APDL Eductation Resources/APDL Eductation Resources.iso/text/shakespear/allswell_1/ALLSWELL_1

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        ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL


        DRAMATIS PERSONAE


KING OF FRANCE  (KING:)

DUKE OF FLORENCE        (DUKE:)

BERTRAM Count of Rousillon.

LAFEU   an old lord.

PAROLLES        a follower of Bertram.


Steward |
        |  servants to the Countess of Rousillon.
Clown   |


        A Page. (Page:)

COUNTESS OF
ROUSILLON       mother to Bertram. (COUNTESS:)

HELENA  a gentlewoman protected by the Countess.

        An old Widow of Florence. (Widow:)

DIANA   daughter to the Widow.


VIOLENTA        |
        |  neighbours and friends to the Widow.
MARIANA |


        Lords, Officers, Soldiers, &c., French and Florentine.
        (First Lord:)
        (Second Lord:)
        (Fourth Lord:)
        (First Gentleman:)
        (Second Gentleman:)
        (First Soldier:)
        (Gentleman:)



SCENE   Rousillon; Paris; Florence; Marseilles.




        ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL


ACT I



SCENE I Rousillon. The COUNT's palace.


        [Enter BERTRAM, the COUNTESS of Rousillon, HELENA,
        and LAFEU, all in black]

COUNTESS        In delivering my son from me, I bury a second husband.

BERTRAM And I 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.

LAFEU   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 lack it where there is such abundance.

COUNTESS        What hope is there of his majesty's amendment?

LAFEU   He hath abandoned 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.

COUNTESS        This young gentlewoman had a father,--O, that
        'had'! how sad a passage 'tis!--whose skill was
        almost as great as his honesty; had it stretched 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.

LAFEU   How called you the man you speak of, madam?

COUNTESS        He was famous, sir, in his profession, and it was
        his great right to be so: Gerard de Narbon.

LAFEU   He was excellent indeed, madam: the king very
        lately spoke of him admiringly and mourningly: he
        was skilful enough to have lived still, if knowledge
        could be set up against mortality.

BERTRAM What is it, my good lord, the king languishes of?

LAFEU   A fistula, my lord.

BERTRAM I heard not of it before.

LAFEU   I would it were not notorious. Was this gentlewoman
        the daughter of Gerard de Narbon?

COUNTESS        His sole child, my lord, and bequeathed to my
        overlooking. I have those hopes of her good that
        her education promises; her dispositions she
        inherits, which makes fair gifts fairer; for 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 their
        simpleness; she derives her honesty and achieves her goodness.

LAFEU   Your commendations, madam, get from her tears.

COUNTESS        'Tis the best brine a maiden can season her praise
        in. The remembrance of her father never approaches
        her heart but the tyranny of her sorrows takes 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.

HELENA  I do affect a sorrow indeed, but I have it too.

LAFEU   Moderate lamentation is the right of the dead,
        excessive grief the enemy to the living.

COUNTESS        If the living be enemy to the grief, the excess
        makes it soon mortal.

BERTRAM Madam, I desire your holy wishes.

LAFEU   How understand we that?

COUNTESS        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 birthright! 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 cheque'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! Farewell, my lord;
        'Tis an unseason'd courtier; good my lord,
        Advise him.

LAFEU             He cannot want the best
        That shall attend his love.

COUNTESS        Heaven bless him! Farewell, Bertram.

        [Exit]

BERTRAM [To HELENA]  The best wishes that can be forged in
        your thoughts be servants to you! Be comfortable
        to my mother, your mistress, and make much of her.

LAFEU   Farewell, pretty lady: you must hold the credit of
        your father.

        [Exeunt BERTRAM and LAFEU]

HELENA  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't but Bertram's.
        I am undone: there is no living, none,
        If Bertram be away. 'Twere 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 die for love. 'Twas pretty, though 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 reliques. Who comes here?

        [Enter PAROLLES]

        [Aside]

        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 fixed evils sit so fit in him,
        That they take place, when virtue's steely bones
        Look bleak i' the cold wind: withal, full oft we see
        Cold wisdom waiting on superfluous folly.

PAROLLES        Save you, fair queen!

HELENA  And you, monarch!

PAROLLES        No.

HELENA  And no.

PAROLLES        Are you meditating on virginity?

HELENA  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?

PAROLLES        Keep him out.

HELENA  But he assails; and our virginity, though valiant,
        in the defence yet is weak: unfold to us some
        warlike resistance.

PAROLLES        There is none: man, sitting down before you, will
        undermine you and blow you up.

HELENA  Bless our poor virginity from underminers and
        blowers up! Is there no military policy, how
        virgins might blow up men?

PAROLLES        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 politic in the commonwealth of nature to
        preserve virginity. Loss of virginity is rational
        increase and there was never virgin got till
        virginity was first lost. That you were made of is
        metal to make virgins. Virginity by being once lost
        may be ten times found; by being ever kept, it is
        ever lost: 'tis too cold a companion; away with 't!

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

PAROLLES        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 buried in
        highways out of all sanctified limit, as a desperate
        offendress against nature. Virginity breeds mites,
        much like a cheese; consumes itself to the very
        paring, and so dies with feeding his own stomach.
        Besides, virginity is peevish, proud, idle, made of
        self-love, which is the most inhibited sin in the
        canon. Keep it not; you cannot choose but loose
        by't: out with 't! within ten year it will make
        itself ten, which is a goodly increase; and the
        principal itself not much the worse: away with 't!

HELENA  How might one do, sir, to lose it to her own liking?

PAROLLES        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 suited, but unsuitable: just
        like the brooch and the tooth-pick, which wear not
        now. Your date is better in your pie and your
        porridge than in your cheek; and your virginity,
        your old virginity, is like one of our French
        withered pears, it looks ill, it eats drily; marry,
        'tis a withered pear; it was formerly better;
        marry, yet 'tis a withered pear: will you anything with it?

HELENA  Not my virginity yet [         ]
        There shall your master have a thousand loves,
        A mother and a mistress and a friend,
        A phoenix, captain and an enemy,
        A guide, a goddess, and a sovereign,
        A counsellor, a traitress, and a dear;
        His humble ambition, proud humility,
        His jarring concord, and his discord dulcet,
        His faith, his sweet disaster; with a world
        Of pretty, fond, adoptious 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--

PAROLLES        What one, i' faith?

HELENA  That I wish well. 'Tis pity--

PAROLLES        What's pity?

HELENA  That wishing well had not a body in't,
        Which might be felt; that we, the poorer born,
        Whose baser stars do shut us up in wishes,
        Might with effects of them follow our friends,
        And show what we alone must think, which never
        Return us thanks.

        [Enter Page]

Page    Monsieur Parolles, my lord calls for you.

        [Exit]

PAROLLES        Little Helen, farewell; if I can remember thee, I
        will think of thee at court.

HELENA  Monsieur Parolles, you were born under a charitable star.

PAROLLES        Under Mars, I.

HELENA  I especially think, under Mars.

PAROLLES        Why under Mars?

HELENA  The wars have so kept you under that you must needs
        be born under Mars.

PAROLLES        When he was predominant.

HELENA  When he was retrograde, I think, rather.

PAROLLES        Why think you so?

HELENA  You go so much backward when you fight.

PAROLLES        That's for advantage.

HELENA  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 the wear well.

PAROLLES        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
        counsel and understand what advice shall thrust upon
        thee; else thou diest in thine unthankfulness, and
        thine ignorance makes thee away: farewell. 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, farewell.

        [Exit]

HELENA  Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie,
        Which we ascribe to heaven: the fated sky
        Gives us free scope, only doth backward pull
        Our slow designs when we ourselves are dull.
        What power is it which mounts my love so high,
        That 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
        So show her merit, that did miss her love?
        The king's disease--my project may deceive me,
        But my intents are fix'd and will not leave me.

        [Exit]




        ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL


ACT I



SCENE II        Paris. The KING's palace.


        [Flourish of cornets. Enter the KING of France,
        with letters, and divers Attendants]

KING    The Florentines and Senoys are by the ears;
        Have fought with equal fortune and continue
        A braving war.

First Lord                        So 'tis reported, sir.

KING    Nay, 'tis most credible; we here received 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.

First Lord      His love and wisdom,
        Approved so to your majesty, may plead
        For amplest credence.

KING    He hath arm'd our answer,
        And Florence is denied before he comes:
        Yet, for our gentlemen that mean to see
        The Tuscan service, freely have they leave
        To stand on either part.

Second Lord     It well may serve
        A nursery to our gentry, who are sick
        For breathing and exploit.

KING    What's he comes here?

        [Enter BERTRAM, LAFEU, and PAROLLES]

First Lord      It is the Count Rousillon, my good lord,
        Young Bertram.

KING                      Youth, thou bear'st thy father's face;
        Frank nature, rather curious than in haste,
        Hath well composed thee. Thy father's moral parts
        Mayst thou inherit too! Welcome to Paris.

BERTRAM My thanks and duty are your majesty's.

KING    I would I had that corporal soundness now,
        As when thy father and myself in friendship
        First tried our soldiership! He did look far
        Into the service of the time and was
        Discipled of the bravest: he lasted long;
        But on us both did haggish age steal on
        And wore us out of act. It much repairs me
        To talk of your good father. In his youth
        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, contempt nor bitterness
        Were in his pride or sharpness; if they were,
        His equal had awaked them, and his honour,
        Clock to itself, knew the true minute when
        Exception bid him speak, and at this time
        His tongue obey'd his hand: who were below him
        He used 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 humbled. Such a man
        Might be a copy to these younger times;
        Which, follow'd well, would demonstrate them now
        But goers backward.

BERTRAM His good remembrance, sir,
        Lies richer in your thoughts than on his tomb;
        So in approof lives not his epitaph
        As in your royal speech.

KING    Would I were with him! He would always say--
        Methinks I hear him now; his plausive words
        He scatter'd not in ears, but grafted them,
        To grow there and to bear,--'Let me not live,'--
        This his good melancholy oft began,
        On the catastrophe and heel of pastime,
        When it was out,--'Let me not live,' quoth he,
        'After my flame lacks oil, to be the snuff
        Of younger spirits, whose apprehensive senses
        All but new things disdain; whose judgments are
        Mere fathers of their garments; whose constancies
        Expire before their fashions.' This he wish'd;
        I after him do after him wish too,
        Since I nor wax nor honey can bring home,
        I quickly were dissolved from my hive,
        To give some labourers room.

Second Lord     You are loved, sir:
        They that least lend it you shall lack you first.

KING    I fill a place, I know't. How long is't, count,
        Since the physician at your father's died?
        He was much famed.

BERTRAM                   Some six months since, my lord.

KING    If he were living, I would try him yet.
        Lend me an arm; the rest have worn me out
        With several applications; nature and sickness
        Debate it at their leisure. Welcome, count;
        My son's no dearer.

BERTRAM Thank your majesty.

        [Exeunt. Flourish]




        ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL


ACT I



SCENE III       Rousillon. The COUNT's palace.


        [Enter COUNTESS, Steward, and Clown]

COUNTESS        I will now hear; what say you of this gentlewoman?

Steward 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.

COUNTESS        What does this knave here? Get you gone, sirrah:
        the complaints I have heard of you I do not all
        believe: 'tis my slowness that I do not; for I know
        you lack not folly to commit them, and have ability
        enough to make such knaveries yours.

Clown   'Tis not unknown to you, madam, I am a poor fellow.

COUNTESS        Well, sir.

Clown   No, madam, 'tis not so well that I am poor, though
        many of the rich are damned: but, if I may have
        your ladyship's good will to go to the world, Isbel
        the woman and I will do as we may.

COUNTESS        Wilt thou needs be a beggar?

Clown   I do beg your good will in this case.

COUNTESS        In what case?

Clown   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 barnes are blessings.

COUNTESS        Tell me thy reason why thou wilt marry.

Clown   My poor body, madam, requires it: I am driven on
        by the flesh; and he must needs go that the devil drives.

COUNTESS        Is this all your worship's reason?

Clown   Faith, madam, I have other holy reasons such as they
        are.

COUNTESS        May the world know them?

Clown   I have been, madam, a wicked creature, as you and
        all flesh and blood are; and, indeed, I do marry
        that I may repent.

COUNTESS        Thy marriage, sooner than thy wickedness.

Clown   I am out o' friends, madam; and I hope to have
        friends for my wife's sake.

COUNTESS        Such friends are thine enemies, knave.

Clown   You're shallow, madam, in great friends; for the
        knaves come to do that for me which I am aweary of.
        He that ears my land spares my team and gives me
        leave to in the crop; if I be his cuckold, he's my
        drudge: he that comforts my wife is the cherisher
        of my flesh and blood; he that cherishes my flesh
        and blood loves my flesh and blood; he that loves my
        flesh and blood is my friend: ergo, he that kisses
        my wife is my friend. If men could be contented to
        be what they are, there were no fear in marriage;
        for young Charbon the Puritan and old Poysam the
        Papist, howsome'er their hearts are severed in
        religion, their heads are both one; they may jowl
        horns together, like any deer i' the herd.

COUNTESS        Wilt thou ever be a foul-mouthed and calumnious knave?

Clown   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.

COUNTESS        Get you gone, sir; I'll talk with you more anon.

Steward May it please you, madam, that he bid Helen come to
        you: of her I am to speak.

COUNTESS        Sirrah, tell my gentlewoman I would speak with her;
        Helen, I mean.

Clown        Was this fair face the cause, quoth she,
        Why the Grecians sacked Troy?
        Fond done, done fond,
        Was this King Priam's joy?
        With that she sighed as she stood,
        With that she sighed as she stood,
        And gave this sentence then;
        Among nine bad if one be good,
        Among nine bad if one be good,
        There's yet one good in ten.

COUNTESS        What, one good in ten? you corrupt the song, sirrah.

Clown   One good woman in ten, madam; which is a purifying
        o' the song: would God would serve the world so all
        the year! we'ld find no fault with the tithe-woman,
        if I were the parson. One in ten, quoth a'! An we
        might have a good woman born but one every blazing
        star, or at an earthquake, 'twould mend the lottery
        well: a man may draw his heart out, ere a' pluck
        one.

COUNTESS        You'll be gone, sir knave, and do as I command you.

Clown   That man should be at woman's command, and yet no
        hurt done! Though honesty be no puritan, yet it
        will do no hurt; it will wear the surplice of
        humility over the black gown of a big heart. I am
        going, forsooth: the business is for Helen to come hither.

        [Exit]

COUNTESS        Well, now.

Steward I know, madam, you love your gentlewoman entirely.

COUNTESS        Faith, I do: her father bequeathed her to me; and
        she herself, without other advantage, may lawfully
        make title to as much love as she finds: there is
        more owing her than is paid; and more shall be paid
        her than she'll demand.

Steward Madam, I was very late more near her than I think
        she wished me: alone she was, and did communicate
        to herself her own words to her own ears; she
        thought, I dare vow for her, they touched not any
        stranger sense. Her matter was, she loved your son:
        Fortune, she said, was no goddess, that had put
        such difference betwixt their two estates; Love no
        god, that would not extend his might, only where
        qualities were level; Dian no queen of virgins, that
        would suffer her poor knight surprised, without
        rescue in the first assault or ransom afterward.
        This she delivered 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.

COUNTESS        You have discharged this honestly; keep it to
        yourself: many likelihoods informed me of this
        before, which hung so tottering in the balance that
        I could neither believe nor misdoubt. Pray you,
        leave me: stall this in your bosom; and I thank you
        for your honest care: I will speak with you further anon.

        [Exit Steward]

        [Enter HELENA]

        Even so it was with me when I was young:
        If ever we 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,
        Where love's strong passion is impress'd in youth:
        By our remembrances of days foregone,
        Such were our faults, or then we thought them none.
        Her eye is sick on't: I observe her now.

HELENA  What is your pleasure, madam?

COUNTESS        You know, Helen,
        I am a mother to you.

HELENA  Mine honourable mistress.

COUNTESS        Nay, a mother:
        Why not a mother? When I said 'a mother,'
        Methought you saw a serpent: what's in 'mother,'
        That you start at it? I say, I am your mother;
        And put you in the catalogue of those
        That were enwombed mine: 'tis often seen
        Adoption strives with nature and choice breeds
        A native slip to us from foreign seeds:
        You ne'er oppress'd me with a mother's groan,
        Yet I express to you a mother's care:
        God's mercy, maiden! does it curd thy blood
        To say I am thy mother? What's the matter,
        That this distemper'd messenger of wet,
        The many-colour'd Iris, rounds thine eye?
        Why? that you are my daughter?

HELENA  That I am not.

COUNTESS        I say, I am your mother.

HELENA  Pardon, madam;
        The Count Rousillon 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 die:
        He must not be my brother.

COUNTESS        Nor I your mother?

HELENA  You are my mother, madam; would you were,--
        So that my lord your son were not my brother,--
        Indeed my mother! or were you both our mothers,
        I care no more for than I do for heaven,
        So I were not his sister. Can't no other,
        But, I your daughter, he must be my brother?

COUNTESS        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, and find
        Your salt tears' head: now to all sense 'tis gross
        You love my son; invention is ashamed,
        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, th' one to th' other; and thine eyes
        See it so grossly shown in thy behaviors
        That in their kind they speak it: only sin
        And hellish obstinacy tie thy tongue,
        That truth should be suspected. Speak, is't so?
        If it be so, you have wound a goodly clew;
        If it be not, forswear't: howe'er, I charge thee,
        As heaven shall work in me for thine avail,
        Tell me truly.

HELENA                    Good madam, pardon me!

COUNTESS        Do you love my son?

HELENA  Your pardon, noble mistress!

COUNTESS        Love you my son?

HELENA                    Do not you love him, madam?

COUNTESS        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.

HELENA  Then, I confess,
        Here on my knee, before high heaven and you,
        That before you, and next unto high heaven,
        I love your son.
        My friends were poor, but honest; so's my love:
        Be not offended; for it hurts not him
        That he is loved 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 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 worshipper,
        But knows of him no more. My dearest madam,
        Let not your hate encounter with my love
        For loving where you do: but if yourself,
        Whose aged honour cites a virtuous youth,
        Did ever in so true a flame of liking
        Wish chastely 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 search implies,
        But riddle-like lives sweetly where she dies!

COUNTESS        Had you not lately an intent,--speak truly,--
        To go to Paris?

HELENA                    Madam, I had.

COUNTESS        Wherefore? tell true.

HELENA  I will tell truth; by grace itself I swear.
        You know my father left me some prescriptions
        Of rare and proved effects, such as his reading
        And manifest experience had collected
        For general sovereignty; and that he will'd me
        In heedfull'st reservation to bestow them,
        As notes whose faculties inclusive were
        More than they were in note: amongst the rest,
        There is a remedy, approved, set down,
        To cure the desperate languishings whereof
        The king is render'd lost.

COUNTESS        This was your motive
        For Paris, was it? speak.

HELENA  My lord your son made me to think of this;
        Else Paris and the medicine and the king
        Had from the conversation of my thoughts
        Haply been absent then.

COUNTESS        But think you, Helen,
        If you should tender your supposed aid,
        He would receive it? he and his physicians
        Are of a mind; he, that they cannot help him,
        They, that they cannot help: how shall they credit
        A poor unlearned virgin, when the schools,
        Embowell'd of their doctrine, have left off
        The danger to itself?

HELENA  There's something in't,
        More than my father's skill, which was the greatest
        Of his profession, that his good receipt
        Shall for my legacy be sanctified
        By the luckiest stars in heaven: and, would your honour
        But give me leave to try success, I'ld venture
        The well-lost life of mine on his grace's cure
        By such a day and hour.

COUNTESS        Dost thou believe't?

HELENA  Ay, madam, knowingly.

COUNTESS        Why, Helen, thou shalt have my leave and love,
        Means and attendants and my loving greetings
        To those of mine in court: I'll stay at home
        And pray God's blessing into thy attempt:
        Be gone to-morrow; and be sure of this,
        What I can help thee to thou shalt not miss.

        [Exeunt]




        ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL


ACT II



SCENE I Paris. The KING's palace.


        [Flourish of cornets. Enter the KING, attended
        with divers young Lords taking leave for the
        Florentine war; BERTRAM, and PAROLLES]

KING    Farewell, young lords; these warlike principles
        Do not throw from you: and you, my lords, farewell:
        Share the advice betwixt you; if both gain, all
        The gift doth stretch itself as 'tis received,
        And is enough for both.

First Lord      'Tis our hope, sir,
        After well enter'd soldiers, to return
        And find your grace in health.

KING    No, no, it cannot be; and yet my heart
        Will not confess he owes the malady
        That doth my life besiege. Farewell, young lords;
        Whether I live or die, be you the sons
        Of worthy Frenchmen: let higher Italy,--
        Those bated that inherit but the fall
        Of the last monarchy,--see that you come
        Not to woo honour, but to wed it; when
        The bravest questant shrinks, find what you seek,
        That fame may cry you loud: I say, farewell.

Second Lord     Health, at your bidding, serve your majesty!

KING    Those girls of Italy, take heed of them:
        They say, our French lack language to deny,
        If they demand: beware of being captives,
        Before you serve.

Both                      Our hearts receive your warnings.

KING    Farewell. Come hither to me.

        [Exit, attended]

First Lord      O, my sweet lord, that you will stay behind us!

PAROLLES        'Tis not his fault, the spark.

Second Lord     O, 'tis brave wars!

PAROLLES        Most admirable: I have seen those wars.

BERTRAM I am commanded here, and kept a coil with
        'Too young' and 'the next year' and ''tis too early.'

PAROLLES        An thy mind stand to't, boy, steal away bravely.

BERTRAM I shall stay here the forehorse to a smock,
        Creaking my shoes on the plain masonry,
        Till honour be bought up and no sword worn
        But one to dance with! By heaven, I'll steal away.

First Lord      There's honour in the theft.

PAROLLES        Commit it, count.

Second Lord     I am your accessary; and so, farewell.

BERTRAM I grow to you, and our parting is a tortured body.

First Lord      Farewell, captain.

Second Lord     Sweet Monsieur Parolles!

PAROLLES        Noble heroes, my sword and yours 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 emblem of war, here
        on his sinister cheek; it was this very sword
        entrenched it: say to him, I live; and observe his
        reports for me.

First Lord      We shall, noble captain.

        [Exeunt Lords]

PAROLLES        Mars dote on you for his novices! what will ye do?

BERTRAM Stay: the king.

        [Re-enter KING. BERTRAM and PAROLLES retire]

PAROLLES        [To BERTRAM]  Use a more spacious ceremony to the
        noble lords; you have restrained 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 gait, eat, speak, and
        move under the influence of the most received star;
        and though the devil lead the measure, such are to
        be followed: after them, and take a more dilated farewell.

BERTRAM And I will do so.

PAROLLES        Worthy fellows; and like to prove most sinewy sword-men.

        [Exeunt BERTRAM and PAROLLES]

        [Enter LAFEU]

LAFEU   [Kneeling]  Pardon, my lord, for me and for my tidings.

KING    I'll fee thee to stand up.

LAFEU   Then here's a man stands, that has brought his pardon.
        I would you had kneel'd, my lord, to ask me mercy,
        And that at my bidding you could so stand up.

KING    I would I had; so I had broke thy pate,
        And ask'd thee mercy for't.

LAFEU   Good faith, across: but, my good lord 'tis thus;
        Will you be cured of your infirmity?

KING    No.

LAFEU   O, will you eat no grapes, my royal fox?
        Yes, but you will my noble grapes, an if
        My royal fox could reach them: I have seen a medicine
        That's able to breathe life into a stone,
        Quicken a rock, and make you dance canary
        With spritely fire and motion; whose simple touch,
        Is powerful to araise King Pepin, nay,
        To give great Charlemain a pen in's hand,
        And write to her a love-line.

KING    What 'her' is this?

LAFEU   Why, Doctor She: my lord, there's one arrived,
        If you will see her: now, by my faith and honour,
        If seriously I may convey my thoughts
        In this my light deliverance, I have spoke
        With one that, in her sex, her years, profession,
        Wisdom and constancy, hath amazed 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.

KING    Now, good Lafeu,
        Bring in the admiration; that we with thee
        May spend our wonder too, or take off thine
        By wondering how thou took'st it.

LAFEU   Nay, I'll fit you,
        And not be all day neither.

        [Exit]

KING    Thus he his special nothing ever prologues.

        [Re-enter LAFEU, with HELENA]

LAFEU   Nay, come your ways.

KING    This haste hath wings indeed.

LAFEU   Nay, come your ways:
        This is his majesty; say your mind to him:
        A traitor you do look like; but such traitors
        His majesty seldom fears: I am Cressid's uncle,
        That dare leave two together; fare you well.

        [Exit]

KING    Now, fair one, does your business follow us?

HELENA  Ay, my good lord.
        Gerard de Narbon was my father;
        In what he did profess, well found.

KING    I knew him.

HELENA  The rather will I spare my praises towards him:
        Knowing him is enough. On's bed of death
        Many receipts he gave me: chiefly one.
        Which, as the dearest issue of his practise,
        And of his old experience the oily darling,
        He bade 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.

KING    We thank you, maiden;
        But may not be so credulous of cure,
        When our most learned doctors leave us and
        The congregated college have concluded
        That labouring art can never ransom nature
        From her inaidible estate; I say we must not
        So stain our judgment, or corrupt our hope,
        To prostitute our past-cure malady
        To empirics, or to dissever so
        Our great self and our credit, to esteem
        A senseless help when help past sense we deem.

HELENA  My duty then shall pay me for my pains:
        I will no more enforce mine office on you.
        Humbly entreating from your royal thoughts
        A modest one, to bear me back a again.

KING    I cannot give thee less, to be call'd grateful:
        Thou thought'st to help me; and such thanks I give
        As one near death to those that wish him live:
        But what at full I know, thou know'st no part,
        I knowing all my peril, thou no art.

HELENA  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 flown
        From simple sources, and great seas have dried
        When miracles have by the greatest been denied.
        Oft expectation fails and most oft there
        Where most it promises, and oft it hits
        Where hope is coldest and despair most fits.

KING    I must not hear thee; fare thee well, kind maid;
        Thy pains not used must by thyself be paid:
        Proffers not took reap thanks for their reward.

HELENA  Inspired merit so by breath is barr'd:
        It is not so with Him that all things knows
        As 'tis with us that square our guess by shows;
        But most it is presumption in us when
        The help of heaven we count the act of men.
        Dear sir, to my endeavours give consent;
        Of heaven, not me, make an experiment.
        I am not an impostor that proclaim
        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.

KING    Are thou so confident? within what space
        Hopest thou my cure?

HELENA  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 lamp,
        Or four and twenty times the pilot's glass
        Hath told the thievish minutes how they pass,
        What is infirm from your sound parts shall fly,
        Health shall live free and sickness freely die.

KING    Upon thy certainty and confidence
        What darest thou venture?

HELENA  Tax of impudence,
        A strumpet's boldness, a divulged shame
        Traduced by odious ballads: my maiden's name
        Sear'd otherwise; nay, worse--if worse--extended
        With vilest torture let my life be ended.

KING    Methinks in thee some blessed spirit doth speak
        His powerful sound within an 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, all
        That happiness and prime can happy call:
        Thou this to hazard needs must intimate
        Skill infinite or monstrous desperate.
        Sweet practiser, thy physic I will try,
        That ministers thine own death if I die.

HELENA  If I break time, or flinch in property
        Of what I spoke, unpitied let me die,
        And well deserved: not helping, death's my fee;
        But, if I help, what do you promise me?

KING    Make thy demand.

HELENA                    But will you make it even?

KING    Ay, by my sceptre and my hopes of heaven.

HELENA  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.

KING    Here is my hand; the premises observed,
        Thy will by my performance shall be served:
        So make the choice of thy own time, for I,
        Thy resolved 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 camest, how tended on: but rest
        Unquestion'd welcome and undoubted blest.
        Give me some help here, ho! If thou proceed
        As high as word, my deed shall match thy meed.

        [Flourish. Exeunt]




        ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL


ACT II



SCENE II        Rousillon. The COUNT's palace.


        [Enter COUNTESS and Clown]

COUNTESS        Come on, sir; I shall now put you to the height of
        your breeding.

Clown   I will show myself highly fed and lowly taught: I
        know my business is but to the court.

COUNTESS        To the court! why, what place make you special,
        when you put off that with such contempt? But to the court!

Clown   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.

COUNTESS        Marry, that's a bountiful answer that fits all
        questions.

Clown   It is like a barber's chair that fits all buttocks,
        the pin-buttock, the quatch-buttock, the brawn
        buttock, or any buttock.

COUNTESS        Will your answer serve fit to all questions?

Clown   As fit as ten groats is for the hand of an attorney,
        as your French crown for your taffeta punk, as Tib's
        rush for Tom's forefinger, 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 queen
        to a wrangling knave, as the nun's lip to the
        friar's mouth, nay, as the pudding to his skin.

COUNTESS        Have you, I say, an answer of such fitness for all
        questions?

Clown   From below your duke to beneath your constable, it
        will fit any question.

COUNTESS        It must be an answer of most monstrous size that
        must fit all demands.

Clown   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.

COUNTESS        To be young again, if we could: I will be a fool in
        question, hoping to be the wiser by your answer. I
        pray you, sir, are you a courtier?

Clown   O Lord, sir! There's a simple putting off. More,
        more, a hundred of them.

COUNTESS        Sir, I am a poor friend of yours, that loves you.

Clown   O Lord, sir! Thick, thick, spare not me.

COUNTESS        I think, sir, you can eat none of this homely meat.

Clown   O Lord, sir! Nay, put me to't, I warrant you.

COUNTESS        You were lately whipped, sir, as I think.

Clown   O Lord, sir! spare not me.

COUNTESS        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.

Clown   I ne'er had worse luck in my life in my 'O Lord,
        sir!' I see things may serve long, but not serve ever.

COUNTESS        I play the noble housewife with the time
        To entertain't so merrily with a fool.

Clown   O Lord, sir! why, there't serves well again.

COUNTESS        An end, sir; to your business. Give Helen this,
        And urge her to a present answer back:
        Commend me to my kinsmen and my son:
        This is not much.

Clown   Not much commendation to them.

COUNTESS        Not much employment for you: you understand me?

Clown   Most fruitfully: I am there before my legs.

COUNTESS        Haste you again.

        [Exeunt severally]




        ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL


ACT II



SCENE III       Paris. The KING's palace.


        [Enter BERTRAM, LAFEU, and PAROLLES]

LAFEU   They say miracles are past; and we have our
        philosophical persons, to make modern and familiar,
        things supernatural and causeless. Hence is it that
        we make trifles of terrors, ensconcing ourselves
        into seeming knowledge, when we should submit
        ourselves to an unknown fear.

PAROLLES        Why, 'tis the rarest argument of wonder that hath
        shot out in our latter times.

BERTRAM And so 'tis.

LAFEU   To be relinquish'd of the artists,--

PAROLLES        So I say.

LAFEU   Both of Galen and Paracelsus.

PAROLLES        So I say.

LAFEU   Of all the learned and authentic fellows,--

PAROLLES        Right; so I say.

LAFEU   That gave him out incurable,--

PAROLLES        Why, there 'tis; so say I too.

LAFEU   Not to be helped,--

PAROLLES        Right; as 'twere, a man assured of a--

LAFEU   Uncertain life, and sure death.

PAROLLES        Just, you say well; so would I have said.

LAFEU   I may truly say, it is a novelty to the world.

PAROLLES        It is, indeed: if you will have it in showing, you
        shall read it in--what do you call there?

LAFEU   A showing of a heavenly effect in an earthly actor.

PAROLLES        That's it; I would have said the very same.

LAFEU   Why, your dolphin is not lustier: 'fore me,
        I speak in respect--

PAROLLES        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--

LAFEU   Very hand of heaven.

PAROLLES        Ay, so I say.

LAFEU   In a most weak--

        [pausing]

        and debile minister, great power, great
        transcendence: which should, indeed, give us a
        further use to be made than alone the recovery of
        the king, as to be--

        [pausing]

        generally thankful.

PAROLLES        I would have said it; you say well. Here comes the king.

        [Enter KING, HELENA, and Attendants. LAFEU and
        PAROLLES retire]

LAFEU   Lustig, as the Dutchman says: I'll like a maid the
        better, whilst I have a tooth in my head: why, he's
        able to lead her a coranto.

PAROLLES        Mort du vinaigre! is not this Helen?

LAFEU   'Fore God, I think so.

KING    Go, call before me all the lords in court.
        Sit, my preserver, by thy patient's side;
        And with this healthful hand, whose banish'd sense
        Thou hast repeal'd, a second time receive
        The confirmation of my promised gift,
        Which but attends thy naming.

        [Enter three or four Lords]

        Fair maid, send forth thine eye: this youthful parcel
        Of noble bachelors stand at my bestowing,
        O'er whom both sovereign power and father's voice
        I have to use: thy frank election make;
        Thou hast power to choose, and they none to forsake.

HELENA  To each of you one fair and virtuous mistress
        Fall, when Love please! marry, to each, but one!

LAFEU   I'ld give bay Curtal and his furniture,
        My mouth no more were broken than these boys',
        And writ as little beard.

KING    Peruse them well:
        Not one of those but had a noble father.

HELENA  Gentlemen,
        Heaven hath through me restored the king to health.

All     We understand it, and thank heaven for you.

HELENA  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 shouldst choose; but, be refused,
        Let the white death sit on thy cheek for ever;
        We'll ne'er come there again.'

KING    Make choice; and, see,
        Who shuns thy love shuns all his love in me.

HELENA  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?

First Lord      And grant it.

HELENA                    Thanks, sir; all the rest is mute.

LAFEU   I had rather be in this choice than throw ames-ace
        for my life.

HELENA  The honour, sir, that flames in your fair eyes,
        Before I speak, too threateningly replies:
        Love make your fortunes twenty times above
        Her that so wishes and her humble love!

Second Lord     No better, if you please.

HELENA  My wish receive,
        Which great Love grant! and so, I take my leave.

LAFEU   Do all they deny her? An they were sons of mine,
        I'd have them whipped; or I would send them to the
        Turk, to make eunuchs of.

HELENA  Be not afraid that I your hand should take;
        I'll never do you wrong for your own sake:
        Blessing upon your vows! and in your bed
        Find fairer fortune, if you ever wed!

LAFEU   These boys are boys of ice, they'll none have her:
        sure, they are bastards to the English; the French
        ne'er got 'em.

HELENA  You are too young, too happy, and too good,
        To make yourself a son out of my blood.

Fourth Lord     Fair one, I think not so.

LAFEU   There's one grape yet; I am sure thy father drunk
        wine: but if thou be'st not an ass, I am a youth
        of fourteen; I have known thee already.

HELENA  [To BERTRAM]  I dare not say I take you; but I give
        Me and my service, ever whilst I live,
        Into your guiding power. This is the man.

KING    Why, then, young Bertram, take her; she's thy wife.

BERTRAM My wife, my liege! I shall beseech your highness,
        In such a business give me leave to use
        The help of mine own eyes.

KING    Know'st thou not, Bertram,
        What she has done for me?

BERTRAM Yes, my good lord;
        But never hope to know why I should marry her.

KING    Thou know'st she has raised me from my sickly bed.

BERTRAM But follows it, my lord, to bring me down
        Must answer for your raising? I know her well:
        She had her breeding at my father's charge.
        A poor physician's daughter my wife! Disdain
        Rather corrupt me ever!

KING    'Tis only title thou disdain'st in her, the which
        I can build up. Strange is it that our bloods,
        Of colour, weight, and heat, pour'd all together,
        Would quite confound distinction, yet stand off
        In differences so mighty. If she be
        All that is virtuous, save what thou dislikest,
        A poor physician's daughter, thou dislikest
        Of virtue for the name: but do not so:
        From lowest place when virtuous things proceed,
        The place is dignified by the doer's deed:
        Where great additions swell's, and virtue none,
        It is a dropsied honour. Good alone
        Is good without a name. Vileness is so:
        The property by what it is should go,
        Not by the title. She is young, wise, 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 thrive,
        When rather from our acts we them derive
        Than our foregoers: the mere word's a slave
        Debosh'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 canst like this creature as a maid,
        I can create the rest: virtue and she
        Is her own dower; honour and wealth from me.

BERTRAM I cannot love her, nor will strive to do't.

KING    Thou wrong'st thyself, if thou shouldst strive to choose.

HELENA  That you are well restored, my lord, I'm glad:
        Let the rest go.

KING    My honour's at the stake; which to defeat,
        I must produce my power. Here, take her hand,
        Proud scornful boy, unworthy this good gift;
        That dost in vile misprision shackle up
        My love and her desert; that canst not dream,
        We, poising 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. Cheque thy contempt:
        Obey our will, which travails in thy good:
        Believe not thy disdain, but presently
        Do thine own fortunes that obedient right
        Which both thy duty owes and our power claims;
        Or I will throw thee from my care for ever
        Into the staggers and the careless 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.

BERTRAM Pardon, my gracious lord; for I submit
        My fancy to your eyes: when I consider
        What great creation and what dole of honour
        Flies where you bid it, I find that she, which late
        Was in my nobler thoughts most base, is now
        The praised of the king; who, so ennobled,
        Is as 'twere born so.

KING    Take her by the hand,
        And tell her she is thine: to whom I promise
        A counterpoise, if not to thy estate
        A balance more replete.

BERTRAM I take her hand.

KING    Good fortune and the favour of the king
        Smile upon this contract; 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,
        Expecting absent friends. As thou lovest her,
        Thy love's to me religious; else, does err.

        [Exeunt all but LAFEU and PAROLLES]

LAFEU   [Advancing]  Do you hear, monsieur? a word with you.

PAROLLES        Your pleasure, sir?

LAFEU   Your lord and master did well to make his
        recantation.

PAROLLES        Recantation! My lord! my master!

LAFEU   Ay; is it not a language I speak?

PAROLLES        A most harsh one, and not to be understood without
        bloody succeeding. My master!

LAFEU   Are you companion to the Count Rousillon?

PAROLLES        To any count, to all counts, to what is man.

LAFEU   To what is count's man: count's master is of
        another style.

PAROLLES        You are too old, sir; let it satisfy you, you are too old.

LAFEU   I must tell thee, sirrah, I write man; to which
        title age cannot bring thee.

PAROLLES        What I dare too well do, I dare not do.

LAFEU   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't scarce worth.

PAROLLES        Hadst thou not the privilege of antiquity upon thee,--

LAFEU   Do not plunge thyself too far in anger, lest thou
        hasten thy trial; which if--Lord have mercy on thee
        for a hen! So, my good window of lattice, fare thee
        well: thy casement I need not open, for I look
        through thee. Give me thy hand.

PAROLLES        My lord, you give me most egregious indignity.

LAFEU   Ay, with all my heart; and thou art worthy of it.

PAROLLES        I have not, my lord, deserved it.

LAFEU   Yes, good faith, every dram of it; and I will not
        bate thee a scruple.

PAROLLES        Well, I shall be wiser.

LAFEU   Even 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 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, he is a man I know.

PAROLLES        My lord, you do me most insupportable vexation.

LAFEU   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]

PAROLLES        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 of--I'll beat him, an if I could but meet him again.

        [Re-enter LAFEU]

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

PAROLLES        I most unfeignedly beseech your lordship to make
        some reservation of your wrongs: he is my good
        lord: whom I serve above is my master.

LAFEU   Who? God?

PAROLLES        Ay, sir.

LAFEU   The devil it is that's thy master. Why dost thou
        garter up thy arms o' this fashion? dost make hose of
        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'ld beat
        thee: methinks, thou art a general offence, and
        every man should beat thee: I think thou wast
        created for men to breathe themselves upon thee.

PAROLLES        This is hard and undeserved measure, my lord.

LAFEU   Go to, sir; you were beaten in Italy for picking a
        kernel out of a pomegranate; you are a vagabond and
        no true traveller: you are more saucy with lords
        and honourable personages than the commission of your
        birth and virtue gives you heraldry. You are not
        worth another word, else I'ld call you knave. I leave you.

        [Exit]

PAROLLES        Good, very good; it is so then: good, very good;
        let it be concealed awhile.

        [Re-enter BERTRAM]

BERTRAM Undone, and forfeited to cares for ever!

PAROLLES        What's the matter, sweet-heart?

BERTRAM Although before the solemn priest I have sworn,
        I will not bed her.

PAROLLES        What, what, sweet-heart?

BERTRAM O my Parolles, they have married me!
        I'll to the Tuscan wars, and never bed her.

PAROLLES        France is a dog-hole, and it no more merits
        The tread of a man's foot: to the wars!

BERTRAM There's letters from my mother: what the import is,
        I know not yet.

PAROLLES        Ay, that would be known. To the wars, my boy, to the wars!
        He wears his honour in a box unseen,
        That hugs his kicky-wicky 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!

BERTRAM It shall be so: I'll send her to my house,
        Acquaint my mother with my hate to her,
        And wherefore I am fled; write to the king
        That which I durst not speak; his present gift
        Shall furnish me to those Italian fields,
        Where noble fellows strike: war is no strife
        To the dark house and the detested wife.

PAROLLES        Will this capriccio hold in thee? art sure?

BERTRAM 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.

PAROLLES        Why, these balls bound; there's noise in it. 'Tis hard:
        A young man married is a man that's marr'd:
        Therefore away, and leave her bravely; go:
        The king has done you wrong: but, hush, 'tis so.

        [Exeunt]




        ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL


ACT II



SCENE IV        Paris. The KING's palace.


        [Enter HELENA and Clown]

HELENA  My mother greets me kindly; is she well?

Clown   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.

HELENA  If she be very well, what does she ail, that she's
        not very well?

Clown   Truly, she's very well indeed, but for two things.

HELENA  What two things?

Clown   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]

PAROLLES        Bless you, my fortunate lady!

HELENA  I hope, sir, I have your good will to have mine own
        good fortunes.

PAROLLES        You had my prayers to lead them on; and to keep them
        on, have them still. O, my knave, how does my old lady?

Clown   So that you had her wrinkles and I her money,
        I would she did as you say.

PAROLLES        Why, I say nothing.

Clown   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.

PAROLLES        Away! thou'rt a knave.

Clown   You should have said, sir, before a knave thou'rt a
        knave; that's, before me thou'rt a knave: this had
        been truth, sir.

PAROLLES        Go to, thou art a witty fool; I have found thee.

Clown   Did you find me in yourself, sir? or were you
        taught to find me? The search, sir, was profitable;
        and much fool may you find in you, even to the
        world's pleasure and the increase of laughter.

PAROLLES        A good knave, i' faith, and well fed.
        Madam, my lord will go away to-night;
        A very serious business calls on him.
        The great prerogative and rite of love,
        Which, as your due, time claims, he does acknowledge;
        But puts it off to a compell'd restraint;
        Whose want, and whose delay, is strew'd with sweets,
        Which they distil now in the curbed time,
        To make the coming hour o'erflow with joy
        And pleasure drown the brim.

HELENA  What's his will else?

PAROLLES        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.

HELENA  What more commands he?

PAROLLES        That, having this obtain'd, you presently
        Attend his further pleasure.

HELENA  In every thing I wait upon his will.

PAROLLES        I shall report it so.

HELENA  I pray you.

        [Exit PAROLLES]

        Come, sirrah.

        [Exeunt]




        ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL


ACT II



SCENE V Paris. The KING's palace.


        [Enter LAFEU and BERTRAM]

LAFEU   But I hope your lordship thinks not him a soldier.

BERTRAM Yes, my lord, and of very valiant approof.

LAFEU   You have it from his own deliverance.

BERTRAM And by other warranted testimony.

LAFEU   Then my dial goes not true: I took this lark for a bunting.

BERTRAM I do assure you, my lord, he is very great in
        knowledge and accordingly valiant.

LAFEU   I have then sinned against his experience and
        transgressed against his valour; and my state that
        way is dangerous, since I cannot yet find in my
        heart to repent. Here he comes: I pray you, make
        us friends; I will pursue the amity.

        [Enter PAROLLES]

PAROLLES        [To BERTRAM]  These things shall be done, sir.

LAFEU   Pray you, sir, who's his tailor?

PAROLLES        Sir?

LAFEU   O, I know him well, I, sir; he, sir, 's a good
        workman, a very good tailor.

BERTRAM [Aside to PAROLLES]  Is she gone to the king?

PAROLLES        She is.

BERTRAM Will she away to-night?

PAROLLES        As you'll have her.

BERTRAM I have writ my letters, casketed my treasure,
        Given order for our horses; and to-night,
        When I should take possession of the bride,
        End ere I do begin.

LAFEU   A good traveller is something at the latter end of a
        dinner; but one that lies three thirds and uses a
        known truth to pass a thousand nothings with, should
        be once heard and thrice beaten. God save you, captain.

BERTRAM Is there any unkindness between my lord and you, monsieur?

PAROLLES        I know not how I have deserved to run into my lord's
        displeasure.

LAFEU   You have made shift to run into 't, boots and spurs
        and all, like him that leaped into the custard; and
        out of it you'll run again, rather than suffer
        question for your residence.

BERTRAM It may be you have mistaken him, my lord.

LAFEU   And shall do so ever, though I took him at 's
        prayers. Fare you well, my lord; and believe this
        of me, there can be no kernel in this light nut; the
        soul of this man is his clothes. Trust him not in
        matter of heavy consequence; I have kept of them
        tame, and know their natures. Farewell, monsieur:
        I have spoken better of you than you have or will to
        deserve at my hand; but we must do good against evil.

        [Exit]

PAROLLES        An idle lord. I swear.

BERTRAM I think so.

PAROLLES        Why, do you not know him?

BERTRAM Yes, I do know him well, and common speech
        Gives him a worthy pass. Here comes my clog.

        [Enter HELENA]

HELENA  I have, sir, as I was commanded from you,
        Spoke with the king and have procured his leave
        For present parting; only he desires
        Some private speech with you.

BERTRAM 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. Prepared I was not
        For such a business; therefore am I found
        So much unsettled: this drives me to entreat you
        That presently you take our 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 shows itself at the first view
        To you that know them not. This to my mother:

        [Giving a letter]

        'Twill be two days ere I shall see you, so
        I leave you to your wisdom.

HELENA  Sir, I can nothing say,
        But that I am your most obedient servant.

BERTRAM Come, come, no more of that.

HELENA  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.

BERTRAM Let that go:
        My haste is very great: farewell; hie home.

HELENA  Pray, sir, your pardon.

BERTRAM Well, what would you say?

HELENA  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.

BERTRAM What would you have?

HELENA  Something; and scarce so much: nothing, indeed.
        I would not tell you what I would, my lord:
        Faith yes;
        Strangers and foes do sunder, and not kiss.

BERTRAM I pray you, stay not, but in haste to horse.

HELENA  I shall not break your bidding, good my lord.

BERTRAM Where are my other men, monsieur? Farewell.

        [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.

PAROLLES        Bravely, coragio!

        [Exeunt]




        ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL


ACT III



SCENE I Florence. The DUKE's palace.


        [Flourish. Enter the DUKE of Florence attended;
        the two Frenchmen, with a troop of soldiers.

DUKE    So that from point to point now have you heard
        The fundamental reasons of this war,
        Whose great decision hath much blood let forth
        And more thirsts after.

First Lord      Holy seems the quarrel
        Upon your grace's part; black and fearful
        On the opposer.

DUKE    Therefore we marvel much our cousin France
        Would in so just a business shut his bosom
        Against our borrowing prayers.

Second Lord     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 motion: 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.

DUKE    Be it his pleasure.

First Lord      But I am sure the younger of our nature,
        That surfeit on their ease, will day by day
        Come here for physic.

DUKE    Welcome shall they be;
        And all the honours that can fly from us
        Shall on them settle. You know your places well;
        When better fall, for your avails they fell:
        To-morrow to the field.

        [Flourish. Exeunt]




        ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL


ACT III



SCENE II        Rousillon. The COUNT's palace.


        [Enter COUNTESS and Clown]

COUNTESS        It hath happened all as I would have had it, save
        that he comes not along with her.

Clown   By my troth, I take my young lord to be a very
        melancholy man.

COUNTESS        By what observance, I pray you?

Clown   Why, he will look upon his boot and sing; mend the
        ruff and sing; ask questions and sing; pick his
        teeth and sing. I know a man that had this trick of
        melancholy sold a goodly manor for a song.

COUNTESS        Let me see what he writes, and when he means to come.

        [Opening a letter]

Clown   I have no mind to Isbel since I was at court: our
        old ling and our Isbels o' the country are nothing
        like your old ling and your Isbels o' the court:
        the brains of my Cupid's knocked out, and I begin to
        love, as an old man loves money, with no stomach.

COUNTESS        What have we here?

Clown   E'en that you have there.

        [Exit]

COUNTESS        [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 unbridled 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
        For the contempt of empire.

        [Re-enter Clown]

Clown   O madam, yonder is heavy news within between two
        soldiers and my young lady!

COUNTESS        What is the matter?

Clown   Nay, there is some comfort in the news, some
        comfort; your son will not be killed so soon as I
        thought he would.

COUNTESS        Why should he be killed?

Clown   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]

        [Enter HELENA, and two Gentlemen]

First Gentleman Save you, good madam.

HELENA  Madam, my lord is gone, for ever gone.

Second Gentleman        Do not say so.

COUNTESS        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?

Second Gentleman        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.

HELENA  Look on his letter, madam; here's my passport.

        [Reads]

        When thou canst get the ring upon my finger which
        never shall come off, and show 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.

COUNTESS        Brought you this letter, gentlemen?

First Gentleman Ay, madam;
        And for the contents' sake are sorry for our pain.

COUNTESS        I prithee, lady, have a better cheer;
        If thou engrossest all the griefs are thine,
        Thou robb'st me of a moiety: he was my son;
        But I do wash his name out of my blood,
        And thou art all my child. Towards Florence is he?

Second Gentleman        Ay, madam.

COUNTESS                 And to be a soldier?

Second Gentleman        Such is his noble purpose; and believe 't,
        The duke will lay upon him all the honour
        That good convenience claims.

COUNTESS        Return you thither?

First Gentleman Ay, madam, with the swiftest wing of speed.

HELENA  [Reads]  Till I have no wife I have nothing in France.
        'Tis bitter.

COUNTESS                          Find you that there?

HELENA  Ay, madam.

First Gentleman 'Tis but the boldness of his hand, haply, which his
        heart was not consenting to.

COUNTESS        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?

First Gentleman A servant only, and a gentleman
        Which I have sometime known.

COUNTESS        Parolles, was it not?

First Gentleman Ay, my good lady, he.

COUNTESS        A very tainted fellow, and full of wickedness.
        My son corrupts a well-derived nature
        With his inducement.

First Gentleman Indeed, good lady,
        The fellow has a deal of that too much,
        Which holds him much to have.

COUNTESS        You're welcome, gentlemen.
        I will entreat you, when you see my son,
        To tell him that his sword can never win
        The honour that he loses: more I'll entreat you
        Written to bear along.

Second Gentleman        We serve you, madam,
        In that and all your worthiest affairs.

COUNTESS        Not so, but as we change our courtesies.
        Will you draw near!

        [Exeunt COUNTESS and Gentlemen]

HELENA  'Till I have no wife, I have nothing in France.'
        Nothing in France, until he has no wife!
        Thou shalt have none, Rousillon, none in France;
        Then hast thou all again. Poor lord! is't I
        That chase thee from thy country and expose
        Those tender limbs of thine to the event
        Of the none-sparing war? and is it I
        That drive thee from the sportive court, where thou
        Wast shot at with fair eyes, to be the mark
        Of smoky muskets? O you leaden messengers,
        That ride upon the violent speed of fire,
        Fly with false aim; move the still-peering air,
        That sings with piercing; do not touch my lord.
        Whoever shoots at him, I set him there;
        Whoever charges on his forward breast,
        I am the caitiff that do hold him to't;
        And, though I kill him not, I am the cause
        His death was so effected: better 'twere
        I met the ravin lion when he roar'd
        With sharp constraint of hunger; better 'twere
        That all the miseries which nature owes
        Were mine at once. No, come thou home, Rousillon,
        Whence honour but of danger wins a scar,
        As oft it loses all: I will be gone;
        My being here it is that holds thee hence:
        Shall I stay here to do't?  no, no, although
        The air of paradise did fan the house
        And angels officed 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]




        ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL


ACT III



SCENE III       Florence. Before the DUKE's palace.


        [Flourish. Enter the DUKE of Florence, BERTRAM,
        PAROLLES, Soldiers, Drum, and Trumpets]

DUKE    The general of our horse thou art; and we,
        Great in our hope, lay our best love and credence
        Upon thy promising fortune.

BERTRAM Sir, it is
        A charge too heavy for my strength, but yet
        We'll strive to bear it for your worthy sake
        To the extreme edge of hazard.

DUKE    Then go thou forth;
        And fortune play upon thy prosperous helm,
        As thy auspicious mistress!

BERTRAM 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]




        ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL


ACT III



SCENE IV        Rousillon. The COUNT's palace.


        [Enter COUNTESS and Steward]

COUNTESS        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.

Steward [Reads]

        I am Saint Jaques' pilgrim, thither gone:
        Ambitious love hath so in me offended,
        That barefoot 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 hie:
        Bless him at home in peace, whilst I from far
        His name with zealous fervor 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 dogs the heels of worth:
        He is too good and fair for death and me:
        Whom I myself embrace, to set him free.

COUNTESS        Ah, what sharp stings are in her mildest words!
        Rinaldo, you did never lack 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.

Steward Pardon me, madam:
        If I had given you this at over-night,
        She might have been o'erta'en; and yet she writes,
        Pursuit would be but vain.

COUNTESS        What angel shall
        Bless this unworthy husband? he cannot thrive,
        Unless her prayers, whom heaven delights to hear
        And loves to grant, reprieve him from the wrath
        Of greatest justice. Write, write, Rinaldo,
        To this unworthy husband of his wife;
        Let every word weigh heavy of her worth
        That he does weigh too light: my greatest grief.
        Though little he do feel it, set down sharply.
        Dispatch the most convenient messenger:
        When haply he shall hear that she is gone,
        He will return; and hope I may that she,
        Hearing so much, will speed her foot again,
        Led hither by pure love: which of them both
        Is dearest to me. I have no skill in sense
        To make distinction: provide this messenger:
        My heart is heavy and mine age is weak;
        Grief would have tears, and sorrow bids me speak.

        [Exeunt]




        ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL


ACT III



SCENE V Florence. Without the walls. A tucket afar off.


        [Enter an old Widow of Florence, DIANA, VIOLENTA,
        and MARIANA, with other Citizens]

Widow   Nay, come; for if they do approach the city, we
        shall lose all the sight.

DIANA   They say the French count has done most honourable service.

Widow   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.

MARIANA 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.

Widow   I have told my neighbour how you have been solicited
        by a gentleman his companion.

MARIANA 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,
        enticements, oaths, tokens, and all these engines of
        lust, are not the things they go under: many a maid
        hath been seduced by them; and the misery is,
        example, that so terrible shows in the wreck of
        maidenhood, cannot for all that dissuade succession,
        but that they are limed with the twigs that threaten
        them. I hope I need not to advise you further; but
        I hope your own grace will keep you where you are,
        though there were no further danger known but the
        modesty which is so lost.

DIANA   You shall not need to fear me.

Widow   I hope so.

        [Enter HELENA, disguised like a Pilgrim]

        Look, here comes a pilgrim: I know she will lie at
        my house; thither they send one another: I'll
        question her. God save you, pilgrim! whither are you bound?

HELENA  To Saint Jaques le Grand.
        Where do the palmers lodge, I do beseech you?

Widow   At the Saint Francis here beside the port.

HELENA  Is this the way?

Widow   Ay, marry, is't.

        [A march afar]

        Hark you! they come this way.
        If you will tarry, holy pilgrim,
        But till the troops come by,
        I will conduct you where you shall be lodged;
        The rather, for I think I know your hostess
        As ample as myself.

HELENA  Is it yourself?

Widow   If you shall please so, pilgrim.

HELENA  I thank you, and will stay upon your leisure.

Widow   You came, I think, from France?

HELENA  I did so.

Widow   Here you shall see a countryman of yours
        That has done worthy service.

HELENA  His name, I pray you.

DIANA   The Count Rousillon: know you such a one?

HELENA  But by the ear, that hears most nobly of him:
        His face I know not.

DIANA   Whatsome'er he is,
        He's bravely taken here. He stole from France,
        As 'tis reported, for the king had married him
        Against his liking: think you it is so?

HELENA  Ay, surely, mere the truth: I know his lady.

DIANA   There is a gentleman that serves the count
        Reports but coarsely of her.

HELENA  What's his name?

DIANA   Monsieur Parolles.

HELENA                    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 examined.

DIANA   Alas, poor lady!
        'Tis a hard bondage to become the wife
        Of a detesting lord.

Widow   I warrant, good creature, wheresoe'er she is,
        Her heart weighs sadly: this young maid might do her
        A shrewd turn, if she pleased.

HELENA  How do you mean?
        May be the amorous count solicits her
        In the unlawful purpose.

Widow   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.

MARIANA The gods forbid else!

Widow   So, now they come:

        [Drum and Colours]

        [Enter BERTRAM, PAROLLES, and the whole army]

        That is Antonio, the duke's eldest son;
        That, Escalus.

HELENA                    Which is the Frenchman?

DIANA   He;
        That with the plume: 'tis a most gallant fellow.
        I would he loved his wife: if he were honester
        He were much goodlier: is't not a handsome gentleman?

HELENA  I like him well.

DIANA   'Tis pity he is not honest: yond's that same knave
        That leads him to these places: were I his lady,
        I would Poison that vile rascal.

HELENA  Which is he?

DIANA   That jack-an-apes with scarfs: why is he melancholy?

HELENA  Perchance he's hurt i' the battle.

PAROLLES        Lose our drum! well.

MARIANA He's shrewdly vexed at something: look, he has spied us.

Widow   Marry, hang you!

MARIANA And your courtesy, for a ring-carrier!

        [Exeunt BERTRAM, PAROLLES, and army]

Widow   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.

HELENA  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 of this virgin
        Worthy the note.

BOTH                      We'll take your offer kindly.

        [Exeunt]




        ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL


ACT III



SCENE VI        Camp before Florence.


        [Enter BERTRAM and the two French Lords]

Second Lord     Nay, good my lord, put him to't; let him have his
        way.

First Lord      If your lordship find him not a hilding, hold me no
        more in your respect.

Second Lord     On my life, my lord, a bubble.

BERTRAM Do you think I am so far deceived in him?

Second Lord     Believe it, my lord, in mine own direct knowledge,
        without any malice, but to speak of him as my
        kinsman, he's a most notable coward, an infinite and
        endless liar, an hourly promise-breaker, the owner
        of no one good quality worthy your lordship's
        entertainment.

First Lord      It were fit you knew him; lest, reposing too far in
        his virtue, which he hath not, he might at some
        great and trusty business in a main danger fail you.

BERTRAM I would I knew in what particular action to try him.

First Lord      None better than to let him fetch off his drum,
        which you hear him so confidently undertake to do.

Second Lord     I, with a troop of Florentines, will suddenly
        surprise him; such I will have, whom I am sure he
        knows not from the enemy: we will bind and hoodwink
        him so, that he shall suppose no other but that he
        is carried into the leaguer of the adversaries, when
        we bring him to our own tents. Be but your lordship
        present at his examination: if he do not, for the
        promise of his life and in the highest compulsion of
        base fear, offer to betray you and deliver all the
        intelligence in his power against you, and that with
        the divine forfeit of his soul upon oath, never
        trust my judgment in any thing.

First Lord      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 success in't, and to
        what metal this counterfeit lump of ore will be
        melted, if you give him not John Drum's
        entertainment, your inclining cannot be removed.
        Here he comes.

        [Enter PAROLLES]

Second Lord     [Aside to BERTRAM]  O, for the love of laughter,
        hinder not the honour of his design: let him fetch
        off his drum in any hand.

BERTRAM How now, monsieur! this drum sticks sorely in your
        disposition.

First Lord      A pox on't, let it go; 'tis but a drum.

PAROLLES        '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!

First Lord      That was not to be blamed in the command of the
        service: it was a disaster of war that Caesar
        himself could not have prevented, if he had been
        there to command.

BERTRAM Well, we cannot greatly condemn our success: some
        dishonour we had in the loss of that drum; but it is
        not to be recovered.

PAROLLES        It might have been recovered.

BERTRAM It might; but it is not now.

PAROLLES        It is to be recovered: 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.'

BERTRAM Why, if you have a stomach, to't, monsieur: if you
        think your mystery in stratagem can bring this
        instrument of honour again into his native quarter,
        be magnanimous in the enterprise 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.

PAROLLES        By the hand of a soldier, I will undertake it.

BERTRAM But you must not now slumber in it.

PAROLLES        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.

BERTRAM May I be bold to acquaint his grace you are gone about it?

PAROLLES        I know not what the success will be, my lord; but
        the attempt I vow.

BERTRAM I know thou'rt valiant; and, to the possibility of
        thy soldiership, will subscribe for thee. Farewell.

PAROLLES        I love not many words.

        [Exit]

Second Lord     No more than a fish loves water. Is not this a
        strange fellow, my lord, that so confidently seems
        to undertake this business, which he knows is not to
        be done; damns himself to do and dares better be
        damned than to do't?

First Lord      You do not know him, my lord, as we do: certain it
        is that he will steal himself into a man's favour and
        for a week escape a great deal of discoveries; but
        when you find him out, you have him ever after.

BERTRAM Why, do you think he will make no deed at all of
        this that so seriously he does address himself unto?

Second Lord     None in the world; but return with an invention and
        clap upon you two or three probable lies: but we
        have almost embossed him; you shall see his fall
        to-night; for indeed he is not for your lordship's respect.

First Lord      We'll make you some sport with the fox ere we case
        him. He was first smoked by the old lord Lafeu:
        when his disguise and he is parted, tell me what a
        sprat you shall find him; which you shall see this
        very night.

Second Lord     I must go look my twigs: he shall be caught.

BERTRAM Your brother he shall go along with me.

Second Lord     As't please your lordship: I'll leave you.

        [Exit]

BERTRAM Now will I lead you to the house, and show you
        The lass I spoke of.

First Lord      But you say she's honest.

BERTRAM 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?

First Lord      With all my heart, my lord.

        [Exeunt]




        ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL


ACT III



SCENE VII       Florence. The Widow's house.


        [Enter HELENA and Widow]

HELENA  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.

Widow   Though my estate be fallen, I was well born,
        Nothing acquainted with these businesses;
        And would not put my reputation now
        In any staining act.

HELENA  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.

Widow   I should believe you:
        For you have show'd me that which well approves
        You're great in fortune.

HELENA  Take this purse of gold,
        And let me buy your friendly help thus far,
        Which I will over-pay and pay again
        When I have found it. The count he wooes your daughter,
        Lays down his wanton siege before her beauty,
        Resolved to carry her: let her in fine consent,
        As we'll direct her how 'tis best to bear it.
        Now his important blood will nought deny
        That she'll demand: a ring the county wears,
        That downward hath succeeded in his house
        From son to son, some four or five descents
        Since the first father wore it: this ring he holds
        In most rich choice; yet in his idle fire,
        To buy his will, it would not seem too dear,
        Howe'er repented after.

Widow   Now I see
        The bottom of your purpose.

HELENA  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 chastely absent: after this,
        To marry her, I'll add three thousand crowns
        To what is passed already.

Widow   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 musics of all sorts and songs composed
        To her unworthiness: it nothing steads us
        To chide him from our eaves; for he persists
        As if his life lay on't.

HELENA  Why then to-night
        Let us assay our plot; which, if it speed,
        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]




        ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL


ACT IV



SCENE I Without the Florentine camp.


        [Enter Second French Lord, with five or six other
        Soldiers in ambush]

Second Lord     He can come no other way but by this hedge-corner.
        When you sally upon him, speak what terrible
        language you will: though you understand it not
        yourselves, no matter; for we must not seem to
        understand him, unless some one among us whom we
        must produce for an interpreter.

First Soldier   Good captain, let me be the interpreter.

Second Lord     Art not acquainted with him? knows he not thy voice?

First Soldier   No, sir, I warrant you.

Second Lord     But what linsey-woolsey hast thou to speak to us again?

First Soldier   E'en such as you speak to me.

Second Lord     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 our purpose: choughs' language,
        gabble enough, and good enough. As for you,
        interpreter, you must seem very politic. 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]

PAROLLES        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 knocked too often at my door. I find
        my tongue is too foolhardy; but my heart hath the
        fear of Mars before it and of his creatures, not
        daring the reports of my tongue.

Second Lord     This is the first truth that e'er thine own tongue
        was guilty of.

PAROLLES        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 mule, if you prattle me into these perils.

Second Lord     Is it possible he should know what he is, and be
        that he is?

PAROLLES        I would the cutting of my garments would serve the
        turn, or the breaking of my Spanish sword.

Second Lord     We cannot afford you so.

PAROLLES        Or the baring of my beard; and to say it was in
        stratagem.

Second Lord     'Twould not do.

PAROLLES        Or to drown my clothes, and say I was stripped.

Second Lord     Hardly serve.

PAROLLES        Though I swore I leaped from the window of the citadel.

Second Lord     How deep?

PAROLLES        Thirty fathom.

Second Lord     Three great oaths would scarce make that be believed.

PAROLLES        I would I had any drum of the enemy's: I would swear
        I recovered it.

Second Lord     You shall hear one anon.

PAROLLES        A drum now of the enemy's,--

        [Alarum within]

Second Lord     Throca movousus, cargo, cargo, cargo.

All     Cargo, cargo, cargo, villiando par corbo, cargo.

PAROLLES        O, ransom, ransom! do not hide mine eyes.

        [They seize and blindfold him]

First Soldier   Boskos thromuldo boskos.

PAROLLES        I know you are the Muskos' regiment:
        And I shall lose my life for want of language;
        If there be here German, or Dane, low Dutch,
        Italian, or French, let him speak to me; I'll
        Discover that which shall undo the Florentine.

First Soldier   Boskos vauvado: I understand thee, and can speak
        thy tongue. Kerely bonto, sir, betake thee to thy
        faith, for seventeen poniards are at thy bosom.

PAROLLES        O!

First Soldier   O, pray, pray, pray! Manka revania dulche.

Second Lord     Oscorbidulchos volivorco.

First Soldier   The general is content to spare thee yet;
        And, hoodwink'd as thou art, will lead thee on
        To gather from thee: haply thou mayst inform
        Something to save thy life.

PAROLLES        O, let me live!
        And all the secrets of our camp I'll show,
        Their force, their purposes; nay, I'll speak that
        Which you will wonder at.

First Soldier   But wilt thou faithfully?

PAROLLES        If I do not, damn me.

First Soldier   Acordo linta.
        Come on; thou art granted space.

        [Exit, with PAROLLES guarded. A short alarum within]

Second Lord     Go, tell the Count Rousillon, and my brother,
        We have caught the woodcock, and will keep him muffled
        Till we do hear from them.

Second Soldier  Captain, I will.

Second Lord     A' will betray us all unto ourselves:
        Inform on that.

Second Soldier                    So I will, sir.

Second Lord     Till then I'll keep him dark and safely lock'd.

        [Exeunt]




        ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL


ACT IV



SCENE II        Florence. The Widow's house.


        [Enter BERTRAM and DIANA]

BERTRAM They told me that your name was Fontibell.

DIANA   No, my good lord, Diana.

BERTRAM Titled goddess;
        And worth it, with addition! But, fair soul,
        In your fine frame hath love no quality?
        If 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 stem;
        And now you should be as your mother was
        When your sweet self was got.

DIANA   She then was honest.

BERTRAM So should you be.

DIANA   No:
        My mother did but duty; such, my lord,
        As you owe to your wife.

BERTRAM No more o' that;
        I prithee, 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.

DIANA   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.

BERTRAM How have I sworn!

DIANA   'Tis not the many oaths that makes the truth,
        But the plain single vow that is vow'd true.
        What is not holy, that we swear not by,
        But take the High'st to witness: then, pray you, tell me,
        If I should swear by God's great attributes,
        I loved 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.

BERTRAM 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 desires,
        Who then recover: say thou art mine, and ever
        My love as it begins shall so persever.

DIANA   I see that men make ropes in such a scarre
        That we'll forsake ourselves. Give me that ring.

BERTRAM I'll lend it thee, my dear; but have no power
        To give it from me.

DIANA   Will you not, my lord?

BERTRAM 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.

DIANA                     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.

BERTRAM Here, take my ring:
        My house, mine honour, yea, my life, be thine,
        And I'll be bid by thee.

DIANA   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.

BERTRAM A heaven on earth I have won by wooing thee.

        [Exit]

DIANA   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 's heart; she says all men
        Have the like oaths: he had sworn to marry me
        When his wife's dead; therefore I'll lie with him
        When I am buried. Since Frenchmen are so braid,
        Marry that will, I live and die a maid:
        Only in this disguise I think't no sin
        To cozen him that would unjustly win.

        [Exit]




        ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL


ACT IV



SCENE III       The Florentine camp.


        [Enter the two French Lords and some two or three Soldiers]

First Lord      You have not given him his mother's letter?

Second Lord     I have delivered it an hour since: there is
        something in't that stings his nature; for on the
        reading it he changed almost into another man.

First Lord      He has much worthy blame laid upon him for shaking
        off so good a wife and so sweet a lady.

Second Lord     Especially he hath incurred the everlasting
        displeasure of the king, who had even tuned his
        bounty to sing happiness to him. I will tell you a
        thing, but you shall let it dwell darkly with you.

First Lord      When you have spoken it, 'tis dead, and I am the
        grave of it.

Second Lord     He hath perverted a young gentlewoman here in
        Florence, of a most chaste renown; and this night he
        fleshes his will in the spoil of her honour: he hath
        given her his monumental ring, and thinks himself
        made in the unchaste composition.

First Lord      Now, God delay our rebellion! as we are ourselves,
        what things are we!

Second Lord     Merely our own traitors. And as in the common course
        of all treasons, we still see them reveal
        themselves, till they attain to their abhorred ends,
        so he that in this action contrives against his own
        nobility, in his proper stream o'erflows himself.

First Lord      Is it not meant damnable in us, to be trumpeters of
        our unlawful intents? We shall not then have his
        company to-night?

Second Lord     Not till after midnight; for he is dieted to his hour.

First Lord      That approaches apace; I would gladly have him see
        his company anatomized, that he might take a measure
        of his own judgments, wherein so curiously he had
        set this counterfeit.

Second Lord     We will not meddle with him till he come; for his
        presence must be the whip of the other.

First Lord      In the mean time, what hear you of these wars?

Second Lord     I hear there is an overture of peace.

First Lord      Nay, I assure you, a peace concluded.

Second Lord     What will Count Rousillon do then? will he travel
        higher, or return again into France?

First Lord      I perceive, by this demand, you are not altogether
        of his council.

Second Lord     Let it be forbid, sir; so should I be a great deal
        of his act.

First Lord      Sir, his wife some two months since fled from his
        house: her pretence is a pilgrimage to Saint Jaques
        le Grand; which holy undertaking with most austere
        sanctimony she accomplished; and, there residing the
        tenderness of her nature became as a prey to her
        grief; in fine, made a groan of her last breath, and
        now she sings in heaven.

Second Lord     How is this justified?

First Lord      The stronger part of it by her own letters, which
        makes her story true, even to the point of her
        death: her death itself, which could not be her
        office to say is come, was faithfully confirmed by
        the rector of the place.

Second Lord     Hath the count all this intelligence?

First Lord      Ay, and the particular confirmations, point from
        point, so to the full arming of the verity.

Second Lord     I am heartily sorry that he'll be glad of this.

First Lord      How mightily sometimes we make us comforts of our losses!

Second Lord     And how mightily some other times we drown our gain
        in tears! The great dignity that his valour hath
        here acquired for him shall at home be encountered
        with a shame as ample.

First Lord      The web of our life is of a mingled yarn, good and
        ill together: our virtues would be proud, if our
        faults whipped them not; and our crimes would
        despair, if they were not cherished by our virtues.

        [Enter a Messenger]

        How now! where's your master?

Servant He met the duke in the street, sir, of whom he hath
        taken a solemn leave: his lordship will next
        morning for France. The duke hath offered him
        letters of commendations to the king.

Second Lord     They shall be no more than needful there, if they
        were more than they can commend.

First Lord      They cannot be too sweet for the king's tartness.
        Here's his lordship now.

        [Enter BERTRAM]

        How now, my lord! is't not after midnight?

BERTRAM I have to-night dispatched sixteen businesses, a
        month's length a-piece, by an abstract of success:
        I have congied with the duke, done my adieu with his
        nearest; buried a wife, mourned for her; writ to my
        lady mother I am returning; entertained my convoy;
        and between these main parcels of dispatch effected
        many nicer needs; the last was the greatest, but
        that I have not ended yet.

Second Lord     If the business be of any difficulty, and this
        morning your departure hence, it requires haste of
        your lordship.

BERTRAM 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 module, he has deceived
        me, like a double-meaning prophesier.

Second Lord     Bring him forth: has sat i' the stocks all night,
        poor gallant knave.

BERTRAM No matter: his heels have deserved it, in usurping
        his spurs so long. How does he carry himself?

Second Lord     I have told your lordship already, the stocks carry
        him. But to answer you as you would be understood;
        he weeps like a wench that had shed her milk: he
        hath confessed 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 confessed?

BERTRAM Nothing of me, has a'?

Second Lord     His confession is taken, and it shall be read to his
        face: if your lordship be in't, as I believe you
        are, you must have the patience to hear it.

        [Enter PAROLLES guarded, and First Soldier]

BERTRAM A plague upon him! muffled! he can say nothing of
        me: hush, hush!

First Lord      Hoodman comes! Portotartarosa

First Soldier   He calls for the tortures: what will you say
        without 'em?

PAROLLES        I will confess what I know without constraint: if
        ye pinch me like a pasty, I can say no more.

First Soldier   Bosko chimurcho.

First Lord      Boblibindo chicurmurco.

First Soldier   You are a merciful general. Our general bids you
        answer to what I shall ask you out of a note.

PAROLLES        And truly, as I hope to live.

First Soldier   [Reads]  'First demand of him how many horse the
        duke is strong.' What say you to that?

PAROLLES        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.

First Soldier   Shall I set down your answer so?

PAROLLES        Do: I'll take the sacrament on't, how and which way you will.

BERTRAM All's one to him. What a past-saving slave is this!

First Lord      You're deceived, my lord: this is Monsieur
        Parolles, the gallant militarist,--that was his own
        phrase,--that had the whole theoric of war in the
        knot of his scarf, and the practise in the chape of
        his dagger.

Second Lord     I will never trust a man again for keeping his sword
        clean. nor believe he can have every thing in him
        by wearing his apparel neatly.

First Soldier   Well, that's set down.

PAROLLES        Five or six thousand horse, I said,-- I will say
        true,--or thereabouts, set down, for I'll speak truth.

First Lord      He's very near the truth in this.

BERTRAM But I con him no thanks for't, in the nature he
        delivers it.

PAROLLES        Poor rogues, I pray you, say.

First Soldier   Well, that's set down.

PAROLLES        I humbly thank you, sir: a truth's a truth, the
        rogues are marvellous poor.

First Soldier   [Reads]  'Demand of him, of what strength they are
        a-foot.' What say you to that?

PAROLLES        By my troth, sir, if I were to live 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 and fifty each; mine own
        company, Chitopher, Vaumond, Bentii, two hundred and
        fifty each: so that the muster-file, rotten and
        sound, upon my life, amounts not to fifteen thousand
        poll; half of the which dare not shake snow from off
        their cassocks, lest they shake themselves to pieces.

BERTRAM What shall be done to him?

First Lord      Nothing, but let him have thanks. Demand of him my
        condition, and what credit I have with the duke.

First Soldier   Well, that's set down.

        [Reads]

        'You shall demand of him, whether one Captain Dumain
        be i' the camp, a Frenchman; what his reputation is
        with the duke; what his valour, honesty, and
        expertness in wars; or whether he thinks it were not
        possible, with well-weighing sums of gold, to
        corrupt him to revolt.' What say you to this? what
        do you know of it?

PAROLLES        I beseech you, let me answer to the particular of
        the inter'gatories: demand them singly.

First Soldier   Do you know this Captain Dumain?

PAROLLES        I know him: a' was a botcher's 'prentice in Paris,
        from whence he was whipped for getting the shrieve's
        fool with child,--a dumb innocent, that could not
        say him nay.

BERTRAM Nay, by your leave, hold your hands; though I know
        his brains are forfeit to the next tile that falls.

First Soldier   Well, is this captain in the duke of Florence's camp?

PAROLLES        Upon my knowledge, he is, and lousy.

First Lord      Nay look not so upon me; we shall hear of your
        lordship anon.

First Soldier   What is his reputation with the duke?

PAROLLES        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.

First Soldier   Marry, we'll search.

PAROLLES        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.

First Soldier   Here 'tis; here's a paper: shall I read it to you?

PAROLLES        I do not know if it be it or no.

BERTRAM Our interpreter does it well.

First Lord      Excellently.

First Soldier   [Reads]  'Dian, the count's a fool, and full of gold,'--

PAROLLES        That is not the duke's letter, sir; that is an
        advertisement to a proper maid in Florence, one
        Diana, to take heed of the allurement of one Count
        Rousillon, a foolish idle boy, but for all that very
        ruttish: I pray you, sir, put it up again.

First Soldier   Nay, I'll read it first, by your favour.

PAROLLES        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.

BERTRAM Damnable both-sides rogue!

First Soldier   [Reads]  '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; match, and well make it;
        He ne'er pays after-debts, take it before;
        And say a soldier, Dian, told thee this,
        Men are to mell with, boys are not to kiss:
        For count of this, the count's a fool, I know it,
        Who pays before, but not when he does owe it.
        Thine, as he vowed to thee in thine ear,
                          PAROLLES.'

BERTRAM He shall be whipped through the army with this rhyme
        in's forehead.

Second Lord     This is your devoted friend, sir, the manifold
        linguist and the armipotent soldier.

BERTRAM I could endure any thing before but a cat, and now
        he's a cat to me.

First Soldier   I perceive, sir, by the general's looks, we shall be
        fain to hang you.

PAROLLES        My life, sir, in any case: not that I am afraid to
        die; but that, my offences being many, I would
        repent out the remainder of nature: let me live,
        sir, in a dungeon, i' the stocks, or any where, so I may live.

First Soldier   We'll see what may be done, so you confess freely;
        therefore, once more to this Captain Dumain: you
        have answered to his reputation with the duke and to
        his valour: what is his honesty?

PAROLLES        He will steal, sir, an egg out of a cloister: for
        rapes and ravishments he parallels Nessus: he
        professes not keeping of oaths; in breaking 'em he
        is stronger than Hercules: he will lie, sir, with
        such volubility, that you would think truth were a
        fool: drunkenness is his best virtue, for he will
        be swine-drunk; and in his sleep he does little
        harm, save to his bed-clothes about him; but they
        know his conditions and lay him in straw. I have but
        little more to say, sir, of his honesty: he has
        every thing that an honest man should not have; what
        an honest man should have, he has nothing.

First Lord      I begin to love him for this.

BERTRAM For this description of thine honesty? A pox upon
        him for me, he's more and more a cat.

First Soldier   What say you to his expertness in war?

PAROLLES        Faith, sir, he has led the drum before the English
        tragedians; to belie him, I will not, and more of
        his soldiership I know not; except, in that country
        he had the honour to be the officer at a place there
        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.

First Lord      He hath out-villained villany so far, that the
        rarity redeems him.

BERTRAM A pox on him, he's a cat still.

First Soldier   His qualities being at this poor price, I need not
        to ask you if gold will corrupt him to revolt.

PAROLLES        Sir, for a quart d'ecu he will sell the fee-simple
        of his salvation, the inheritance of it; and cut the
        entail from all remainders, and a perpetual
        succession for it perpetually.

First Soldier   What's his brother, the other Captain Dumain?

Second Lord     Why does be ask him of me?

First Soldier   What's he?

PAROLLES        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 outruns any lackey; marry, in coming
        on he has the cramp.

First Soldier   If your life be saved, will you undertake to betray
        the Florentine?

PAROLLES        Ay, and the captain of his horse, Count Rousillon.

First Soldier   I'll whisper with the general, and know his pleasure.

PAROLLES        [Aside]  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?

First Soldier   There is no remedy, sir, but you must die: the
        general says, you that have so traitorously
        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 die. Come, headsman, off with his head.

PAROLLES        O Lord, sir, let me live, or let me see my death!

First Lord      That shall you, and take your leave of all your friends.

        [Unblinding him]

        So, look about you: know you any here?

BERTRAM Good morrow, noble captain.

Second Lord     God bless you, Captain Parolles.

First Lord      God save you, noble captain.

Second Lord     Captain, what greeting will you to my Lord Lafeu?
        I am for France.

First Lord      Good captain, will you give me a copy of the sonnet
        you writ to Diana in behalf of the Count Rousillon?
        an I were not a very coward, I'ld compel it of you:
        but fare you well.

        [Exeunt BERTRAM and Lords]

First Soldier   You are undone, captain, all but your scarf; that
        has a knot on't yet

PAROLLES        Who cannot be crushed with a plot?

First Soldier   If you could find out a country where but women were
        that had received so much shame, you might begin an
        impudent nation. Fare ye well, sir; I am for France
        too: we shall speak of you there.

        [Exit with Soldiers]

PAROLLES        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]




        ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL


ACT IV



SCENE IV        Florence. The Widow's house.


        [Enter HELENA, Widow, and DIANA]

HELENA  That you may well perceive I have not wrong'd you,
        One of the greatest in the Christian world
        Shall be my surety; 'fore whose throne 'tis needful,
        Ere I can perfect mine intents, to kneel:
        Time was, I did him a desired office,
        Dear almost as his life; which gratitude
        Through flinty Tartar's bosom would peep forth,
        And answer, thanks: I duly am inform'd
        His grace is at Marseilles; to which place
        We have convenient convoy. You must know
        I am supposed dead: the army breaking,
        My husband hies him home; where, heaven aiding,
        And by the leave of my good lord the king,
        We'll be before our welcome.

Widow   Gentle madam,
        You never had a servant to whose trust
        Your business was more welcome.

HELENA  Nor you, mistress,
        Ever a friend whose thoughts more truly labour
        To recompense 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 loathes for that which is away.
        But more of this hereafter. You, Diana,
        Under my poor instructions yet must suffer
        Something in my behalf.

DIANA   Let death and honesty
        Go with your impositions, I am yours
        Upon your will to suffer.

HELENA  Yet, I pray you:
        But with the word the time will bring on summer,
        When briers shall have leaves as well as thorns,
        And be as sweet as sharp. We must away;
        Our wagon is prepared, and time revives us:
        All's well that ends well; still the fine's the crown;
        Whate'er the course, the end is the renown.

        [Exeunt]




        ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL


ACT IV



SCENE V Rousillon. The COUNT's palace.


        [Enter COUNTESS, LAFEU, and Clown]

LAFEU   No, no, no, your son was misled with a snipt-taffeta
        fellow there, whose villanous saffron would have
        made all the unbaked and doughy youth of a nation in
        his colour: your daughter-in-law had been alive at
        this hour, and your son here at home, more advanced
        by the king than by that red-tailed humble-bee I speak of.

COUNTESS        I would I had not known him; it was the death of the
        most virtuous gentlewoman that ever nature had
        praise for creating. If she had partaken of my
        flesh, and cost me the dearest groans of a mother, I
        could not have owed her a more rooted love.

LAFEU   'Twas a good lady, 'twas a good lady: we may pick a
        thousand salads ere we light on such another herb.

Clown   Indeed, sir, she was the sweet marjoram of the
        salad, or rather, the herb of grace.

LAFEU   They are not herbs, you knave; they are nose-herbs.

Clown   I am no great Nebuchadnezzar, sir; I have not much
        skill in grass.

LAFEU   Whether dost thou profess thyself, a knave or a fool?

Clown   A fool, sir, at a woman's service, and a knave at a man's.

LAFEU   Your distinction?

Clown   I would cozen the man of his wife and do his service.

LAFEU   So you were a knave at his service, indeed.

Clown   And I would give his wife my bauble, sir, to do her service.

LAFEU   I will subscribe for thee, thou art both knave and fool.

Clown   At your service.

LAFEU   No, no, no.

Clown   Why, sir, if I cannot serve you, I can serve as
        great a prince as you are.

LAFEU   Who's that? a Frenchman?

Clown   Faith, sir, a' has an English name; but his fisnomy
        is more hotter in France than there.

LAFEU   What prince is that?

Clown   The black prince, sir; alias, the prince of
        darkness; alias, the devil.

LAFEU   Hold thee, there's my purse: I give thee not this
        to suggest thee from thy master thou talkest of;
        serve him still.

Clown   I am a woodland fellow, sir, that always loved a
        great fire; and the master I speak of ever keeps a
        good fire. But, sure, he is the prince of the
        world; let his nobility remain in's court. I am for
        the house with the narrow gate, which I take to be
        too little for pomp to enter: some that humble
        themselves may; but the many will be too chill and
        tender, and they'll be for the flowery way that
        leads to the broad gate and the great fire.

LAFEU   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
        looked to, without any tricks.

Clown   If I put any tricks upon 'em, sir, they shall be
        jades' tricks; which are their own right by the law of nature.

        [Exit]

LAFEU   A shrewd knave and an unhappy.

COUNTESS        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,
        indeed, he has no pace, but runs where he will.

LAFEU   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 promised 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?

COUNTESS        With very much content, my lord; and I wish it
        happily effected.

LAFEU   His highness comes post from Marseilles, of as able
        body as when he numbered thirty: he will be here
        to-morrow, or I am deceived by him that in such
        intelligence hath seldom failed.

COUNTESS        It rejoices me, that I hope I shall see him ere I
        die. I have letters that my son will be here
        to-night: I shall beseech your lordship to remain
        with me till they meet together.

LAFEU   Madam, I was thinking with what manners I might
        safely be admitted.

COUNTESS        You need but plead your honourable privilege.

LAFEU   Lady, of that I have made a bold charter; but I
        thank my God it holds yet.

        [Re-enter Clown]

Clown   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.

LAFEU   A scar nobly got, or a noble scar, is a good livery
        of honour; so belike is that.

Clown   But it is your carbonadoed face.

LAFEU   Let us go see your son, I pray you: I long to talk
        with the young noble soldier.

Clown   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]




        ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL


ACT V


SCENE I Marseilles. A street.


        [Enter HELENA, Widow, and DIANA, with two
        Attendants]

HELENA  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.

Gentleman       And you.

HELENA  Sir, I have seen you in the court of France.

Gentleman       I have been sometimes there.

HELENA  I do presume, sir, that you are not fallen
        From the report that goes upon your goodness;
        An therefore, goaded with most sharp occasions,
        Which lay nice manners by, I put you to
        The use of your own virtues, for the which
        I shall continue thankful.

Gentleman       What's your will?

HELENA  That it will please you
        To give this poor petition to the king,
        And aid me with that store of power you have
        To come into his presence.

Gentleman       The king's not here.

HELENA  Not here, sir!

Gentleman       Not, indeed:
        He hence removed last night and with more haste
        Than is his use.

Widow                     Lord, how we lose our pains!

HELENA  ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL yet,
        Though time seem so adverse and means unfit.
        I do beseech you, whither is he gone?

Gentleman       Marry, as I take it, to Rousillon;
        Whither I am going.

HELENA  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.

Gentleman       This I'll do for you.

HELENA  And you shall find yourself to be well thank'd,
        Whate'er falls more. We must to horse again.
        Go, go, provide.

        [Exeunt]




        ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL


ACT V



SCENE II        Rousillon. Before the COUNT's palace.


        [Enter Clown, and PAROLLES, following]

PAROLLES        Good Monsieur Lavache, give my Lord Lafeu this
        letter: I have ere now, sir, been better known to
        you, when I have held familiarity with fresher
        clothes; but I am now, sir, muddied in fortune's
        mood, and smell somewhat strong of her strong
        displeasure.

Clown   Truly, fortune's displeasure is but sluttish, if it
        smell so strongly as thou speakest of: I will
        henceforth eat no fish of fortune's buttering.
        Prithee, allow the wind.

PAROLLES        Nay, you need not to stop your nose, sir; I spake
        but by a metaphor.

Clown   Indeed, sir, if your metaphor stink, I will stop my
        nose; or against any man's metaphor. Prithee, get
        thee further.

PAROLLES        Pray you, sir, deliver me this paper.

Clown   Foh! prithee, stand away: a paper from fortune's
        close-stool to give to a nobleman! Look, here he
        comes himself.

        [Enter LAFEU]

        Here is a purr of fortune's, sir, or of fortune's
        cat,--but not a musk-cat,--that has fallen into the
        unclean fishpond of her displeasure, and, as he
        says, is muddied withal: pray you, sir, use the
        carp as you may; for he looks like a poor, decayed,
        ingenious, foolish, rascally knave. I do pity his
        distress in my similes of comfort and leave him to
        your lordship.

        [Exit]

PAROLLES        My lord, I am a man whom fortune hath cruelly
        scratched.

LAFEU   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? There's a quart d'ecu for
        you: let the justices make you and fortune friends:
        I am for other business.

PAROLLES        I beseech your honour to hear me one single word.

LAFEU   You beg a single penny more: come, you shall ha't;
        save your word.

PAROLLES        My name, my good lord, is Parolles.

LAFEU   You beg more than 'word,' then. Cox my passion!
        give me your hand. How does your drum?

PAROLLES        O my good lord, you were the first that found me!

LAFEU   Was I, in sooth? and I was the first that lost thee.

PAROLLES        It lies in you, my lord, to bring me in some grace,
        for you did bring me out.

LAFEU   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.

        [Trumpets sound]

        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.

PAROLLES        I praise God for you.

        [Exeunt]




        ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL


ACT V



SCENE III       Rousillon. The COUNT's palace.


        [Flourish. Enter KING, COUNTESS, LAFEU, the two
        French Lords, with Attendants]

KING    We lost a jewel of her; and our esteem
        Was made much poorer by it: but your son,
        As mad in folly, lack'd the sense to know
        Her estimation home.

COUNTESS        'Tis past, my liege;
        And I beseech your majesty to make it
        Natural rebellion, done i' the blaze of youth;
        When oil and fire, too strong for reason's force,
        O'erbears it and burns on.

KING    My honour'd lady,
        I have forgiven and forgotten all;
        Though my revenges were high bent upon him,
        And watch'd the time to shoot.

LAFEU   This I must say,
        But first I beg my pardon, the young lord
        Did to his majesty, his mother and his lady
        Offence of mighty note; but to himself
        The greatest wrong of all. He lost a wife
        Whose beauty did astonish the survey
        Of richest eyes, whose words all ears took captive,
        Whose dear perfection hearts that scorn'd to serve
        Humbly call'd mistress.

KING    Praising what is lost
        Makes the remembrance dear. Well, call him hither;
        We are reconciled, and the first view shall kill
        All repetition: let him not ask our pardon;
        The nature of his great offence is dead,
        And deeper than oblivion we do bury
        The incensing relics of it: let him approach,
        A stranger, no offender; and inform him
        So 'tis our will he should.

Gentleman       I shall, my liege.

        [Exit]

KING    What says he to your daughter? have you spoke?

LAFEU   All that he is hath reference to your highness.

KING    Then shall we have a match. I have letters sent me
        That set him high in fame.

        [Enter BERTRAM]

LAFEU   He looks well on't.

KING    I am not a day of season,
        For thou mayst see a sunshine and a hail
        In me at once: but to the brightest beams
        Distracted clouds give way; so stand thou forth;
        The time is fair again.

BERTRAM My high-repented blames,
        Dear sovereign, pardon to me.

KING    All is whole;
        Not one word more of the consumed time.
        Let's take the instant by the forward top;
        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?

BERTRAM Admiringly, my liege, at first
        I stuck my choice upon her, ere my heart
        Durst make too bold a herald of my tongue
        Where the impression of mine eye infixing,
        Contempt his scornful perspective did lend me,
        Which warp'd the line of every other favour;
        Scorn'd a fair colour, or express'd it stolen;
        Extended or contracted all proportions
        To a most hideous object: thence it came
        That she whom all men praised and whom myself,
        Since I have lost, have loved, was in mine eye
        The dust that did offend it.

KING    Well excused:
        That thou didst love her, strikes some scores away
        From the great compt: but love that comes too late,
        Like a remorseful pardon slowly carried,
        To the great sender turns a sour offence,
        Crying, 'That's good that's gone.' Our rash faults
        Make trivial price of serious things we have,
        Not knowing them until we know their grave:
        Oft our displeasures, to ourselves unjust,
        Destroy our friends and after weep their dust
        Our own love waking cries to see what's done,
        While shame full late 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.

COUNTESS        Which better than the first, O dear heaven, bless!
        Or, ere they meet, in me, O nature, cesse!

LAFEU   Come on, my son, in whom my house's name
        Must be digested, give a favour from you
        To sparkle in the spirits of my daughter,
        That she may quickly come.

        [BERTRAM gives a ring]

                     By my old beard,
        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 I took her at court,
        I saw upon her finger.

BERTRAM Hers it was not.

KING    Now, pray you, let me see it; for mine eye,
        While I was speaking, oft was fasten'd to't.
        This ring was mine; and, when I gave it Helen,
        I bade her, if her fortunes ever stood
        Necessitied to help, that by this token
        I would relieve her. Had you that craft, to reave
        her
        Of what should stead her most?

BERTRAM My gracious sovereign,
        Howe'er it pleases you to take it so,
        The ring was never hers.

COUNTESS        Son, on my life,
        I have seen her wear it; and she reckon'd it
        At her life's rate.

LAFEU   I am sure I saw her wear it.

BERTRAM You are deceived, my lord; she never saw it:
        In Florence was it from a casement thrown me,
        Wrapp'd in a paper, which contain'd the name
        Of her that threw it: noble she was, and thought
        I stood engaged: but when I had subscribed
        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 ceased
        In heavy satisfaction and would never
        Receive the ring again.

KING    Plutus 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 know
        That you are well acquainted with yourself,
        Confess 'twas hers, and by what rough enforcement
        You got it from her: she call'd the saints to surety
        That she would never put it from her finger,
        Unless she gave it to yourself in bed,
        Where you have never come, or sent it us
        Upon her great disaster.

BERTRAM She never saw it.

KING    Thou speak'st it falsely, as I love mine honour;
        And makest conjectural fears to come into me
        Which I would fain shut out. If it should prove
        That thou art so inhuman,--'twill not prove so;--
        And yet I know not: thou didst hate her deadly,
        And she is dead; which nothing, but to close
        Her eyes myself, could win me to believe,
        More than to see this ring. Take him away.

        [Guards seize BERTRAM]

        My fore-past proofs, howe'er the matter fall,
        Shall tax my fears of little vanity,
        Having vainly fear'd too little. Away with him!
        We'll sift this matter further.

BERTRAM 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]

KING    I am wrapp'd in dismal thinkings.

        [Enter a Gentleman]

Gentleman       Gracious sovereign,
        Whether I have been to blame or no, I know not:
        Here's a petition from a Florentine,
        Who hath for four or five removes come 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.

KING    [Reads]  Upon his many protestations to marry me
        when his wife was dead, I blush to say it, he won
        me. Now is the Count Rousillon a widower: his vows
        are forfeited to me, and my honour's paid to him. He
        stole from Florence, taking no leave, and I follow
        him to his country for justice: grant it me, O
        king! in you it best lies; otherwise a seducer
        flourishes, and a poor maid is undone.
                                  DIANA CAPILET.

LAFEU   I will buy me a son-in-law in a fair, and toll for
        this: I'll none of him.

KING    The heavens have thought well on thee Lafeu,
        To bring forth this discovery. Seek these suitors:
        Go speedily and bring again the count.
        I am afeard the life of Helen, lady,
        Was foully snatch'd.

COUNTESS        Now, justice on the doers!

        [Re-enter BERTRAM, guarded]

KING    I wonder, sir, sith wives are monsters to you,
        And that you fly them as you swear them lordship,
        Yet you desire to marry.

        [Enter Widow and DIANA]

                   What woman's that?

DIANA   I am, my lord, a wretched Florentine,
        Derived from the ancient Capilet:
        My suit, as I do understand, you know,
        And therefore know how far I may be pitied.

Widow   I am her mother, sir, whose age and honour
        Both suffer under this complaint we bring,
        And both shall cease, without your remedy.

KING    Come hither, count; do you know these women?

BERTRAM My lord, I neither can nor will deny
        But that I know them: do they charge me further?

DIANA   Why do you look so strange upon your wife?

BERTRAM She's none of mine, my lord.

DIANA   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 embodied yours,
        That she which marries you must marry me,
        Either both or none.

LAFEU   Your reputation comes too short for my daughter; you
        are no husband for her.

BERTRAM My lord, this is a fond and desperate creature,
        Whom sometime I have laugh'd with: let your highness
        Lay a more noble thought upon mine honour
        Than for to think that I would sink it here.

KING    Sir, for my thoughts, you have them ill to friend
        Till your deeds gain them: fairer prove your honour
        Than in my thought it lies.

DIANA   Good my lord,
        Ask him upon his oath, if he does think
        He had not my virginity.

KING    What say'st thou to her?

BERTRAM She's impudent, my lord,
        And was a common gamester to the camp.

DIANA   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.

COUNTESS                          He blushes, and 'tis it:
        Of six preceding ancestors, that gem,
        Conferr'd by testament to the sequent issue,
        Hath it been owed and worn. This is his wife;
        That ring's a thousand proofs.

KING    Methought you said
        You saw one here in court could witness it.

DIANA   I did, my lord, but loath am to produce
        So bad an instrument: his name's Parolles.

LAFEU   I saw the man to-day, if man he be.

KING    Find him, and bring him hither.

        [Exit an Attendant]

BERTRAM 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?

KING    She hath that ring of yours.

BERTRAM I think she has: certain it is I liked her,
        And boarded her i' the wanton way of youth:
        She knew her distance and did angle for me,
        Madding my eagerness with her restraint,
        As all impediments in fancy's course
        Are motives of more fancy; and, in fine,
        Her infinite cunning, with her modern grace,
        Subdued me to her rate: she got the ring;
        And I had that which any inferior might
        At market-price have bought.

DIANA   I must be patient:
        You, that have turn'd off a first so noble wife,
        May justly diet me. I pray you yet;
        Since you lack virtue, I will lose a husband;
        Send for your ring, I will return it home,
        And give me mine again.

BERTRAM I have it not.

KING    What ring was yours, I pray you?

DIANA   Sir, much like
        The same upon your finger.

KING    Know you this ring? this ring was his of late.

DIANA   And this was it I gave him, being abed.

KING    The story then goes false, you threw it him
        Out of a casement.

DIANA                     I have spoke the truth.

        [Enter PAROLLES]

BERTRAM My lord, I do confess the ring was hers.

KING    You boggle shrewdly, every feather stars you.
        Is this the man you speak of?

DIANA   Ay, my lord.

KING    Tell me, sirrah, but tell me true, I charge you,
        Not fearing the displeasure of your master,
        Which on your just proceeding I'll keep off,
        By him and by this woman here what know you?

PAROLLES        So please your majesty, my master hath been an
        honourable gentleman: tricks he hath had in him,
        which gentlemen have.

KING    Come, come, to the purpose: did he love this woman?

PAROLLES        Faith, sir, he did love her; but how?

KING    How, I pray you?

PAROLLES        He did love her, sir, as a gentleman loves a woman.

KING    How is that?

PAROLLES        He loved her, sir, and loved her not.

KING    As thou art a knave, and no knave. What an
        equivocal companion is this!

PAROLLES        I am a poor man, and at your majesty's command.

LAFEU   He's a good drum, my lord, but a naughty orator.

DIANA   Do you know he promised me marriage?

PAROLLES        Faith, I know more than I'll speak.

KING    But wilt thou not speak all thou knowest?

PAROLLES        Yes, so please your majesty. I did go between them,
        as I said; but more than that, he loved her: for
        indeed he was mad for her, and talked of Satan and
        of Limbo and of Furies and I know not what: yet I
        was in that credit with them at that time that I
        knew of their going to bed, and of other motions,
        as promising her marriage, and things which would
        derive me ill will to speak of; therefore I will not
        speak what I know.

KING    Thou hast spoken all already, unless thou canst say
        they are married: but thou art too fine in thy
        evidence; therefore stand aside.
        This ring, you say, was yours?

DIANA   Ay, my good lord.

KING    Where did you buy it? or who gave it you?

DIANA   It was not given me, nor I did not buy it.

KING    Who lent it you?

DIANA                     It was not lent me neither.

KING    Where did you find it, then?

DIANA   I found it not.

KING    If it were yours by none of all these ways,
        How could you give it him?

DIANA   I never gave it him.

LAFEU   This woman's an easy glove, my lord; she goes off
        and on at pleasure.

KING    This ring was mine; I gave it his first wife.

DIANA   It might be yours or hers, for aught I know.

KING    Take her away; I do not like her now;
        To prison with her: and away with him.
        Unless thou tell'st me where thou hadst this ring,
        Thou diest within this hour.

DIANA   I'll never tell you.

KING    Take her away.

DIANA                     I'll put in bail, my liege.

KING    I think thee now some common customer.

DIANA   By Jove, if ever I knew man, 'twas you.

KING    Wherefore hast thou accused him all this while?

DIANA   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.

KING    She does abuse our ears: to prison with her.

DIANA   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 abused me, as he knows himself,
        Though yet he never harm'd me, here I quit him:
        He knows himself my bed he hath defiled;
        And at that time he got his wife with child:
        Dead though she be, she feels her young one kick:
        So there's my riddle: one that's dead is quick:
        And now behold the meaning.

        [Re-enter Widow, with HELENA]

KING    Is there no exorcist
        Beguiles the truer office of mine eyes?
        Is't real that I see?

HELENA  No, my good lord;
        'Tis but the shadow of a wife you see,
        The name and not the thing.

BERTRAM Both, both. O, pardon!

HELENA  O my good lord, when I was like this maid,
        I found you wondrous kind. There is your ring;
        And, look you, here's your letter; this it says:
        'When from my finger you can get this ring
        And are by me with child,' &c. This is done:
        Will you be mine, now you are doubly won?

BERTRAM If she, my liege, can make me know this clearly,
        I'll love her dearly, ever, ever dearly.

HELENA  If it appear not plain and prove untrue,
        Deadly divorce step between me and you!
        O my dear mother, do I see you living?

LAFEU   Mine eyes smell onions; I shall weep anon:

        [To PAROLLES]

        Good Tom Drum, lend me a handkercher: so,
        I thank thee: wait on me home, I'll make sport with thee:
        Let thy courtesies alone, they are scurvy ones.

KING    Let us from point to point this story know,
        To make the even truth in pleasure flow.

        [To DIANA]

        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 keep'st a wife herself, thyself a maid.
        Of that and all the progress, more or less,
        Resolvedly more leisure shall express:
        All yet seems well; and if it end so meet,
        The bitter past, more welcome is the sweet.

        [Flourish]




        ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL

        EPILOGUE


KING    The king's a beggar, now the play is done:
        All is well ended, if this suit be won,
        That you express content; which we will pay,
        With strife to please you, day exceeding day:
        Ours be your patience then, and yours our parts;
        Your gentle hands lend us, and take our hearts.

        [Exeunt]