Lafeu.
Cou.
In delivering my son from me, I bury a second
husband.
[to Lafeu, presenting her Son.
Ber.
And I note, in going, madam, weep o'er my father's
death anew: but I must attend his majesty's command;
to whom I am now in ward, 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; whose
worthiness would stir it up where it wanted, rather than
slack note it14Q0367 where there is such abundance.
Cou.
What hope is there of his majesty's amendment?
Laf.
He hath abandon'd his physicians, madam:
under whose practises he hath persecuted time with
hope; and finds no other advantage in the process, but
only the losing of hope by time.
-- 4 --
Cou.
This young gentlewoman [showing Helena.]
had a father, (O, that had! how sad a passage 'tis!14Q0368)
whose skill was almost as great as his honesty; had it
stretch'd so far, would have made nature immortal, and
death should have play 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?
Cou.
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:
he was skilful enough to have liv'd still, if knowledge
could be 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?
Cou.
His sole child, my lord; and bequeathed to my
o'er-looking. I have those hopes of her good, that her
education promises: her dispositions she inherits,14Q0369 which
makes fair gifts fairer: for where an unclean mind carries
virtuous qualities, there commendations go with
pity, they are virtues and traitors too; in her they are
the better for her simpleness note; she derives her honesty,
and atchieves her goodness.
Laf.
Your commendations, madam, get from her
tears.
Cou.
'Tis the best brine a maiden can season her
praise in. The remembrance of her father never approaches
-- 5 --
her heart, but the tyranny of her sorrows takes
all livelihood from her cheek.—No more of this, Helena,
go to, no more; lest it be rather thought you affect a
sorrow, than have it note.
Hel.
I do affect a sorrow, indeed, but I have it too.
Laf.
Moderate lamentation note is the right of the dead,
excessive grief the enemy to the living.
Cou.
If the living be not enemy to the grief, the
excess makes it soon mortal.
Ber.
Madam, I desire your holy wishes.
Laf.
How understand we that?14Q0370
Cou.
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,
That thee may furnish, and my prayers pluck down,
Fall on thy head note! Farewel.—My lord Lafeu,
'Tis an unseason'd courtier, good my lord,
Advise him you.
Laf.
He cannot want the best,14Q0371
That shall attend his love.
Cou.
Heaven bless him!—Farewel, Bertram.
[Exit.
Ber.
The best wishes, that can be forg'd in your
thoughts, [to Helena.] be servants to you! Be comfortable
to my mother, your mistress, and make much
of her.
Laf.
Farewel, pretty lady: You must hold the credit
of your father.
[Exeunt Bertram, and Lafeu.
-- 6 --
Hel.
O, were that all! I think not on my father;
And 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 of Bertram. note
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:
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 dye 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 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,
Think him a great way fool, solely a coward;
Yet these fixt evils sit so fit in him,
That they take place, when virtue's steely bones
Looks bleak14Q0372 in the cold wind: withal, full oft we see
Cold wisdom waiting on superfluous folly.
Par.
Save you, fair queen.
Hel.
And you, monárch.14Q0373
Par.
No.
Hel.
And no.
-- 7 --
Par.
Are you meditating on virginity?
Hel.
Ay. You have some stain of soldier in you;
let me ask you a question: Man is enemy to virginity;
how may we barricado it against him?
Par.
Keep him out.14Q0374
Hel.
But he assails; and our virginity, though valiant,
in the defence yet is weak: unfold to note us some
warlike resistance.
Par.
There is none; man, setting down before you,
will undermine you, and blow you up.
Hel.
Bless our poor virginity from underminers, and
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 common-wealth of nature, to
preserve virginity. Loss of virginity is rational increase;
and there was never virgin got, note '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, it is ever lost: 'tis too cold a companion;
away with't.
Hel.
I will stand for't a little, though therefore I dye
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. He, that hangs himself, is a virgin: virginity
murders itself; and should be bury'd in highways,
out of all sanctify'd limit, as a desperate offendress
against nature. Virginity breeds mites, much like a
-- 8 --
cheese; consumes itself to the very paring, and so dies
with feeding it's own stomack. Besides, virginity is
peevish, proud, idle, made of self-love, which is the
most inhibited note sin in the canon: Keep it not; you
cannot choose but lose by't: Out with't: within ten
years note it will make itself ten, 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: Marry, 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 suted, but unsuteable: just like the brooch, and
the tooth-pick, which wear not note now. Your date is
better in your pye, and your porridge, than in your
cheek: And your virginity, your old virginity, is like
one of our French wither'd pears; it looks ill, it eats
drily; marry, 'tis a wither'd pear: it was formerly
better; marry, yet 'tis a wither'd pear: Will you any
thing with it?
Hel.
Not my virginity yet.14Q0375 You're for the court:
There shall your master have a thousand loves,
A mother, and a mistress, and a friend,
A phœnix, captain, and an enemy,
A guide, a goddess, and a sovereign,
A counsellor, a traitress, and a dear;
His humble note ambition, proud humility,
His jarring concord, and his discord dulcet,
His faith, his sweet disaster; with a world
-- 9 --
Of pretty, fond, adoptious christendoms,
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—
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 note poorer born,
Whose baser stars do shut us up in wishes,
Might with effects of them follow our friends,
And shew what we alone must think; which never
Returns us thanks.
Enter a Page.
Pag.
Monsieur Parolles, my lord calls for you.
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 so note kept you 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, is a virtue of a good wing, and I like
-- 10 --
the wear well.
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 a courtier's note counsel, and understand
what advice shall thrust upon thee; else thou dyest in
thine unthankfulness, and thine ignorance makes thee
away; farewel: When thou hast leisure, say thy prayers;
when thou hast none, remember thy friends: get thee
a good husband, and use him as he uses thee: so
farewel.
[Exeunt Parolles, and Page.
Hel.
Our remedies14Q0376 oft in ourselves do lye,
Which we ascribe to heaven: the fated sky
Gives us free scope; only, doth backward pull
Our slow designs, when we ourselves are dull.
What power is it, which mounts my love so high;
Which makes me see, and cannot feed mine eye?
The mightiest space in fortune nature brings
To join like likes, and kiss like native things.
Impossible be strange attempts, to those
That weigh their pains in sense; and do suppose,
What hath been cannot be: Who ever strove
To shew her merit, that did miss her love?
The king's disease—my project may deceive me,
But my intents are fixt, and will not leave me.
[Exit.
SCENE II.
Paris. A Room in the King's Palace.
Enter the King of France, with Letters;
Lords, and divers other note, attending.
Kin.
The Florentines and Senoys are by the ears;
Have fought with equal fortune, and continue
A braving war.
-- 11 --
1. L.
So 'tis reported, sir.
Kin.
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. L.
His love, and wisdom,
Approv'd so to your majesty, may plead
For amplest credence.
Kin.
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.
2. L.
It well may serve
A nursery to our gentry, who are sick
For breathing, and exploit.
Kin.
What's he comes here?
Enter Bertram, with Lafeu, Parolles, and Others.
1. L.
It is the count Rosillion, my good lord,
Young Bertram.
Kin.
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.
Kin.
I would I had14Q0377 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
-- 12 --
Discipl'd 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
He had the wit, which I can well observe
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,
So like a courtier: no contempt nor bitterness
Were in him, pride note 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 this time,
His tongue obey'd it's hand: note who were below him,
He us'd as creatures of another place;
And bow'd his eminent top to their low ranks,
Making them proud of his humility,
In their poor praise he humbl'd: Such a man
Might be a copy to these younger times;
Which, follow'd well, would démonstrate them now
But goers backward.
Ber.
His good remembrance, sir,
Lies richer in your thoughts, than on his tomb;
So his approof lives not in note epitaph,
As in your royal speech.
Kin.
'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 note his good melancholy oft began,
On the catastrophe and heel of pastime,
When it was out,—let me not live, quoth he,
-- 13 --
After my flame lacks oil, to be the snuff
Of younger spirits; whose apprehensive senses
All but new things disdain; whose judgments are
Meer 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 note room.
2. L.
You are lov'd, sir;
They, that least lend it you, shall lack you first.
Kin.
I fill a place, I know't.—How long is't, count,
Since the physician at your father's dy'd?
He was much fam'd.
Ber.
Some six months since, my lord.
Kin.
If he were living, I would try him yet;—
Lend me an arm;—the rest have worn me out
With several applications: nature and sickness
Debate it at their leisure. Welcome, count;
My son's no dearer.
Ber.
Thank your majesty.
[Exeunt.
SCENE III.
Rosillion. A Room in the Count's Palace.
Enter Countess, and Steward; Clown behind.
Cou.
I will now hear14Q0378 what you say note of this gentlewoman.
Ste.
Madam, the care I have had to even 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.
Cou.
What does this knave here? Get you gone, sirrah:
-- 14 --
The complaints, I have heard of you, I do not all
believe; 'tis my slowness, that I do not: for, I know,
you lack not folly to commit them, and have ability
enough to make such knaveries yours.
Clo.
'Tis not unknown to you, madam, that I am a
poor fellow:
Cou.
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 note
have your ladyship's good will to go to the world, Isbel
the woman and I note will do as we may.
Cou.
Wilt thou needs be a beggar?
Clo.
I do beg your good will in this case.
Cou.
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 o' my body; for, they say,
bearns note are blessings.
Cou.
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.
Cou.
Is this all your worship's reason?
Clo.
'Faith, madam, I have other holy reasons, such
as they are.
Cou.
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.
Cou.
Thy marriage, sooner than thy wickedness.
Clo.
I am out o' friends, madam; and I hope to have
friends for my wife's sake.
-- 15 --
Cou.
Such friends are thine enemies, knave.
Clo.
You're shallow, madam; e'en great note friends;
for the knaves come to do that for me, which I am
aweary of. He, that eares note my land, 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 note 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,
howsom'ere their hearts are sever'd in religion, their
heads are both one, they may jowl horns together like
any deer i' the herd.
Cou.
Wilt thou ever be a foul-mouth'd and calumnious
knave?
Clo.
A prophet I, madam; and I speak the truth the
next way:
For I the ballad will repeat,
which men full true shall find;
Your marriage comes by destiny,
your cuckoo sings by kind.
Cou.
Get you gone, sir; I'll talk with you more anon.
Ste.
May it please you, madam, that he bid Helen
come to you; of her I am to speak.
Cou.
Sirrah, tell my gentlewoman, I would speak
with her; Helen I mean.14Q0379
Clo.
Was this fair face the cause, quoth she,
[singing.
why the Grecians sacked Troy?
Fond done, fond note done! for Paris, he,
was this king Priam's joy.
-- 16 --
With that she sighed as she stood,
With that, &c.
and gave this sentence then;
Among nine bad if one be good,
Among, &c.
there's yet one good in ten.
Cou.
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 or every note
blazing star, or at an earthquake, 'twould mend the
lottery well; a man may draw his heart out, ere he
pluck one.
Cou.
You'll be gone, sir knave, and do as I command
you?
Clo.
That man should be at a note woman's command,
and yet no hurt done! Though honesty be no puritan,14Q0380
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 Clown.
Cou.
Well, now.
Ste.
I know, madam, you love your gentlewoman
intirely.
Cou.
'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 pay'd; and more shall be pay'd her,
than she'll demand.
-- 17 --
Ste.
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 loved your son:
Fortune, she said, was no goddess,14Q0381 that had put such
difference betwixt their two estates; Love, no god,
that should note not extend his might, only where qualities
were level; Diana, no queen of virgins, that would
suffer her poor knight to be surpriz'd in the first assault,
without rescue note, or ransom afterward: This she deliver'd
in the most bitter touch of sorrow, that e'er
I heard 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.
Cou.
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 note, 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.
Cou.
Even so it was with me, when I was young:
If we note are nature's, these are ours; this thorn
Doth to our rose of youth rightly belong;
Our blood to us, this to our blood is born;
It is the show, and seal, of nature's truth,
When love's strong passion is imprest in youth:
By our remembrances of days foregone,
Such were our faults,—O, then note we thought them none.
-- 18 --
Her eye is sick on't; I observe her now.
Hel.
What is your pleasure, madam?
Cou.
You know, Helen,
I am a mother to you.
Hel.
Mine honourable mistress.
Cou.
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 breeds14Q0382
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 note daughter?
&clquo;Hel.
&clquo;That I am not.&crquo;
Cou.
I say, I am your mother.
Hel.
Pardon, madam;
The count Rosillion cannot be my brother:
I am from humble, he from honour'd name;
No note upon my parents, his all noble:
My master, my dear lord he is; and I
His servant live, and will his vassal dye:
He must not be my brother.
Cou.
Nor I your mother.
Hel.
You are my mother, madam,14Q0383—'Would you were,
So that my lord your son were not my brother!—
-- 19 --
Indeed, my mother: Or, were you both our mothers,
I'd care no more for't than I do for heaven,
So I were not his sister: Can't no other,
But, I your daughter, he must be my brother?
Cou.
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: Now I see
The mystery of your loneliness note, and find
Your 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 note; and thine eyes
See it so note grosly shown in thy behaviours,
That in their kind they speak it; only sin,
And hellish obstinacy tye 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 note,
To tell me truly.
Hel.
Good madam, pardon me!
Cou.
Do you love my son?
Hel.
Your pardon, noble mistress!
Cou.
Love you my son?
Hel.
Do not you love him, madam?
Cou.
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.
-- 20 --
Hel.
Then I confess,
Here † on my knee, before high heaven note, 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 captious and intenible note sieve,
I still pour in the waters of my love,
And lack not to lose still: thus, Indian like,
Religious in mine error, I adore
The sun, that looks upon his worshiper,
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 note,
Wish chastly, and love dearly, that your Dian
Was both herself and love; o then, give pity
To her, whose state is such, that cannot choose
But lend, and give, where she is sure to lose;
That seeks not to find that, her note search implies,
But, riddle like, lives sweetly where she dies.
Cou.
Had you not lately an intent, speak truly,
To go to Paris?
Hel.
Madam, I had.
Cou.
Wherefóre?
Tell true.
-- 21 --
Hel.
I will tell you true note; note 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 notes, whose faculties inclusive were
More than they were in note: among'st note the rest,
There is a remedy, approv'd, set down,
To cure the desperate languishings, whereof
The king is render'd lost.
Cou.
This was your motive
For Paris, was it, speak?
Hel.
My lord your son made me to think of this;
Else Paris, and the med'cine, and the king,
Had, from the conversation of my thoughts,
Haply, been absent then.
Cou.
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 help14Q0384; How shall they credit
A poor unlearned virgin, when the schools,
Embowel'd of their doctrine, have left off
The danger to itself?
Hel.
There's something note hints,
More than my father's skill, which was the greatest
Of his profession, that his good receipt
Shall, for my legacy, be sanctify'd
By the luckiest stars in heaven: and, would your honour
But give me leave to try note success, I'd venture
The well note-lost life of mine on his grace's cure,
-- 22 --
By such a day, and hour note.
Cou.
Dost thou believe't?
Hel.
Ay, madam, knowingly.
Cou.
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 unto note thy attempt:
Be gone to-morrow; and be sure of this,
What I can help thee to, thou shalt not miss.
[Exeunt.
ACT II.
SCENE I.
Paris. A Room in the King's Palace.
Flourish. Enter King, attended; divers young
Lords, note taking leave for the Florentine War;
Bertram, and Parolles.
Kin.
Farewel, young lords; these warlike principles
Do not throw from you:—and you, my lords, farewel:—
Share the advice betwixt you; if both gain all,
The gift doth stretch itself as 'tis receiv'd,
And is enough for both.
1. L.
'Tis our hope, sir,
After well-enter'd soldiers, to return
And find your grace in health.
Kin.
No, no, it cannot be; and yet my heart
Will not confess, he owes the malady
That doth my life besiege. Farewel, young lords;
Whether I live, or dye, be you the sons
Of worthy Frenchmen: let higher Italy14Q0385
(Those bated, that inherit but the fall
Of the last monarchy) see, that you come
-- 23 --
Not to woo honour, but to wed it; when
The bravest questant shrinks note, find what you seek,
That fame may cry you loud: I say, farewel.
1. L.
Health, at your bidding, serve your majesty!
Kin.
Those girls of Italy, take heed of them;
They say, our French lack language to deny,
If they demand: beware of being captives,
Before you serve.
1. 2.
Our hearts receive your warnings.
Kin.
Farewel.—Come hither to me.
[retires to a Couch; Attendants leading him.
1. L.
O my sweet lord, that you will stay behind us!
Par.
'Tis not his fault; the spark—
2. L.
O, 'tis brave wars!
Par.
Most admirable: I have seen those wars.
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't, boy, steal away bravely.
Ber.
I shall stay here the fore-horse to a smock,
Creaking my shoes on the plain masonry,
'Till honour be bought up, and no sword worn,
But one to dance with&dotup; By heaven, I'll steal away.
1. L.
There's honour in the theft.
Par.
Commit it, count.
2. L.
I am your accessary; and so farewel.
Ber.
I grow to you, and our parting is a torture. note
1. L.
Farewel, captain.
2. L.
Sweet monsieur Parolles,—
Par.
Noble heroes, my sword and yours [measuring
Swords with them.] are kin. Good sparks and lustrous,
a word, good metals: You shall find, in the regiment
of the Spinii, one captain Spurio, with his cicatrice, an note
-- 24 --
emblem of war, here on his sinister cheek; it was this
very sword intrench'd it: say to him, I live; and observe
his reports for me note.
1. L.
We shall, noble captain.
Par.
Mars doat on you for his novices!
[Exeunt Lords. note
What will you do?
[to Bertram.
Ber.
Stay, the king,—
seeing him rise.
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 they
wear themselves in the cap of the time, there do muster
true gate, note eat, speak, and move note under the influence of
the most, receiv'd star; and, though the devil lead the
measure, such are to be followed: 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 Bertram, and Parolles.
Enter Lafeu, hastily.
Laf.
Pardon, my lord,14Q0386 for me and for my tidings!
Kin.
I'll fee thee to stand up.
Laf.
Then here's a man
Stands, that has brought note his pardon. I would, you
Had kneel'd, my lord, to ask me mercy; and
That, at my bidding, you could so stand up.
Kin.
I would, I had; so I had broke thy pate,
And ask'd thee mercy for't.
Laf.
Good faith, across.
But, my good lord, 'tis thus; Will you be cur'd
Of your infirmity?
Kin.
No.
Laf.
O, will you eat
-- 25 --
No grapes, my royal fox? yes, but you will,
My noble grapes, an if my royal fox
Could reach them: I have seen a medecine,
That's able to breath 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,
And give note great Charlemain a pen in his hand,
To write note to her a love-line.
Kin.
What her is this?
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 note my thoughts
In this my light deliverance, I have spoke
With one, that, in her sex, her years, profession,
Wisdom, and constancy, hath amaz'd me more
Than I dare blame my weakness: Will you see her,
(For that is her demand) and know her business?
That done, laugh well at me.
Kin.
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.
Kin.
Thus he his special nothing ever prologues.
Laf. [entering]
Nay, come your ways.
Re-enter Lafeu, with Helena.
Kin.
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
-- 26 --
His majesty seldom fears: I am Cressid's uncle,
That dare leave two together; fare you well.
[Exit Lafeu. Attendants retire.
Kin.
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.
Kin.
I knew him.
Hel.
The rather will I spare my praises towards him;
Knowing him, is enough. On his bed of death
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 eye,
Safer than mine own two; more dear I have so:
And, hearing your high majesty is touch'd
With that malignant cause wherein the honour
Of my dear father's gift stands chief in power,
I come to tender it, and my appliance,
With all bound humbleness.
Kin.
We thank you, maiden;
But may not be so credulous of cure,—
When our most learned doctors leave us; and
The congregated colledge have concluded,
That labouring art can never ransom 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 émpericks; 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 note on you;
-- 27 --
Humbly intreating from your royal thoughts
A modest one, to bear me back again.
Kin.
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:
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 flown14Q0387
From simple sources; and great seas have dry'd,
When miracles have by the greatest been deny'd.
Oft expectation fails, and most oft there
Where most it promises; and oft it hits,
Where hope is coldest, and despair most sits. note
Kin.
I must not hear thee; fare thee well, kind maid;
Thy pains, not us'd, must by thyself be pay'd:
Proffers, not took, reap thanks for their reward.
Hel.
Inspired merit so by breath is bar'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 imposture, note note that proclaim
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.
-- 28 --
Kin.
Art thou so confident? Within what space
Hop'st thou my cure?
Hel.
The great'st grace lending grace,
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 note 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 dye.
Kin.
Upon thy certainty and confidence,
What dar'st thou venture?
Hel.
Tax of impudence,14Q0388
A strumpet's boldness, a divulged shame,
Traduc'd by odious ballads, my maiden's name
Sear'd otherwise; or, worse to worst note extended,
With vilest torture let my life be ended.
Kin.
Methinks, in thee some blessed spirit doth speak;
His powerful sound, within an note organ weak:
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 estimate;
Youth, beauty, wisdom, courage, virtue, all
That happiness, and 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 dye.
Hel.
If I break time, or flinch in property
Of what I spoke, unpity'd let me dye;
-- 29 --
And well deserv'd: Not helping, death's my fee;
But, if I help, what do you promise me?
Kin.
Make thy demand.
Hel.
But will you make it even?
Kin.
Ay, by my scepter, and my hopes of heaven. note
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 choose from forth the royal blood of France;
My low and humble name to propagate
With any branch or image of thy state:
But such a one, thy vassal; whom I know
Is free for me to ask, thee to bestow.
Kin.
Here is my hand; the premises observ'd,
Thy will by my performance shall be serv'd:
So make the choice of thy own note 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 hig has note word, my deed shall match thy deed.
[Exeunt.
SCENE II.
Rosillion. A Room in the Count's Palace.
Enter Countess, and Clown.
Cou.
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.
Cou.
But to the court! Why, what place make you
special, when you put off that with such contempt?
-- 30 --
But to the court? note
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.
Cou.
Marry, that's a bountiful answer, that fits all
questions.
Clo.
It is like a barber's chair, that fits all buttocks;
the pin buttock, the quatch buttock, the brawn buttock,
or any buttock.
Cou.
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 taffety punk, as
Tib's rush for Tom's fore-finger, as a pancake for 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 frier's mouth; nay,
as the pudding to his skin.
Cou.
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.
Cou.
It must be an answer of most monstrous size,
that must fit all demands.
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.
Cou.
To be young again, if we could:—I will be a
fool in question, hoping to be the wiser by your answer.
-- 31 --
I pray you, sir, are you a courtier?
Clo.
O lord, sir,—There's a simple putting off: more,
more, a hundred of them.
Cou.
Sir, I am a poor friend of yours, that loves you.
Clo.
O lord, sir,—Thick, thick, spare not me.
Cou.
I think, sir, you can eat none of this homely meat.
Clo.
O lord, sir,—Nay, put me to't, I warrant you.
Cou.
You were lately whipt, sir, as I think.
Clo.
O lord, sir,—Spare not me.
Cou.
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.
Cou.
I play the noble huswife with the time, to entertain
it so merrily with a fool.
Clo.
O lord, sir,—Why, there't serves well again.
Cou.
An end, sir, to your business: Give Helen &dagger2; 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.
Cou.
Not much employment for you: You understand me?
Clo.
Most fruitfully; I am there before my legs.
Cou.
Haste you again.
[Exeunt severally.
SCENE III.
Paris. A Room in the King's Palace.
Enter Lafeu, Bertram, 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
-- 32 --
make trifles of terrors; ensconcing ourselves into seeming
knowledge, when we should submit ourselves to an
unknown fear.
Par.
Why, 'tis the rarest argument of wonder, that
hath shot out in our latter times.
Ber.
And so 'tis
Laf.
To be relinquish'd of the artists,—
Par.
So I say; both of Galen, and Paracelsus.
Laf.
Of all the learned and authentic fellows,—
Par.
Right, so I say.
Laf.
That gave him out incurable,—
Par.
Why, there 'tis; so say I too.
Laf.
Not to be help'd.
Par.
Right; as 'twere, a man assur'd of a—
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 shewing,
you shall read it in—What do you call there?—
Laf.
A shewing14Q0389 of a heavenly effect in an earthly
actor.
Par.
That's it, I would have said; the very same.
Laf.
Why, your dolphin is not lustier: 'fore me note, I
speak in respect—
Par.
Nay, 'tis strange, 'tis very strange, that is the
brief and the tedious of it; and he's of a most facinerious
spirit, 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 us a further use
-- 33 --
to be made, than alone the note recovery of the king; as,
to be—
Laf.
Generally thankful.
Par.
I would have said it; you say well note: Here comes
the king.
Enter King, Helena, and Attendants.
Laf.
Lustigh note, as the Dutchman says14Q0390: I'll like a maid
the better, whilst I note 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.
Kin.
Go, call before me all the lords in court.—
[Exeunt some Attendants.
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 batchelors 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 choose, and they none to forsake.
Hel.
To each of you one fair and virtuous mistress
[coming from her Seat, and addressing herself to the Lords.
Fall, when love please;—marry, to each but one!
Laf.
I'd give bay curtal, and his furniture,
My mouth no more were broken than these boys',
And writ as little beard.
Kin.
Peruse them well:
Not one of those, but had a noble father.
-- 34 --
Hel.
Gentlemen,
Heaven hath; through me, restor'd the king to health.
Lor.
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 choose, but be refus'd;
Let the white death sit on thy cheek for ever,
We'll ne'er come there again.
Kin.
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 imperial love, that god most high,
Do my sighs stream.—Sir, will you hear my suit?
1. L.
And grant it.
Hel.
Thanks, sir; all the rest is mute.
Laf.
I had rather be in this choice, than throw
ames-ace note for my life.
Hel.
The honour, sir, [to 2d L.] that flames in your fair eyes,
Before I speak, too threat'ningly note replies:
Love make your fortunes twenty times above
Her that so wishes, and her humble love!
2. L.
No better, if you please.
Hel.
My wish receive,
Which great love grant! and so I take my leave.
Laf.
Do all they note deny her? 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 [to 3d L.] that I your hand should take;
I'll never do you wrong for your own sake:
Blessing upon your vows! and in your bed
-- 35 --
Find fairer fortune, if you ever wed note!
Laf.
These boys are boys of ice, they'll none have
her: note sure, they are bastards of the English; the French
ne'er got them.
Hel.
You are too young, [to 4th L.] too happy, and too good. note
To make yourself a son out of my blood.
4. L.
Fair one, I think not so.
Laf.
There's one grape yet.14Q0391
Par.
I am sure, thy father note drunk wine.
Laf.
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; [to Ber.] but I give
Me, and my service, ever whilst I live,
Into your guiding power.—This is the man.
Kin.
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.
Kin.
Know'st thou not, Bertram,
What she has done for me?
Ber.
Yes, my good lord;
But never hope to know why I should marry her.
Kin.
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: She my wife?
Disdain rather corrupt me ever!
Kin.
'Tis
But title note thou disdain'st in her; the which
I can build up. Strange is it,14Q0392 that our bloods,
Alike of colour, weight, and heat, pour'd all together,
-- 36 --
Would quite confound distinction, yet stand note off
In differences so mighty note: If she be
All that is virtuous, save what thou dislik'st,
A poor physician's daughter, thou dislik'st
Of virtue for the name: but do not so:
From lowest place when virtuous note things proceed,
The place is dignify'd by the doer's deed:
Where great addition note swells, and virtue none,
It is a dropsy'd honour: good alone
Is good, without a name14Q0393; vileness is so;
The property by what it is should go,
Not by the title. She is young, wise, note fair;
In these to nature she's immediate heir;
And these breed honour: that is honour's scorn,
Which challenges itself as honour's born,
And is not like the sire: Honours best note thrive,
When rather from our acts we them derive,
Than our fore-goers: the meer 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.
Kin.
Thou wrong'st thyself, if thou should'st strive to choose.
Hel.
That you are well restor'd, my lord, I am glad;
Let the rest go.
Kin.
My honour's at the stake; which to defend note,
I must produce my power: Here, † take her hand,
Proud scornful boy, unworthy this good gift;
-- 37 --
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 travels 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 note from my care for ever,
Into the staggers, and the careless note lapse,
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 note of the king; who, so ennobl'd,
Is, as 'twere, born so.
Kin.
Take her by the hand;
And tell her, she is thine: to whom I promise
A counterpoize; if not to thy note estate,
A balance more repleat.
Ber.
I take her hand.
Kin.
Good fortune, and the favour of the king,
Smile upon this contráct note: whose ceremony
Shall seem expedient on the now-born brief,
And be perform'd to-night; the solemn feast
Shall more attend upon the coming space,
-- 38 --
Expecting absent friends. As thou lov'st her,
Thy love's to me religious; else, does err.
[Exeunt King, Bertram, Helena, Lords, and Att.
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 Rosillion?
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 ordinaries, 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 burthen. I have now
found thee; when I lose thee again, I care not: yet art
thou good for nothing but taking up; and that thou'rt
scarce worth.
Par.
Had'st thou not the priviledge of antiquity
upon thee,—
Laf,
Do not plunge thyself too far in anger, lest
thou note hasten thy trial; which if—Lord have mercy on
-- 39 --
thee for a hen! So, my good window of lattice note, 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 canst, 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 note 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 default,14Q0394 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 leave.
[Exit Lafeu.
Par.
Well, thou hast a son shall take this disgrace off
me; scurvy, old, filthy, scurvy lord. Well, I must be
patient; there is no fettering of authority. I'll beat
him, by my life, if I can meet him with any convenience,
an he were double and double a lord: I'll have no more
pity 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
-- 40 --
lord; he, 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
breath themselves upon thee.
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, than the commission14Q0395 of your birth
and virtue gives you heraldry. You are not worth another
word, else I'd call you knave. I leave you.
[Exit Lafeu.
Par.
Good, very good; it is so then: Good, very
good; let it be conceal'd a while.
Enter Bertram.
Ber.
Undone, and forfeited to cares for ever!
Par.
What's 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 marry'd 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 impórt is,
I know not yet.
-- 41 --
Par.
Ay, that would be known: To the wars, my boy, to the wars!
He wears his honour in a box unseen,
That hugs his kicksy-wicksy note here at home;
Spending his manly marrow in her arms,
Which should sustain the bound and high curvet
Of Mars's fiery steed: To other regions!
France is a stable; we that dwell in't, jades;
Therefore, to 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 note no strife,
To the dark house, and the detested note wife.
Par.
Will this capriccio 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, marry'd, is a man that's mar'd:
Therefore away, and leave her bravely; go:
The king has done you wrong; but, hush! 'tis so.
[Ex.
SCENE IV.
The same. Another Room in the same.
Enter Helena, and Clown.
Hel.
My mother greets me kindly;14Q0396 Is she well?
Clo.
She is not well; but yet she has her health:
she's very merry; but yet she is 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
-- 42 --
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. note
Par.
You had my prayers to lead them on; and, to
keep them on, have them still.—O, my knave! How
does my old lady?
Clo.
So that you had her wrinkles, and I her money,
I would she did as you say.
Par.
Why, I say nothing.
Clo.
Marry, you are the wiser man; for many a
man's tongue shakes out his master's undoing: To say
nothing, to do nothing, to know nothing, and to have
nothing, is to be a great part of your title; which is
within a very little of nothing.
Par.
Away, thou'rt a knave.
Clo.
You should have said, sir, before a knave thou'rt
a knave; that is, before me thou'rt 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 encrease of laughter.
Par.
A good knave, i'faith, and well fed.—
Madam, my lord will go away to-night;
-- 43 --
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 on a note compell'd restraint:
Whose want, and whose delay, is strew'd with sweets;
Which they distill 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 need.
Hel.
What more commands he?
Par.
That, having this obtain'd, you presently
Attend his further pleasure.
Hel.
In every thing
I wait upon his will.
Par.
I shall report it so.
Hel.
I pray you.—Come, sirrah.
[Exeunt.
SCENE V.
The same. Another Room in the same.
Enter Lafeu, and Bertram.
Laf.
But, I hope, your lordship thinks not him a
soldier.
Ber.
Yes, my lord, and of very valiant approof.
Laf.
You have it from his own deliverance.
Ber.
And by other warranted testimony.
Laf.
Then my dial goes not true; I took this lark
for a bunting.
Ber.
I do assure you, my lord, he is very great in
knowledge, and accordingly valiant.
-- 44 --
Laf.
I have then sin'd against his experience, and
transgress'd against his valour; and my state that way
is dangerous, since I cannot yet note 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.
[to Ber.
Laf.
I pray you, sir, who's his note tailor?14Q0397
Par.
Sir?
Laf.
O, I know him well: ay, sir; he, sir, 's a good
workman, a very good tailor.
&clquo;Ber.
&clquo;Is she gone to the king?&crquo;
&clquo;Par.
&clquo;She is.&crquo;
&clquo;Ber.
&clquo;Will she away to-night?&crquo;
&clquo;Par.
&clquo;As you'll have her.&crquo;
&clquo;Ber.
&clquo;I have writ my letters, casketed my treasure,&crquo;
&clquo;Given order for our horses note; and to-night,&crquo;
&clquo;When I should take possession of the bride,—&crquo;
&clquo;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 note, and thrice beaten.—God save you note,
captain.
Ber.
Is there any unkindness between my lord and
you, monsieur?
Par.
I know not how I have deserved to run into my
lord's displeasure.
Laf.
You have made shift to run into't, boots and
spurs and all, like him that leapt note into the custard; and
out of it you'll run again, rather than suffer question for
your residence.
-- 45 --
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 cloaths: trust him not in matter of
heavy consequence; I have kept of them tame, and know
their natures.—Farewel, monsieur: I have spoken better
of you, than you have or will deserve note at my hand; but
we must do good against evil.
[Exit Lafeu.
Par.
An idle lord, I swear.
Ber.
I think so.
Par.
Why, do you not know him?
Ber.
Yes, I do know him well; and common speech
Gives him a worthy pass. Here comes my clog.
Enter Helena.
Hel.
I have, sir, as I was commanded from you,
Spoke with the king, and have procur'd his leave
For present parting; only, he desires
Some private speech with you.
Ber.
I shall obey his will.
You must not marvel, Helen, 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 unsettl'd: This drives me to entreat you,
That presently you take your way for home;
And rather muse, 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 &dagger2; to my mother:
-- 46 --
'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; hye home.
Hel.
Pray, sir, your pardon.
Ber.
Well, what would you say?
Hel.
I am not worthy of the wealth I owe;
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?
Hel.
Something; and scarce so much: nothing, indeed:
I would not tell you what I would: 'Faith note, yes;
Strangers, and foes, do sunder, and not kiss.
Ber.
I pray you, stay not, but in haste to horse.
Hel.
I shall not break your bidding, good my lord.
Ber.
Where are my14Q0398 other men, monsieur?—Farewel.
[Exit Helena.
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.
-- 47 --
SCENE I.
Florence. A Room in the Duke's Palace.
Flourish. Enter the Duke of Florence, attended; two French Lords, and Others.
Duk.
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.
1. L.
Holy seems the quarrel
Upon your grace's part; but black and fearful
On the opposer's.
Duk.
Therefore we marvel much, our cousin France
Would, in so just a business, shut his bosom
Against our borrowing prayers.
1. L.
Good my lord,
The reasons of our state I cannot yield,
But like a common and an outward man,
That the great figure of a council frames
By self-unable notion note:14Q0399 therefore dare not
Say what I think of it; since I have found
Myself in my incertain grounds to fail,
As often as I guess'd.
Duk.
Be it his pleasure.
2. L.
But I am sure, the younger of our nation note,
That surfeit on their ease, will, day by day,
Come here for physick.
Duk.
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.
-- 48 --
SCENE II.
Rosillion. A Room in the Count's Palace.
Enter Countess, and Clown.
Cou.
It hath happen'd all as I would have had it, save,
that he comes not along with her.
Clo.
By my troth, I take my young lord to be a very
melancholy man.
Cou.
By what observance, I pray you?
Clo.
Why, he will look upon his boot, and sing;
mend the ruff note, and sing; ask questions, and sing; pick
his teeth, and sing: I know note a man, that had this trick
of melancholy, sold a note goodly manor for a song.
Cou.
Let me see what he writes, and when he means
to come.
[opening the Letter.
Clo.
I have no mind to Isbel, since I was at court:
our old ling note, and our Isbels, o'the note country, are nothing
like your old ling, and note your Isbels o' the court: the brains note
of my Cupid's knock'd out; and I begin to love, as an
old man loves money, with no stomack.
Cou.
What have we here?
Clo.
E'en that note you have there.
[Exit Clown.
Cou. [reads.]
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.
This is not well, rash and unbridl'd boy,
To fly the favours of so good a king;
To pluck his indignation on thy head,
By the misprising of a maid too virtuous
-- 49 --
For the contempt of empire.
Re-enter Clown.
Clo.
O, madam, yonder is heavy news within, between
two soldiers and my young lady.
Cou.
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.
Cou.
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.
[Exit Clown.
Enter Helena, and two Gentlemen.14Q0400
2. G.
Save you, good madam.
Hel.
Madam, my lord is gone, for ever gone.
1. G.
Do not say so.
Cou.
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?
1. G.
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 his note letter, madam, here's † my passport.
[reads.]
When thou can'st 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.
-- 50 --
Cou.
Brought you this letter, gentlemen?
1. G.
Ay, madam;
And, for the contents' sake, are sorry for our pains.
Cou.
I pr'ythee, lady, have a better cheer;
If thou engrossest all the griefs are thine note,
Thou rob'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?
1. G.
Ay, madam.
Cou.
And to be a soldier?
1. G.
Such is his noble purpose: and, believe't,
The duke will lay upon him all the honour
That good convenience claims.
Cou.
Return you thither?
2. G.
Ay, madam, with the swiftest wing of speed.
Hel. [reads.]
'Till I have no wife, I have nothing in
France.—'Tis bitter note.
Cou.
Find you that there?
Hel.
Ay, madam.
2. G.
'Tis but the boldness of his hand, haply note, which
His heart was not consenting to.
Cou.
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,
That twenty such rude boys might tend upon,
And call her hourly mistress.—Who was with him?
2. G.
A servant only, and a gentleman
Which I have sometime known.
Cou.
Parolles, was't not?
2. G.
Ay, my good lady, he.
Cou.
A very tainted fellow, and full of wickedness:
My son corrupts a well-derived nature
-- 51 --
With his inducement.
2. G.
Why, indeed, good lady,
The fellow has a deal of that, too much,
Which holds him much to have.14Q0401
Cou.
You're 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.
1. G.
We serve you, madam,
In that and all your worthiest affairs.
Cou.
Not so, but as we change our courtesies.
Will you draw near?
[Exeunt Cou. and Gen.
Hel.
'Till I have no wife, I have nothing in France.
Nothing in France, until he has no wife!
Thou shalt have none, Rosillion, none in France,
Then hast thou all again. Poor lord, is't I
That chace thee from thy country, and expose
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; pierce the still-moving note note air,
That sings note 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't;
And, though I kill him not, I am the cause
His death was so effected: better 'twere,
I met the ravin note lion when he roar'd
-- 52 --
With sharp constraint of hunger; better 'twere,
That all the miseries, which nature owes,
Were mine at once: No, come thou home, Rosillion,
Whence honour but of danger wins a scar,
As oft it loses all14Q0402; 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 note offic'd all: I will be gone;
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.
Florence. Before the Duke's Palace.
Flourish. Enter the Duke of Florence, Bertram,
Lords, Officers, Soldiers, and Others.
Duk.
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 note
We'll strive to bear it for your worthy sake,
To the extream edge of hazard.
Duk.
Then go thou 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.
Rosillion. A Room in the Count's Palace.
-- 53 --
Enter Countess, and Steward.
Cou.
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.
Ste.
I am saint Jacques' 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 despiteful Juno, sent him forth
From courtly friends, with camping foes to live,
Where death and danger dog note the heels of worth:
He is too good and fair for death, and me;
Whom I myself embrace, to set him free.
Cou.
Ah, what sharp stings are in her mildest words!—
Rinaldo, you ne'er lack'd note advice so much,
As letting her pass so; had I spoke with her,
I could have well diverted her intents,
Which thus she hath prevented.
Ste.
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.
Cou.
What angel shall
Bless this unworthy husband? he cannot thrive,
Unless her prayers, whom heaven note delights to hear,
And loves to grant, reprieve him from the wrath
Of greatest justice.—Write, write note, Rinaldo,
-- 54 --
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 note bids me speak.
[Ex.
SCENE V.
Without the Walls of Florence.
Tucket afar off. Enter an old Widow of Florence,
Diana her Daughter, Mariana, and 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 taken their greatest
commander; and that with his own hand he slew the
duke's brother. [Tucket.] 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,
Wid.
I have told my neighbour, how you have been
-- 55 --
sollicited by a gentleman his companion.
Mar.
I know that knave; hang him! one Parolles:
a filthy officer he is in those suggestions for the young
earl.—Beware of them, Diana; their promises, inticements,
oaths, tokens, and all these engines of lust, are
not the things they go under14Q0403: many a maid hath been
seduc'd 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 note 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, habited 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?
Hel.
To saint Jaques le grand.
Where do the palmers lodge, I do beseech you?
Wid.
At the saint Francis here beside the port.
Hel.
Is this the way?
Wid.
Ay, marry, is it.—Hark you!
[Tucket.
They come this way:—If you will tarry, pilgrim note,
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 note as myself.
Hel.
Is it yourself?
Wid.
If you shall please so, pilgrim.
Hel.
I thank you, and will stay upon your leisure.
-- 56 --
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 Rosillion; 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 note,
He's bravely taken here. He stole from France,
As 'tis reported, for the king had marry'd 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.
Hel.
What's his name?
Dia.
Monsieur Parolles.
Hel.
O, 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 examin'd.
Dia.
Alas, poor lady!
'Tis a hard bondage, to become the wife
Of a detesting lord.
Wid.
Ay, right:—Good note creature! wheresoe'er she is,
Her heart weighs sadly: this young maid might do her
A shrewd turn, if she pleas'd.
Hel.
How do you mean?
May be, the amorous count sollicits her
In the unlawful purpose.
-- 57 --
Wid.
He does, indeed;
And brokes 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.
Mar.
The gods forbid else!
Enter, with Drum and Colours, marching, the Florentine Army, Bertram, note and Parolles.
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? note
Dia.
'Tis pity, he's not honest: Yond's † that same knave,
That leads him to these paces note; 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 spy'd us.
Wid.
Marry, hang you!
[Parolles bows to them.
Mar.
and your courtesy, for a ring-carrier!
[Exeunt Army, Ber. note Par. &c.
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.
-- 58 --
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 note virgin,
Worthy the note.
Mar. Dia.
We'll take your offer kindly.
[Exeunt.
SCENE VI.
Camp under Florence.
Enter Bertram, and the two Lords. note
2. L.
Nay, good my lord, put him to't; let him have
his way.
1. L.
If your lordship find him not a hilding, hold
me no more in your respect.
2. L.
On my life, my lord, a bubble.
Ber.
Do you think, I am so far deceiv'd in him?
2. L.
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.
1. L.
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.
1. L.
None better14Q0404 than to let him fetch off his
drum, which you hear him so confidently undertake
to do. I, with a troop of Florentines, will suddenly
surprize him; such I will have, whom, I am sure, he
-- 59 --
knows not from the enemy: we will bind and hoodwink
him so, that he shall suppose no other but that
he is carry'd 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. L.
O, for the love of laughter, let him fetch his
drum; he says, he has a stratagem for't: when your
lordship sees the bottom of his note success in't, and to what
metal this counterfeit lump of oar note will be melted, if
you give him not John Drum's entertainment,14Q0405 your inclining
cannot be removed. Here he comes.
Enter Parolles.
&clquo;1. L.
&clquo;O, for the love of laughter, hinder not the
honour of his design; let him fetch off his drum in
any hand.&crquo;
[to Bertram.
Ber.
How now, monsieur? this drum sticks sorely in
your disposition.
1. L.
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 excellent command to charge in
with our horse upon our own wings, and to rend our
own soldiers.
1. L.
That was not to be blam'd 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:
-- 60 --
some dishonour we had, in the loss of that drum; but
it is not to be recover'd.
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 stomack to't, monsieur, if
you think your mistery in stratagem can bring this instrument
of honour again into his 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 I will presently
pen down my dilemmas, 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'rt valiant; and, to the possibility
of thy soldiership, will subscribe for thee. Farewel.
Par.
I love not many words.
[Exit Parolles.
2. L.
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
-- 61 --
done; damns himself to do, and dares better be damn'd
than to do't.
1. L.
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, that he will make no deed
at all of this, that so seriously he does address himself
unto?
2. L.
None in the world; but return with an invention,
and clap upon you two or three probable lies:
but we have almost imboss'd him, you shall see his fall
to-night; for, indeed, he is not for your lordship's respect.
1. L.
We'll make you some sport with the fox, ere
we case him: he was first smok'd by the old lord Lafeu:
when his disguise and he is parted note, tell me what a sprat
you shall find him; which you shall see this very night.
I must go look my twigs, he shall be caught.14Q0406
Ber.
Your brother, he shall go along with me.
1. L.
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.
2. L.
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?
2. L.
With all my heart, my lord.
[Exeunt.
-- 62 --
SCENE VII.
Florence. A Room in 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,
But I shall lose the grounds I work upon.14Q0407
Wid.
Though my estate be fallen, note 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, what 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 &dagger2; 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 amorous siege before her beauty,
Resolves note to carry her; let her, in fine, consent,
As we'll direct her how 'tis best to bear it,
Now his important note 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,
-- 63 --
To buy his will it would not seem too dear,
Howe'er repented after.
Wid.
Now I see
The bottom of your purpose.
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 note,
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 note 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,14Q0408
Is wicked meaning in a lawful deed,
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.
Without the Florentine Camp.
Enter first Lord, and Soldiers, note to their Ambush.
1. L.
He can come no other way but by this hedge
-- 64 --
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 among us, whom we must produce
for an interpreter.
1. S.
Good captain, let me be the interpreter.
1. L.
Art not acquainted with him? knows he not
thy voice?
1. S.
No, sir, I warrant you.
1. L.
But what linsy-wolsy hast thou to speak to us
again?
1. S.
E'en such as you speak to me.
1. L.
He must think us some 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 straight note
our purpose:14Q0409 chough's language, gabble enough, and
good enough. As for you, interpreter, 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.
&clquo;1. L.
&clquo;This is the first truth that e'er thine own
tongue was guilty of.&crquo;
-- 65 --
Par.
What the devil should move me to undertake
the recovery of this drum; being not ignorant of the
impossibility, and knowing I had no 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 the instance? Tongue, I
must put you into a butter-woman's mouth, and buy
myself another of Bajazet's mute, if note you prattle me into
these perils.
&clquo;1. L.
&clquo;Is it possible, he should know what he is,
and be that he is?&crquo;
Par.
I would, the cutting of my garments would
serve the turn; or the breaking of my Spanish sword.
&clquo;1. L.
&clquo;We cannot afford you so.&crquo;
Par.
Or the baring of my beard; and to say, it was
in stratagem.
&clquo;1. L.
&clquo;'Twould not do.&crquo;
Par.
Or to drown my cloaths, and say, I was stript:
&clquo;1. L.
&clquo;Hardly serve.&crquo;
Par.
Though I swore, I leap'd from the window of
the citadel—
&clquo;1. L.
&clquo;How deep?&crquo;
Par.
Thirty fathom.
&clquo;1. L.
&clquo;Three great oaths would scarce make that
be believed.&crquo;
Par.
I would, I had any drum of the enemies'; I
would swear, I recover'd it.
&clquo;1. L.
&clquo;You shall hear one anon.&crquo;
Par.
A drum now of the enemies'!
[Alarum within. Ambush rush upon Parolles;
1. L.
Throca movousus, cargo, cargo, cargo.
-- 66 --
Sol.
Cargo, cargo, villianda par corbo, cargo.
[bind, and blindfold him.
Par.
O, ransom, ransom: Do not hide mine eyes.
1. S.
Boskos thromuldo boskos note.
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, French, note let him speak to me, I'll
Discover that which shall undo the Florentine.
1. S.
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, oh!
1. S.
Pray, pray, pray.—
Manca revanta note dulche.
1. L.
Osceorbi dulcos note volivorco.
1. S.
The general is content to spare thee yet;
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.
O, 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.
1. S.
But wilt thou faithfully?
Par.
If I do not, damn me.
1. S.
Acordo linta.—
Come on, thou art granted space.
[Exit, with Parolles guarded.
1. L.
Go, tell the count Rosillion, and my brother,
-- 67 --
We have caught the woodcock, and will keep him muffl'd
'Till we do hear from them.
2. S.
Captain, I will.
1. L.
He will betray us all unto ourselves;—
Inform 'em too of that note.
2. S.
So I will, Sir. note
1. L.
'Till then I'll keep him dark, and safely lock'd.
[Exeunt.
SCENE II.
Florence. A Room in the Widow's House.
Enter Bertram, and Diana.
Ber.
They told me, that your name was Fontibell.
Dia.
No, my good lord, Diana.
Ber.
Titl'd, 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.
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.
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.
-- 68 --
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.
Ber.
How have I sworn?
Dia.
'Tis not the many oaths, that make note the truth;
But the plain single vow, that is vow'd true.
What is not holy,14Q0410 that we swear not by,
But take the Highest to witness: Then, pray you, tell me,
If I should swear by Jove's great attributes note,
I lov'd you dearly, would you believe my oaths,
When I did love you ill? this has no holding,
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, note
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 affairs, 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.
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.
-- 69 --
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 &dagger2; 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 Bertram.
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 note to marry me,
When his wife's dead; therefore I'll lye with him,
When I am bury'd: Since men are note so braid,14Q0411
Marry that will, I live and dye a maid:
-- 70 --
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 Lords; Soldiers, behind, attending.
1. L.
You have not given him his mother's letter?
2. L.
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.
1. L.
He has much worthy blame lay'd upon him,
for shaking off so good a wife, and so sweet a lady.
2. L.
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. L.
When you have spoken it, 'tis dead, and I am
the grave of it.
2. L.
He hath perverted a young gentlewoman here
in Florence, of a most chast 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 unchast composition.
1. L.
Now God delay our rebellion; as we are ourselves,
what things are we!
2. L.
Meerly our own traitors. And as in the common
course of all treasons, we still see them reveal themselves,
ere they note attain14Q0412 to their abhorr'd ends; so he,
that in this action contrives against his own nobility, in
his proper stream o'er-flows himself.
1. L.
Is it not most damnable note in us, to be trumpeters
of our unlawful intents? We shall not then have his
company to-night?
-- 71 --
2. L.
Not 'till after midnight; for he is dieted to his
hour.
1. L.
That approaches apace: I would gladly have
him see his companion note anatomiz'd; that he might take
a measure of his own judgment, note wherein so curiously he
had set this counterfeit.
2. L.
We will not meddle with him, till he come; for
his presence must be the whip of the other.
1. L.
In the mean time, what hear you of these note wars?
2. L.
I hear, there is an overture of peace.
1. L.
Nay, I assure you, a peace concluded.
2. L.
What will count Rosillion do then? will he travel
higher, or return again into France?
1. L.
I perceive by this demand, you are not altogether
of his council.
2. L.
Let it be forbid, sir! so should I be a great deal
of his act.
1. L.
Sir, his wife, some two months since, fled from
his house; her pretence, a note pilgrimage to saint Jaques le
grand; which holy undertaking, with most austere sanctimony
she accomplish'd: and, there residing,14Q0413 through
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. L.
How is this justify'd?
1. L.
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. L.
Hath the count all this intelligence?
1. L.
Ay, and the particular confirmations, point for
-- 72 --
point note, to the full arming of the verity.
2. L.
I am heartily sorry, that he'll be glad of this.
1. L.
How mightily, sometimes, we make us comforts
of our losses!
2. L.
And how mightily, some other times, we drown
our gain in tears! the great dignity, that his valour hath
here acquir'd for him, shall at home be encounter'd with
a shame as ample.
1. L.
The web of our life is of a mingl'd 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?
Ser.
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 offer'd him letters of
commendations to the king.
2. L.
They shall be no more than needful there, if
they were more than they can commend.14Q0414
Enter Bertram.
1. L.
They note 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 businesse,
a month's length a-piece, by an abstract of success: I
have conge'd with the duke, done my adieu with his
nearest; bury'd 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 note
many nicer needs: the last was the greatest, but that I
have not ended yet.
-- 73 --
2. L.
If the business be of any difficulty, and this
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, bring forth
this counterfeit medal note;—h'as deceiv'd me, like a double-meaning
prophesier.
2. L.
Bring him forth:—[Exeunt Soldiers.] ha's sat
i'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?
2. L.
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 confess'd?
Ber.
Nothing of me, has he?
2. L.
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, and first Soldier.
Ber.
A plague upon him! muffl'd! he can say nothing
of me.
1. L.
Hush note! hoodman comes.14Q0415—Porto tartarossa.
1. S.
He calls for the tortures; What will you say
without 'em?
Par.
I will confess what I know without constraint;
if ye pinch me like a pasty, I can say no more.
1. S.
Bosko chimurco.
-- 74 --
1. L.
Boblibindo chicurmurco.
1. S.
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.
1. S.
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 scattered, and the commanders
very poor rogues; upon my reputation and
credit, and as I hope to live.
1. S.
Shall I set down your answer so?
Par.
Do; I'll take the sacrament on't, how and which
way you will.
&clquo;Ber.
&clquo;All's one to him14Q0416:—What a past-saving slave is this?&crquo;
&clquo;1. L.
&clquo;You're deceiv'd, my lord; this is monsieur
Parolles, the gallant militarist, (that was his own phrase)
that had the whole theorique of war in the knot of
his scarf, and the practice in the chape of his dagger.&crquo;
&clquo;2. L.
&clquo;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.&crquo;
1. S.
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.
&clquo;1. L.
&clquo;He's very near the truth in this.&crquo;
&clquo;Ber.
&clquo;But I con him no thanks for't, in the nature
he delivers it.&crquo;
Par.
Poor rogues, I pray you, say.
1. S.
Well, that's set down.
Par.
I humbly thank you, sir: a truth's a truth, the
rogues are marvelous poor.
1. S.
Demand of him of what strength they are of foot.
-- 75 --
What say you to that?
Par.
By my troth, sir, if I were to live but this
present hour, 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 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 cassocks, lest they shake
themselves to pieces.
&clquo;Ber.
&clquo;What shall be done to him?&crquo;
&clquo;1. L.
&clquo;Nothing, but let him have thanks.—Demand
of him my conditions note, and what credit I have with
the duke.&crquo;
1. S.
Well, that's set down. You shall demand of him,
whether one captain Dumaine 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 particulars
of the interrogatory; note demand them singly.
1. S.
Do you know this captain Dumaine?
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.
&clquo;Ber.
&clquo;Nay, by your leave, hold your hands; though
I know, his brains are forfeit to the next tile that falls.&crquo;
1. S.
Well, is this captain in the duke of Florence's camp?
-- 76 --
Par.
Upon my knowledge, he is, and lousy.
&clquo;1. L.
&clquo;Nay, look not so upon me; we shall hear of
your lordship anon note.&crquo;
1. S.
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 this other day, to turn
him out o'the band: I think, I have his letter in my
pocket.
1. S.
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.
1. S.
Here 'tis; here's a paper; Shall I read it to you?
Par.
I do not know, if it be it, or no.
&clquo;Ber.
&clquo;Our interpreter does it well.&crquo;
&clquo;1. L.
&clquo;Excellently.&crquo;
1. S.
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 Rosillion, a
foolish idle boy, but, for all that, very ruttish: I pray
you, sir, put it up again.
1. S.
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.
&clquo;Ber.
&clquo;Damnable! both sides rouge.&crquo;
1. S.
When he swears oaths, bid him drop gold, and take it;
After he scores, he never pays the score:
Half won, is match well made note;14Q0417 match, and well make it;
He ne'er pays after-debts, take it before;
-- 77 --
And say, a soldier, Dian, told thee this,
Men are to mell with, boys are but to note kiss:
For count note 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.
&clquo;Ber.
&clquo;He shall be whip'd through the army, with
this rime in his forehead.&crquo;
&clquo;2. L.
&clquo;This is your devoted friend, sir, the manifold
linguist, and the armipotent soldier.&crquo;
&clquo;Ber.
&clquo;I could endure any thing before but a cat,
and now note he's a cat to me.&crquo;
1. S.
I perceive, sir, by our note general's looks, we shall
be fain to hang you.
Par.
My life, sir, in any case: not that I am afraid
to dye; 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.
1. S.
We'll see what may be done, so you confess
freely; therefore, once more to this captain Dumaine:
You have answer'd to his reputation with the duke, and
to his valour; What is his honesty?
Par.
He will steal, sir, an egg out, of a cloister; for
rapes and ravishments he parallels Nessus: he professes
not keeping of oaths; in note breaking them, he is stronger
than Hercules: he will lye, 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
-- 78 --
not have; what an honest man should have, he has
nothing.
&clquo;1. L.
&clquo;I begin to love him for this.&crquo;
&clquo;Ber.
&clquo;For this description of thine honesty? A pox
upon him for me! he's more and more a cat.&crquo;
1. S.
What say you to his expertness in war?
Par.
'Faith, sir, h'as led the drum before the English
tragedians,—to belye him, I will not,—and more of
his soldiership I know not; except, in that country, he
had the honour to be an officer at a place there called
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.
&clquo;1. L.
&clquo;He hath out-villain'd villany so far, that
the rarity redeems him.&crquo;
&clquo;Ber.
&clquo;A pox on him! he's a cat still.&crquo;
1. S.
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 note; and cut the intail
from all remainders, and a perpetual succession in it perpetually.
1. S.
What's his brother, the other captain Dumaine?
&clquo;2. L.
&clquo;Why does he ask him of me?&crquo;
1. S.
What's he?
Par.
E'en a crow o'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.
1. S.
If your life be saved, will you undertake to
-- 79 --
betray the Florentine?
Par.
Ay, and the captain of his horse, count Rosillion.
1. S.
I'll whisper with the general, and know his
pleasure.
&clquo;Par.
&clquo;I'll no more drumming; A plague of all
drums! Only to seem to deserve well, and to 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?&crquo;
1. S.
There is no remedy, sir, but you must dye:
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 honest use; therefore you must dye:—Come, headsman,
off with his head.
Par.
O lord, sir; let me live, or let me see my death!
1. S.
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. L.
God bless you, captain Parolles.
1. L.
God save you, noble captain.
2. L.
Captain, what greeting will you to my lord
Lafeu? I am for France.
1. L.
Good captain, will you give me a copy of the
sonnet you writ to Diana in behalf of the count Rosillion?
an I were not a very coward, I'd compell it of
you; but fare you well.
[Exeunt Bertram, Lords, &c.
1. S.
You are undone, captain; all but your scarf,
that has a knot on't yet.
Par.
Who cannot be crush'd with a plot?
-- 80 --
1. S.
If you could find out a country where but women
were that had received so much shame, you 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.
Florence. A Room in the Widow's House.
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 note 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 note; 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,
-- 81 --
We'll be, before our welcome.
Wid.
Gentle madam,
You never had a servant, to whose trust
Your business was more welcome.
Hel.
Nor you note, 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 my motive
And helper to a husband. But o strange men,
That can such sweet use make of what they hate,
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,14Q0418
But with note the word: the time will bring on summer,
When briars shall have leaves as well as thorns,
And be as sweet as sharp. We must away;
Our waggon is prepar'd, and time revives us:
All's well, that ends well: still the fine's note the crown;
Whate'er the course, the end is the renown.
[Exeunt.
SCENE V.
Rosillion. A Room in the Count's Palace.
Enter Countess, Lafeu, and Clown.
Laf.
No, no, no, your son was misled with a snipt-taffeta
fellow14Q0419 there; whose villanous saffron would have
-- 82 --
made all the unbak'd and dowy youth of a nation in
his colour: your daughter-in-law had been alive at this
hour; and your son here at home, more advanc'd by
the king, than by that note red-tail'd humble-bee I speak
of.
Cou.
I would, I had note 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 sallets, 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.
Clo.
I am no great Nebuchadnezzar, sir, I have not
much skill in grass. note
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 note, and do his
service.
Laf.
So you were a knave at his service, indeed.
Clo.
And I would give his wife my bauble, sir, note to
do her service.
Laf.
I will subscribe for thee; thou art both knave
and fool.
Clo.
At your service.
-- 83 --
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 name; note but his
phisnomy is more honour'd in note 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 &dagger2; purse: I give thee not
this to suggest thee note from thy master thou talk'st of, serve
him still.
Clo.
I am a wood-land fellow, sir, that always lov'd
a great fire; and the master, I speak of, ever keeps a
good fire. But, for he note is14Q0420 the prince of the world, 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 flow'ry way, that leads to the broad gate, and the
great fire.
Laf.
Go thy ways, I begin to be aweary 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 Clown.
Laf.
A shrewd knave, and an unhappy.
Cou.
So he is. 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,
-- 84 --
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
home, I moved 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 hath promis'd me to do
it; and, to stop up the displeasure he hath conceived
against your son, there is no fitter matter. How does your
ladyship like it?
Cou.
With very much content, my lord; and I wish
it happily effected.
Laf.
His highness comes post from Marseilles note, of as
able 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.
Cou.
It rejoices note me, that I hope I shall see him ere
I dye. 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.
Cou.
You need but plead your honourable priviledge.
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.
-- 85 --
Laf.
A scar nobly got, or a noble scar, is a good livery
of honour: so, belike, is that.
Clo.
But it is your carbinado'd face.
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.
Marseilles. A Street.
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 Gentleman.
This man may help me to his majesty's ear,
If he would spend his power.—God save you, sir.
Gen.
And you.
Hel.
Sir, I have seen you in the court of France.
Gen.
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
-- 86 --
I shall continue thankful.
Gen.
What's your will?
Hel.
That it will please you
To give this &dagger2; poor petition to the king;
And aid me with that store of power you have,
To come into his presence.
Gen.
The king's not here.
Hel.
Not here, sir?
Gen.
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?
Gen.
Marry, as I take it, to Rosillion;
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
Our means will make us means.
Gen.
This I'll do for you.
Hel.
And you shall find yourself to be well thank'd,
Whate'er falls more.—We must to horse again;—
Go, go, provide.
[Exeunt.
SCENE II.
Rosillion. Inner-Court of the Palace.
Enter Clown, Parolles following.
Par.
Good Mr. Lavatch, give my lord Lafeu this letter:
-- 87 --
I have ere now, sir, been better known to you, when
I have held familiarity with fresher cloaths; but I am
now, sir, muddy'd in fortune's moat, note14Q0421 and smell somewhat
strong of her strong displeasure.
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
wind.
Par.
Nay, you need not to stop your nose, sir; I spake note
but by a metaphor.
Clo.
Indeed, sir, if your metaphor stink, I will stop
my nose; or against any man's 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-stool14Q0422 to give to a nobleman! Look, here
Enter Lafeu.
he comes himself.—Here is a pur of fortune's, sir, or
of fortune's cat, (but not a musk-cat) that has fallen
into the unclean fish-pond of her displeasure, and, as he
says, is muddy'd withal: Pray you, sir, use the carp as
you may; for he looks like a poor, decay'd, ingenious,
foolish, rascally knave. I do pity his distress in my similies
of comfort note, 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 played
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 note? There's a &dagger2; quart-d'ecu
-- 88 --
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 word then.—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, insooth? and I was the first that lost thee.
Par.
It lies on you note, 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.—
[Trumpet.] 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 eat; go to, follow.
Par.
I praise God for you.
[Exeunt.
SCENE III.
The same. A Room of State in the Palace.
Flourish. Enter King, Countess, Lafeu,
Lords, Gentlemen, Guards, &c.
Kin.
We lost a jewel of her; and our esteem14Q0423
Was made much poorer by it: but your son,
As mad in folly, lack'd the sense to know
Her estimation home.
Cou.
'Tis past, my liege:
And I beseech your majesty to make it
Natural rebellion, done i'the blaze of note youth;
When oil and fire, too strong for reason's force,
-- 89 --
O'er-bears it, and burns on note.
Kin.
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 eyes; whose words all ears took captive;
Whose dear perfection, hearts, that scorn'd to serve,
Humbly call'd mistress.
Kin.
Praising what is lost
Makes the remembrance dear.—Well, call him hither;—
We are reconcil'd, and the first view shall kill
All repetition:—Let him not ask our pardon;
The nature of his great offence is dead,14Q0424
And deeper than oblivion we do bury
The incensing reliques of it: let him approach,
A stranger, no offender; and inform him,
So 'tis our will he should.
Gen.
I shall, my liege.
[Exit Gentleman.
Kin.
What says he to your daughter? have you spoke?
Laf.
All that he is hath reference to your highness.
Kin.
Then shall we have a match. I have letters sent me,
That set note him high in fame.
Enter Bertram.
Laf.
He looks well on't.
Kin.
I am not a day of season,
But thou may'st see a sunshine and a hail
-- 90 --
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 blames,
Dear sovereign, pardon to me.
Kin.
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 the first sight
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;
Scorn'd a fair colour,14Q0425 or express'd it stoln;
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.
Kin.
Well excus'd:
That thou did'st love her, strikes some scores away
From the great compt: But love, that comes too late,
Like a remorseful pardon slowly carry'd,
To the great sender turns a sour offence,
Crying, That's good that's gone: our own rash faults
Make trivial price of serious things we have,
Not knowing them, until we know their grave:
-- 91 --
Oft our displeasures, to ourselves unjust,
Destroy our friends, and after weep their dust:
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.
Cou.
Which, better than the first, o dear heaven, bless!
Or, ere they meet, in me, o nature, cease note!
Laf.
Come on, my son, in whom my house's name
Must be digested note, give a favour from you,
To sparkle in the spirits of my daughter,
That she may quickly come. By my old beard,
[receiving a Ring from Bertram.
And every hair that's on't, Helen, that's dead,
Was a sweet creature; such a ring as this,
The last that e'er she took note her leave at court,
I saw upon her finger.
Ber.
Her's it was not.
Kin.
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 bad her,14Q0426 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.
Cou.
Son, on my life,
I have seen her wear it; and she reckon'd it
-- 92 --
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 me,
Wrapt in a paper, which contain'd the name
Of her that threw it: noble she was, and thought
I stood ungag'd note; 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.
Kin.
Plutus note himself,
That knows the tinct and multiplying medicine,
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 know14Q0427
That you are well acquainted with yourself,
Confess 'twas her's, 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.
Kin.
Thou speak'st it falsely, as I love mine honour;
And mak'st conjectural note fears to come into me,
Which I should note fain shut out: If it should prove
That thou art so inhuman,—'twill not prove so;—
And yet I know not: thou did'st hate her deadly,
And she is dead; which nothing, but to close
Her eyes myself, could win me to believe,
-- 93 --
More than to see this ring.—Take him away.—
[Guards sieze Bertram.
My fore-past proofs, howe'er the matter fall,
Shall tax my note 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, guarded.
Enter a Gentleman.
Kin.
I am wrapt in dismal thinkings.
Gen.
Gracious sovereign,
Whether I have been to blame, or no, I know not;
Here's a &dagger2; petition from a Florentine,
Who hath, for four or five removes, come short
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,
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.
Kin. [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 Rosillion a widower; his vows
are forfeited to me, and my honours pay'd 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.
-- 94 --
Laf.
I'll buy me a son-in-law in a fair, and note toll for
this note.14Q0428 I'll none of him.
Kin.
The heavens have thought well on thee, Lafeu,
To bring forth this discovery.—Seek these suitors:—
Go, speedily, and bring again the count.—
[Exeunt some Attendants.
I am afeard, the life of Helen, lady,
Was foully snatch'd.
Cou.
Now, justice on the doers!
Re-enter Bertram, guarded.
Kin.
I wonder, sir, note wives are such note monsters to you;
And that you fly them, as you swear to them;
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 pity'd.
Wid.
I am her mother, sir, whose age and honour
Both suffer under this complaint we bring,
And both shall cease, without your remedy.
Kin.
Come hither, count; Say, do you know these women?
Ber.
My lord, I neither can, nor will, deny
But that I know them: Do they charge me further?
Dia.
Why do you look so strange upon your wife?
Ber.
She's none of mine, my lord.
Dia.
If you shall marry,
You give away this hand, and that is mine;
You give away 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,
-- 95 --
Either both, or none.
Laf.
Your reputation [to Ber.] comes too short for
my daughter, you are no husband for her.
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.
Kin.
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.
Now, good my lord,
Ask him upon his oath, if he does think
He had not my virginity.
Kin.
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 validity,
Did lack a parallel; yet, for all that,
He gave it to a commoner o'the camp,
If I be one.
Cou.
He blushes, and 'tis it note note:
Of six preceding ancestors, that jem,
Confer'd by testament to the sequent issue,
Hath it been ow'd, and worn. This is his wife;
That ring's a thousand proofs.
Kin.
Methought, you said,
You saw one here in court could witness it.
Dia.
I did, my lord, but loth am to produce
So bad an instrument; his name's Parolles.
-- 96 --
Laf.
I saw the man to-day, if man he be.
Kin.
Find him, and bring him hither.
Ber.
What of him?
He's quoted for a most perfidious slave,
With all the spots o'the world tax'd and debosh'd;
Whose nature sickens but to speak a truth:
Am I or that, or this, for what he'll utter,
That will speak any thing?
Kin.
She hath that ring of yours.
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 note,
Madding my eagerness with her restraint,
As 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 note off a first so noble wife,
May justly diet me. I pray you yet,
(Since you lack virtue, I will lose a husband)
Send for your ring, I will return it home,
And give me mine again.
Ber.
I have it not.
Kin.
What ring was yours, I pray you?
Dia.
Sir, much like
The same upon your finger.
Kin.
Know you this ring? this ring was his of late.
Dia.
And this was it I gave him, being a-bed.
Kin.
The story then goes false, you threw it him
-- 97 --
Out of a casement.
Dia.
I have spoke the truth.
Enter Parolles.
Ber.
My lord, I do confess, the ring was hers.
Kin.
You boggle shrewdly, every feather starts you.—
Is this the man you speak of?
Dia.
Ay, my lord.
Kin.
Now 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 note have:
Kin.
Come, come, to the purpose; Did he love this woman?
Par.
'Faith, sir, he did love her; But how?
Kin.
How, I pray you?
Par.
He did love her, sir, as a gentleman loves a woman.
Kin.
How is that?
Par.
He lov'd her, sir, and lov'd her not.
Kin.
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.
Kin.
But wilt thou not speak all thou know'st?14Q0429
Par.
Yes, so please your majesty: I did go between
them, as I said; but more, than that he lov'd her,—14Q0430
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
-- 98 --
of their going to bed; and of other motions, as promising
her marriage, and things which would derive me
ill will to speak of, therefore I will not speak what I
know.
Kin.
Thou hast spoken all already, unless thou canst
say, they are marry'd: But thou art too fine in thy evidence;
therefore stand aside.—
This ring, you say, was yours?
Dia.
Ay, my good lord.
Kin.
Where did you buy it? or who gave it you?
Dia.
It was not given me, nor I did not buy it.
Kin.
Who lent it you?
Dia.
It was not lent me neither.
Kin.
Where did you find it then?
Dia.
I found it not.
Kin.
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.
Kin.
This ring was mine, I gave it his first wife.
Dia.
It might be yours, or hers, for ought I know.
Kin.
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 dy'st within this hour.
Dia.
I'll never tell you.
Kin.
Take her away.
Dia.
I'll put in bail, my liege.
Kin.
I think thee now some common customer.
Dia.
By Jove, if ever I knew man, 'twas you.
Kin.
Wherefore hast thou accus'd him all this while?
-- 99 --
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.
Kin.
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,
Who hath abus'd me, as he knows himself,
Though yet he never harm'd me, here I quit him:
He 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.
Kin.
Is there no exorcist,
Beguiles the truer office of mine eyes?
Is't real, that I see?
Hel.
No, my good lord;
'Tis but the shadow of a wife you see,
The name, and not the thing.
Ber.
Both, both; O, pardon!
Hel.
O my good lord, when I was like this maid,
I found you wondrous kind. There is your &dagger2; ring;
[receiving it of Diana.
And, look you, here's † your letter; This it says,
When from my finger you can get this ring,
And are by note me with child,—This is done;
Will you be mine, now you are doubly won?
-- 100 --
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?
Laf.
Mine eyes smell onions, I shall weep anon:—
Good Tom Drum, lend me a handkerchief: So, I thank
thee; wait on me home, I'll make sport with thee: Let
thy court'sies alone, they are scurvy ones.
Kin.
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,
Choose 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:
Ours be your patience then, and yours our parts;
Your gentle hands lend us, and take our hearts.
