Hel. You go so much backward, when you fight. Par. That's for advantage. Hel. So is running away, when fear proposes the safety: But the composition, that your valour and fear makes in you, is a virtue of a good wing, and I like the wear well. : Par. I am so full of businesses, I cannot answer thee acutely I will return perfect courtier; in the which, my instruction shall serve to naturalize thee, so thou wilt be capable of a courtier's 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. Hel. Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie, Which we ascribe to heaven: the fated sky Gives us free scope; only, doth backward pull Our slow designs, when we ourselves are dull. 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.2 Impossible be strange attempts, to those That weigh their pains in sense; and do suppose, What hath been cannot be: Who ever strove To 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. SCENE II.—Paris. A room in the King's palace. Flourish of cornets. Enter the King of France, with letters; Lords and others attending. King. The Florentines and Senoys are by the ears; Have fought with equal fortune, and continue 1 Lord. So 'tis reported, sir. King. Nay, 'tis most credible; we here receive it A certainty, vouch'd from our cousin Austria, With caution, that the Florentine will move us For speedy aid; wherein our dearest friend Prejudicates the business, and would seem To have us make denial. 1 Lord. His love and wisdom, Approv'd so to your majesty, may plead For amplest credence. King. He hath arm'd our answer, And Florence is denied before he comes: Yet, for our gentlemen, that mean to see The Tuscan service, freely have they leave To stand on either part. 2 Lord. It may well serve A nursery to our gentry, who are sick For breathing and exploit. King. What's he comes here? Enter Bertram, Lafeu, and Parolles. 1 Lord. It is the count Rousillon, my good lord, Young Bertram. King. Youth, thou bear'st thy father's face; Frank nature, rather curious than in haste, Hath well compos'd thee. Thy father's moral parts May'st thou inherit too! Welcome to Paris. Ber. My thanks and duty are your majesty's. (1) i. e. Thou wilt comprehend it. (2) Things formed by nature for each other. (3) The citizens of the small republic of which Sienna is the capital. (4) To repair, here signifies to renovate. King. I would I had that corporal soundness now, In their poor praise he humbled: Such a man Ber. King. 'Would, I were with him! He would al- (Methinks, I hear him now; his plausive words I, after him, do after him wish too, 2 Lord. count, Since the physician at your father's died? Ber. Thank your majesty. [Exeunt. Flourish. SCENE III-Rousillon. A Room in the Countess's Palace. Enter Countess, Steward, and Clown. Count. I will now hear; what say you of this gentlewoman? Stew. Madam, the care I have had to even your content,8 I wish might be found in the calendar of my past endeavours; for then we wound our modesty, and make foul the clearness of our deservings, when of ourselves we publish them. Count. What does this knave here? Get you gone, sirrah: The complaints, I have heard of you, I do not all believe; 'tis my slowness, that I do not: for, I know, you lack not folly to commit them, and have ability enough to make such knaveries yours. Clo. 'Tis not unknown to you, madam, I am a poor fellow. Count. Well, sir. 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. Count. What, one good in ten? you corrupt the song sirrah. Clo. One good woman in ten, madam; which is a purifying o' the song: 'Would God would serve the world so all the year! we'd find no fault with the tythe-woman, if I were the parson: One Clo. 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.in ten, quoth a'! an we might have a good woman Count. Wilt thou needs be a beggar? Clo. I do beg your good will in this case. Clo. In Isbel's case, and mine own. Service is no heritage and, I think, I shall never have the blessing of God, till I have issue of my body; for, they say, bearns2 are blessings. born but every blazing star, or at an earthquake, 'twould mend the lottery well; a man may draw his heart out, ere he pluck one. Count. You'll be gone, sir knave, and do as I command you? Clo. That man should be at woman's command, and yet no hurt done!-Though honesty be no puCount. Tell me the reason why thou wilt marry.ritan, yet it will do no hurt; it will wear the surClo. My poor body, madam, requires it: I am plice of humility over the black gown of a big driven on by the flesh; and he must needs go, that heart.-I am going, forsooth: the business is for the devil drives. Helen to come hither. [Exit Clown. Count. Is this all your worship's reason? Clo. Faith, madam, I have other holy reasons, such as they are. Count. May the world know them? Clo. I have been, madam, a wicked creature, as you and all flesh and blood are; and, indeed, I do marry, that I may repent. Count. Well, now. Stew. I know, madam, you love your gentlewoman entirely. Count. 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 Count. Thy marriage, sooner than thy wicked-more shall be paid her, than she'll demand. ness. Stew. Madam, I was very late more near her Clo. I am out of friends, madam; and I hope to than, I think, she wished me alone she was, and have friends for my wife's sake. Count. Such friends are thine enemies, knave. Clo. You are shallow, madam; e'en great friends; for the knaves come to do that for me, which I am a-weary of. He, that cars my land, spares my team, and gives me leave to inn the crop: If I be his cuckold, he's my drudge: He, that comforts my wife, is the cherisher 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,4 he that kisses my wife, is my friend. If men could be contented to be what they are, there were no fear in marriage; for young Charbon the puritan, and old Poysam the papist, howsoe'er their hearts are severed in religion, their heads are both one, they may joll horns together, like any deer i' the herd. Count. Wilt thou ever be a foul-mouthed and calumnious knave? Clo. A prophet I, madam; and I speak the truth the next way :5 For I the ballad will repeat, Which men full true shall find; Count. Get you gone, sir; I'll talk with you more anon. Stew. May it please you, madam, that he bid Clo. Was this fair face the cause, quoth she, (1) To be married. (2) Children. 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; Diana, no queen of virgins, that would suffer her poor knight to be surprised, without rescue, in the first assault, or ransome 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. Count. 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. I am a mother to you. ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. Hel. Mine honourable mistress. Why not a mother? When I said, a mother, Count. I say, I am your mother. That I am not. Pardon, madam; The count Rousillon cannot be my brother: Count. were (So that my lord, your son, were not my brother,) 233 love your son:- The sun, that looks upon his worshipper, Madam, I had. This was your motive Hel. My lord your son made me to think of this; God shield, you mean it not! daughter, and mother, Hel. Your pardon, noble mistress! Do not you love him, madam? Count. Go not about; my love hath in't a bond, Count. But think you, Helen, Hel. By the luckiest stars in heaven: and, would your But give me leave to try success, I'd venture close The state of your affection; for your passions Have to the full appeach'd. Hel. Then, I confess, Here on my knee, before high heaven and you, (1) i. e. I care as much for: I wish it equally. (3) The source, the cause of your grief. (4) According to their nature. (5) i. e. Whose respectable conduct in age proves Count. Count. Why, Helen, thou shalt have my leave, and love, Means, and attendants, and my loving greetings that you were no less virtuous when young. (6) i. e. Venus. (7) Receipts in which greater virtues were enclosed than appeared. (8) Exhausted of their skill. ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. modesty, and make foul the clearness of our de- Count. What does this knave here? Get you Count. Well, sir. I Act I. Was this king Priam's joy? Clo. No, madam, 'tis not so well, that I am poor; is a purifying o' the song: 'Would God would Člo. One good woman in ten, madam; which though many of the rich are damned: But, if serve the world so all the year! we'd find no fault may have your ladyship's good will to go to the with the tythe-woman, if I were the parson: One world, Isbel the woman and I will do as we may.in ten, quoth a'! an we might have a good woman Count. Wilt thou needs be a beggar? Clo. I do beg your good will in this case. Count. In what case? Clo. In Isbel's case, and mine own. Count. Tell me the reason why thou wilt marry. Count. Is this all your worship's reason? Clo. Faith, madam, I have other holy reasons, such as they are. Count. May the world know them? Clo. I have been, madam, a wicked creature, as you and all flesh and blood are; and, indeed, I do marry, that I may repent. born but every blazing star, or at an earthquake, command you? Clo. That man should be at woman's command, Count. Well, now. Stew. I know, madam, you love your gentlewoman entirely. Count. Faith, I do: her father bequeathed her may lawfully make title to as much love as she to me; and she herself, without other advantage, finds there is more owing her, than is paid; and Count. Thy marriage, sooner than thy wicked-more shall be paid her, than she'll demand. ness. Stew. Madam, I was very late more near her Clo. I am out of friends, madam; and I hope to than, I think, she wished me: alone she was, and have friends for my wife's sake. Count. Such friends are thine enemies, knave. Clo. You are shallow, madam; e'en great friends; for the knaves come to do that for me, which I am a-weary of. He, that ears3 my land, spares my team, and gives me leave to inn the crop: If I be his cuckold, he's my drudge: He, that comforts my wife, is the cherisher 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,4 he that kisses my wife, is my friend. If men could be contented to be what they are, there were no fear in marriage; for young Charbon the puritan, and old Poysam the papist, howsoe'er their hearts are severed in religion, their heads are both one, they may joll horns together, like any deer i' the herd. Count. Wilt thou ever be a foul-mouthed and calumnious knave? Clo. A prophet I, madam; and I speak the truth the next way :5 For I the ballad will repeat, Which men full true shall find; Count. Get you gone, sir; I'll talk with you more anon. Stew. May it please you, madam, that he bid Clo. Was this fair face the cause, quoth she, did communicate to herself, her own words to her it to yourself: many likelihoods informed me of Enter Helena. Count. Even so it was with me, when I was young: Doth to our rose of youth rightly belong It is the show and seal of nature's truth, Such were our faults;-or then we thought them none. Her eye is sick on't; I observe her now. You know, Helen, (1) To be married. (2) Children. (4) Therefore. (5) The nearest way. (6) Foolishly dorre. I am a mother to you. Hel. Mine honourable mistress. Count. Nay, a mother; Why not a mother? When I said, a mother, Methought you saw a serpent: What's in mother, That you start at it? I say, I am your mother; And put you in the catalogue of those That were enwombed mine: "Tis often seen, Adoption strives with nature; and choice breeds A native slip to us from foreign seeds: You ne'er oppress'd me with a mother's groan, Yet I express to you a mother's care:God's mercy, maiden! does it curd thy blood, To say, I am thy mother? What's the matter, That this distemper'd messenger of wet, The many-colour'd Iris, rounds thine eye? Why?- -that you are my daughter?" Hel. Count. were (So that my lord, your son, were not my brother,) God shield, you mean it not! daughter, and mother, Hel. Do not you love him, madam? Count. Go not about; my love hath in't a bond, Whereof the world takes note: come, come, dis close The state of your affection; for your passions Hel. (1) i. e. I care as much for: I wish it equally. (2) Contend. (3) The source, the cause of your grief. (4) According to their nature. (5) i. e. Whose respectable conduct in age proves I love your son : My friends were poor, but honest; so's my love: The sun, that looks upon his worshipper, Count. Madam, I had. ||For Paris, was it? speak. This was your motive Hel. My lord your son made me to think of this; Else Paris, and the medicine, and the king, Had, from the conversation of my thoughts, Haply, been absent then. Count. But think you, Helen, If you should tender your supposed aid, He would receive it? He and his physicians Are of a mind; he, that they cannot help him, They, that they cannot help: How shall they credit A poor unlearned virgin, when the schools, Embowell'd of their doctrine,8 have left off The danger to itself? Hel. There's something hints, More than my father's skill, which was the greatest Of his profession, that his good receipt Shall, for my legacy, be sanctified By the luckiest stars in heaven: and, would your that you were no less virtuous when young. (6) i. e. Venus. (7) Receipts in which greater virtues were enclosed than appeared. (8) Exhausted of their skill. |