The Illustrated Works of Shakespeare/Illustrated Works of Shakespeare, The (1990)(Animated Pixels)[!][CDTV-PC].iso/shakes/text/24/01_03

Text File | 1991-04-10 | 12KB | 323 lines

Rousillon. A Room in the Countess'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'th' 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:

    [Sings.]    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    [Sings.]    Was this fair face the cause, quoth she,
                Why the Grecians sackd Troy?
            Fond done, done fond,
                Was this King Priam's joy?
            With that she sighd as she stood,
            With that she sighd 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'th'
    song. Would God would serve the world so all the year! We'd
    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 or 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 I 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 ere 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.

Countess    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 impressed 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 enwombd mine. 'Tis often seen
    Adoption strives with nature, and choice breeds
    A native slip to us from foreign seeds.
    You ne'er oppressed 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 distempered messenger of wet,
    The many-coloured 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 honoured 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 catched 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 behaviours
    That in their kind they speak it: only sin
    And hellish obstinacy tie thy tongue,
    That truth should be suspected. Speak, is't so?
    If it be so, you have wound a goodly clew;
    If it be not, forswear't; howe'er, I charge thee,
    As heaven shall work in me for thine avail,
    To 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 appeached.

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 inteemable 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 agd 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 willed 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 rendered 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 supposd 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 unlearnd virgin, when the schools,
    Embowelled 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 great'st
    Of his profession, that his good receipt
    Shall for my legacy be sanctified
    By the luckiest stars in heaven, and, would your honour
    But give me leave to try success, I'd venture
    The well-lost life of mine on his grace's cure
    By such a day, an 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 tomorrow; and be sure of this,
    What I can help thee to, thou shalt not miss.
                                                [Exeunt.