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In delivering my son from me, I bury a second
husband.
And I in going, madam, weep o’er my
father’s death anew; but I must attend his Majesty’s
55command, to whom I am now in ward, evermore
in subjection.
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,
1010whose worthiness would stir it up where it wanted
rather than lack it where there is such abundance.
What hope is there of his Majesty’s
amendment?
He hath abandoned his physicians, madam,
1515under whose practices he hath persecuted time
with hope, and finds no other advantage in the
process but only the losing of hope by time.
This young gentlewoman had a father—O,
that “had,” how sad a passage ’tis!—whose skill
2020was 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.
2525How called you the man you speak of,
madam?
He was famous, sir, in his profession, and it
was his great right to be so: Gerard de Narbon.
He was excellent indeed, madam. The King
3030very lately spoke of him admiringly, and mourningly.
He was skillful enough to have lived still, if
knowledge could be set up against mortality.
What is it, my good lord, the King languishes
of?
3535A fistula, my lord.
I heard not of it before.
I would it were not notorious.—Was this gentlewoman
the daughter of Gerard de Narbon?
His sole child, my lord, and bequeathed to
4040my 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
4545traitors too. In her they are the better for their simpleness.
She derives her honesty and achieves her
goodness.
Your commendations, madam, get from her
tears.
5050’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
5555rather thought you affect a sorrow than to have—
I do affect a sorrow indeed, but I have it too.
Moderate lamentation is the right of the dead,
excessive grief the enemy to the living.
If the living be enemy to the grief, the
6060excess makes it soon mortal.
Madam, I desire your holy wishes.
How understand we that?
Be thou blessed, Bertram, and succeed thy father
In manners as in shape. Thy blood and virtue
6565Contend 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 checked for silence,
7070But never taxed for speech. What heaven more will,
That thee may furnish and my prayers pluck down,
Fall on thy head. To Lafew. Farewell, my lord.
’Tis an unseasoned courtier. Good my lord,
Advise him.
7575He cannot want the best that shall
Attend his love.
Heaven bless him.—Farewell, Bertram.
The best wishes that can be forged in your
thoughts be servants to you.Countess exits.
8080To Helen. Be comfortable to my mother, your
mistress, and make much of her.
Farewell, pretty lady. You must hold the credit
of your father.
O, were that all! I think not on my father,
8585And 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 favor in ’t but Bertram’s.
I am undone. There is no living, none,
9090If 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.
9595Th’ ambition in my love thus plagues itself:
The hind that would be mated by the lion
Must die for love. ’Twas pretty, though a plague,
To see him every hour, to sit and draw
His archèd brows, his hawking eye, his curls
100100In our heart’s table—heart too capable
Of every line and trick of his sweet favor.
But now he’s gone, and my idolatrous fancy
Must sanctify his relics. Who comes here?
Enter Parolles.
One that goes with him. I love him for his sake,
105105And 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
Looks bleak i’ th’ cold wind. Withal, full oft we see
110110Cold wisdom waiting on superfluous folly.
Save you, fair queen.
And you, monarch.
No.
And no.
115115Are you meditating on virginity?
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?
Keep him out.
120120But he assails, and our virginity, though
valiant in the defense, yet is weak. Unfold to us
some warlike resistance.
There is none. Man setting down before you
will undermine you and blow you up.
125125Bless our poor virginity from underminers and
blowers-up! Is there no military policy how virgins
might blow up men?
Virginity being blown down, man will
quicklier be blown up. Marry, in blowing him
130130down 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
135135were 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.
I will stand for ’t a little, though therefore I
140140die a virgin.
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;
145145virginity 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.
150150Besides, 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 lose by
’t. Out with ’t! Within ten year it will make itself
two, which is a goodly increase, and the principal
155155itself not much the worse. Away with ’t!
How might one do, sir, to lose it to her own
liking?
Let me see. Marry, ill, to like him that ne’er
it likes. ’Tis a commodity will lose the gloss with
160160lying; 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 toothpick, which wear not now.
165165Your 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 dryly; many, ’tis a withered pear.
It was formerly better, marry, yet ’tis a withered
170170pear. Will you anything with it?
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,
175175A guide, a goddess, and a sovereign,
A counselor, 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
180180Of 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—
What one, i’ faith?
185185That I wish well. ’Tis pity—
What’s pity?
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,
190190Might with effects of them follow our friends
And show what we alone must think, which never
Returns us thanks.
Monsieur Parolles, my lord calls for you.
Little Helen, farewell. If I can remember
195195thee, I will think of thee at court.
Monsieur Parolles, you were born under a
charitable star.
Under Mars, I.
I especially think under Mars.
200200Why under Mars?
The wars hath so kept you under that you
must needs be born under Mars.
When he was predominant.
When he was retrograde, I think rather.
205205Why think you so?
You go so much backward when you fight.
That’s for advantage.
So is running away, when fear proposes the
safety. But the composition that your valor and
210210fear makes in you is a virtue of a good wing, and I
like the wear well.
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
215215thee, 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
220220none, remember thy friends. Get thee a good husband,
and use him as he uses thee. So, farewell.
Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie
Which we ascribe to heaven. The fated sky
Gives us free scope, only doth backward pull
225225Our 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.
230230Impossible 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,
235235But my intents are fixed and will not leave me.
The Florentines and Senoys are by th’ ears,
Have fought with equal fortune, and continue
A braving war.
So ’tis reported, sir.
5240Nay, ’tis most credible. We here receive it
A certainty vouched 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
10245To have us make denial.
His love and wisdom,
Approved so to your Majesty, may plead
For amplest credence.
He hath armed our answer,
15250And 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.
It well may serve
20255A nursery to our gentry, who are sick
For breathing and exploit.
What’s he comes here?
It is the Count Rossillion, my good lord,
Young Bertram.
25260Youth, 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.
My thanks and duty are your Majesty’s.
30265I 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,
35270But 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
Today in our young lords; but they may jest
40275Till their own scorn return to them unnoted
Ere they can hide their levity in honor.
So like a courtier, contempt nor bitterness
Were in his pride or sharpness; if they were,
His equal had awaked them, and his honor,
45280Clock to itself, knew the true minute when
Exception bid him speak, and at this time
His tongue obeyed his hand. Who were below him
He used as creatures of another place
And bowed his eminent top to their low ranks,
50285Making them proud of his humility,
In their poor praise he humbled. Such a man
Might be a copy to these younger times,
Which, followed well, would demonstrate them now
But goers backward.
55290His good remembrance, sir,
Lies richer in your thoughts than on his tomb.
So in approof lives not his epitaph
As in your royal speech.
Would I were with him! He would always say—
60295Methinks I hear him now; his plausive words
He scattered 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,
65300When 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
70305Expire before their fashions.” This he wished.
I, after him, do after him wish too,
Since I nor wax nor honey can bring home,
I quickly were dissolvèd from my hive
To give some laborers room.
75310You’re lovèd, sir.
They that least lend it you shall lack you first.
I fill a place, I know ’t.—How long is ’t, count,
Since the physician at your father’s died?
He was much famed.
80315Some six months since, my lord.
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.
85320My son’s no dearer.
Thank your Majesty.
They exit. Flourish.
I will now hear. What say you of this
gentlewoman?
Madam, the care I have had to even your
325content I wish might be found in the calendar of
5my past endeavors, for then we wound our modesty
and make foul the clearness of our deservings
when of ourselves we publish them.
What does this knave here? To Fool. Get
330you gone, sirrah. The complaints I have heard of
10you 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.
335’Tis not unknown to you, madam, I am a poor
15fellow.
Well, sir.
No, madam, ’tis not so well that I am poor,
though many of the rich are damned. But if I may
340have your Ladyship’s good will to go to the world,
20Isbel the woman and I will do as we may.
Wilt thou needs be a beggar?
I do beg your good will in this case.
In what case?
345In Isbel’s case and mine own. Service is no heritage,
25and I think I shall never have the blessing of
God till I have issue o’ my body, for they say bairns
are blessings.
Tell me thy reason why thou wilt marry.
350My poor body, madam, requires it. I am driven
30on by the flesh, and he must needs go that the devil
drives.
Is this all your Worship’s reason?
Faith, madam, I have other holy reasons, such
355as they are.
35May the world know them?
I have been, madam, a wicked creature, as you
and all flesh and blood are, and indeed I do marry
that I may repent.
360Thy marriage sooner than thy wickedness.
40I am out o’ friends, madam, and I hope to have
friends for my wife’s sake.
Such friends are thine enemies, knave.
You’re shallow, madam, in great friends, for the
365knaves come to do that for me which I am aweary
45of. 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
370and blood loves my flesh and blood; he that loves
50my 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
375Poysam the Papist, howsome’er their hearts are
55severed in religion, their heads are both one; they
may jowl horns together like any deer i’ th’ herd.
Wilt thou ever be a foul-mouthed and
calumnious knave?
380A prophet I, madam, and I speak the truth the
60next way:
Sings.For I the ballad will repeat
Which men full true shall find:
Your marriage comes by destiny;
385Your cuckoo sings by kind.
65Get you gone, sir. I’ll talk with you more
anon.
May it please you, madam, that he bid Helen
come to you. Of her I am to speak.
390Sirrah, tell my gentlewoman I would speak
70with her—Helen, I mean.
“Was this fair face the cause,” quoth she,
“Why the Grecians sackèd Troy?
Fond done, done fond.
395Was this King Priam’s joy?”
75With that she sighèd as she stood,
With that she sighèd as she stood,
And gave this sentence then:
“Among nine bad if one be good,
400Among nine bad if one be good,
80There’s yet one good in ten.”
What, one good in ten? You corrupt the
song, sirrah.
One good woman in ten, madam, which is a
405purifying o’ th’ song. Would God would serve the
85world so all the year! We’d find no fault with the
tithe-woman if I were the parson. One in ten,
quoth he? An we might have a good woman born
but or every blazing star or at an earthquake,
410’twould mend the lottery well. A man may draw his
90heart out ere he pluck one.
You’ll be gone, sir knave, and do as I command
you!
That man should be at woman’s command, and
415yet no hurt done! Though honesty be no Puritan,
95yet 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.
420Well, now.
100I know, madam, you love your gentlewoman
entirely.
Faith, I do. Her father bequeathed her to
me, and she herself, without other advantage, may
425lawfully make title to as much love as she finds.
105There is more owing her than is paid, and more
shall be paid her than she’ll demand.
Madam, I was very late more near her than I
think she wished me. Alone she was and did communicate
430to herself her own words to her own
110ears; 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;
435Love no god, that would not extend his might only
115where 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
440of sorrow that e’er I heard virgin exclaim in, which
120I held my duty speedily to acquaint you withal,
sithence in the loss that may happen it concerns
you something to know it.
You have discharged this honestly. Keep it
445to yourself. Many likelihoods informed me of this
125before, which hung so tott’ring 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
450anon.Steward exits.
Enter Helen.
Aside.
130Even 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.
455It is the show and seal of nature’s truth,
135Where 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.
460What is your pleasure, madam?
140You know, Helen, I am a mother to you.
Mine honorable mistress.
Nay, a mother.
Why not a mother? When I said “a mother,”
465Methought you saw a serpent. What’s in “mother”
145That you start at it? I say I am your mother
And put you in the catalogue of those
That were enwombèd mine. ’Tis often seen
Adoption strives with nature, and choice breeds
470A native slip to us from foreign seeds.
150You 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,
475That this distempered messenger of wet,
155The many-colored Iris, rounds thine eye?
Why? That you are my daughter?
That I am not.
I say I am your mother.
480Pardon, madam.
160The Count Rossillion cannot be my brother.
I am from humble, he from honored name;
No note upon my parents, his all noble.
My master, my dear lord he is, and I
485His servant live and will his vassal die.
165He must not be my brother.
Nor I your mother?
You are my mother, madam. Would you were—
So that my lord your son were not my brother—
490Indeed my mother! Or were you both our mothers,
170I 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?
Yes, Helen, you might be my daughter-in-law.
495God shield you mean it not! “Daughter” and “mother”
175So 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:
500You love my son. Invention is ashamed
180Against 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
505See it so grossly shown in thy behaviors
185That 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;
510If it be not, forswear ’t; howe’er, I charge thee,
190As heaven shall work in me for thine avail,
To tell me truly.
Good madam, pardon me.
Do you love my son?
515Your pardon, noble mistress.
195Love you my son?
Do not you love him, madam?
Go not about. My love hath in ’t a bond
Whereof the world takes note. Come, come, disclose
520The state of your affection, for your passions
200Have to the full appeached.
Then I confess
Here on my knee before high heaven and you
That before you and next unto high heaven
525I love your son.
205My 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,
530Nor would I have him till I do deserve him,
210Yet 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
535And lack not to lose still. Thus, Indian-like,
215Religious 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
540For loving where you do; but if yourself,
220Whose agèd honor 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
545To her whose state is such that cannot choose
225But 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.
Had you not lately an intent—speak truly—
550To go to Paris?
230Madam, I had.
Wherefore?
Tell true.
I will tell truth, by grace itself I swear.
555You know my father left me some prescriptions
235Of 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
560As notes whose faculties inclusive were
240More 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.
565This was your motive for Paris, was it? Speak.
245My 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.
570But think you, Helen,
250If you should tender your supposèd 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
575A poor unlearnèd virgin, when the schools
255Emboweled of their doctrine have left off
The danger to itself?
There’s something in ’t
More than my father’s skill, which was the great’st
580Of his profession, that his good receipt
260Shall for my legacy be sanctified
By th’ luckiest stars in heaven; and would your
Honor
But give me leave to try success, I’d venture
585The well-lost life of mine on his Grace’s cure
265By such a day, an hour.
Dost thou believe ’t?
Ay, madam, knowingly.
Why, Helen, thou shalt have my leave and love,
590Means and attendants, and my loving greetings
270To 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.
595Farewell, young lords. These warlike principles
Do not throw from you.—And you, my lords,
farewell.
Share the advice betwixt you. If both gain all,
5The gift doth stretch itself as ’tis received
600And is enough for both.
’Tis our hope, sir,
After well-entered soldiers, to return
And find your Grace in health.
10No, no, it cannot be. And yet my heart
605Will 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—
15Those bated that inherit but the fall
610Of the last monarchy—see that you come
Not to woo honor but to wed it. When
The bravest questant shrinks, find what you seek,
That fame may cry you loud. I say farewell.
20Health at your bidding serve your Majesty!
615Those 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.
25Our hearts receive your warnings.
620Farewell.—Come hither to me.
The King speaks to Attendants, while Bertram,
O my sweet lord, that you will stay behind us!
’Tis not his fault, the spark.
O, ’tis brave wars.
30Most admirable. I have seen those wars.
625I am commanded here and kept a coil
With “Too young,” and “The next year,” and “’Tis
too early.”
An thy mind stand to ’t, boy, steal away bravely.
35I shall stay here the forehorse to a smock,
630Creaking my shoes on the plain masonry
Till honor be bought up, and no sword worn
But one to dance with. By heaven, I’ll steal away!
There’s honor in the theft.
40Commit it, count.
635I am your accessory. And so, farewell.
I grow to you, and our parting is a tortured
body.
Farewell, captain.
45Sweet Monsieur Parolles.
640Noble 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
50war, here on his sinister cheek. It was this very
645sword entrenched it. Say to him I live, and observe
his reports for me.
We shall, noble captain.
Mars dote on you for his novices.
Lords exit.
55To Bertram. What will you do?
650Stay the King.
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,
60for they wear themselves in the cap of the time;
655there 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
65farewell.
660And I will do so.
Worthy fellows, and like to prove most
sinewy swordmen.
Pardon, my lord, for me and for my tidings.
70I’ll fee thee to stand up.
665Then here’s a man stands that has brought his
pardon.
I would you had kneeled, my lord, to ask me mercy,
And that at my bidding you could so stand up.
75I would I had, so I had broke thy pate
670And asked thee mercy for ’t.
Good faith, across.
But, my good lord, ’tis thus: will you be cured
Of your infirmity?
80No.
675O, 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
85That’s able to breathe life into a stone,
680Quicken a rock, and make you dance canary
With sprightly fire and motion, whose simple touch
Is powerful to araise King Pippen, nay,
To give great Charlemagne a pen in ’s hand
90And write to her a love line.
685What “her” is this?
Why, Doctor She. My lord, there’s one arrived,
If you will see her. Now, by my faith and honor,
If seriously I may convey my thoughts
95In this my light deliverance, I have spoke
690With 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?
100That done, laugh well at me.
695Now, good Lafew,
Bring in the admiration, that we with thee
May spend our wonder too, or take off thine
By wond’ring how thou took’st it.
105Nay, I’ll fit you,
700And not be all day neither.
Thus he his special nothing ever prologues.
Nay, come your ways.
This haste hath wings indeed.
110Nay, come your ways.
705This 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.
115Now, fair one, does your business follow us?
710Ay, my good lord,
Gerard de Narbon was my father,
In what he did profess well found.
I knew him.
120The rather will I spare my praises towards him.
715Knowing him is enough. On ’s bed of death
Many receipts he gave me, chiefly one
Which, as the dearest issue of his practice,
And of his old experience th’ only darling,
125He bade me store up as a triple eye,
720Safer than mine own two, more dear. I have so,
And hearing your high Majesty is touched
With that malignant cause wherein the honor
Of my dear father’s gift stands chief in power,
130I come to tender it and my appliance
725With all bound humbleness.
We thank you, maiden,
But may not be so credulous of cure,
When our most learnèd doctors leave us and
135The congregated college have concluded
730That laboring 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
140To empirics, or to dissever so
735Our great self and our credit to esteem
A senseless help when help past sense we deem.
My duty, then, shall pay me for my pains.
I will no more enforce mine office on you,
145Humbly entreating from your royal thoughts
740A modest one to bear me back again.
I cannot give thee less, to be called grateful.
Thou thought’st to help me, and such thanks I give
As one near death to those that wish him live.
150But what at full I know, thou know’st no part,
745I knowing all my peril, thou no art.
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
155Oft does them by the weakest minister.
750So 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 great’st been denied.
160Oft expectation fails, and most oft there
755Where most it promises, and oft it hits
Where hope is coldest and despair most shifts.
I must not hear thee. Fare thee well, kind maid.
Thy pains, not used, must by thyself be paid.
165Proffers not took reap thanks for their reward.
760Inspirèd merit so by breath is barred.
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
170The help of heaven we count the act of men.
765Dear sir, to my endeavors give consent.
Of heaven, not me, make an experiment.
I am not an impostor that proclaim
Myself against the level of mine aim,
175But know I think and think I know most sure
770My art is not past power nor you past cure.
Art thou so confident? Within what space
Hop’st thou my cure?
The greatest grace lending grace,
180Ere twice the horses of the sun shall bring
775Their fiery torcher his diurnal ring;
Ere twice in murk and occidental damp
Moist Hesperus hath quenched her sleepy lamp;
Or four and twenty times the pilot’s glass
185Hath told the thievish minutes, how they pass,
780What is infirm from your sound parts shall fly,
Health shall live free, and sickness freely die.
Upon thy certainty and confidence
What dar’st thou venture?
190Tax of impudence,
785A strumpet’s boldness, a divulgèd shame;
Traduced by odious ballads, my maiden’s name
Seared otherwise; nay, worse of worst, extended
With vilest torture let my life be ended.
195Methinks in thee some blessèd spirit doth speak
790His 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
200Worth name of life in thee hath estimate:
795Youth, beauty, wisdom, courage, all
That happiness and prime can happy call.
Thou this to hazard needs must intimate
Skill infinite or monstrous desperate.
205Sweet practicer, thy physic I will try,
800That ministers thine own death if I die.
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.
210But if I help, what do you promise me?
805Make thy demand.
But will you make it even?
Ay, by my scepter and my hopes of heaven.
Then shalt thou give me with thy kingly hand
215What husband in thy power I will command.
810Exempted 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;
220But such a one, thy vassal, whom I know
815Is free for me to ask, thee to bestow.
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,
225Thy resolved patient, on thee still rely.
820More should I question thee, and more I must,
Though more to know could not be more to trust:
From whence thou cam’st, how tended on; but rest
Unquestioned welcome and undoubted blessed.—
230Give me some help here, ho!—If thou proceed
825As high as word, my deed shall match thy deed.
Come on, sir. I shall now put you to the
height of your breeding.
I will show myself highly fed and lowly taught. I
know my business is but to the court.
5830“To the court”? Why, what place make you
special when you put off that with such contempt?
“But to the court”?
Truly, madam, if God have lent a man any manners,
he may easily put it off at court. He that cannot
10835make 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.
15840Marry, that’s a bountiful answer that fits all
questions.
It is like a barber’s chair that fits all buttocks:
the pin-buttock, the quatch-buttock, the brawn-buttock,
or any buttock.
20845Will your answer serve fit to all questions?
As fit as ten groats is for the hand of an attorney,
as your French crown for your taffety punk, as
Tib’s rush for Tom’s forefinger, as a pancake for
Shrove Tuesday, a morris for May Day, as the nail
25850to his hole, the cuckold to his horn, as a scolding
quean to a wrangling knave, as the nun’s lip to the
friar’s mouth, nay, as the pudding to his skin.
Have you, I say, an answer of such fitness
for all questions?
30855From below your duke to beneath your constable,
it will fit any question.
It must be an answer of most monstrous
size that must fit all demands.
But a trifle neither, in good faith, if the learned
35860should 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.
To be young again, if we could! I will be a
fool in question, hoping to be the wiser by your
40865answer. I pray you, sir, are you a courtier?
O Lord, sir!—There’s a simple putting off. More,
more, a hundred of them.
Sir, I am a poor friend of yours that loves
you.
45870O Lord, sir!—Thick, thick. Spare not me.
I think, sir, you can eat none of this homely
meat.
O Lord, sir!—Nay, put me to ’t, I warrant you.
You were lately whipped, sir, as I think.
50875O Lord, sir!—Spare not me.
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.
55880I ne’er had worse luck in my life in my “O Lord,
sir!” I see things may serve long but not serve ever.
I play the noble huswife with the time to
entertain it so merrily with a fool.
O Lord, sir!—Why, there ’t serves well again.
60885An 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.
Not much commendation to them?
65890Not much employment for you. You understand me.
Most fruitfully. I am there before my legs.
Haste you again.
They exit.
They say miracles are past, and we have our
philosophical persons to make modern and familiar
895things supernatural and causeless. Hence is it
that we make trifles of terrors, ensconcing ourselves
5into seeming knowledge when we should
submit ourselves to an unknown fear.
Why, ’tis the rarest argument of wonder that
900hath shot out in our latter times.
And so ’tis.
10To be relinquished of the artists—
So I say, both of Galen and Paracelsus.
Of all the learned and authentic fellows—
905Right, so I say.
That gave him out incurable—
15Why, there ’tis. So say I too.
Not to be helped.
Right, as ’twere a man assured of a—
910Uncertain life and sure death.
Just. You say well. So would I have said.
20I may truly say it is a novelty to the world.
It is indeed. If you will have it in showing,
you shall read it in what-do-you-call there.
915A showing of a heavenly effect in an earthly
actor.
25That’s it. I would have said the very same.
Why, your dolphin is not lustier. ’Fore me, I
speak in respect—
920Nay, ’tis strange, ’tis very strange; that is the
brief and the tedious of it; and he’s of a most facinorous
30spirit that will not acknowledge it to be
the—
Very hand of heaven.
925Ay, so I say.
In a most weak—
35And debile minister. Great power, great
transcendence, which should indeed give us a further
use to be made than alone the recov’ry of the
930King, as to be—
Generally thankful.
Enter King, Helen, and Attendants.
40I would have said it. You say well. Here
comes the King.
Lustig, as the Dutchman says. I’ll like a maid
935the better whilst I have a tooth in my head. Why,
he’s able to lead her a coranto.
45Mort du vinaigre! Is not this Helen?
’Fore God, I think so.
Go, call before me all the lords in court.
An Attendant exits.
940Sit, my preserver, by thy patient’s side,
And with this healthful hand, whose banished sense
50Thou hast repealed, a second time receive
The confirmation of my promised gift,
Which but attends thy naming.
Enter three or four Court Lords.
945Fair maid, send forth thine eye. This youthful parcel
Of noble bachelors stand at my bestowing,
55O’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.
950To each of you one fair and virtuous mistress
Fall when Love please! Marry, to each but one.
60I’d give bay Curtal and his furniture
My mouth no more were broken than these boys’
And writ as little beard.
955Peruse them well.
Not one of those but had a noble father.
65Gentlemen,
Heaven hath through me restored the King to health.
We understand it and thank heaven for you.
960I am a simple maid, and therein wealthiest
That I protest I simply am a maid.—
70Please it your Majesty, I have done already.
The blushes in my cheeks thus whisper me:
“We blush that thou shouldst choose; but, be
965refused,
Let the white death sit on thy cheek forever;
75We’ll ne’er come there again.”
Make choice and see.
Who shuns thy love shuns all his love in me.
970Now, Dian, from thy altar do I fly,
And to imperial Love, that god most high,
80Do my sighs stream.She addresses her to a Lord.
Sir, will you hear my suit?
And grant it.
975Thanks, sir. All the
rest is mute.
85I had rather be in this choice than
throw ambs-ace for my life.
The honor, sir, that flames in your fair eyes
980Before I speak too threat’ningly replies.
Love make your fortunes twenty times above
90Her that so wishes, and her humble love.
No better, if you please.
My wish receive,
985Which great Love grant, and so I take my leave.
Do all they deny her? An they were sons
95of mine, I’d have them whipped, or I would send
them to th’ Turk to make eunuchs of.
Be not afraid that I your hand should take.
990I’ll never do you wrong, for your own sake.
Blessing upon your vows, and in your bed
100Find fairer fortune if you ever wed.
These boys are boys of ice; they’ll none
have her. Sure they are bastards to the English;
995the French ne’er got ’em.
You are too young, too happy, and too good
105To make yourself a son out of my blood.
Fair one, I think not so.
There’s one grape yet. I am sure thy
1000father drunk wine. But if thou be’st not an ass, I
am a youth of fourteen; I have known thee already.
110I 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.
1005Why then, young Bertram, take her. She’s thy wife.
My wife, my liege? I shall beseech your Highness
115In such a business give me leave to use
The help of mine own eyes.
Know’st thou not,
1010Bertram,
What she has done for me?
120Yes, my good lord,
But never hope to know why I should marry her.
Thou know’st she has raised me from my sickly bed.
1015But follows it, my lord, to bring me down
Must answer for your raising? I know her well;
125She had her breeding at my father’s charge.
A poor physician’s daughter my wife? Disdain
Rather corrupt me ever!
1020’Tis only title thou disdain’st in her, the which
I can build up. Strange is it that our bloods,
130Of color, weight, and heat, poured all together,
Would quite confound distinction, yet stands off
In differences so mighty. If she be
1025All that is virtuous, save what thou dislik’st—
“A poor physician’s daughter”—thou dislik’st
135Of virtue for the name. But do not so.
From lowest place whence virtuous things proceed,
The place is dignified by th’ doer’s deed.
1030Where great additions swell ’s, and virtue none,
It is a dropsied honor. Good alone
140Is good, without a name; vileness is so;
The property by what it is should go,
Not by the title. She is young, wise, fair;
1035In these to nature she’s immediate heir,
And these breed honor. That is honor’s scorn
145Which challenges itself as honor’s born
And is not like the sire. Honors thrive
When rather from our acts we them derive
1040Than our foregoers. The mere word’s a slave
Debauched on every tomb, on every grave
150A lying trophy, and as oft is dumb
Where dust and damned oblivion is the tomb
Of honored bones indeed. What should be said?
1045If thou canst like this creature as a maid,
I can create the rest. Virtue and she
155Is her own dower, honor and wealth from me.
I cannot love her, nor will strive to do ’t.
Thou wrong’st thyself if thou shouldst strive to
1050choose.
That you are well restored, my lord, I’m glad.
160Let the rest go.
My honor’s at the stake, which to defeat
I must produce my power.—Here, take her hand,
1055Proud, scornful boy, unworthy this good gift,
That dost in vile misprision shackle up
165My 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
1060It is in us to plant thine honor where
We please to have it grow. Check thy contempt;
170Obey our will, which travails in thy good.
Believe not thy disdain, but presently
Do thine own fortunes that obedient right
1065Which both thy duty owes and our power claims,
Or I will throw thee from my care forever
175Into the staggers and the careless lapse
Of youth and ignorance, both my revenge and hate
Loosing upon thee in the name of justice
1070Without all terms of pity. Speak. Thine answer.
Pardon, my gracious lord, for I submit
180My fancy to your eyes. When I consider
What great creation and what dole of honor
Flies where you bid it, I find that she which late
1075Was in my nobler thoughts most base is now
The praisèd of the King, who, so ennobled,
185Is as ’twere born so.
Take her by the hand,
And tell her she is thine, to whom I promise
1080A counterpoise, if not to thy estate,
A balance more replete.
190I take her hand.
Good fortune and the favor of the King
Smile upon this contract, whose ceremony
1085Shall seem expedient on the now-born brief
And be performed tonight. The solemn feast
195Shall more attend upon the coming space,
Expecting absent friends. As thou lov’st her
Thy love’s to me religious; else, does err.
1090Do you hear, monsieur? A word with you.
Your pleasure, sir.
200Your lord and master did well to make his
recantation.
“Recantation”? My “lord”? My “master”?
1095Ay. Is it not a language I speak?
A most harsh one, and not to be understood
205without bloody succeeding. My “master”?
Are you companion to the Count Rossillion?
To any count, to all counts, to what is man.
1100To what is count’s man. Count’s master is of
another style.
210You are too old, sir; let it satisfy you, you are
too old.
I must tell thee, sirrah, I write man, to which
1105title age cannot bring thee.
What I dare too well do, I dare not do.
215I 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 scarves and the
1110bannerets about thee did manifoldly dissuade me
from believing thee a vessel of too great a burden.
220I have now found thee. When I lose thee again, I
care not. Yet art thou good for nothing but taking
up, and that thou ’rt scarce worth.
1115Hadst thou not the privilege of antiquity
upon thee—
225Do 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
1120thee well; thy casement I need not open, for I look
through thee. Give me thy hand.
230My lord, you give me most egregious
indignity.
Ay, with all my heart, and thou art worthy of it.
1125I have not, my lord, deserved it.
Yes, good faith, ev’ry dram of it, and I will not
235bate thee a scruple.
Well, I shall be wiser.
Ev’n as soon as thou canst, for thou hast to
1130pull at a smack o’ th’ contrary. If ever thou be’st
bound in thy scarf and beaten, thou shalt find
240what 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
1135“He is a man I know.”
My lord, you do me most insupportable
245vexation.
I would it were hell pains for thy sake, and my
poor doing eternal; for doing I am past, as I will by
1140thee in what motion age will give me leave.
Well, thou hast a son shall take this disgrace
250off 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
1145convenience, an he were double and double a lord.
I’ll have no more pity of his age than I would have
255of—I’ll beat him, an if I could but meet him again.
Sirrah, your lord and master’s married. There’s
news for you: you have a new mistress.
1150I most unfeignedly beseech your Lordship
to make some reservation of your wrongs. He is
260my good lord; whom I serve above is my master.
Who? God?
Ay, sir.
1155The devil it is that’s thy master. Why dost thou
garter up thy arms o’ this fashion? Dost make hose
265of thy sleeves? Do other servants so? Thou wert
best set thy lower part where thy nose stands. By
mine honor, if I were but two hours younger, I’d
1160beat thee. Methink’st thou art a general offense,
and every man should beat thee. I think thou wast
270created for men to breathe themselves upon thee.
This is hard and undeserved measure, my
lord.
1165Go to, sir. You were beaten in Italy for picking a
kernel out of a pomegranate. You are a vagabond,
275and no true traveler. You are more saucy with
lords and honorable personages than the commission
of your birth and virtue gives you heraldry.
1170You are not worth another word; else I’d call you
knave. I leave you.
280Good, very good! It is so, then. Good, very
good. Let it be concealed awhile.
Undone, and forfeited to cares forever!
1175What’s the matter, sweetheart?
Although before the solemn priest I have sworn,
285I will not bed her.
What, what, sweetheart?
O my Parolles, they have married me!
1180I’ll to the Tuscan wars and never bed her.
France is a dog-hole, and it no more merits
290the tread of a man’s foot. To th’ wars!
There’s letters from my mother. What th’
import is I know not yet.
1185Ay, that would be known. To th’ wars, my
boy, to th’ wars!
295He wears his honor in a box unseen
That hugs his kicky-wicky here at home,
Spending his manly marrow in her arms
1190Which should sustain the bound and high curvet
Of Mars’s fiery steed. To other regions!
300France is a stable, we that dwell in ’t jades.
Therefore, to th’ war!
It shall be so. I’ll send her to my house,
1195Acquaint my mother with my hate to her
And wherefore I am fled, write to the King
305That which I durst not speak. His present gift
Shall furnish me to those Italian fields
Where noble fellows strike. Wars is no strife
1200To the dark house and the detested wife.
Will this capriccio hold in thee? Art sure?
310Go with me to my chamber, and advise me.
I’ll send her straight away. Tomorrow
I’ll to the wars, she to her single sorrow.
1205Why, these balls bound; there’s noise in it. ’Tis hard.
A young man married is a man that’s marred.
315Therefore away, and leave her bravely. Go.
The King has done you wrong, but hush, ’tis so.
My mother greets me kindly. Is she well?
1210She 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’ th’ world,
5but yet she is not well.
If she be very well, what does she ail that she’s
1215not very well?
Truly, she’s very well indeed, but for two things.
What two things?
10One, that she’s not in heaven, whither God send
her quickly; the other, that she’s in Earth, from
1220whence God send her quickly.
Bless you, my fortunate lady.
I hope, sir, I have your good will to have mine
15own good fortunes.
You had my prayers to lead them on, and to
1225keep them on have them still.—O my knave, how
does my old lady?
So that you had her wrinkles and I her money, I
20would she did as you say.
Why, I say nothing.
1230Marry, 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
25have nothing is to be a great part of your title,
which is within a very little of nothing.
1235Away. Thou ’rt a knave.
You should have said, sir, “Before a knave,
thou ’rt a knave”; that’s “Before me, thou ’rt a
30knave.” This had been truth, sir.
Go to. Thou art a witty fool. I have found
1240thee.
Did you find me in yourself, sir, or were you
taught to find me?
gap
35The search, sir, was profitable, and much fool
1245may you find in you, even to the world’s pleasure
and the increase of laughter.
A good knave, i’ faith, and well fed.
Madam, my lord will go away tonight;
40A very serious business calls on him.
1250The great prerogative and rite of love,
Which as your due time claims, he does acknowledge
But puts it off to a compelled restraint,
Whose want and whose delay is strewed with sweets,
45Which they distill now in the curbèd time
1255To make the coming hour o’erflow with joy
And pleasure drown the brim.
What’s his will else?
That you will take your instant leave o’ th’ King
50And make this haste as your own good proceeding,
1260Strengthened with what apology you think
May make it probable need.
What more commands he?
That, having this obtained, you presently
55Attend his further pleasure.
1265In everything I wait upon his will.
I shall report it so.
Parolles exits.I pray you, come, sirrah.
They exit.
But I hope your Lordship thinks not him a
soldier.
1270Yes, my lord, and of very valiant approof.
You have it from his own deliverance.
5And by other warranted testimony.
Then my dial goes not true. I took this lark for
a bunting.
1275I do assure you, my lord, he is very great in
knowledge and accordingly valiant.
10I have then sinned against his experience and
transgressed against his valor, and my state that
way is dangerous since I cannot yet find in my
1280heart to repent. Here he comes. I pray you make us
friends. I will pursue the amity.
15These things shall be done, sir.
Pray you, sir, who’s his tailor?
Sir?
1285O, I know him well. Ay, sir, he, sir, ’s a good
workman, a very good tailor.
20Is she gone to the King?
She is.
Will she away tonight?
1290As you’ll have her.
I have writ my letters, casketed my treasure,
25Given order for our horses, and tonight,
When I should take possession of the bride,
End ere I do begin.
1295A good traveler is something at the latter
end of a dinner, but one that lies three thirds,
30and uses a known truth to pass a thousand nothings
with, should be once heard and thrice beaten.—
God save you, captain.
1300Is there any unkindness
between my lord and you, monsieur?
35I know not how I have deserved to run into
my lord’s displeasure.
You have made shift to run into ’t, boots and
1305spurs and all, like him that leapt into the custard;
and out of it you’ll run again rather than suffer
40question for your residence.
It may be you have mistaken him, my lord.
And shall do so ever, though I took him at ’s
1310prayers. Fare you well, my lord, and believe this of
me: there can be no kernel in this light nut. The
45soul 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.
1315I have spoken better of you than you have or
will to deserve at my hand, but we must do good
50against evil.
An idle lord, I swear.
I think not so.
1320Why, do you not know him?
Yes, I do know him well, and common speech
55Gives him a worthy pass.
Enter Helen.
Here comes my clog.
I have, sir, as I was commanded from you,
1325Spoke with the King and have procured his leave
For present parting. Only he desires
60Some private speech with you.
I shall obey his will.
You must not marvel, Helen, at my course,
1330Which holds not color with the time, nor does
The ministration and requirèd office
65On my particular. Prepared I was not
For such a business; therefore am I found
So much unsettled. This drives me to entreat you
1335That presently you take your way for home,
And rather muse than ask why I entreat you;
70For my respects are better than they seem,
And my appointments have in them a need
Greater than shows itself at the first view
1340To you that know them not.Giving her a paper.
This to my mother.
75’Twill be two days ere I shall see you, so
I leave you to your wisdom.
Sir, I can nothing say
1345But that I am your most obedient servant—
Come, come, no more of that.
80And ever shall
With true observance seek to eke out that
Wherein toward me my homely stars have failed
1350To equal my great fortune.
Let that go.
85My haste is very great. Farewell. Hie home.
Pray, sir, your pardon.
Well, what would you say?
1355I am not worthy of the wealth I owe,
Nor dare I say ’tis mine—and yet it is—
90But, like a timorous thief, most fain would steal
What law does vouch mine own.
What would you have?
1360Something, and scarce so much; nothing, indeed.
I would not tell you what I would, my lord. Faith,
95yes:
Strangers and foes do sunder and not kiss.
I pray you stay not, but in haste to horse.
1365I shall not break your bidding, good my lord.—
Where are my other men?—Monsieur, farewell.
100Go thou toward home, where I will never come
Whilst I can shake my sword or hear the drum.—
Away, and for our flight.
1370Bravely, coraggio!
They exit.
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.
51375Holy seems the quarrel
Upon your Grace’s part, black and fearful
On the opposer.
Therefore we marvel much our cousin France
Would in so just a business shut his bosom
101380Against our borrowing prayers.
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
151385By 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 guessed.
Be it his pleasure.
201390But I am sure the younger of our nation,
That surfeit on their ease, will day by day
Come here for physic.
Welcome shall they be,
And all the honors that can fly from us
251395Shall on them settle. You know your places well.
When better fall, for your avails they fell.
Tomorrow to th’ field.
It hath happened all as I would have had it,
save that he comes not along with her.
1400By my troth, I take my young lord to be a very
melancholy man.
5By what observance, I pray you?
Why, he will look upon his boot and sing, mend
the ruff and sing, ask questions and sing, pick his
1405teeth and sing. I know a man that had this trick of
melancholy sold a goodly manor for a song.
10Let me see what he writes and when he
means to come.
I have no mind to Isbel since I was at court. Our
1410old lings and our Isbels o’ th’ country are nothing
like your old ling and your Isbels o’ th’ court. The
15brains of my Cupid’s knocked out, and I begin to
love as an old man loves money, with no stomach.
What have we here?
1415E’en that you have there.
He exits.
I have sent you a daughter-in-law.
20She 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
1420before the report come. If there be breadth enough in
the world, I will hold a long distance. My duty to
25you.
Your unfortunate son,
Bertram.
1425This is not well, rash and unbridled boy:
To fly the favors of so good a king,
30To pluck his indignation on thy head
By the misprizing of a maid too virtuous
For the contempt of empire.
1430O madam, yonder is heavy news within, between
two soldiers and my young lady.
35What is the matter?
Nay, there is some comfort in the news, some
comfort. Your son will not be killed so soon as I
1435thought he would.
Why should he be killed?
40So 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
1440they come will tell you more. For my part, I only
hear your son was run away.
45Save you, good
madam.
Madam, my lord is gone, forever gone.
1445Do not say so.
Think upon patience, pray you.—Gentlemen,
50I 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?
1450Madam, he’s gone to serve the Duke of Florence.
We met him thitherward, for thence we came,
55And, after some dispatch in hand at court,
Thither we bend again.
Look on his letter, madam; here’s my passport.
1455She reads. When thou canst get the ring upon
my finger, which never shall come off, and show me
60a child begotten of thy body that I am father to, then
call me husband. But in such a “then” I write a
“never.”
1460This is a dreadful sentence.
Brought you this letter, gentlemen?
65Ay, madam,
And for the contents’ sake are sorry for our pains.
I prithee, lady, have a better cheer.
1465If thou engrossest all the griefs are thine,
Thou robb’st me of a moiety. He was my son,
70But I do wash his name out of my blood,
And thou art all my child.—Towards Florence is he?
Ay, madam.
1470And to be a soldier?
Such is his noble purpose, and, believe ’t,
75The Duke will lay upon him all the honor
That good convenience claims.
Return you thither?
1475Ay, madam, with the swiftest wing of speed.
Till I have no wife I have nothing in France.
80’Tis bitter.
Find you that there?
Ay, madam.
1480’Tis but the boldness of his hand, haply,
Which his heart was not consenting to.
85Nothing 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
1485That twenty such rude boys might tend upon
And call her hourly mistress. Who was with him?
90A servant only, and a gentleman
Which I have sometime known.
Parolles was it not?
1490Ay, my good lady, he.
A very tainted fellow, and full of wickedness.
95My son corrupts a well-derivèd nature
With his inducement.
Indeed, good lady,
1495The fellow has a deal of that too much
Which holds him much to have.
100You’re welcome,
gentlemen.
I will entreat you when you see my son
1500To tell him that his sword can never win
The honor that he loses. More I’ll entreat you
105Written to bear along.
We serve you, madam,
In that and all your worthiest affairs.
1505Not so, but as we change our courtesies.
Will you draw near?
110“Till I have no wife I have nothing in France.”
Nothing in France until he has no wife.
Thou shalt have none, Rossillion, none in France.
1510Then hast thou all again. Poor lord, is ’t I
That chase thee from thy country and expose
115Those 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
1515Wast shot at with fair eyes, to be the mark
Of smoky muskets? O you leaden messengers
120That ride upon the violent speed of fire,
Fly with false aim; move the still-’pearing air
That sings with piercing; do not touch my lord.
1520Whoever shoots at him, I set him there;
Whoever charges on his forward breast,
125I 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
1525I met the ravin lion when he roared
With sharp constraint of hunger; better ’twere
130That all the miseries which nature owes
Were mine at once. No, come thou home, Rossillion,
Whence honor but of danger wins a scar,
1530As oft it loses all. I will be gone.
My being here it is that holds thee hence.
135Shall 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,
1535That pitiful rumor may report my flight
To consolate thine ear. Come, night; end, day;
140For with the dark, poor thief, I’ll steal away.
The general of our horse thou art, and we,
Great in our hope, lay our best love and credence
1540Upon thy promising fortune.
Sir, it is
5A charge too heavy for my strength, but yet
We’ll strive to bear it for your worthy sake
To th’ extreme edge of hazard.
1545Then go thou forth,
And Fortune play upon thy prosperous helm
10As thy auspicious mistress.
This very day,
Great Mars, I put myself into thy file.
1550Make me but like my thoughts, and I shall prove
A lover of thy drum, hater of love.
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.
1555I am Saint Jaques’ pilgrim, thither gone.
5Ambitious 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
1560My dearest master, your dear son, may hie.
10Bless him at home in peace, whilst I from far
His name with zealous fervor sanctify.
His taken labors bid him me forgive;
I, his despiteful Juno, sent him forth
1565From courtly friends, with camping foes to live
15Where 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.
Ah, what sharp stings are in her mildest words!
1570Rinaldo, you did never lack advice so much
20As letting her pass so. Had I spoke with her,
I could have well diverted her intents,
Which thus she hath prevented.
Pardon me, madam.
1575If I had given you this at overnight,
25She might have been o’erta’en. And yet she writes
Pursuit would be but vain.
What angel shall
Bless this unworthy husband? He cannot thrive
1580Unless her prayers, whom heaven delights to hear
30And 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
1585That he does weigh too light. My greatest grief,
35Though 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,
1590Hearing so much, will speed her foot again,
40Led 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.
1595Grief would have tears, and sorrow bids me speak.
Nay, come, for if they do approach the city, we
shall lose all the sight.
They say the French count has done most honorable
service.
51600It is reported that he has taken their great’st
commander, and that with his own hand he slew
the Duke’s brother. A trumpet sounds. We have
lost our labor. They are gone a contrary way. Hark,
you may know by their trumpets.
101605Come, let’s return again and suffice ourselves
with the report of it.—Well, Diana, take heed of
this French earl. The honor of a maid is her name,
and no legacy is so rich as honesty.
I have told my neighbor how you
151610have been solicited by a gentleman, his
companion.
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,
201615enticements, 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
wrack of maidenhood cannot for all that dissuade
251620succession, but that they are limed with the twigs
that threatens 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.
301625You shall not need to fear me.
I hope so.
Enter Helen as 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
351630bound?
To Saint Jaques le Grand.
Where do the palmers lodge, I do beseech you?
At the Saint Francis here beside the port.
Is this the way?
A march afar.
401635Ay, marry, is ’t.—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
451640As ample as myself.
Is it yourself?
If you shall please so, pilgrim.
I thank you, and will stay upon your leisure.
You came I think from France?
501645I did so.
Here you shall see a countryman of yours
That has done worthy service.
His name, I pray you?
The Count Rossillion. Know you such a one?
551650But by the ear, that hears most nobly of him.
His face I know not.
Whatsome’er he is,
He’s bravely taken here. He stole from France,
As ’tis reported, for the King had married him
601655Against his liking. Think you it is so?
Ay, surely, mere the truth. I know his lady.
There is a gentleman that serves the Count
Reports but coarsely of her.
What’s his name?
651660Monsieur Parolles.
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
701665Is a reservèd honesty, and that
I have not heard examined.
Alas, poor lady,
’Tis a hard bondage to become the wife
Of a detesting lord.
751670I warrant, good creature, wheresoe’er she is,
Her heart weighs sadly. This young maid might do
her
A shrewd turn if she pleased.
How do you mean?
801675Maybe the amorous count solicits her
In the unlawful purpose?
He does indeed,
And brokes with all that can in such a suit
Corrupt the tender honor of a maid,
851680But she is armed for him and keeps her guard
In honestest defense.
The gods forbid else!
So, now they come.
That is Antonio, the Duke’s eldest son;
901685That, Escalus.
Which is the Frenchman?
He,
That with the plume. ’Tis a most gallant fellow.
I would he loved his wife. If he were honester,
951690He were much goodlier. Is ’t not a handsome
gentleman?
I like him well.
’Tis pity he is not honest. Yond’s that same knave
That leads him to these places. Were I his lady,
1001695I would poison that vile rascal.
Which is he?
That jackanapes with scarves. Why is he melancholy?
Perchance he’s hurt i’ th’ battle.
Lose our drum? Well.
1051700He’s shrewdly vexed at something. Look, he
has spied us.
Marry, hang you.
And your courtesy, for a
ring-carrier.
1101705The troop is passed. Come, pilgrim, I will bring you
Where you shall host. Of enjoined penitents
There’s four or five, to Great Saint Jaques bound,
Already at my house.
I humbly thank you.
1151710Please it this matron and this gentle maid
To eat with us tonight, the charge and thanking
Shall be for me. And to requite you further,
I will bestow some precepts of this virgin
Worthy the note.
1201715We’ll take your offer kindly.
They exit.
Nay, good my lord, put him to ’t. Let him
have his way.
If your Lordship find him not a hilding,
hold me no more in your respect.
51720On my life, my lord, a bubble.
Do you think I am so far deceived in him?
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,
101725an infinite and endless liar, an hourly promise-breaker,
the owner of no one good quality worthy
your Lordship’s entertainment.
It were fit you knew him, lest, reposing
too far in his virtue, which he hath not, he might
151730at some great and trusty business in a main danger
fail you.
I would I knew in what particular action to
try him.
None better than to let him fetch off his
201735drum, which you hear him so confidently undertake
to do.
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
251740hoodwink him so, that he shall suppose no other
but that he is carried into the leaguer of the adversary’s
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
301745compulsion 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 anything.
O, for the love of laughter, let him fetch
351750his 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.
401755Here he comes.
O, for the love of laughter,
hinder not the honor of his design. Let him
fetch off his drum in any hand.
How now, monsieur? This
451760drum sticks sorely in your disposition.
A pox on ’t! Let it go. ’Tis but a drum.
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
501765our own soldiers!
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.
551770Well, we cannot greatly condemn our success.
Some dishonor we had in the loss of that
drum, but it is not to be recovered.
It might have been recovered.
It might, but it is not now.
601775It 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.
Why, if you have a stomach, to ’t, monsieur!
651780If you think your mystery in stratagem can bring
this instrument of honor 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
701785and extend to you what further becomes his greatness,
even to the utmost syllable of your
worthiness.
By the hand of a soldier, I will undertake it.
But you must not now slumber in it.
751790I’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.
May I be bold to acquaint his Grace you are
801795gone about it?
I know not what the success will be, my
lord, but the attempt I vow.
I know thou ’rt valiant, and to the possibility
of thy soldiership will subscribe for thee. Farewell.
851800I love not many words.
He exits.
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
901805be damned than to do ’t?
You do not know him, my lord, as we do.
Certain it is that he will steal himself into a man’s
favor and for a week escape a great deal of discoveries,
but when you find him out, you have him
951810ever after.
Why, do you think he will make no deed at
all of this that so seriously he does address himself
unto?
None in the world, but return with an
1001815invention and clap upon you two or three probable
lies. But we have almost embossed him. You shall
see his fall tonight; for indeed he is not for your
Lordship’s respect.
We’ll make you some sport with the fox
1051820ere we case him. He was first smoked by the old
Lord Lafew. When his disguise and he is parted,
tell me what a sprat you shall find him, which you
shall see this very night.
I must go look my twigs. He shall be
1101825caught.
Your brother he shall go along with me.
As ’t please your Lordship. I’ll leave you.
He exits.
Now will I lead you to the house and show you
The lass I spoke of.
1151830But you say she’s honest.
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’ th’ wind,
Tokens and letters, which she did re-send.
1201835And this is all I have done. She’s a fair creature.
Will you go see her?
With all my heart, my lord.
They exit.
If you misdoubt me that I am not she,
I know not how I shall assure you further
1840But I shall lose the grounds I work upon.
Though my estate be fall’n, I was well born,
5Nothing acquainted with these businesses,
And would not put my reputation now
In any staining act.
1845Nor would I wish you.
First give me trust the Count he is my husband,
10And 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,
1850Err in bestowing it.
I should believe you,
15For you have showed me that which well approves
You’re great in fortune.
Take this purse of gold,
1855And let me buy your friendly help thus far,
Which I will overpay and pay again
20When I have found it. The Count he woos your
daughter,
Lays down his wanton siege before her beauty,
1860Resolved to carry her. Let her in fine consent
As we’ll direct her how ’tis best to bear it.
25Now his important blood will naught deny
That she’ll demand. A ring the County wears
That downward hath succeeded in his house
1865From son to son some four or five descents
Since the first father wore it. This ring he holds
30In most rich choice. Yet, in his idle fire,
To buy his will it would not seem too dear,
Howe’er repented after.
1870Now I see the bottom of your purpose.
You see it lawful, then. It is no more
35But that your daughter, ere she seems as won,
Desires this ring, appoints him an encounter,
In fine, delivers me to fill the time,
1875Herself most chastely absent. After,
To marry her, I’ll add three thousand crowns
40To what is passed already.
I have yielded.
Instruct my daughter how she shall persever
1880That time and place with this deceit so lawful
May prove coherent. Every night he comes
45With musics of all sorts and songs composed
To her unworthiness. It nothing steads us
To chide him from our eaves, for he persists
1885As if his life lay on ’t.
Why then tonight
50Let us assay our plot, which, if it speed,
Is wicked meaning in a lawful deed,
And lawful meaning in a lawful act,
1890Where both not sin, and yet a sinful fact.
But let’s about it.
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
1895not yourselves, no matter. For we must not seem to
5understand him, unless some one among us whom
we must produce for an interpreter.
Good captain, let me be th’ interpreter.
Art not acquainted with him? Knows he not thy
1900voice?
10No, sir, I warrant you.
But what linsey-woolsey hast thou to speak to
us again?
E’en such as you speak to me.
1905He must think us some band of strangers i’ th’
15adversary’s entertainment. Now, he hath a smack
of all neighboring 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
1910is to know straight our purpose: choughs’ language,
20gabble 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
1915forges.
25Ten 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
1920have of late knocked too often at my door. I find
30my 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.
This is the first truth that e’er thine own
1925tongue was guilty of.
35What 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
1930got them in exploit. Yet slight ones will not carry it.
40They 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
1935Bajazeth’s mule if you prattle me into these perils.
45Is it possible he should know what he is,
and be that he is?
I would the cutting of my garments would
serve the turn, or the breaking of my Spanish
1940sword.
50We cannot afford you so.
Or the baring of my beard, and to say it was
in stratagem.
’Twould not do.
1945Or to drown my clothes and say I was
55stripped.
Hardly serve.
Though I swore I leapt from the window of
the citadel—
1950How deep?
60Thirty fathom.
Three great oaths would scarce make
that be believed.
I would I had any drum of the enemy’s. I
1955would swear I recovered it.
65You shall hear one anon.
A drum, now, of the enemy’s—
Alarum within.
Throca movousus, cargo, cargo,
cargo.
1960Cargo, cargo, cargo, villianda par corbo, cargo.
They seize him.70O ransom, ransom! Do not hide mine eyes.
They blindfold him.Boskos thromuldo boskos.
I know you are the Muskos’ regiment,
And I shall lose my life for want of language.
1965If there be here German or Dane, Low Dutch,
75Italian, or French, let him speak to me.
I’ll discover that which shall undo the Florentine.
Boskos vauvado, I understand thee and
can speak thy tongue. Kerelybonto, sir, betake thee
1970to thy faith, for seventeen poniards are at thy
80bosom.
O!
O, pray, pray, pray! Manka reuania
dulche.
1975Oscorbidulchos voliuorco.
85The General is content to spare thee yet
And, hoodwinked as thou art, will lead thee on
To gather from thee. Haply thou mayst inform
Something to save thy life.
1980O, let me live,
90And all the secrets of our camp I’ll show,
Their force, their purposes. Nay, I’ll speak that
Which you will wonder at.
But wilt thou faithfully?
1985If I do not, damn me.
95Acordo linta. Come on, thou art
granted space.
Go tell the Count Rossillion and my brother
We have caught the woodcock and will keep him
1990muffled
100Till we do hear from them.
Captain, I will.
He will betray us all unto ourselves.
Inform on that.
1995So I will, sir.
105Till then I’ll keep him dark and safely locked.
They told me that your name was Fontibell.
No, my good lord, Diana.
Titled goddess,
2000And worth it, with addition. But, fair soul,
5In your fine frame hath love no quality?
If the quick fire of youth light not your mind,
You are no maiden but a monument.
When you are dead, you should be such a one
2005As you are now, for you are cold and stern,
10And now you should be as your mother was
When your sweet self was got.
She then was honest.
So should you be.
2010No.
15My mother did but duty—such, my lord,
As you owe to your wife.
No more o’ that.
I prithee do not strive against my vows.
2015I was compelled to her, but I love thee
20By love’s own sweet constraint, and will forever
Do thee all rights of service.
Ay, so you serve us
Till we serve you. But when you have our roses,
2020You barely leave our thorns to prick ourselves
25And mock us with our bareness.
How have I sworn!
’Tis not the many oaths that makes the truth,
But the plain single vow that is vowed true.
2025What is not holy, that we swear not by,
30But take the high’st to witness. Then pray you, tell
me,
If I should swear by Jove’s great attributes
I loved you dearly, would you believe my oaths
2030When I did love you ill? This has no holding
35To swear by him whom I protest to love
That I will work against him. Therefore your oaths
Are words, and poor conditions but unsealed,
At least in my opinion.
2035Change it, change it.
40Be 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,
2040Who then recovers. Say thou art mine, and ever
45My love as it begins shall so persever.
I see that men may rope ’s in such a snare
That we’ll forsake ourselves. Give me that ring.
I’ll lend it thee, my dear, but have no power
2045To give it from me.
50Will you not, my lord?
It is an honor ’longing to our house,
Bequeathèd down from many ancestors,
Which were the greatest obloquy i’ th’ world
2050In me to lose.
55Mine honor’s such a ring.
My chastity’s the jewel of our house,
Bequeathèd down from many ancestors,
Which were the greatest obloquy i’ th’ world
2055In me to lose. Thus your own proper wisdom
60Brings in the champion Honor on my part
Against your vain assault.
Here, take my ring.
My house, mine honor, yea, my life be thine,
2060And I’ll be bid by thee.
65When 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,
2065When you have conquered my yet maiden bed,
70Remain 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 delivered.
And on your finger in the night I’ll put
2070Another ring, that what in time proceeds
75May 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.
A heaven on Earth I have won by wooing thee.
2075For which live long to thank both heaven and me!
80You may so in the end.He exits.
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
2080When his wife’s dead. Therefore I’ll lie with him
85When 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.
2085You have not given him his mother’s
letter?
I have delivered it an hour since. There
is something in ’t that stings his nature, for on the
5reading it he changed almost into another man.
2090He has much worthy blame laid upon him
for shaking off so good a wife and so sweet a lady.
Especially he hath incurred the everlasting
displeasure of the King, who had even tuned
10his bounty to sing happiness to him. I will tell you
2095a thing, but you shall let it dwell darkly with you.
When you have spoken it, ’tis dead, and I
am the grave of it.
He hath perverted a young gentlewoman
15here in Florence of a most chaste renown,
2100and this night he fleshes his will in the spoil of her
honor. He hath given her his monumental ring and
thinks himself made in the unchaste composition.
Now God delay our rebellion! As we are
20ourselves, what things are we!
2105Merely 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
25own nobility, in his proper stream o’erflows
2110himself.
Is it not meant damnable in us to be trumpeters
of our unlawful intents? We shall not, then,
have his company tonight?
30Not till after midnight, for he is dieted to
2115his hour.
That approaches apace. I would gladly
have him see his company anatomized, that he
might take a measure of his own judgments
35wherein so curiously he had set this counterfeit.
2120We will not meddle with him till he
come, for his presence must be the whip of the
other.
In the meantime, what hear you of these
40wars?
2125I hear there is an overture of peace.
Nay, I assure you, a peace concluded.
What will Count Rossillion do then?
Will he travel higher or return again into France?
45I perceive by this demand you are not altogether
2130of his counsel.
Let it be forbid, sir! So should I be a
great deal of his act.
Sir, his wife some two months since fled
50from his house. Her pretense is a pilgrimage to
2135Saint 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
55of her last breath, and now she sings in heaven.
2140How is this justified?
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
60office to say is come, was faithfully confirmed by
2145the rector of the place.
Hath the Count all this intelligence?
Ay, and the particular confirmations, point
from point, to the full arming of the verity.
65I am heartily sorry that he’ll be glad of
2150this.
How mightily sometimes we make us
comforts of our losses.
And how mightily some other times we
70drown our gain in tears. The great dignity that his
2155valor hath here acquired for him shall at home be
encountered with a shame as ample.
The web of our life is of a mingled yarn,
good and ill together. Our virtues would be proud
75if our faults whipped them not, and our crimes
2160would despair if they were not cherished by our
virtues.
Enter a Servant.
How now? Where’s your master?
He met the Duke in the street, sir, of whom
80he hath taken a solemn leave. His Lordship will
2165next morning for France. The Duke hath offered
him letters of commendations to the King.
They shall be no more than needful
there, if they were more than they can commend.
85They cannot be too sweet for the King’s tartness.
Enter Bertram Count Rossillion.
2170Here’s his Lordship now.—How now, my lord? Is ’t
not after midnight?
I have tonight dispatched sixteen businesses,
a month’s length apiece. By an abstract of
90success: I have congeed with the Duke, done my
2175adieu 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
95was the greatest, but that I have not ended yet.
2180If the business be of any difficulty, and
this morning your departure hence, it requires
haste of your Lordship.
I mean the business is not ended as fearing
100to hear of it hereafter. But shall we have this dialogue
2185between the Fool and the Soldier? Come,
bring forth this counterfeit module; has deceived
me like a double-meaning prophesier.
Bring him forth. Has sat i’ th’ stocks all
105night, poor gallant knave.
2190No matter. His heels have deserved it in
usurping his spurs so long. How does he carry
himself?
I have told your Lordship already: the
110stocks carry him. But to answer you as you would
2195be 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
115his setting i’ th’ stocks. And what think you he hath
2200confessed?
Nothing of me, has he?
His confession is taken, and it shall be
read to his face. If your Lordship be in ’t, as I
120believe you are, you must have the patience to
2205hear it.
A plague upon him! Muffled! He can say
nothing of me.
Hush, hush. Hoodman
125comes.—Portotartarossa.
2210He calls for the tortures.
What will you say without ’em?
I will confess what I know without constraint.
If you pinch me like a pasty, I can say no
130more.
2215Bosko Chimurcho.
Boblibindo chicurmurco.
You are a merciful general.—Our general
bids you answer to what I shall ask you out of a
135note.
2220And truly, as I hope to live.
First, demand of
him how many horse the Duke is strong.—What say
you to that?
140Five or six thousand, but very weak and
2225unserviceable. The troops are all scattered, and the
commanders very poor rogues, upon my reputation
and credit, and as I hope to live.
Shall I set down your answer so?
145Do. I’ll take the Sacrament on ’t, how and
2230which way you will.
All’s one to him. What a past-saving
slave is this!
You’re deceived, my
150lord. This is Monsieur Parolles, the gallant
2235militarist—that was his own phrase—that had the
whole theoric of war in the knot of his scarf, and
the practice in the chape of his dagger.
I will never trust a man again for
155keeping his sword clean, nor believe he can have
2240everything in him by wearing his apparel neatly.
Well, that’s set down.
“Five or six thousand horse,” I said—I will
say true—“or thereabouts” set down, for I’ll speak
160truth.
2245He’s very near the truth in this.
But I con him no thanks for ’t, in the
nature he delivers it.
“Poor rogues,” I pray you say.
165Well, that’s set down.
2250I humbly thank you, sir. A truth’s a truth.
The rogues are marvelous poor.
Demand of him of
what strength they are o’ foot.—What say you to
170that?
2255By my troth, sir, if I were to live but this
present hour, I will tell true. Let me see: Spurio a
hundred and fifty, Sebastian so many, Corambus
so many, Jaques so many; Guiltian, Cosmo,
175Lodowick and Gratii, two hundred fifty each; mine
2260own company, Chitopher, Vaumond, Bentii, two
hundred fifty each; so that the muster-file, rotten
and sound, upon my life amounts not to fifteen
thousand poll, half of the which dare not shake the
180snow from off their cassocks lest they shake themselves
2265to pieces.
What shall be done to him?
Nothing but let him have thanks.
(Aside to First Soldier.) Demand of him my condition
185and what credit I have with the Duke.
2270Well, that’s set down. Pretending
to read: You shall demand of him whether
one Captain Dumaine be i’ th’ camp, a Frenchman;
what his reputation is with the Duke, what his valor,
190honesty, and expertness in wars; or whether he
2275thinks it were not possible with well-weighing sums
of gold to corrupt him to a revolt.—What say you to
this? What do you know of it?
I beseech you let me answer to the particular
195of the inter’gatories. Demand them singly.
2280Do you know this Captain Dumaine?
I know him. He was a botcher’s prentice in
Paris, from whence he was whipped for getting the
shrieve’s fool with child, a dumb innocent that
200could not say him nay.
2285Nay, by your leave, hold
your hands, though I know his brains are forfeit to
the next tile that falls.
Well, is this captain in the Duke of
205Florence’s camp?
2290Upon my knowledge he is, and lousy.
Nay, look not so upon
me. We shall hear of your Lordship anon.
What is his reputation with the Duke?
210The Duke knows him for no other but a
2295poor officer of mine, and writ to me this other day
to turn him out o’ th’ band. I think I have his letter
in my pocket.
Marry, we’ll search.
They search Parolles’ pockets.
215In good sadness, I do not know. Either it is
2300there, or it is upon a file with the Duke’s other letters
in my tent.
Here ’tis; here’s a paper. Shall I read it to
you?
220I do not know if it be it or no.
2305Our interpreter does it well.
Excellently.
Dian, the Count’s a fool and full
of gold—
225That is not the Duke’s letter, sir. That is an
2310advertisement to a proper maid in Florence, one
Diana, to take heed of the allurement of one Count
Rossillion, a foolish idle boy, but for all that very
ruttish. I pray you, sir, put it up again.
230Nay, I’ll read it first, by your favor.
2315My 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
235finds.
2320Damnable both-sides rogue!
When he swears oaths, bid him drop gold, and
take it.
After he scores, he never pays the score.
240Half won is match well made. Match, and well
2325make 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.
245For count of this: the Count’s a fool, I know it,
2330Who pays before, but not when he does owe it.
Thine, as he vowed to thee in thine ear,
Parolles.
He shall be whipped through the
250army with this rhyme in ’s forehead.
2335This is your devoted friend, sir,
the manifold linguist and the armipotent soldier.
I could endure anything before but a
cat, and now he’s a cat to me.
255I perceive, sir, by our
2340general’s looks we shall be fain to hang you.
My life, sir, in any case! Not that I am afraid
to die, but that, my offenses being many, I would
repent out the remainder of nature. Let me live,
260sir, in a dungeon, i’ th’ stocks, or anywhere, so I
2345may live.
We’ll see what may be done, so you confess
freely. Therefore once more to this Captain
Dumaine: you have answered to his reputation
265with the Duke, and to his valor. What is his
2350honesty?
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
270is stronger than Hercules. He will lie, sir, with such
2355volubility 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 bedclothes about him; but they know
275his conditions and lay him in straw. I have but
2360little more to say, sir, of his honesty; he has everything
that an honest man should not have; what an
honest man should have, he has nothing.
I begin to love him for this.
280For this description of thine honesty?
2365A pox upon him! For me, he’s more and more
a cat.
What say you to his expertness in war?
Faith, sir, has led the drum before the English
285tragedians. To belie him I will not, and more
2370of his soldiership I know not, except in that country
he had the honor to be the officer at a place
there called Mile End, to instruct for the doubling
of files. I would do the man what honor I can, but
290of this I am not certain.
2375He hath out-villained villainy so
far that the rarity redeems him.
A pox on him! He’s a cat still.
His qualities being at this poor price,
295I need not to ask you if gold will corrupt him to
2380revolt.
Sir, for a cardecu he will sell the fee-simple
of his salvation, the inheritance of it, and cut th’
entail from all remainders, and a perpetual succession
300for it perpetually.
2385What’s his brother, the other Captain
Dumaine?
Why does he ask him of me?
What’s he?
305E’en a crow o’ th’ same nest: not altogether
2390so 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
310he has the cramp.
2395If your life be saved, will you undertake
to betray the Florentine?
Ay, and the captain of his horse, Count
Rossillion.
315I’ll whisper with the General and know
2400his pleasure.
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
320boy the Count, have I run into this danger. Yet who
2405would have suspected an ambush where I was
taken?
There is no remedy, sir, but you must
die. The General says you that have so traitorously
325discovered the secrets of your army and made
2410such 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.
330O Lord, sir, let me live, or let me see my
2415death!
That shall you, and take your leave of
all your friends. He removes the blindfold. So,
look about you. Know you any here?
335Good morrow, noble captain.
2420God bless you, Captain Parolles.
God save you, noble captain.
Captain, what greeting will you to my
Lord Lafew? I am for France.
340Good captain, will you give me a copy of
2425the sonnet you writ to Diana in behalf of the Count
Rossillion? An I were not a very coward, I’d compel
it of you. But fare you well.
You are undone, captain—all but your
345scarf; that has a knot on ’t yet.
2430Who cannot be crushed with a plot?
If you could find out a country where
but women were that had received so much
shame, you might begin an impudent nation. Fare
350you well, sir. I am for France too. We shall speak of
2435you there.
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
355As captain shall. Simply the thing I am
2440Shall 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
360Safest in shame. Being fooled, by fool’ry thrive.
2445There’s place and means for every man alive.
I’ll after them.
That you may well perceive I have not wronged you,
One of the greatest in the Christian world
Shall be my surety, ’fore whose throne ’tis needful,
2450Ere I can perfect mine intents, to kneel.
5Time was, I did him a desirèd office
Dear almost as his life, which gratitude
Through flinty Tartar’s bosom would peep forth
And answer thanks. I duly am informed
2455His Grace is at Marseilles, to which place
10We have convenient convoy. You must know
I am supposèd dead. The army breaking,
My husband hies him home, where, heaven aiding
And by the leave of my good lord the King,
2460We’ll be before our welcome.
15Gentle madam,
You never had a servant to whose trust
Your business was more welcome.
Nor you, mistress,
2465Ever a friend whose thoughts more truly labor
20To 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,
2470That can such sweet use make of what they hate
25When saucy trusting of the cozened 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,
2475Under my poor instructions yet must suffer
30Something in my behalf.
Let death and honesty
Go with your impositions, I am yours
Upon your will to suffer.
2480Yet, I pray you—
35But 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.
2485All’s well that ends well. Still the fine’s the crown.
40Whate’er the course, the end is the renown.
No, no, no, your son was misled with a
snipped-taffeta fellow there, whose villainous saffron
would have made all the unbaked and doughy
2490youth of a nation in his color. Your daughter-in-law
5had 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.
I would I had not known him. It was the
2495death of the most virtuous gentlewoman that ever
10nature 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.
2500’Twas a good lady, ’twas a good lady. We may
15pick a thousand salads ere we light on such another
herb.
Indeed, sir, she was the sweet marjoram of the
salad, or rather the herb of grace.
2505They are not herbs, you knave. They are
20nose-herbs.
I am no great Nebuchadnezzar, sir. I have not
much skill in grass.
Whether dost thou profess thyself, a knave or a
2510fool?
25A fool, sir, at a woman’s service, and a knave at a
man’s.
Your distinction?
I would cozen the man of his wife and do his
2515service.
30So you were a knave at his service indeed.
And I would give his wife my bauble, sir, to do
her service.
I will subscribe for thee, thou art both knave
2520and fool.
35At your service.
No, no, no.
Why, sir, if I cannot serve you, I can serve as
great a prince as you are.
2525Who’s that, a Frenchman?
40Faith, sir, he has an English name, but his
phys’nomy is more hotter in France than there.
What prince is that?
The black prince, sir, alias the prince of darkness,
2530alias the devil.
45Hold thee, there’s my
purse. I give thee not this to suggest thee from thy
master thou talk’st of. Serve him still.
I am a woodland fellow, sir, that always loved a
2535great fire, and the master I speak of ever keeps a
50good 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
2540may, but the many will be too chill and tender, and
55they’ll be for the flow’ry way that leads to the
broad gate and the great fire.
Go thy ways. I begin to be aweary of thee. And
I tell thee so before because I would not fall out
2545with thee. Go thy ways. Let my horses be well
60looked to, without any tricks.
If I put any tricks upon ’em, sir, they shall be
jades’ tricks, which are their own right by the law
of nature.
2550A shrewd knave and an unhappy.
65So 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
2555where he will.
70I 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
2560behalf of my daughter, which in the minority of
75them 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
2565no fitter matter. How does your Ladyship like it?
80With very much content, my lord, and I
wish it happily effected.
His Highness comes post from Marseilles, of
as able body as when he numbered thirty. He will
2570be here tomorrow, or I am deceived by him that in
85such intelligence hath seldom failed.
It rejoices me that, I hope, I shall see him
ere I die. I have letters that my son will be here
tonight. I shall beseech your Lordship to remain
2575with me till they meet together.
90Madam, I was thinking with what manners I
might safely be admitted.
You need but plead your honorable
privilege.
2580Lady, of that I have made a bold charter. But I
95thank my God it holds yet.
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
2585patch of velvet. His left cheek is a cheek of two pile
100and a half, but his right cheek is worn bare.
A scar nobly got, or a noble scar, is a good liv’ry
of honor. So belike is that.
But it is your carbonadoed face.
2590Let us go see your son, I pray you. I long to talk
105with the young noble soldier.
’Faith, there’s a dozen of ’em, with delicate fine
hats, and most courteous feathers which bow the
head and nod at every man.
2595But 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,
5Be bold you do so grow in my requital
2600As nothing can unroot you.
Enter a Gentleman, a gentle Astringer.
In happy time!
This man may help me to his Majesty’s ear,
If he would spend his power.—God save you, sir.
10And you.
2605Sir, I have seen you in the court of France.
I have been sometimes there.
I do presume, sir, that you are not fall’n
From the report that goes upon your goodness,
15And therefore, goaded with most sharp occasions
2610Which lay nice manners by, I put you to
The use of your own virtues, for the which
I shall continue thankful.
What’s your will?
20That it will please you
2615To give this poor petition to the King
And aid me with that store of power you have
To come into his presence.
The King’s not here.
25Not here, sir?
2620Not indeed.
He hence removed last night, and with more haste
Than is his use.
Lord, how we lose our pains!
30All’s well that ends well yet,
2625Though time seem so adverse and means unfit.—
I do beseech you, whither is he gone?
Marry, as I take it, to Rossillion,
Whither I am going.
35I do beseech you, sir,
2630Since 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.
40I will come after you with what good speed
2635Our means will make us means.
This I’ll do for you.
And you shall find yourself to be well thanked
Whate’er falls more. We must to horse again.—
45Go, go, provide.
2640Good Monsieur
Lavatch, give my lord Lafew this letter. I have ere
now, sir, been better known to you, when I have
held familiarity with fresher clothes. But I am
5now, sir, muddied in Fortune’s mood, and smell
2645somewhat strong of her strong displeasure.
Truly, Fortune’s displeasure is but sluttish if it
smell so strongly as thou speak’st of. I will henceforth
eat no fish of Fortune’s butt’ring. Prithee,
10allow the wind.
2650Nay, you need not to stop your nose, sir. I
spake but by a metaphor.
Indeed, sir, if your metaphor stink I will stop my
nose, or against any man’s metaphor. Prithee, get
15thee further.
2655Pray you, sir, deliver me this paper.
Foh! Prithee, stand away. A paper from Fortune’s
close-stool, to give to a nobleman!
Enter Lafew.
Look, here he comes himself.—Here is a purr of
20Fortune’s, sir, or of Fortune’s cat—but not a
2660musk-cat—that has fall’n 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,
25rascally knave. I do pity his distress in my
2665smiles of comfort, and leave him to your Lordship.
My lord, I am a man whom Fortune hath
cruelly scratched.
And what would you have me to do? ’Tis too
30late to pare her nails now. Wherein have you
2670played 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 cardecu for you. Let the justices make
35you and Fortune friends. I am for other business.
2675I beseech your Honor to hear me one single
word.
You beg a single penny more. Come, you shall
ha ’t. Save your word.
40My name, my good lord, is Parolles.
2680You beg more than a word, then. Cock’s my
passion; give me your hand. How does your drum?
O my good lord, you were the first that
found me.
45Was I, in sooth? And I was the first that lost
2685thee.
It lies in you, my lord, to bring me in some
grace, for you did bring me out.
Out upon thee, knave! Dost thou put upon me
50at once both the office of God and the devil? One
2690brings 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
55and a knave, you shall eat. Go to, follow.
2695I praise God for you.
They exit.
We lost a jewel of her, and our esteem
Was made much poorer by it. But your son,
As mad in folly, lacked the sense to know
Her estimation home.
52700’Tis past, my liege,
And I beseech your Majesty to make it
Natural rebellion done i’ th’ blade of youth,
When oil and fire, too strong for reason’s force,
O’erbears it and burns on.
102705My honored lady,
I have forgiven and forgotten all,
Though my revenges were high bent upon him
And watched the time to shoot.
This I must say—
152710But first I beg my pardon: the young lord
Did to his Majesty, his mother, and his lady
Offense of mighty note, but to himself
The greatest wrong of all. He lost a wife
Whose beauty did astonish the survey
202715Of richest eyes, whose words all ears took captive,
Whose dear perfection hearts that scorned to serve
Humbly called mistress.
Praising what is lost
Makes the remembrance dear. Well, call him hither.
252720We are reconciled, and the first view shall kill
All repetition. Let him not ask our pardon.
The nature of his great offense is dead,
And deeper than oblivion we do bury
Th’ incensing relics of it. Let him approach
302725A stranger, no offender, and inform him
So ’tis our will he should.
I shall, my liege.
He exits.
What says he to your daughter? Have you spoke?
All that he is hath reference to your Highness.
352730Then shall we have a match. I have letters sent me
That sets him high in fame.
He looks well on ’t.
I am not a day of season,
For thou mayst see a sunshine and a hail
402735In me at once. But to the brightest beams
Distracted clouds give way. So stand thou forth.
The time is fair again.
My high-repented blames,
Dear sovereign, pardon to me.
452740All is whole.
Not one word more of the consumèd time.
Let’s take the instant by the forward top,
For we are old, and on our quick’st decrees
Th’ inaudible and noiseless foot of time
502745Steals ere we can effect them. You remember
The daughter of this lord?
Admiringly, my liege. At first
I stuck my choice upon her, ere my heart
Durst make too bold a herald of my tongue;
552750Where the impression of mine eye infixing,
Contempt his scornful perspective did lend me,
Which warped the line of every other favor,
Scorned a fair color or expressed it stol’n,
Extended or contracted all proportions
602755To 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.
Well excused.
652760That 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 offense,
Crying “That’s good that’s gone!” Our rash faults
702765Make 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,
752770While shameful hate sleeps out the afternoon.
Be this sweet Helen’s knell, and now forget her.
Send forth your amorous token for fair Maudlin.
The main consents are had, and here we’ll stay
To see our widower’s second marriage day.
802775Which better than the first, O dear heaven, bless,
Or, ere they meet, in me, O nature, cesse!
Come on, my son, in whom my house’s name
Must be digested, give a favor from you
To sparkle in the spirits of my daughter,
852780That she may quickly come.
Bertram gives him a ring.
By my old beard
And ev’ry 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 leave at court,
902785I saw upon her finger.
Hers it was not.
Now, pray you, let me see it, for mine eye,
While I was speaking, oft was fastened to ’t.
Lafew passes the ring to the King.
This ring was mine, and when I gave it Helen,
952790I bade her if her fortunes ever stood
Necessitied to help, that by this token
I would relieve her. To Bertram. Had you that craft to
reave her
Of what should stead her most?
1002795My gracious
sovereign,
Howe’er it pleases you to take it so,
The ring was never hers.
Son, on my life,
1052800I have seen her wear it, and she reckoned it
At her life’s rate.
I am sure I saw her wear it.
You are deceived, my lord. She never saw it.
In Florence was it from a casement thrown me,
1102805Wrapped in a paper which contained the name
Of her that threw it. Noble she was, and thought
I stood ungaged, but when I had subscribed
To mine own fortune and informed her fully
I could not answer in that course of honor
1152810As she had made the overture, she ceased
In heavy satisfaction and would never
Receive the ring again.
Plutus himself,
That knows the tinct and multiplying med’cine,
1202815Hath 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
1252820You got it from her. She called 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.
1302825She never saw it.
Thou speak’st it falsely, as I love mine honor,
And mak’st 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,
1352830And 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.
My forepast proofs, howe’er the matter fall,
1402835Shall tax my fears of little vanity,
Having vainly feared too little. Away with him.
We’ll sift this matter further.
If you shall prove
This ring was ever hers, you shall as easy
1452840Prove that I husbanded her bed in Florence,
Where yet she never was.
I am wrapped in dismal thinkings.
Gracious sovereign,
Whether I have been to blame or no, I know not.
He gives the King a paper.
1502845Here’s a petition from a Florentine
Who hath for four or five removes come short
To tender it herself. I undertook it,
Vanquished thereto by the fair grace and speech
Of the poor suppliant, who, by this, I know
1552850Is 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.
Upon his many protestations to marry me
1602855when his wife was dead, I blush to say it, he won
me. Now is the Count Rossillion a widower, his
vows are forfeited to me and my honor’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.
1652860In you it best lies. Otherwise a seducer flourishes,
and a poor maid is undone.
Diana Capilet.
I will buy me a son-in-law in a fair, and toll for
this. I’ll none of him.
1702865The heavens have thought well on thee, Lafew,
To bring forth this discov’ry.—Seek these suitors.
Go speedily, and bring again the Count.
Gentleman and Attendants exit.
I am afeard the life of Helen, lady,
Was foully snatched.
1752870Now justice on the doers!
Enter Bertram under guard.
I wonder, sir, since 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?
1802875I am, my lord, a wretched Florentine,
Derivèd from the ancient Capilet.
My suit, as I do understand, you know
And therefore know how far I may be pitied.
I am her mother, sir, whose age and honor
1852880Both suffer under this complaint we bring,
And both shall cease without your remedy.
Come hither, count. Do you know these women?
My lord, I neither can nor will deny
But that I know them. Do they charge me further?
1902885Why do you look so strange upon your wife?
She’s none of mine, my lord.
If you shall marry,
You give away this hand, and that is mine;
You give away heaven’s vows, and those are mine;
1952890You 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.
Your reputation comes too short
2002895for my daughter. You are no husband for her.
My lord, this is a fond and desp’rate creature
Whom sometime I have laughed with. Let your
Highness
Lay a more noble thought upon mine honor
2052900Than for to think that I would sink it here.
Sir, for my thoughts, you have them ill to friend
Till your deeds gain them. Fairer prove your honor
Than in my thought it lies.
Good my lord,
2102905Ask him upon his oath if he does think
He had not my virginity.
What sayst thou to her?
She’s impudent, my lord,
And was a common gamester to the camp.
2152910He 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
2202915He gave it to a commoner o’ th’ camp,
If I be one.
He blushes, and ’tis hit.
Of six preceding ancestors that gem,
Conferred by testament to th’ sequent issue,
2252920Hath it been owed and worn. This is his wife.
That ring’s a thousand proofs.
Methought you said
You saw one here in court could witness it.
I did, my lord, but loath am to produce
2302925So bad an instrument. His name’s Parolles.
I saw the man today, if man he be.
Find him, and bring him hither.
What of him?
He’s quoted for a most perfidious slave,
2352930With all the spots o’ th’ world taxed and debauched,
Whose nature sickens but to speak a truth.
Am I or that or this for what he’ll utter,
That will speak anything?
She hath that ring of yours.
2402935I think she has. Certain it is I liked her
And boarded her i’ th’ 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
2452940Are 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.
2502945I must be patient.
You that have turned 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,
2552950And give me mine again.
I have it not.
What ring was yours, I pray you?
Sir, much like the same upon your finger.
Know you this ring? This ring was his of late.
2602955And this was it I gave him, being abed.
The story, then, goes false you threw it him
Out of a casement?
I have spoke the truth.
Enter Parolles.
My lord, I do confess the ring was hers.
2652960You boggle shrewdly. Every feather starts you.—
Is this the man you speak of?
Ay, my lord.
Tell me, sirrah—but tell me true, I charge you,
Not fearing the displeasure of your master,
2702965Which, on your just proceeding, I’ll keep off—
By him and by this woman here what know you?
So please your Majesty, my master hath
been an honorable gentleman. Tricks he hath had
in him which gentlemen have.
2752970Come, come, to th’ purpose. Did he love this
woman?
Faith, sir, he did love her, but how?
How, I pray you?
He did love her, sir, as a gentleman loves a
2802975woman.
How is that?
He loved her, sir, and loved her not.
As thou art a knave and no knave. What an
equivocal companion is this!
2852980I am a poor man, and at your Majesty’s
command.
He’s a good drum, my lord, but a naughty
orator.
Do you know he promised me marriage?
2902985Faith, I know more than I’ll speak.
But wilt thou not speak all thou know’st?
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
2952990talked 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.
3002995Therefore I will not speak what I know.
Thou hast spoken all already, unless thou canst
say they are married. But thou art too fine in thy
evidence. Therefore stand aside.
To Diana.
This ring you say was yours?
3053000Ay, my good lord.
Where did you buy it? Or who gave it you?
It was not given me, nor I did not buy it.
Who lent it you?
It was not lent me neither.
3103005Where did you find it then?
I found it not.
If it were yours by none of all these ways,
How could you give it him?
I never gave it him.
3153010This woman’s an easy glove, my lord; she goes
off and on at pleasure.
This ring was mine. I gave it his first wife.
It might be yours or hers for aught I know.
Take her away. I do not like her now.
3203015To prison with her, and away with him.—
Unless thou tell’st me where thou hadst this ring,
Thou diest within this hour.
I’ll never tell you.
Take her away.
3253020I’ll put in bail, my liege.
I think thee now some common customer.
By Jove, if ever I knew man, ’twas you.
Wherefore hast thou accused him all this while?
Because he’s guilty and he is not guilty.
3303025He 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.
She does abuse our ears. To prison with her.
3353030Good mother, fetch my bail. Widow exits. Stay,
royal sir.
The jeweler that owes the ring is sent for,
And he shall surety me. But for this lord
Who hath abused me as he knows himself,
3403035Though yet he never harmed 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.
3453040And now behold the meaning.
Is there no exorcist
Beguiles the truer office of mine eyes?
Is ’t real that I see?
No, my good lord,
3503045’Tis but the shadow of a wife you see,
The name and not the thing.
Both, both. O, pardon!
O, my good lord, when I was like this maid,
I found you wondrous kind. There is your ring,
3553050And, look you, here’s your letter. She takes out a
paper. This it says:
When from my finger you can get this ring
And are by me with child, etc. This is done.
Will you be mine now you are doubly won?
3603055If she, my liege, can make me know this clearly,
I’ll love her dearly, ever, ever dearly.
If it appear not plain and prove untrue,
Deadly divorce step between me and you.—
O my dear mother, do I see you living?
3653060Mine 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.
3703065Let 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 uncroppèd flower,
Choose thou thy husband, and I’ll pay thy dower.
For I can guess that by thy honest aid
3753070Thou kept’st a wife herself, thyself a maid.
Of that and all the progress more and less,
Resolvedly more leisure shall express.
All yet seems well, and if it end so meet,
The bitter past, more welcome is the sweet.
3075The 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 strift to please you, day exceeding day.
5Ours be your patience, then, and yours our parts.
3080Your gentle hands lend us, and take our hearts.