:
If euer vve are natures, these are ours, this thorne
Doth to our Rose of youth righlie belong
Our bloud to vs, this to our blood is borne,
It is the show, and seale of natures truth,
Where loues strong passion is imprest in youth,
By our remembrances of daies forgon,
Such were our faults, or then we thought them none,
Her eie is sicke on't, I obserue her now.

Hell.
What is your pleasure Madam?

Ol. Cou.
You know Hellen I am a mother to you.

Hell.
Mine honorable Mistris.

Ol. Cou.
Nay a mother, why not a mother? when I sed a mother
Me thought 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 seene
Adoption striues vvith nature, and choise breedes
A natiue slip to vs from forraine seedes:
You nere opprest me with a mothers groane,
Yet I expresse to you a mothers care,
(Gods mercie maiden) dos it curd thy blood
To say I am thy mother? vvhat's the matter,
That this distempered messenger of wet?

The manie colour'd Iris rounds thine eye?
—Why, that you are my daughter?

Hell.
That I am not.

Old. Cou.
I say I am your Mother.

Hell.
Pardon Madam.
The Count Rosillion cannot be my brother:
I am from humble, he from honored name:
No note vpon my Parents, his all noble,
My Master, my deere Lord he is and I
His seruant liue, and will his vassall die:
He must not be my brother.

Ol. Cou.
Nor I your Mother.

Hell.
You are my mother Madam, would you were
So that my Lord your sonne were not my brother,
Indeede my mother, or were you both our mothers,
I care no more for, then I doe for heauen,
So I were not his sister, cant no other,
But I your daughter, he must be my brother.

Old. Cou.
Yes Hellen, you might be my daughter in law,
God shield you meane it not, daughter and mother
So striue vpon your pulse; vvhat pale agen?
My feare hath catcht your fondnesse! now I see
The mistrie of your louelinesse, and finde
Your salt teares head, now to all sence 'tis grosse:
You loue my sonne, inuention is asham'd
Against the proclamation of thy passion
To say thou doost not: therefore tell me true,
But tell me then 'tis so, for looke, thy cheekes
Confesse it 'ton tooth to th'other, and thine eies
See it so grosely showne in thy behauiours,
That in their kinde they speake it, onely sinne
And hellish obstinacie tye thy tongue
That truth should be suspected, speake, ist so?
If it be so, you haue wound a goodly clewe:
If it be not, forsweare't how ere I charge thee,
As heauen shall worke in me for thine auaile
To tell me truelie.

Hell.
Good Madam pardon me.

Cou.
Do you loue my Sonne?

Hell.
Your pardon noble Mistris.

Cou.
Loue you my Sonne?

Hell.
Doe not you loue him Madam?

Cou.
Goe not about; my loue hath in't a bond
Whereof the world takes note: Come, come, disclose:
The state of your affection, for your passions
Haue to the full appeach'd.

Hell.
Then I confesse
Here on my knee, before high heauen and you,
That before you, and next vnto high heauen, I loue your Sonne:
My friends were poore but honest, so's my loue:
Be not offended, for it hurts not him
That he is lou'd of me; I follow him not
By any token of presumptuous suite,
Nor would I haue him, till I doe deserue him,
Yet neuer know how that desert should be:
I know I loue in vaine, striue against hope:
Yet in this captious, and intemible Siue.
I still poure in the waters of my loue
And lacke not to loose still: thus Indian like
Religious in mine error, I adore
The Sunne that lookes vpon his worshipper,
But knowes of him no more. My deerest Madam,
Let not your hate incounter with my loue,
For louing where you doe; but if your selfe,
Whose aged honor cites a vertuous youth,
Did euer, in so true a flame of liking,
Wish chastly, and loue dearely, that your Dian
Was both her selfe and loue, O then giue pittie
To her whose state is such, that cannot choose
But lend and giue where she is sure to loose;
That seekes not to finde that, her search implies,
But riddle like, liues sweetely where she dies.

Cou.
Had you not lately an intent, speake truely,
To goe to Paris?

Hell.
Madam I had.

Cou.
Wherefore? tell true.

Hell.
I will tell truth, by grace it selfe I sweare:
You know my Father left me some prescriptions
Of rare and prou'd effects, such as his reading
And manifest experience, had collected
For generall soueraigntie: and that he wil'd me
In heedefull'st reseruation to bestow them,
As notes, whose faculties inclusiue were,
More then they were in note: Amongst the rest,
There is a remedie, approu'd, set downe,
To cure the desperate languishings whereof
The King is render'd lost.

Cou.
This was your motiue for Paris, was it, speake?

Hell.
My Lord, your sonne, made me to think of this;
Else Paris, and the medicine, and the King,
Had from the conuersation of my thoughts,
Happily beene absent then.

Cou.
But thinke you Hellen,
If you should tender your supposed aide,
He would receiue it? He and his Phisitions
Are of a minde, he, that they cannot helpe him:
They, that they cannot helpe, how shall they credit
A poore vnlearned Virgin, when the Schooles
Embowel'd of their doctrine, haue left off
The danger to it selfe.

Hell.
There's something in't
More then my Fathers skill, which was the great'st
Of his profession, that his good receipt,
Shall for my legacie be sanctified
Byth'luckiest stars in heauen, and would your honor
But giue me leaue to trie successe, I'de venture
The well lost life of mine, on his Graces cure,
By such a day, an houre.

Cou.
Doo'st thou beleeue't?

Hell.
I Madam knowingly.

Cou.
Why Hellen thou shalt haue my leaue and loue,
Meanes and attendants, and my louing greetings
To those of mine in Court, Ile staie at home
And praie Gods blessing into thy attempt:
Begon to morrow, and be sure of this,
What I can helpe thee to, thou shalt not misse. Exeunt.

Previous section

Next section