All's Well That Ends Well, by William Shakespeare

SCENE Rousillon; Paris; Florence; Marseilles.

ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL

ACT I

SCENE I Rousillon. The COUNT's palace.

[Enter BERTRAM, the COUNTESS of Rousillon, HELENA,

and LAFEU, all in black]

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

BERTRAM And I in going, madam, weep o'er my father's death

anew: but I must attend his majesty's command, to

whom I am now in ward, evermore in subjection.

LAFEU You shall find of the king a husband, madam; you,

sir, a father: he that so generally is at all times

good must of necessity hold his virtue to you; whose

worthiness would stir it up where it wanted rather

than lack it where there is such abundance.

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

LAFEU He hath abandoned his physicians, madam; under whose

practises he hath persecuted time with hope, and

finds no other advantage in the process but only the

losing of hope by time.

COUNTESS This young gentlewoman had a father,--O, that

'had'! how sad a passage 'tis!--whose skill was

almost as great as his honesty; had it stretched so

far, would have made nature immortal, and death

should have play for lack of work. Would, for the

king's sake, he were living! I think it would be

the death of the king's disease.

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

COUNTESS He was famous, sir, in his profession, and it was

his great right to be so: Gerard de Narbon.

LAFEU He was excellent indeed, madam: the king very

lately spoke of him admiringly and mourningly: he

was skilful enough to have lived still, if knowledge

could be set up against mortality.

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

LAFEU A fistula, my lord.

BERTRAM I heard not of it before.

LAFEU I would it were not notorious. Was this gentlewoman

the daughter of Gerard de Narbon?

COUNTESS His sole child, my lord, and bequeathed to my

overlooking. I have those hopes of her good that

her education promises; her dispositions she

inherits, which makes fair gifts fairer; for where

an unclean mind carries virtuous qualities, there

commendations go with pity; they are virtues and

traitors too; in her they are the better for their

simpleness; she derives her honesty and achieves her goodness.

LAFEU Your commendations, madam, get from her tears.

COUNTESS 'Tis the best brine a maiden can season her praise

in. The remembrance of her father never approaches

her heart but the tyranny of her sorrows takes all

livelihood from her cheek. No more of this, Helena;

go to, no more; lest it be rather thought you affect

a sorrow than have it.

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

LAFEU Moderate lamentation is the right of the dead,

excessive grief the enemy to the living.

COUNTESS If the living be enemy to the grief, the excess

makes it soon mortal.

BERTRAM Madam, I desire your holy wishes.

LAFEU How understand we that?

COUNTESS Be thou blest, Bertram, and succeed thy father

In manners, as in shape! thy blood and virtue

Contend for empire in thee, and thy goodness

Share with thy birthright! Love all, trust a few,

Do wrong to none: be able for thine enemy

Rather in power than use, and keep thy friend

Under thy own life's key: be cheque'd for silence,

But never tax'd for speech. What heaven more will,

That thee may furnish and my prayers pluck down,

Fall on thy head! Farewell, my lord;

'Tis an unseason'd courtier; good my lord,

Advise him.

LAFEU He cannot want the best

That shall attend his love.

COUNTESS Heaven bless him! Farewell, Bertram.

[Exit]

BERTRAM [To HELENA] The best wishes that can be forged in

your thoughts be servants to you! Be comfortable

to my mother, your mistress, and make much of her.

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

your father.

[Exeunt BERTRAM and LAFEU]

HELENA O, were that all! I think not on my father;

And these great tears grace his remembrance more

Than those I shed for him. What was he like?

I have forgot him: my imagination

Carries no favour in't but Bertram's.

I am undone: there is no living, none,

If Bertram be away. 'Twere all one

That I should love a bright particular star

And think to wed it, he is so above me:

In his bright radiance and collateral light

Must I be comforted, not in his sphere.

The ambition in my love thus plagues itself:

The hind that would be mated by the lion

Must die for love. 'Twas pretty, though plague,

To see him every hour; to sit and draw

His arched brows, his hawking eye, his curls,

In our heart's table; heart too capable

Of every line and trick of his sweet favour:

But now he's gone, and my idolatrous fancy

Must sanctify his reliques. Who comes here?

[Enter PAROLLES]

[Aside]

One that goes with him: I love him for his sake;

And yet I know him a notorious liar,

Think him a great way fool, solely a coward;

Yet these fixed evils sit so fit in him,

That they take place, when virtue's steely bones

Look bleak i' the cold wind: withal, full oft we see

Cold wisdom waiting on superfluous folly.

PAROLLES Save you, fair queen!

HELENA And you, monarch!

PAROLLES No.

HELENA And no.

PAROLLES Are you meditating on virginity?

HELENA Ay. You have some stain of soldier in you: let me

ask you a question. Man is enemy to virginity; how

may we barricado it against him?

PAROLLES Keep him out.

HELENA But he assails; and our virginity, though valiant,

in the defence yet is weak: unfold to us some

warlike resistance.

PAROLLES There is none: man, sitting down before you, will

undermine you and blow you up.

HELENA Bless our poor virginity from underminers and

blowers up! Is there no military policy, how

virgins might blow up men?

PAROLLES Virginity being blown down, man will quicklier be

blown up: marry, in blowing him down again, with

the breach yourselves made, you lose your city. It

is not politic in the commonwealth of nature to

preserve virginity. Loss of virginity is rational

increase and there was never virgin got till

virginity was first lost. That you were made of is

metal to make virgins. Virginity by being once lost

may be ten times found; by being ever kept, it is

ever lost: 'tis too cold a companion; away with 't!

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

PAROLLES There's little can be said in 't; 'tis against the

rule of nature. To speak on the part of virginity,

is to accuse your mothers; which is most infallible

disobedience. He that hangs himself is a virgin:

virginity murders itself and should be buried in

highways out of all sanctified limit, as a desperate

offendress against nature. Virginity breeds mites,

much like a cheese; consumes itself to the very

paring, and so dies with feeding his own stomach.

Besides, virginity is peevish, proud, idle, made of

self-love, which is the most inhibited sin in the

canon. Keep it not; you cannot choose but loose

by't: out with 't! within ten year it will make

itself ten, which is a goodly increase; and the

principal itself not much the worse: away with 't!

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

PAROLLES Let me see: marry, ill, to like him that ne'er it

likes. 'Tis a commodity will lose the gloss with

lying; the longer kept, the less worth: off with 't

while 'tis vendible; answer the time of request.

Virginity, like an old courtier, wears her cap out

of fashion: richly suited, but unsuitable: just

like the brooch and the tooth-pick, which wear not

now. Your date is better in your pie and your

porridge than in your cheek; and your virginity,

your old virginity, is like one of our French

withered pears, it looks ill, it eats drily; marry,

'tis a withered pear; it was formerly better;

marry, yet 'tis a withered pear: will you anything with it?

HELENA Not my virginity yet [ ]

There shall your master have a thousand loves,

A mother and a mistress and a friend,

A phoenix, captain and an enemy,

A guide, a goddess, and a sovereign,

A counsellor, a traitress, and a dear;

His humble ambition, proud humility,

His jarring concord, and his discord dulcet,

His faith, his sweet disaster; with a world

Of pretty, fond, adoptious christendoms,

That blinking Cupid gossips. Now shall he--

I know not what he shall. God send him well!

The court's a learning place, and he is one--

PAROLLES What one, i' faith?

HELENA That I wish well. 'Tis pity--

PAROLLES What's pity?

HELENA That wishing well had not a body in't,

Which might be felt; that we, the poorer born,

Whose baser stars do shut us up in wishes,

Might with effects of them follow our friends,

And show what we alone must think, which never

Return us thanks.

[Enter Page]

Page Monsieur Parolles, my lord calls for you.

[Exit]

PAROLLES Little Helen, farewell; if I can remember thee, I

will think of thee at court.

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

PAROLLES Under Mars, I.

HELENA I especially think, under Mars.

PAROLLES Why under Mars?

HELENA The wars have so kept you under that you must needs

be born under Mars.

PAROLLES When he was predominant.

HELENA When he was retrograde, I think, rather.

PAROLLES Why think you so?

HELENA You go so much backward when you fight.

PAROLLES That's for advantage.

HELENA So is running away, when fear proposes the safety;

but the composition that your valour and fear makes

in you is a virtue of a good wing, and I like the wear well.

PAROLLES I am so full of businesses, I cannot answer thee

acutely. I will return perfect courtier; in the

which, my instruction shall serve to naturalize

thee, so thou wilt be capable of a courtier's

counsel and understand what advice shall thrust upon

thee; else thou diest in thine unthankfulness, and

thine ignorance makes thee away: farewell. When

thou hast leisure, say thy prayers; when thou hast

none, remember thy friends; get thee a good husband,

and use him as he uses thee; so, farewell.

[Exit]

HELENA Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie,

Which we ascribe to heaven: the fated sky

Gives us free scope, only doth backward pull

Our slow designs when we ourselves are dull.

What power is it which mounts my love so high,

That makes me see, and cannot feed mine eye?

The mightiest space in fortune nature brings

To join like likes and kiss like native things.

Impossible be strange attempts to those

That weigh their pains in sense and do suppose

What hath been cannot be: who ever strove

So show her merit, that did miss her love?

The king's disease--my project may deceive me,

But my intents are fix'd and will not leave me.

[Exit]

ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL

ACT I

SCENE II Paris. The KING's palace.

[Flourish of cornets. Enter the KING of France,

with letters, and divers Attendants]

KING The Florentines and Senoys are by the ears;

Have fought with equal fortune and continue

A braving war.

First Lord So 'tis reported, sir.

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

A certainty, vouch'd from our cousin Austria,

With caution that the Florentine will move us

For speedy aid; wherein our dearest friend

Prejudicates the business and would seem

To have us make denial.

First Lord His love and wisdom,

Approved so to your majesty, may plead

For amplest credence.

KING He hath arm'd our answer,

And Florence is denied before he comes:

Yet, for our gentlemen that mean to see

The Tuscan service, freely have they leave

To stand on either part.

Second Lord It well may serve

A nursery to our gentry, who are sick

For breathing and exploit.

KING What's he comes here?

[Enter BERTRAM, LAFEU, and PAROLLES]

First Lord It is the Count Rousillon, my good lord,

Young Bertram.

KING Youth, thou bear'st thy father's face;

Frank nature, rather curious than in haste,

Hath well composed thee. Thy father's moral parts

Mayst thou inherit too! Welcome to Paris.

BERTRAM My thanks and duty are your majesty's.

KING I would I had that corporal soundness now,

As when thy father and myself in friendship

First tried our soldiership! He did look far

Into the service of the time and was

Discipled of the bravest: he lasted long;

But on us both did haggish age steal on

And wore us out of act. It much repairs me

To talk of your good father. In his youth

He had the wit which I can well observe

To-day in our young lords; but they may jest

Till their own scorn return to them unnoted

Ere they can hide their levity in honour;

So like a courtier, contempt nor bitterness

Were in his pride or sharpness; if they were,

His equal had awaked them, and his honour,

Clock to itself, knew the true minute when

Exception bid him speak, and at this time

His tongue obey'd his hand: who were below him

He used as creatures of another place

And bow'd his eminent top to their low ranks,

Making them proud of his humility,

In their poor praise he humbled. Such a man

Might be a copy to these younger times;

Which, follow'd well, would demonstrate them now

But goers backward.

BERTRAM His good remembrance, sir,

Lies richer in your thoughts than on his tomb;

So in approof lives not his epitaph

As in your royal speech.

KING Would I were with him! He would always say--

Methinks I hear him now; his plausive words

He scatter'd not in ears, but grafted them,

To grow there and to bear,--'Let me not live,'--

This his good melancholy oft began,

On the catastrophe and heel of pastime,

When it was out,--'Let me not live,' quoth he,

'After my flame lacks oil, to be the snuff

Of younger spirits, whose apprehensive senses

All but new things disdain; whose judgments are

Mere fathers of their garments; whose constancies

Expire before their fashions.' This he wish'd;

I after him do after him wish too,

Since I nor wax nor honey can bring home,

I quickly were dissolved from my hive,

To give some labourers room.

Second Lord You are loved, sir:

They that least lend it you shall lack you first.

KING I fill a place, I know't. How long is't, count,

Since the physician at your father's died?

He was much famed.

BERTRAM Some six months since, my lord.

KING If he were living, I would try him yet.

Lend me an arm; the rest have worn me out

With several applications; nature and sickness

Debate it at their leisure. Welcome, count;

My son's no dearer.

BERTRAM Thank your majesty.

[Exeunt. Flourish]

ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL

ACT I

SCENE III Rousillon. The COUNT's palace.

[Enter COUNTESS, Steward, and Clown]

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

Steward Madam, the care I have had to even your content, I

wish might be found in the calendar of my past

endeavours; for then we wound our modesty and make

foul the clearness of our deservings, when of

ourselves we publish them.

COUNTESS What does this knave here? Get you gone, sirrah:

the complaints I have heard of you I do not all

believe: 'tis my slowness that I do not; for I know

you lack not folly to commit them, and have ability

enough to make such knaveries yours.

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

COUNTESS Well, sir.

Clown No, madam, 'tis not so well that I am poor, though

many of the rich are damned: but, if I may have

your ladyship's good will to go to the world, Isbel

the woman and I will do as we may.

COUNTESS Wilt thou needs be a beggar?

Clown I do beg your good will in this case.

COUNTESS In what case?

Clown In Isbel's case and mine own. Service is no

heritage: and I think I shall never have the

blessing of God till I have issue o' my body; for

they say barnes are blessings.

COUNTESS Tell me thy reason why thou wilt marry.

Clown My poor body, madam, requires it: I am driven on

by the flesh; and he must needs go that the devil drives.

COUNTESS Is this all your worship's reason?

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

are.

COUNTESS May the world know them?

Clown I have been, madam, a wicked creature, as you and

all flesh and blood are; and, indeed, I do marry

that I may repent.

COUNTESS Thy marriage, sooner than thy wickedness.

Clown I am out o' friends, madam; and I hope to have

friends for my wife's sake.

COUNTESS Such friends are thine enemies, knave.

Clown You're shallow, madam, in great friends; for the

knaves come to do that for me which I am aweary of.

He that ears my land spares my team and gives me

leave to in the crop; if I be his cuckold, he's my

drudge: he that comforts my wife is the cherisher

of my flesh and blood; he that cherishes my flesh

and blood loves my flesh and blood; he that loves my

flesh and blood is my friend: ergo, he that kisses

my wife is my friend. If men could be contented to

be what they are, there were no fear in marriage;

for young Charbon the Puritan and old Poysam the

Papist, howsome'er their hearts are severed in

religion, their heads are both one; they may jowl

horns together, like any deer i' the herd.

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

Clown A prophet I, madam; and I speak the truth the next

way:

For I the ballad will repeat,

Which men full true shall find;

Your marriage comes by destiny,

Your cuckoo sings by kind.

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

Steward May it please you, madam, that he bid Helen come to

you: of her I am to speak.

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

Helen, I mean.

Clown Was this fair face the cause, quoth she,

Why the Grecians sacked Troy?

Fond done, done fond,

Was this King Priam's joy?

With that she sighed as she stood,

And gave this sentence then;

Among nine bad if one be good,

There's yet one good in ten.

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

Clown One good woman in ten, madam; which is a purifying

o' the song: would God would serve the world so all

the year! we'ld find no fault with the tithe-woman,

if I were the parson. One in ten, quoth a'! An we

might have a good woman born but one every blazing

star, or at an earthquake, 'twould mend the lottery

well: a man may draw his heart out, ere a' pluck

one.

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

Clown That man should be at woman's command, and yet no

hurt done! Though honesty be no puritan, yet it

will do no hurt; it will wear the surplice of

humility over the black gown of a big heart. I am

going, forsooth: the business is for Helen to come hither.

[Exit]

COUNTESS Well, now.

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

COUNTESS Faith, I do: her father bequeathed her to me; and

she herself, without other advantage, may lawfully

make title to as much love as she finds: there is

more owing her than is paid; and more shall be paid

her than she'll demand.

Steward Madam, I was very late more near her than I think

she wished me: alone she was, and did communicate

to herself her own words to her own ears; she

thought, I dare vow for her, they touched not any

stranger sense. Her matter was, she loved your son:

Fortune, she said, was no goddess, that had put

such difference betwixt their two estates; Love no

god, that would not extend his might, only where

qualities were level; Dian no queen of virgins, that

would suffer her poor knight surprised, without

rescue in the first assault or ransom afterward.

This she delivered in the most bitter touch of

sorrow that e'er I heard virgin exclaim in: which I

held my duty speedily to acquaint you withal;

sithence, in the loss that may happen, it concerns

you something to know it.

COUNTESS You have discharged this honestly; keep it to

yourself: many likelihoods informed me of this

before, which hung so tottering in the balance that

I could neither believe nor misdoubt. Pray you,

leave me: stall this in your bosom; and I thank you

for your honest care: I will speak with you further anon.

[Exit Steward]

[Enter HELENA]

Even so it was with me when I was young:

If ever we are nature's, these are ours; this thorn

Doth to our rose of youth rightly belong;

Our blood to us, this to our blood is born;

It is the show and seal of nature's truth,

Where love's strong passion is impress'd in youth:

By our remembrances of days foregone,

Such were our faults, or then we thought them none.

Her eye is sick on't: I observe her now.

HELENA What is your pleasure, madam?

COUNTESS You know, Helen,

I am a mother to you.

HELENA Mine honourable mistress.

COUNTESS Nay, a mother:

Why not a mother? When I said 'a mother,'

Methought you saw a serpent: what's in 'mother,'

That you start at it? I say, I am your mother;

And put you in the catalogue of those

That were enwombed mine: 'tis often seen

Adoption strives with nature and choice breeds

A native slip to us from foreign seeds:

You ne'er oppress'd me with a mother's groan,

Yet I express to you a mother's care:

God's mercy, maiden! does it curd thy blood

To say I am thy mother? What's the matter,

That this distemper'd messenger of wet,

The many-colour'd Iris, rounds thine eye?

Why? that you are my daughter?

HELENA That I am not.

COUNTESS I say, I am your mother.

HELENA Pardon, madam;

The Count Rousillon cannot be my brother:

I am from humble, he from honour'd name;

No note upon my parents, his all noble:

My master, my dear lord he is; and I

His servant live, and will his vassal die:

He must not be my brother.

COUNTESS Nor I your mother?

HELENA You are my mother, madam; would you were,--

So that my lord your son were not my brother,--

Indeed my mother! or were you both our mothers,

I care no more for than I do for heaven,

So I were not his sister. Can't no other,

But, I your daughter, he must be my brother?

COUNTESS Yes, Helen, you might be my daughter-in-law:

God shield you mean it not! daughter and mother

So strive upon your pulse. What, pale again?

My fear hath catch'd your fondness: now I see

The mystery of your loneliness, and find

Your salt tears' head: now to all sense 'tis gross

You love my son; invention is ashamed,

Against the proclamation of thy passion,

To say thou dost not: therefore tell me true;

But tell me then, 'tis so; for, look thy cheeks

Confess it, th' one to th' other; and thine eyes

See it so grossly shown in thy behaviors

That in their kind they speak it: only sin

And hellish obstinacy tie thy tongue,

That truth should be suspected. Speak, is't so?

If it be so, you have wound a goodly clew;

If it be not, forswear't: howe'er, I charge thee,

As heaven shall work in me for thine avail,

Tell me truly.

HELENA Good madam, pardon me!

COUNTESS Do you love my son?

HELENA Your pardon, noble mistress!

COUNTESS Love you my son?

HELENA Do not you love him, madam?

COUNTESS Go not about; my love hath in't a bond,

Whereof the world takes note: come, come, disclose

The state of your affection; for your passions

Have to the full appeach'd.

HELENA Then, I confess,

Here on my knee, before high heaven and you,

That before you, and next unto high heaven,

I love your son.

My friends were poor, but honest; so's my love:

Be not offended; for it hurts not him

That he is loved of me: I follow him not

By any token of presumptuous suit;

Nor would I have him till I do deserve him;

Yet never know how that desert should be.

I know I love in vain, strive against hope;

Yet in this captious and intenible sieve

I still pour in the waters of my love

And lack not to lose still: thus, Indian-like,

Religious in mine error, I adore

The sun, that looks upon his worshipper,

But knows of him no more. My dearest madam,

Let not your hate encounter with my love

For loving where you do: but if yourself,

Whose aged honour cites a virtuous youth,

Did ever in so true a flame of liking

Wish chastely and love dearly, that your Dian

Was both herself and love: O, then, give pity

To her, whose state is such that cannot choose

But lend and give where she is sure to lose;

That seeks not to find that her search implies,

But riddle-like lives sweetly where she dies!

COUNTESS Had you not lately an intent,--speak truly,--

To go to Paris?

HELENA Madam, I had.

COUNTESS Wherefore? tell true.

HELENA I will tell truth; by grace itself I swear.

You know my father left me some prescriptions

Of rare and proved effects, such as his reading

And manifest experience had collected

For general sovereignty; and that he will'd me

In heedfull'st reservation to bestow them,

As notes whose faculties inclusive were

More than they were in note: amongst the rest,

There is a remedy, approved, set down,

To cure the desperate languishings whereof

The king is render'd lost.

COUNTESS This was your motive

For Paris, was it? speak.

HELENA My lord your son made me to think of this;

Else Paris and the medicine and the king

Had from the conversation of my thoughts

Haply been absent then.

COUNTESS But think you, Helen,

If you should tender your supposed aid,

He would receive it? he and his physicians

Are of a mind; he, that they cannot help him,

They, that they cannot help: how shall they credit

A poor unlearned virgin, when the schools,

Embowell'd of their doctrine, have left off

The danger to itself?

HELENA There's something in't,

More than my father's skill, which was the greatest

Of his profession, that his good receipt

Shall for my legacy be sanctified

By the luckiest stars in heaven: and, would your honour

But give me leave to try success, I'ld venture

The well-lost life of mine on his grace's cure

By such a day and hour.

COUNTESS Dost thou believe't?

HELENA Ay, madam, knowingly.

COUNTESS Why, Helen, thou shalt have my leave and love,

Means and attendants and my loving greetings

To those of mine in court: I'll stay at home

And pray God's blessing into thy attempt:

Be gone to-morrow; and be sure of this,

What I can help thee to thou shalt not miss.

[Exeunt]

ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL

ACT II

SCENE I Paris. The KING's palace.

[Flourish of cornets. Enter the KING, attended

with divers young Lords taking leave for the

Florentine war; BERTRAM, and PAROLLES]

KING Farewell, young lords; these warlike principles

Do not throw from you: and you, my lords, farewell:

Share the advice betwixt you; if both gain, all

The gift doth stretch itself as 'tis received,

And is enough for both.

First Lord 'Tis our hope, sir,

After well enter'd soldiers, to return

And find your grace in health.

KING No, no, it cannot be; and yet my heart

Will not confess he owes the malady

That doth my life besiege. Farewell, young lords;

Whether I live or die, be you the sons

Of worthy Frenchmen: let higher Italy,--

Those bated that inherit but the fall

Of the last monarchy,--see that you come

Not to woo honour, but to wed it; when

The bravest questant shrinks, find what you seek,

That fame may cry you loud: I say, farewell.

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

KING Those girls of Italy, take heed of them:

They say, our French lack language to deny,

If they demand: beware of being captives,

Before you serve.

Both Our hearts receive your warnings.

KING Farewell. Come hither to me.

[Exit, attended]

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

PAROLLES 'Tis not his fault, the spark.

Second Lord O, 'tis brave wars!

PAROLLES Most admirable: I have seen those wars.

BERTRAM I am commanded here, and kept a coil with

'Too young' and 'the next year' and ''tis too early.'

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

BERTRAM I shall stay here the forehorse to a smock,

Creaking my shoes on the plain masonry,

Till honour be bought up and no sword worn

But one to dance with! By heaven, I'll steal away.

First Lord There's honour in the theft.

PAROLLES Commit it, count.

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

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

First Lord Farewell, captain.

Second Lord Sweet Monsieur Parolles!

PAROLLES Noble heroes, my sword and yours are kin. Good

sparks and lustrous, a word, good metals: you shall

find in the regiment of the Spinii one Captain

Spurio, with his cicatrice, an emblem of war, here

on his sinister cheek; it was this very sword

entrenched it: say to him, I live; and observe his

reports for me.

First Lord We shall, noble captain.

[Exeunt Lords]

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

BERTRAM Stay: the king.

[Re-enter KING. BERTRAM and PAROLLES retire]

PAROLLES [To BERTRAM] Use a more spacious ceremony to the

noble lords; you have restrained yourself within the

list of too cold an adieu: be more expressive to

them: for they wear themselves in the cap of the

time, there do muster true gait, eat, speak, and

move under the influence of the most received star;

and though the devil lead the measure, such are to

be followed: after them, and take a more dilated farewell.

BERTRAM And I will do so.

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

[Exeunt BERTRAM and PAROLLES]

[Enter LAFEU]

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

KING I'll fee thee to stand up.

LAFEU Then here's a man stands, that has brought his pardon.

I would you had kneel'd, my lord, to ask me mercy,

And that at my bidding you could so stand up.

KING I would I had; so I had broke thy pate,

And ask'd thee mercy for't.

LAFEU Good faith, across: but, my good lord 'tis thus;

Will you be cured of your infirmity?

KING No.

LAFEU O, will you eat no grapes, my royal fox?

Yes, but you will my noble grapes, an if

My royal fox could reach them: I have seen a medicine

That's able to breathe life into a stone,

Quicken a rock, and make you dance canary

With spritely fire and motion; whose simple touch,

Is powerful to araise King Pepin, nay,

To give great Charlemain a pen in's hand,

And write to her a love-line.

KING What 'her' is this?

LAFEU Why, Doctor She: my lord, there's one arrived,

If you will see her: now, by my faith and honour,

If seriously I may convey my thoughts

In this my light deliverance, I have spoke

With one that, in her sex, her years, profession,

Wisdom and constancy, hath amazed me more

Than I dare blame my weakness: will you see her

For that is her demand, and know her business?

That done, laugh well at me.

KING Now, good Lafeu,

Bring in the admiration; that we with thee

May spend our wonder too, or take off thine

By wondering how thou took'st it.

LAFEU Nay, I'll fit you,

And not be all day neither.

[Exit]

KING Thus he his special nothing ever prologues.

[Re-enter LAFEU, with HELENA]

LAFEU Nay, come your ways.

KING This haste hath wings indeed.

LAFEU Nay, come your ways:

This is his majesty; say your mind to him:

A traitor you do look like; but such traitors

His majesty seldom fears: I am Cressid's uncle,

That dare leave two together; fare you well.

[Exit]

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

HELENA Ay, my good lord.

Gerard de Narbon was my father;

In what he did profess, well found.

KING I knew him.

HELENA The rather will I spare my praises towards him:

Knowing him is enough. On's bed of death

Many receipts he gave me: chiefly one.

Which, as the dearest issue of his practise,

And of his old experience the oily darling,

He bade me store up, as a triple eye,

Safer than mine own two, more dear; I have so;

And hearing your high majesty is touch'd

With that malignant cause wherein the honour

Of my dear father's gift stands chief in power,

I come to tender it and my appliance

With all bound humbleness.

KING We thank you, maiden;

But may not be so credulous of cure,

When our most learned doctors leave us and

The congregated college have concluded

That labouring art can never ransom nature

From her inaidible estate; I say we must not

So stain our judgment, or corrupt our hope,

To prostitute our past-cure malady

To empirics, or to dissever so

Our great self and our credit, to esteem

A senseless help when help past sense we deem.

HELENA My duty then shall pay me for my pains:

I will no more enforce mine office on you.

Humbly entreating from your royal thoughts

A modest one, to bear me back a again.

KING I cannot give thee less, to be call'd grateful:

Thou thought'st to help me; and such thanks I give

As one near death to those that wish him live:

But what at full I know, thou know'st no part,

I knowing all my peril, thou no art.

HELENA What I can do can do no hurt to try,

Since you set up your rest 'gainst remedy.

He that of greatest works is finisher

Oft does them by the weakest minister:

So holy writ in babes hath judgment shown,

When judges have been babes; great floods have flown

From simple sources, and great seas have dried

When miracles have by the greatest been denied.

Oft expectation fails and most oft there

Where most it promises, and oft it hits

Where hope is coldest and despair most fits.

KING I must not hear thee; fare thee well, kind maid;

Thy pains not used must by thyself be paid:

Proffers not took reap thanks for their reward.

HELENA Inspired merit so by breath is barr'd:

It is not so with Him that all things knows

As 'tis with us that square our guess by shows;

But most it is presumption in us when

The help of heaven we count the act of men.

Dear sir, to my endeavours give consent;

Of heaven, not me, make an experiment.

I am not an impostor that proclaim

Myself against the level of mine aim;

But know I think and think I know most sure

My art is not past power nor you past cure.

KING Are thou so confident? within what space

Hopest thou my cure?

HELENA The great'st grace lending grace

Ere twice the horses of the sun shall bring

Their fiery torcher his diurnal ring,

Ere twice in murk and occidental damp

Moist Hesperus hath quench'd his sleepy lamp,

Or four and twenty times the pilot's glass

Hath told the thievish minutes how they pass,

What is infirm from your sound parts shall fly,

Health shall live free and sickness freely die.

KING Upon thy certainty and confidence

What darest thou venture?

HELENA Tax of impudence,

A strumpet's boldness, a divulged shame

Traduced by odious ballads: my maiden's name

Sear'd otherwise; nay, worse--if worse--extended

With vilest torture let my life be ended.

KING Methinks in thee some blessed spirit doth speak

His powerful sound within an organ weak:

And what impossibility would slay

In common sense, sense saves another way.

Thy life is dear; for all that life can rate

Worth name of life in thee hath estimate,

Youth, beauty, wisdom, courage, all

That happiness and prime can happy call:

Thou this to hazard needs must intimate

Skill infinite or monstrous desperate.

Sweet practiser, thy physic I will try,

That ministers thine own death if I die.

HELENA If I break time, or flinch in property

Of what I spoke, unpitied let me die,

And well deserved: not helping, death's my fee;

But, if I help, what do you promise me?

KING Make thy demand.

HELENA But will you make it even?

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

HELENA Then shalt thou give me with thy kingly hand

What husband in thy power I will command:

Exempted be from me the arrogance

To choose from forth the royal blood of France,

My low and humble name to propagate

With any branch or image of thy state;

But such a one, thy vassal, whom I know

Is free for me to ask, thee to bestow.

KING Here is my hand; the premises observed,

Thy will by my performance shall be served:

So make the choice of thy own time, for I,

Thy resolved patient, on thee still rely.

More should I question thee, and more I must,

Though more to know could not be more to trust,

From whence thou camest, how tended on: but rest

Unquestion'd welcome and undoubted blest.

Give me some help here, ho! If thou proceed

As high as word, my deed shall match thy meed.

[Flourish. Exeunt]

ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL

ACT II

SCENE II Rousillon. The COUNT's palace.

[Enter COUNTESS and Clown]

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

your breeding.

Clown I will show myself highly fed and lowly taught: I

know my business is but to the court.

COUNTESS To the court! why, what place make you special,

when you put off that with such contempt? But to the court!

Clown Truly, madam, if God have lent a man any manners, he

may easily put it off at court: he that cannot make

a leg, put off's cap, kiss his hand and say nothing,

has neither leg, hands, lip, nor cap; and indeed

such a fellow, to say precisely, were not for the

court; but for me, I have an answer will serve all

men.

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

questions.

Clown It is like a barber's chair that fits all buttocks,

the pin-buttock, the quatch-buttock, the brawn

buttock, or any buttock.

COUNTESS Will your answer serve fit to all questions?

Clown As fit as ten groats is for the hand of an attorney,

as your French crown for your taffeta punk, as Tib's

rush for Tom's forefinger, as a pancake for Shrove

Tuesday, a morris for May-day, as the nail to his

hole, the cuckold to his horn, as a scolding queen

to a wrangling knave, as the nun's lip to the

friar's mouth, nay, as the pudding to his skin.

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

questions?

Clown From below your duke to beneath your constable, it

will fit any question.

COUNTESS It must be an answer of most monstrous size that

must fit all demands.

Clown But a trifle neither, in good faith, if the learned

should speak truth of it: here it is, and all that

belongs to't. Ask me if I am a courtier: it shall

do you no harm to learn.

COUNTESS To be young again, if we could: I will be a fool in

question, hoping to be the wiser by your answer. I

pray you, sir, are you a courtier?

Clown O Lord, sir! There's a simple putting off. More,

more, a hundred of them.

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

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

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

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

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

Clown O Lord, sir! spare not me.

COUNTESS Do you cry, 'O Lord, sir!' at your whipping, and

'spare not me?' Indeed your 'O Lord, sir!' is very

sequent to your whipping: you would answer very well

to a whipping, if you were but bound to't.

Clown I ne'er had worse luck in my life in my 'O Lord,

sir!' I see things may serve long, but not serve ever.

COUNTESS I play the noble housewife with the time

To entertain't so merrily with a fool.

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

COUNTESS An end, sir; to your business. Give Helen this,

And urge her to a present answer back:

Commend me to my kinsmen and my son:

This is not much.

Clown Not much commendation to them.

COUNTESS Not much employment for you: you understand me?

Clown Most fruitfully: I am there before my legs.

COUNTESS Haste you again.

[Exeunt severally]

ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL

ACT II

SCENE III Paris. The KING's palace.

[Enter BERTRAM, LAFEU, and PAROLLES]

LAFEU They say miracles are past; and we have our

philosophical persons, to make modern and familiar,

things supernatural and causeless. Hence is it that

we make trifles of terrors, ensconcing ourselves

into seeming knowledge, when we should submit

ourselves to an unknown fear.

PAROLLES Why, 'tis the rarest argument of wonder that hath

shot out in our latter times.

BERTRAM And so 'tis.

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

PAROLLES So I say.

LAFEU Both of Galen and Paracelsus.

PAROLLES So I say.

LAFEU Of all the learned and authentic fellows,--

PAROLLES Right; so I say.

LAFEU That gave him out incurable,--

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

LAFEU Not to be helped,--

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

LAFEU Uncertain life, and sure death.

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

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

PAROLLES It is, indeed: if you will have it in showing, you

shall read it in--what do you call there?

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

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

LAFEU Why, your dolphin is not lustier: 'fore me,

I speak in respect--

PAROLLES Nay, 'tis strange, 'tis very strange, that is the

brief and the tedious of it; and he's of a most

facinerious spirit that will not acknowledge it to be the--

LAFEU Very hand of heaven.

PAROLLES Ay, so I say.

LAFEU In a most weak--

[pausing]

and debile minister, great power, great

transcendence: which should, indeed, give us a

further use to be made than alone the recovery of

the king, as to be--

[pausing]

generally thankful.

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

[Enter KING, HELENA, and Attendants. LAFEU and

PAROLLES retire]

LAFEU Lustig, as the Dutchman says: I'll like a maid the

better, whilst I have a tooth in my head: why, he's

able to lead her a coranto.

PAROLLES Mort du vinaigre! is not this Helen?

LAFEU 'Fore God, I think so.

KING Go, call before me all the lords in court.

Sit, my preserver, by thy patient's side;

And with this healthful hand, whose banish'd sense

Thou hast repeal'd, a second time receive

The confirmation of my promised gift,

Which but attends thy naming.

[Enter three or four Lords]

Fair maid, send forth thine eye: this youthful parcel

Of noble bachelors stand at my bestowing,

O'er whom both sovereign power and father's voice

I have to use: thy frank election make;

Thou hast power to choose, and they none to forsake.

HELENA To each of you one fair and virtuous mistress

Fall, when Love please! marry, to each, but one!

LAFEU I'ld give bay Curtal and his furniture,

My mouth no more were broken than these boys',

And writ as little beard.

KING Peruse them well:

Not one of those but had a noble father.

HELENA Gentlemen,

Heaven hath through me restored the king to health.

All We understand it, and thank heaven for you.

HELENA I am a simple maid, and therein wealthiest,

That I protest I simply am a maid.

Please it your majesty, I have done already:

The blushes in my cheeks thus whisper me,

'We blush that thou shouldst choose; but, be refused,

Let the white death sit on thy cheek for ever;

We'll ne'er come there again.'

KING Make choice; and, see,

Who shuns thy love shuns all his love in me.

HELENA Now, Dian, from thy altar do I fly,

And to imperial Love, that god most high,

Do my sighs stream. Sir, will you hear my suit?

First Lord And grant it.

HELENA Thanks, sir; all the rest is mute.

LAFEU I had rather be in this choice than throw ames-ace

for my life.

HELENA The honour, sir, that flames in your fair eyes,

Before I speak, too threateningly replies:

Love make your fortunes twenty times above

Her that so wishes and her humble love!

Second Lord No better, if you please.

HELENA My wish receive,

Which great Love grant! and so, I take my leave.

LAFEU Do all they deny her? An they were sons of mine,

I'd have them whipped; or I would send them to the

Turk, to make eunuchs of.

HELENA Be not afraid that I your hand should take;

I'll never do you wrong for your own sake:

Blessing upon your vows! and in your bed

Find fairer fortune, if you ever wed!

LAFEU These boys are boys of ice, they'll none have her:

sure, they are bastards to the English; the French

ne'er got 'em.

HELENA You are too young, too happy, and too good,

To make yourself a son out of my blood.

Fourth Lord Fair one, I think not so.

LAFEU There's one grape yet; I am sure thy father drunk

wine: but if thou be'st not an ass, I am a youth

of fourteen; I have known thee already.

HELENA [To BERTRAM] I dare not say I take you; but I give

Me and my service, ever whilst I live,

Into your guiding power. This is the man.

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

BERTRAM My wife, my liege! I shall beseech your highness,

In such a business give me leave to use

The help of mine own eyes.

KING Know'st thou not, Bertram,

What she has done for me?

BERTRAM Yes, my good lord;

But never hope to know why I should marry her.

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

BERTRAM But follows it, my lord, to bring me down

Must answer for your raising? I know her well:

She had her breeding at my father's charge.

A poor physician's daughter my wife! Disdain

Rather corrupt me ever!

KING 'Tis only title thou disdain'st in her, the which

I can build up. Strange is it that our bloods,

Of colour, weight, and heat, pour'd all together,

Would quite confound distinction, yet stand off

In differences so mighty. If she be

All that is virtuous, save what thou dislikest,

A poor physician's daughter, thou dislikest

Of virtue for the name: but do not so:

From lowest place when virtuous things proceed,

The place is dignified by the doer's deed:

Where great additions swell's, and virtue none,

It is a dropsied honour. Good alone

Is good without a name. Vileness is so:

The property by what it is should go,

Not by the title. She is young, wise, fair;

In these to nature she's immediate heir,

And these breed honour: that is honour's scorn,

Which challenges itself as honour's born

And is not like the sire: honours thrive,

When rather from our acts we them derive

Than our foregoers: the mere word's a slave

Debosh'd on every tomb, on every grave

A lying trophy, and as oft is dumb

Where dust and damn'd oblivion is the tomb

Of honour'd bones indeed. What should be said?

If thou canst like this creature as a maid,

I can create the rest: virtue and she

Is her own dower; honour and wealth from me.

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

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

HELENA That you are well restored, my lord, I'm glad:

Let the rest go.

KING My honour's at the stake; which to defeat,

I must produce my power. Here, take her hand,

Proud scornful boy, unworthy this good gift;

That dost in vile misprision shackle up

My love and her desert; that canst not dream,

We, poising us in her defective scale,

Shall weigh thee to the beam; that wilt not know,

It is in us to plant thine honour where

We please to have it grow. Cheque thy contempt:

Obey our will, which travails in thy good:

Believe not thy disdain, but presently

Do thine own fortunes that obedient right

Which both thy duty owes and our power claims;

Or I will throw thee from my care for ever

Into the staggers and the careless lapse

Of youth and ignorance; both my revenge and hate

Loosing upon thee, in the name of justice,

Without all terms of pity. Speak; thine answer.

BERTRAM Pardon, my gracious lord; for I submit

My fancy to your eyes: when I consider

What great creation and what dole of honour

Flies where you bid it, I find that she, which late

Was in my nobler thoughts most base, is now

The praised of the king; who, so ennobled,

Is as 'twere born so.

KING Take her by the hand,

And tell her she is thine: to whom I promise

A counterpoise, if not to thy estate

A balance more replete.

BERTRAM I take her hand.

KING Good fortune and the favour of the king

Smile upon this contract; whose ceremony

Shall seem expedient on the now-born brief,

And be perform'd to-night: the solemn feast

Shall more attend upon the coming space,

Expecting absent friends. As thou lovest her,

Thy love's to me religious; else, does err.

[Exeunt all but LAFEU and PAROLLES]

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

PAROLLES Your pleasure, sir?

LAFEU Your lord and master did well to make his

recantation.

PAROLLES Recantation! My lord! my master!

LAFEU Ay; is it not a language I speak?

PAROLLES A most harsh one, and not to be understood without

bloody succeeding. My master!

LAFEU Are you companion to the Count Rousillon?

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

LAFEU To what is count's man: count's master is of

another style.

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

LAFEU I must tell thee, sirrah, I write man; to which

title age cannot bring thee.

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

LAFEU I did think thee, for two ordinaries, to be a pretty

wise fellow; thou didst make tolerable vent of thy

travel; it might pass: yet the scarfs and the

bannerets about thee did manifoldly dissuade me from

believing thee a vessel of too great a burthen. I

have now found thee; when I lose thee again, I care

not: yet art thou good for nothing but taking up; and

that thou't scarce worth.

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

LAFEU Do not plunge thyself too far in anger, lest thou

hasten thy trial; which if--Lord have mercy on thee

for a hen! So, my good window of lattice, fare thee

well: thy casement I need not open, for I look

through thee. Give me thy hand.

PAROLLES My lord, you give me most egregious indignity.

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

PAROLLES I have not, my lord, deserved it.

LAFEU Yes, good faith, every dram of it; and I will not

bate thee a scruple.

PAROLLES Well, I shall be wiser.

LAFEU Even as soon as thou canst, for thou hast to pull at

a smack o' the contrary. If ever thou be'st bound

in thy scarf and beaten, thou shalt find what it is

to be proud of thy bondage. I have a desire to hold

my acquaintance with thee, or rather my knowledge,

that I may say in the default, he is a man I know.

PAROLLES My lord, you do me most insupportable vexation.

LAFEU I would it were hell-pains for thy sake, and my poor

doing eternal: for doing I am past: as I will by

thee, in what motion age will give me leave.

[Exit]

PAROLLES Well, thou hast a son shall take this disgrace off

me; scurvy, old, filthy, scurvy lord! Well, I must

be patient; there is no fettering of authority.

I'll beat him, by my life, if I can meet him with

any convenience, an he were double and double a

lord. I'll have no more pity of his age than I

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

[Re-enter LAFEU]

LAFEU Sirrah, your lord and master's married; there's news

for you: you have a new mistress.

PAROLLES I most unfeignedly beseech your lordship to make

some reservation of your wrongs: he is my good

lord: whom I serve above is my master.

LAFEU Who? God?

PAROLLES Ay, sir.

LAFEU The devil it is that's thy master. Why dost thou

garter up thy arms o' this fashion? dost make hose of

sleeves? do other servants so? Thou wert best set

thy lower part where thy nose stands. By mine

honour, if I were but two hours younger, I'ld beat

thee: methinks, thou art a general offence, and

every man should beat thee: I think thou wast

created for men to breathe themselves upon thee.

PAROLLES This is hard and undeserved measure, my lord.

LAFEU Go to, sir; you were beaten in Italy for picking a

kernel out of a pomegranate; you are a vagabond and

no true traveller: you are more saucy with lords

and honourable personages than the commission of your

birth and virtue gives you heraldry. You are not

worth another word, else I'ld call you knave. I leave you.

[Exit]

PAROLLES Good, very good; it is so then: good, very good;

let it be concealed awhile.

[Re-enter BERTRAM]

BERTRAM Undone, and forfeited to cares for ever!

PAROLLES What's the matter, sweet-heart?

BERTRAM Although before the solemn priest I have sworn,

I will not bed her.

PAROLLES What, what, sweet-heart?

BERTRAM O my Parolles, they have married me!

I'll to the Tuscan wars, and never bed her.

PAROLLES France is a dog-hole, and it no more merits

The tread of a man's foot: to the wars!

BERTRAM There's letters from my mother: what the import is,

I know not yet.

PAROLLES Ay, that would be known. To the wars, my boy, to the wars!

He wears his honour in a box unseen,

That hugs his kicky-wicky here at home,

Spending his manly marrow in her arms,

Which should sustain the bound and high curvet

Of Mars's fiery steed. To other regions

France is a stable; we that dwell in't jades;

Therefore, to the war!

BERTRAM It shall be so: I'll send her to my house,

Acquaint my mother with my hate to her,

And wherefore I am fled; write to the king

That which I durst not speak; his present gift

Shall furnish me to those Italian fields,

Where noble fellows strike: war is no strife

To the dark house and the detested wife.

PAROLLES Will this capriccio hold in thee? art sure?

BERTRAM Go with me to my chamber, and advise me.

I'll send her straight away: to-morrow

I'll to the wars, she to her single sorrow.

PAROLLES Why, these balls bound; there's noise in it. 'Tis hard:

A young man married is a man that's marr'd:

Therefore away, and leave her bravely; go:

The king has done you wrong: but, hush, 'tis so.

[Exeunt]

ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL

ACT II

SCENE IV Paris. The KING's palace.

[Enter HELENA and Clown]

HELENA My mother greets me kindly; is she well?

Clown She is not well; but yet she has her health: she's

very merry; but yet she is not well: but thanks be

given, she's very well and wants nothing i', the

world; but yet she is not well.

HELENA If she be very well, what does she ail, that she's

not very well?

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

HELENA What two things?

Clown One, that she's not in heaven, whither God send her

quickly! the other that she's in earth, from whence

God send her quickly!

[Enter PAROLLES]

PAROLLES Bless you, my fortunate lady!

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

good fortunes.

PAROLLES You had my prayers to lead them on; and to keep them

on, have them still. O, my knave, how does my old lady?

Clown So that you had her wrinkles and I her money,

I would she did as you say.

PAROLLES Why, I say nothing.

Clown Marry, you are the wiser man; for many a man's

tongue shakes out his master's undoing: to say

nothing, to do nothing, to know nothing, and to have

nothing, is to be a great part of your title; which

is within a very little of nothing.

PAROLLES Away! thou'rt a knave.

Clown You should have said, sir, before a knave thou'rt a

knave; that's, before me thou'rt a knave: this had

been truth, sir.

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

Clown Did you find me in yourself, sir? or were you

taught to find me? The search, sir, was profitable;

and much fool may you find in you, even to the

world's pleasure and the increase of laughter.

PAROLLES A good knave, i' faith, and well fed.

Madam, my lord will go away to-night;

A very serious business calls on him.

The great prerogative and rite of love,

Which, as your due, time claims, he does acknowledge;

But puts it off to a compell'd restraint;

Whose want, and whose delay, is strew'd with sweets,

Which they distil now in the curbed time,

To make the coming hour o'erflow with joy

And pleasure drown the brim.

HELENA What's his will else?

PAROLLES That you will take your instant leave o' the king

And make this haste as your own good proceeding,

Strengthen'd with what apology you think

May make it probable need.

HELENA What more commands he?

PAROLLES That, having this obtain'd, you presently

Attend his further pleasure.

HELENA In every thing I wait upon his will.

PAROLLES I shall report it so.

HELENA I pray you.

[Exit PAROLLES]

Come, sirrah.

[Exeunt]

ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL

ACT II

SCENE V Paris. The KING's palace.

[Enter LAFEU and BERTRAM]

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

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

LAFEU You have it from his own deliverance.

BERTRAM And by other warranted testimony.

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

BERTRAM I do assure you, my lord, he is very great in

knowledge and accordingly valiant.

LAFEU I have then sinned against his experience and

transgressed against his valour; and my state that

way is dangerous, since I cannot yet find in my

heart to repent. Here he comes: I pray you, make

us friends; I will pursue the amity.

[Enter PAROLLES]

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

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

PAROLLES Sir?

LAFEU O, I know him well, I, sir; he, sir, 's a good

workman, a very good tailor.

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

PAROLLES She is.

BERTRAM Will she away to-night?

PAROLLES As you'll have her.

BERTRAM I have writ my letters, casketed my treasure,

Given order for our horses; and to-night,

When I should take possession of the bride,

End ere I do begin.

LAFEU A good traveller is something at the latter end of a

dinner; but one that lies three thirds and uses a

known truth to pass a thousand nothings with, should

be once heard and thrice beaten. God save you, captain.

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

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

displeasure.

LAFEU You have made shift to run into 't, boots and spurs

and all, like him that leaped into the custard; and

out of it you'll run again, rather than suffer

question for your residence.

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

LAFEU And shall do so ever, though I took him at 's

prayers. Fare you well, my lord; and believe this

of me, there can be no kernel in this light nut; the

soul of this man is his clothes. Trust him not in

matter of heavy consequence; I have kept of them

tame, and know their natures. Farewell, monsieur:

I have spoken better of you than you have or will to

deserve at my hand; but we must do good against evil.

[Exit]

PAROLLES An idle lord. I swear.

BERTRAM I think so.

PAROLLES Why, do you not know him?

BERTRAM Yes, I do know him well, and common speech

Gives him a worthy pass. Here comes my clog.

[Enter HELENA]

HELENA I have, sir, as I was commanded from you,

Spoke with the king and have procured his leave

For present parting; only he desires

Some private speech with you.

BERTRAM I shall obey his will.

You must not marvel, Helen, at my course,

Which holds not colour with the time, nor does

The ministration and required office

On my particular. Prepared I was not

For such a business; therefore am I found

So much unsettled: this drives me to entreat you

That presently you take our way for home;

And rather muse than ask why I entreat you,

For my respects are better than they seem

And my appointments have in them a need

Greater than shows itself at the first view

To you that know them not. This to my mother:

[Giving a letter]

'Twill be two days ere I shall see you, so

I leave you to your wisdom.

HELENA Sir, I can nothing say,

But that I am your most obedient servant.

BERTRAM Come, come, no more of that.

HELENA And ever shall

With true observance seek to eke out that

Wherein toward me my homely stars have fail'd

To equal my great fortune.

BERTRAM Let that go:

My haste is very great: farewell; hie home.

HELENA Pray, sir, your pardon.

BERTRAM Well, what would you say?

HELENA I am not worthy of the wealth I owe,

Nor dare I say 'tis mine, and yet it is;

But, like a timorous thief, most fain would steal

What law does vouch mine own.

BERTRAM What would you have?

HELENA Something; and scarce so much: nothing, indeed.

I would not tell you what I would, my lord:

Faith yes;

Strangers and foes do sunder, and not kiss.

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

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

BERTRAM Where are my other men, monsieur? Farewell.

[Exit HELENA]

Go thou toward home; where I will never come

Whilst I can shake my sword or hear the drum.

Away, and for our flight.

PAROLLES Bravely, coragio!

[Exeunt]

ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL

ACT III

SCENE I Florence. The DUKE's palace.

[Flourish. Enter the DUKE of Florence attended;

the two Frenchmen, with a troop of soldiers.

DUKE So that from point to point now have you heard

The fundamental reasons of this war,

Whose great decision hath much blood let forth

And more thirsts after.

First Lord Holy seems the quarrel

Upon your grace's part; black and fearful

On the opposer.

DUKE Therefore we marvel much our cousin France

Would in so just a business shut his bosom

Against our borrowing prayers.

Second Lord Good my lord,

The reasons of our state I cannot yield,

But like a common and an outward man,

That the great figure of a council frames

By self-unable motion: therefore dare not

Say what I think of it, since I have found

Myself in my incertain grounds to fail

As often as I guess'd.

DUKE Be it his pleasure.

First Lord But I am sure the younger of our nature,

That surfeit on their ease, will day by day

Come here for physic.

DUKE Welcome shall they be;

And all the honours that can fly from us

Shall on them settle. You know your places well;

When better fall, for your avails they fell:

To-morrow to the field.

[Flourish. Exeunt]

ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL

ACT III

SCENE II Rousillon. The COUNT's palace.

[Enter COUNTESS and Clown]

COUNTESS It hath happened all as I would have had it, save

that he comes not along with her.

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

melancholy man.

COUNTESS By what observance, I pray you?

Clown Why, he will look upon his boot and sing; mend the

ruff and sing; ask questions and sing; pick his

teeth and sing. I know a man that had this trick of

melancholy sold a goodly manor for a song.

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

[Opening a letter]

Clown I have no mind to Isbel since I was at court: our

old ling and our Isbels o' the country are nothing

like your old ling and your Isbels o' the court:

the brains of my Cupid's knocked out, and I begin to

love, as an old man loves money, with no stomach.

COUNTESS What have we here?

Clown E'en that you have there.

[Exit]

COUNTESS [Reads] I have sent you a daughter-in-law: she hath

recovered the king, and undone me. I have wedded

her, not bedded her; and sworn to make the 'not'

eternal. You shall hear I am run away: know it

before the report come. If there be breadth enough

in the world, I will hold a long distance. My duty

to you. Your unfortunate son,

BERTRAM.

This is not well, rash and unbridled boy.

To fly the favours of so good a king;

To pluck his indignation on thy head

By the misprising of a maid too virtuous

For the contempt of empire.

[Re-enter Clown]

Clown O madam, yonder is heavy news within between two

soldiers and my young lady!

COUNTESS What is the matter?

Clown Nay, there is some comfort in the news, some

comfort; your son will not be killed so soon as I

thought he would.

COUNTESS Why should he be killed?

Clown So say I, madam, if he run away, as I hear he does:

the danger is in standing to't; that's the loss of

men, though it be the getting of children. Here

they come will tell you more: for my part, I only

hear your son was run away.

[Exit]

[Enter HELENA, and two Gentlemen]

First Gentleman Save you, good madam.

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

Second Gentleman Do not say so.

COUNTESS Think upon patience. Pray you, gentlemen,

I have felt so many quirks of joy and grief,

That the first face of neither, on the start,

Can woman me unto't: where is my son, I pray you?

Second Gentleman Madam, he's gone to serve the duke of Florence:

We met him thitherward; for thence we came,

And, after some dispatch in hand at court,

Thither we bend again.

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

[Reads]

When thou canst get the ring upon my finger which

never shall come off, and show me a child begotten

of thy body that I am father to, then call me

husband: but in such a 'then' I write a 'never.'

This is a dreadful sentence.

COUNTESS Brought you this letter, gentlemen?

First Gentleman Ay, madam;

And for the contents' sake are sorry for our pain.

COUNTESS I prithee, lady, have a better cheer;

If thou engrossest all the griefs are thine,

Thou robb'st me of a moiety: he was my son;

But I do wash his name out of my blood,

And thou art all my child. Towards Florence is he?

Second Gentleman Ay, madam.

COUNTESS And to be a soldier?

Second Gentleman Such is his noble purpose; and believe 't,

The duke will lay upon him all the honour

That good convenience claims.

COUNTESS Return you thither?

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

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

'Tis bitter.

COUNTESS Find you that there?

HELENA Ay, madam.

First Gentleman 'Tis but the boldness of his hand, haply, which his

heart was not consenting to.

COUNTESS Nothing in France, until he have no wife!

There's nothing here that is too good for him

But only she; and she deserves a lord

That twenty such rude boys might tend upon

And call her hourly mistress. Who was with him?

First Gentleman A servant only, and a gentleman

Which I have sometime known.

COUNTESS Parolles, was it not?

First Gentleman Ay, my good lady, he.

COUNTESS A very tainted fellow, and full of wickedness.

My son corrupts a well-derived nature

With his inducement.

First Gentleman Indeed, good lady,

The fellow has a deal of that too much,

Which holds him much to have.

COUNTESS You're welcome, gentlemen.

I will entreat you, when you see my son,

To tell him that his sword can never win

The honour that he loses: more I'll entreat you

Written to bear along.

Second Gentleman We serve you, madam,

In that and all your worthiest affairs.

COUNTESS Not so, but as we change our courtesies.

Will you draw near!

[Exeunt COUNTESS and Gentlemen]

HELENA 'Till I have no wife, I have nothing in France.'

Nothing in France, until he has no wife!

Thou shalt have none, Rousillon, none in France;

Then hast thou all again. Poor lord! is't I

That chase thee from thy country and expose

Those tender limbs of thine to the event

Of the none-sparing war? and is it I

That drive thee from the sportive court, where thou

Wast shot at with fair eyes, to be the mark

Of smoky muskets? O you leaden messengers,

That ride upon the violent speed of fire,

Fly with false aim; move the still-peering air,

That sings with piercing; do not touch my lord.

Whoever shoots at him, I set him there;

Whoever charges on his forward breast,

I am the caitiff that do hold him to't;

And, though I kill him not, I am the cause

His death was so effected: better 'twere

I met the ravin lion when he roar'd

With sharp constraint of hunger; better 'twere

That all the miseries which nature owes

Were mine at once. No, come thou home, Rousillon,

Whence honour but of danger wins a scar,

As oft it loses all: I will be gone;

My being here it is that holds thee hence:

Shall I stay here to do't? no, no, although

The air of paradise did fan the house

And angels officed all: I will be gone,

That pitiful rumour may report my flight,

To consolate thine ear. Come, night; end, day!

For with the dark, poor thief, I'll steal away.

[Exit]

ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL

ACT III

SCENE III Florence. Before the DUKE's palace.

[Flourish. Enter the DUKE of Florence, BERTRAM,

PAROLLES, Soldiers, Drum, and Trumpets]

DUKE The general of our horse thou art; and we,

Great in our hope, lay our best love and credence

Upon thy promising fortune.

BERTRAM Sir, it is

A charge too heavy for my strength, but yet

We'll strive to bear it for your worthy sake

To the extreme edge of hazard.

DUKE Then go thou forth;

And fortune play upon thy prosperous helm,

As thy auspicious mistress!

BERTRAM This very day,

Great Mars, I put myself into thy file:

Make me but like my thoughts, and I shall prove

A lover of thy drum, hater of love.

[Exeunt]

ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL

ACT III

SCENE IV Rousillon. The COUNT's palace.

[Enter COUNTESS and Steward]

COUNTESS Alas! and would you take the letter of her?

Might you not know she would do as she has done,

By sending me a letter? Read it again.

Steward [Reads]

I am Saint Jaques' pilgrim, thither gone:

Ambitious love hath so in me offended,

That barefoot plod I the cold ground upon,

With sainted vow my faults to have amended.

Write, write, that from the bloody course of war

My dearest master, your dear son, may hie:

Bless him at home in peace, whilst I from far

His name with zealous fervor sanctify:

His taken labours bid him me forgive;

I, his despiteful Juno, sent him forth

From courtly friends, with camping foes to live,

Where death and danger dogs the heels of worth:

He is too good and fair for death and me:

Whom I myself embrace, to set him free.

COUNTESS Ah, what sharp stings are in her mildest words!

Rinaldo, you did never lack advice so much,

As letting her pass so: had I spoke with her,

I could have well diverted her intents,

Which thus she hath prevented.

Steward Pardon me, madam:

If I had given you this at over-night,

She might have been o'erta'en; and yet she writes,

Pursuit would be but vain.

COUNTESS What angel shall

Bless this unworthy husband? he cannot thrive,

Unless her prayers, whom heaven delights to hear

And loves to grant, reprieve him from the wrath

Of greatest justice. Write, write, Rinaldo,

To this unworthy husband of his wife;

Let every word weigh heavy of her worth

That he does weigh too light: my greatest grief.

Though little he do feel it, set down sharply.

Dispatch the most convenient messenger:

When haply he shall hear that she is gone,

He will return; and hope I may that she,

Hearing so much, will speed her foot again,

Led hither by pure love: which of them both

Is dearest to me. I have no skill in sense

To make distinction: provide this messenger:

My heart is heavy and mine age is weak;

Grief would have tears, and sorrow bids me speak.

[Exeunt]

ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL

ACT III

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

[Enter an old Widow of Florence, DIANA, VIOLENTA,

and MARIANA, with other Citizens]

Widow Nay, come; for if they do approach the city, we

shall lose all the sight.

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

Widow It is reported that he has taken their greatest

commander; and that with his own hand he slew the

duke's brother.

[Tucket]

We have lost our labour; they are gone a contrary

way: hark! you may know by their trumpets.

MARIANA Come, let's return again, and suffice ourselves with

the report of it. Well, Diana, take heed of this

French earl: the honour of a maid is her name; and

no legacy is so rich as honesty.

Widow I have told my neighbour how you have been solicited

by a gentleman his companion.

MARIANA I know that knave; hang him! one Parolles: a

filthy officer he is in those suggestions for the

young earl. Beware of them, Diana; their promises,

enticements, oaths, tokens, and all these engines of

lust, are not the things they go under: many a maid

hath been seduced by them; and the misery is,

example, that so terrible shows in the wreck of

maidenhood, cannot for all that dissuade succession,

but that they are limed with the twigs that threaten

them. I hope I need not to advise you further; but

I hope your own grace will keep you where you are,

though there were no further danger known but the

modesty which is so lost.

DIANA You shall not need to fear me.

Widow I hope so.

[Enter HELENA, disguised like a Pilgrim]

Look, here comes a pilgrim: I know she will lie at

my house; thither they send one another: I'll

question her. God save you, pilgrim! whither are you bound?

HELENA To Saint Jaques le Grand.

Where do the palmers lodge, I do beseech you?

Widow At the Saint Francis here beside the port.

HELENA Is this the way?

Widow Ay, marry, is't.

[A march afar]

Hark you! they come this way.

If you will tarry, holy pilgrim,

But till the troops come by,

I will conduct you where you shall be lodged;

The rather, for I think I know your hostess

As ample as myself.

HELENA Is it yourself?

Widow If you shall please so, pilgrim.

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

Widow You came, I think, from France?

HELENA I did so.

Widow Here you shall see a countryman of yours

That has done worthy service.

HELENA His name, I pray you.

DIANA The Count Rousillon: know you such a one?

HELENA But by the ear, that hears most nobly of him:

His face I know not.

DIANA Whatsome'er he is,

He's bravely taken here. He stole from France,

As 'tis reported, for the king had married him

Against his liking: think you it is so?

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

DIANA There is a gentleman that serves the count

Reports but coarsely of her.

HELENA What's his name?

DIANA Monsieur Parolles.

HELENA O, I believe with him,

In argument of praise, or to the worth

Of the great count himself, she is too mean

To have her name repeated: all her deserving

Is a reserved honesty, and that

I have not heard examined.

DIANA Alas, poor lady!

'Tis a hard bondage to become the wife

Of a detesting lord.

Widow I warrant, good creature, wheresoe'er she is,

Her heart weighs sadly: this young maid might do her

A shrewd turn, if she pleased.

HELENA How do you mean?

May be the amorous count solicits her

In the unlawful purpose.

Widow He does indeed;

And brokes with all that can in such a suit

Corrupt the tender honour of a maid:

But she is arm'd for him and keeps her guard

In honestest defence.

MARIANA The gods forbid else!

Widow So, now they come:

[Drum and Colours]

[Enter BERTRAM, PAROLLES, and the whole army]

That is Antonio, the duke's eldest son;

That, Escalus.

HELENA Which is the Frenchman?

DIANA He;

That with the plume: 'tis a most gallant fellow.

I would he loved his wife: if he were honester

He were much goodlier: is't not a handsome gentleman?

HELENA I like him well.

DIANA 'Tis pity he is not honest: yond's that same knave

That leads him to these places: were I his lady,

I would Poison that vile rascal.

HELENA Which is he?

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

HELENA Perchance he's hurt i' the battle.

PAROLLES Lose our drum! well.

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

Widow Marry, hang you!

MARIANA And your courtesy, for a ring-carrier!

[Exeunt BERTRAM, PAROLLES, and army]

Widow The troop is past. Come, pilgrim, I will bring you

Where you shall host: of enjoin'd penitents

There's four or five, to great Saint Jaques bound,

Already at my house.

HELENA I humbly thank you:

Please it this matron and this gentle maid

To eat with us to-night, the charge and thanking

Shall be for me; and, to requite you further,

I will bestow some precepts of this virgin

Worthy the note.

BOTH We'll take your offer kindly.

[Exeunt]

ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL

ACT III

SCENE VI Camp before Florence.

[Enter BERTRAM and the two French Lords]

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

way.

First Lord If your lordship find him not a hilding, hold me no

DRAMATIS PERSONAE
KING OF FRANCE	(KING:)
DUKE OF FLORENCE	(DUKE:)
BERTRAM	Count of Rousillon.
LAFEU	an old lord.
PAROLLES	a follower of Bertram.
COUNTESS OF ROUSILLON	mother to Bertram. (COUNTESS:)
HELENA	a gentlewoman protected by the Countess.
(Widow:)	An old Widow of Florence.
DIANA	daughter to the Widow.
VIOLENTA	neighbour and friend to the Widow.
MARIANA	neighbour and friend to the Widow.