|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
1. Act I, Scene 1
|
0
|
|
|
Rousillon. The COUNT’s palace.
|
|
1
|
|
|
Enter BERTRAM, the COUNTESS of Rousillon, HELENA,] [p]and LAFEU, all in black]
|
|
2
|
|
|
Countess.
|
3
|
|
|
In delivering my son from me, I bury a second husband.
|
4
|
|
|
Bertram.
|
5
|
|
|
And I in going, madam, weep o'er my father's death
|
6
|
|
|
anew: but I must attend his majesty's command, to
|
7
|
|
|
whom I am now in ward, evermore in subjection.
|
8
|
|
|
Lafeu.
|
9
|
|
|
You shall find of the king a husband, madam; you,
|
10
|
|
|
sir, a father: he that so generally is at all times
|
11
|
|
|
good must of necessity hold his virtue to you; whose
|
12
|
|
|
worthiness would stir it up where it wanted rather
|
13
|
|
|
than lack it where there is such abundance.
|
14
|
|
|
Countess.
|
15
|
|
|
What hope is there of his majesty's amendment?
|
16
|
|
|
Lafeu.
|
17
|
|
|
He hath abandoned his physicians, madam; under whose
|
18
|
|
|
practises he hath persecuted time with hope, and
|
19
|
|
|
finds no other advantage in the process but only the
|
20
|
|
|
losing of hope by time.
|
21
|
|
|
Countess.
|
22
|
|
|
This young gentlewoman had a father,—O, that
|
23
|
|
|
'had'! how sad a passage 'tis!—whose skill was
|
24
|
|
|
almost as great as his honesty; had it stretched so
|
25
|
|
|
far, would have made nature immortal, and death
|
26
|
|
|
should have play for lack of work. Would, for the
|
27
|
|
|
king's sake, he were living! I think it would be
|
28
|
|
|
the death of the king's disease.
|
29
|
|
|
Lafeu.
|
30
|
|
|
How called you the man you speak of, madam?
|
31
|
|
|
Countess.
|
32
|
|
|
He was famous, sir, in his profession, and it was
|
33
|
|
|
his great right to be so: Gerard de Narbon.
|
34
|
|
|
Lafeu.
|
35
|
|
|
He was excellent indeed, madam: the king very
|
36
|
|
|
lately spoke of him admiringly and mourningly: he
|
37
|
|
|
was skilful enough to have lived still, if knowledge
|
38
|
|
|
could be set up against mortality.
|
39
|
|
|
Bertram.
|
40
|
|
|
What is it, my good lord, the king languishes of?
|
41
|
|
|
Lafeu.
|
42
|
|
|
A fistula, my lord.
|
43
|
|
|
Bertram.
|
44
|
|
|
I heard not of it before.
|
45
|
|
|
Lafeu.
|
46
|
|
|
I would it were not notorious. Was this gentlewoman
|
47
|
|
|
the daughter of Gerard de Narbon?
|
48
|
|
|
Countess.
|
49
|
|
|
His sole child, my lord, and bequeathed to my
|
50
|
|
|
overlooking. I have those hopes of her good that
|
51
|
|
|
her education promises; her dispositions she
|
52
|
|
|
inherits, which makes fair gifts fairer; for where
|
53
|
|
|
an unclean mind carries virtuous qualities, there
|
54
|
|
|
commendations go with pity; they are virtues and
|
55
|
|
|
traitors too; in her they are the better for their
|
56
|
|
|
simpleness; she derives her honesty and achieves her goodness.
|
57
|
|
|
Lafeu.
|
58
|
|
|
Your commendations, madam, get from her tears.
|
59
|
|
|
Countess.
|
60
|
|
|
'Tis the best brine a maiden can season her praise
|
61
|
|
|
in. The remembrance of her father never approaches
|
62
|
|
|
her heart but the tyranny of her sorrows takes all
|
63
|
|
|
livelihood from her cheek. No more of this, Helena;
|
64
|
|
|
go to, no more; lest it be rather thought you affect
|
65
|
|
|
a sorrow than have it.
|
66
|
|
|
Helena.
|
67
|
|
|
I do affect a sorrow indeed, but I have it too.
|
68
|
|
|
Lafeu.
|
69
|
|
|
Moderate lamentation is the right of the dead,
|
70
|
|
|
excessive grief the enemy to the living.
|
71
|
|
|
Countess.
|
72
|
|
|
If the living be enemy to the grief, the excess
|
73
|
|
|
makes it soon mortal.
|
74
|
|
|
Bertram.
|
75
|
|
|
Madam, I desire your holy wishes.
|
76
|
|
|
Lafeu.
|
77
|
|
|
How understand we that?
|
78
|
|
|
Countess.
|
79
|
|
|
Be thou blest, Bertram, and succeed thy father
|
80
|
|
|
In manners, as in shape! thy blood and virtue
|
81
|
|
|
Contend for empire in thee, and thy goodness
|
82
|
|
|
Share with thy birthright! Love all, trust a few,
|
83
|
|
|
Do wrong to none: be able for thine enemy
|
84
|
|
|
Rather in power than use, and keep thy friend
|
85
|
|
|
Under thy own life's key: be cheque'd for silence,
|
86
|
|
|
But never tax'd for speech. What heaven more will,
|
87
|
|
|
That thee may furnish and my prayers pluck down,
|
88
|
|
|
Fall on thy head! Farewell, my lord;
|
89
|
|
|
'Tis an unseason'd courtier; good my lord,
|
90
|
|
|
Advise him.
|
91
|
|
|
Lafeu.
|
92
|
|
|
He cannot want the best
|
93
|
|
|
That shall attend his love.
|
94
|
|
|
Countess.
|
95
|
|
|
Heaven bless him! Farewell, Bertram.
|
|
96
|
|
|
[Exit]
|
|
97
|
|
|
Bertram.
|
98
|
|
|
[To HELENA]The best wishes that can be forged in
|
99
|
|
|
your thoughts be servants to you! Be comfortable
|
100
|
|
|
to my mother, your mistress, and make much of her.
|
101
|
|
|
Lafeu.
|
102
|
|
|
Farewell, pretty lady: you must hold the credit of
|
103
|
|
|
your father.
|
|
104
|
|
|
[Exeunt BERTRAM and LAFEU]
|
|
105
|
|
|
Helena.
|
106
|
|
|
O, were that all! I think not on my father;
|
107
|
|
|
And these great tears grace his remembrance more
|
108
|
|
|
Than those I shed for him. What was he like?
|
109
|
|
|
I have forgot him: my imagination
|
110
|
|
|
Carries no favour in't but Bertram's.
|
111
|
|
|
I am undone: there is no living, none,
|
112
|
|
|
If Bertram be away. 'Twere all one
|
113
|
|
|
That I should love a bright particular star
|
114
|
|
|
And think to wed it, he is so above me:
|
115
|
|
|
In his bright radiance and collateral light
|
116
|
|
|
Must I be comforted, not in his sphere.
|
117
|
|
|
The ambition in my love thus plagues itself:
|
118
|
|
|
The hind that would be mated by the lion
|
119
|
|
|
Must die for love. 'Twas pretty, though plague,
|
120
|
|
|
To see him every hour; to sit and draw
|
121
|
|
|
His arched brows, his hawking eye, his curls,
|
122
|
|
|
In our heart's table; heart too capable
|
123
|
|
|
Of every line and trick of his sweet favour:
|
124
|
|
|
But now he's gone, and my idolatrous fancy
|
125
|
|
|
Must sanctify his reliques. Who comes here?
|
126
|
|
|
[Enter PAROLLES]
|
127
|
|
|
[Aside]
|
128
|
|
|
One that goes with him: I love him for his sake;
|
129
|
|
|
And yet I know him a notorious liar,
|
130
|
|
|
Think him a great way fool, solely a coward;
|
131
|
|
|
Yet these fixed evils sit so fit in him,
|
132
|
|
|
That they take place, when virtue's steely bones
|
133
|
|
|
Look bleak i' the cold wind: withal, full oft we see
|
134
|
|
|
Cold wisdom waiting on superfluous folly.
|
135
|
|
|
Parolles.
|
136
|
|
|
Save you, fair queen!
|
137
|
|
|
Helena.
|
138
|
|
|
And you, monarch!
|
139
|
|
|
Parolles.
|
140
|
|
|
No.
|
141
|
|
|
Helena.
|
142
|
|
|
And no.
|
143
|
|
|
Parolles.
|
144
|
|
|
Are you meditating on virginity?
|
145
|
|
|
Helena.
|
146
|
|
|
Ay. You have some stain of soldier in you: let me
|
147
|
|
|
ask you a question. Man is enemy to virginity; how
|
148
|
|
|
may we barricado it against him?
|
149
|
|
|
Parolles.
|
150
|
|
|
Keep him out.
|
151
|
|
|
Helena.
|
152
|
|
|
But he assails; and our virginity, though valiant,
|
153
|
|
|
in the defence yet is weak: unfold to us some
|
154
|
|
|
warlike resistance.
|
155
|
|
|
Parolles.
|
156
|
|
|
There is none: man, sitting down before you, will
|
157
|
|
|
undermine you and blow you up.
|
158
|
|
|
Helena.
|
159
|
|
|
Bless our poor virginity from underminers and
|
160
|
|
|
blowers up! Is there no military policy, how
|
161
|
|
|
virgins might blow up men?
|
162
|
|
|
Parolles.
|
163
|
|
|
Virginity being blown down, man will quicklier be
|
164
|
|
|
blown up: marry, in blowing him down again, with
|
165
|
|
|
the breach yourselves made, you lose your city. It
|
166
|
|
|
is not politic in the commonwealth of nature to
|
167
|
|
|
preserve virginity. Loss of virginity is rational
|
168
|
|
|
increase and there was never virgin got till
|
169
|
|
|
virginity was first lost. That you were made of is
|
170
|
|
|
metal to make virgins. Virginity by being once lost
|
171
|
|
|
may be ten times found; by being ever kept, it is
|
172
|
|
|
ever lost: 'tis too cold a companion; away with 't!
|
173
|
|
|
Helena.
|
174
|
|
|
I will stand for 't a little, though therefore I die a virgin.
|
175
|
|
|
Parolles.
|
176
|
|
|
There's little can be said in 't; 'tis against the
|
177
|
|
|
rule of nature. To speak on the part of virginity,
|
178
|
|
|
is to accuse your mothers; which is most infallible
|
179
|
|
|
disobedience. He that hangs himself is a virgin:
|
180
|
|
|
virginity murders itself and should be buried in
|
181
|
|
|
highways out of all sanctified limit, as a desperate
|
182
|
|
|
offendress against nature. Virginity breeds mites,
|
183
|
|
|
much like a cheese; consumes itself to the very
|
184
|
|
|
paring, and so dies with feeding his own stomach.
|
185
|
|
|
Besides, virginity is peevish, proud, idle, made of
|
186
|
|
|
self-love, which is the most inhibited sin in the
|
187
|
|
|
canon. Keep it not; you cannot choose but loose
|
188
|
|
|
by't: out with 't! within ten year it will make
|
189
|
|
|
itself ten, which is a goodly increase; and the
|
190
|
|
|
principal itself not much the worse: away with 't!
|
191
|
|
|
Helena.
|
192
|
|
|
How might one do, sir, to lose it to her own liking?
|
193
|
|
|
Parolles.
|
194
|
|
|
Let me see: marry, ill, to like him that ne'er it
|
195
|
|
|
likes. 'Tis a commodity will lose the gloss with
|
196
|
|
|
lying; the longer kept, the less worth: off with 't
|
197
|
|
|
while 'tis vendible; answer the time of request.
|
198
|
|
|
Virginity, like an old courtier, wears her cap out
|
199
|
|
|
of fashion: richly suited, but unsuitable: just
|
200
|
|
|
like the brooch and the tooth-pick, which wear not
|
201
|
|
|
now. Your date is better in your pie and your
|
202
|
|
|
porridge than in your cheek; and your virginity,
|
203
|
|
|
your old virginity, is like one of our French
|
204
|
|
|
withered pears, it looks ill, it eats drily; marry,
|
205
|
|
|
'tis a withered pear; it was formerly better;
|
206
|
|
|
marry, yet 'tis a withered pear: will you anything with it?
|
207
|
|
|
Helena.
|
208
|
|
|
Not my virginity yet[—]
|
209
|
|
|
There shall your master have a thousand loves,
|
210
|
|
|
A mother and a mistress and a friend,
|
211
|
|
|
A phoenix, captain and an enemy,
|
212
|
|
|
A guide, a goddess, and a sovereign,
|
213
|
|
|
A counsellor, a traitress, and a dear;
|
214
|
|
|
His humble ambition, proud humility,
|
215
|
|
|
His jarring concord, and his discord dulcet,
|
216
|
|
|
His faith, his sweet disaster; with a world
|
217
|
|
|
Of pretty, fond, adoptious christendoms,
|
218
|
|
|
That blinking Cupid gossips. Now shall he—
|
219
|
|
|
I know not what he shall. God send him well!
|
220
|
|
|
The court's a learning place, and he is one—
|
221
|
|
|
Parolles.
|
222
|
|
|
What one, i' faith?
|
223
|
|
|
Helena.
|
224
|
|
|
That I wish well. 'Tis pity—
|
225
|
|
|
Parolles.
|
226
|
|
|
What's pity?
|
227
|
|
|
Helena.
|
228
|
|
|
That wishing well had not a body in't,
|
229
|
|
|
Which might be felt; that we, the poorer born,
|
230
|
|
|
Whose baser stars do shut us up in wishes,
|
231
|
|
|
Might with effects of them follow our friends,
|
232
|
|
|
And show what we alone must think, which never
|
233
|
|
|
Return us thanks.
|
|
234
|
|
|
[Enter Page]
|
|
235
|
|
|
Monsieur Parolles, my lord calls for you.
|
|
236
|
|
|
[Exit]
|
|
237
|
|
|
Parolles.
|
238
|
|
|
Little Helen, farewell; if I can remember thee, I
|
239
|
|
|
will think of thee at court.
|
240
|
|
|
Helena.
|
241
|
|
|
Monsieur Parolles, you were born under a charitable star.
|
242
|
|
|
Parolles.
|
243
|
|
|
Under Mars, I.
|
244
|
|
|
Helena.
|
245
|
|
|
I especially think, under Mars.
|
246
|
|
|
Parolles.
|
247
|
|
|
Why under Mars?
|
248
|
|
|
Helena.
|
249
|
|
|
The wars have so kept you under that you must needs
|
250
|
|
|
be born under Mars.
|
251
|
|
|
Parolles.
|
252
|
|
|
When he was predominant.
|
253
|
|
|
Helena.
|
254
|
|
|
When he was retrograde, I think, rather.
|
255
|
|
|
Parolles.
|
256
|
|
|
Why think you so?
|
257
|
|
|
Helena.
|
258
|
|
|
You go so much backward when you fight.
|
259
|
|
|
Parolles.
|
260
|
|
|
That's for advantage.
|
261
|
|
|
Helena.
|
262
|
|
|
So is running away, when fear proposes the safety;
|
263
|
|
|
but the composition that your valour and fear makes
|
264
|
|
|
in you is a virtue of a good wing, and I like the wear well.
|
265
|
|
|
Parolles.
|
266
|
|
|
I am so full of businesses, I cannot answer thee
|
267
|
|
|
acutely. I will return perfect courtier; in the
|
268
|
|
|
which, my instruction shall serve to naturalize
|
269
|
|
|
thee, so thou wilt be capable of a courtier's
|
270
|
|
|
counsel and understand what advice shall thrust upon
|
271
|
|
|
thee; else thou diest in thine unthankfulness, and
|
272
|
|
|
thine ignorance makes thee away: farewell. When
|
273
|
|
|
thou hast leisure, say thy prayers; when thou hast
|
274
|
|
|
none, remember thy friends; get thee a good husband,
|
275
|
|
|
and use him as he uses thee; so, farewell.
|
|
276
|
|
|
[Exit]
|
|
277
|
|
|
Helena.
|
278
|
|
|
Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie,
|
279
|
|
|
Which we ascribe to heaven: the fated sky
|
280
|
|
|
Gives us free scope, only doth backward pull
|
281
|
|
|
Our slow designs when we ourselves are dull.
|
282
|
|
|
What power is it which mounts my love so high,
|
283
|
|
|
That makes me see, and cannot feed mine eye?
|
284
|
|
|
The mightiest space in fortune nature brings
|
285
|
|
|
To join like likes and kiss like native things.
|
286
|
|
|
Impossible be strange attempts to those
|
287
|
|
|
That weigh their pains in sense and do suppose
|
288
|
|
|
What hath been cannot be: who ever strove
|
289
|
|
|
So show her merit, that did miss her love?
|
290
|
|
|
The king's disease—my project may deceive me,
|
291
|
|
|
But my intents are fix'd and will not leave me.
|
|
292
|
|
|
[Exit]
|
|
|
|
2. Act I, Scene 2
|
0
|
|
|
Paris. The KING’s palace.
|
|
1
|
|
|
Flourish of cornets. Enter the KING of France,] [p]with letters, and divers Attendants]
|
|
2
|
|
|
King of France.
|
3
|
|
|
The Florentines and Senoys are by the ears;
|
4
|
|
|
Have fought with equal fortune and continue
|
5
|
|
|
A braving war.
|
6
|
|
|
First Lord.
|
7
|
|
|
So 'tis reported, sir.
|
8
|
|
|
King of France.
|
9
|
|
|
Nay, 'tis most credible; we here received it
|
10
|
|
|
A certainty, vouch'd from our cousin Austria,
|
11
|
|
|
With caution that the Florentine will move us
|
12
|
|
|
For speedy aid; wherein our dearest friend
|
13
|
|
|
Prejudicates the business and would seem
|
14
|
|
|
To have us make denial.
|
15
|
|
|
First Lord.
|
16
|
|
|
His love and wisdom,
|
17
|
|
|
Approved so to your majesty, may plead
|
18
|
|
|
For amplest credence.
|
19
|
|
|
King of France.
|
20
|
|
|
He hath arm'd our answer,
|
21
|
|
|
And Florence is denied before he comes:
|
22
|
|
|
Yet, for our gentlemen that mean to see
|
23
|
|
|
The Tuscan service, freely have they leave
|
24
|
|
|
To stand on either part.
|
25
|
|
|
Second Lord.
|
26
|
|
|
It well may serve
|
27
|
|
|
A nursery to our gentry, who are sick
|
28
|
|
|
For breathing and exploit.
|
29
|
|
|
King of France.
|
30
|
|
|
What's he comes here?
|
|
31
|
|
|
[Enter BERTRAM, LAFEU, and PAROLLES]
|
|
32
|
|
|
First Lord.
|
33
|
|
|
It is the Count Rousillon, my good lord,
|
34
|
|
|
Young Bertram.
|
35
|
|
|
King of France.
|
36
|
|
|
Youth, thou bear'st thy father's face;
|
37
|
|
|
Frank nature, rather curious than in haste,
|
38
|
|
|
Hath well composed thee. Thy father's moral parts
|
39
|
|
|
Mayst thou inherit too! Welcome to Paris.
|
40
|
|
|
Bertram.
|
41
|
|
|
My thanks and duty are your majesty's.
|
42
|
|
|
King of France.
|
43
|
|
|
I would I had that corporal soundness now,
|
44
|
|
|
As when thy father and myself in friendship
|
45
|
|
|
First tried our soldiership! He did look far
|
46
|
|
|
Into the service of the time and was
|
47
|
|
|
Discipled of the bravest: he lasted long;
|
48
|
|
|
But on us both did haggish age steal on
|
49
|
|
|
And wore us out of act. It much repairs me
|
50
|
|
|
To talk of your good father. In his youth
|
51
|
|
|
He had the wit which I can well observe
|
52
|
|
|
To-day in our young lords; but they may jest
|
53
|
|
|
Till their own scorn return to them unnoted
|
54
|
|
|
Ere they can hide their levity in honour;
|
55
|
|
|
So like a courtier, contempt nor bitterness
|
56
|
|
|
Were in his pride or sharpness; if they were,
|
57
|
|
|
His equal had awaked them, and his honour,
|
58
|
|
|
Clock to itself, knew the true minute when
|
59
|
|
|
Exception bid him speak, and at this time
|
60
|
|
|
His tongue obey'd his hand: who were below him
|
61
|
|
|
He used as creatures of another place
|
62
|
|
|
And bow'd his eminent top to their low ranks,
|
63
|
|
|
Making them proud of his humility,
|
64
|
|
|
In their poor praise he humbled. Such a man
|
65
|
|
|
Might be a copy to these younger times;
|
66
|
|
|
Which, follow'd well, would demonstrate them now
|
67
|
|
|
But goers backward.
|
68
|
|
|
Bertram.
|
69
|
|
|
His good remembrance, sir,
|
70
|
|
|
Lies richer in your thoughts than on his tomb;
|
71
|
|
|
So in approof lives not his epitaph
|
72
|
|
|
As in your royal speech.
|
73
|
|
|
King of France.
|
74
|
|
|
Would I were with him! He would always say—
|
75
|
|
|
Methinks I hear him now; his plausive words
|
76
|
|
|
He scatter'd not in ears, but grafted them,
|
77
|
|
|
To grow there and to bear,—'Let me not live,'—
|
78
|
|
|
This his good melancholy oft began,
|
79
|
|
|
On the catastrophe and heel of pastime,
|
80
|
|
|
When it was out,—'Let me not live,' quoth he,
|
81
|
|
|
'After my flame lacks oil, to be the snuff
|
82
|
|
|
Of younger spirits, whose apprehensive senses
|
83
|
|
|
All but new things disdain; whose judgments are
|
84
|
|
|
Mere fathers of their garments; whose constancies
|
85
|
|
|
Expire before their fashions.' This he wish'd;
|
86
|
|
|
I after him do after him wish too,
|
87
|
|
|
Since I nor wax nor honey can bring home,
|
88
|
|
|
I quickly were dissolved from my hive,
|
89
|
|
|
To give some labourers room.
|
90
|
|
|
Second Lord.
|
91
|
|
|
You are loved, sir:
|
92
|
|
|
They that least lend it you shall lack you first.
|
93
|
|
|
King of France.
|
94
|
|
|
I fill a place, I know't. How long is't, count,
|
95
|
|
|
Since the physician at your father's died?
|
96
|
|
|
He was much famed.
|
97
|
|
|
Bertram.
|
98
|
|
|
Some six months since, my lord.
|
99
|
|
|
King of France.
|
100
|
|
|
If he were living, I would try him yet.
|
101
|
|
|
Lend me an arm; the rest have worn me out
|
102
|
|
|
With several applications; nature and sickness
|
103
|
|
|
Debate it at their leisure. Welcome, count;
|
104
|
|
|
My son's no dearer.
|
105
|
|
|
Bertram.
|
106
|
|
|
Thank your majesty.
|
|
107
|
|
|
[Exeunt. Flourish]
|
|
|
|
3. Act I, Scene 3
|
0
|
|
|
Rousillon. The COUNT’s palace.
|
|
1
|
|
|
[Enter COUNTESS, Steward, and Clown]
|
|
2
|
|
|
Countess.
|
3
|
|
|
I will now hear; what say you of this gentlewoman?
|
4
|
|
|
Steward.
|
5
|
|
|
Madam, the care I have had to even your content, I
|
6
|
|
|
wish might be found in the calendar of my past
|
7
|
|
|
endeavours; for then we wound our modesty and make
|
8
|
|
|
foul the clearness of our deservings, when of
|
9
|
|
|
ourselves we publish them.
|
10
|
|
|
Countess.
|
11
|
|
|
What does this knave here? Get you gone, sirrah:
|
12
|
|
|
the complaints I have heard of you I do not all
|
13
|
|
|
believe: 'tis my slowness that I do not; for I know
|
14
|
|
|
you lack not folly to commit them, and have ability
|
15
|
|
|
enough to make such knaveries yours.
|
16
|
|
|
Clown.
|
17
|
|
|
'Tis not unknown to you, madam, I am a poor fellow.
|
18
|
|
|
Countess.
|
19
|
|
|
Well, sir.
|
20
|
|
|
Clown.
|
21
|
|
|
No, madam, 'tis not so well that I am poor, though
|
22
|
|
|
many of the rich are damned: but, if I may have
|
23
|
|
|
your ladyship's good will to go to the world, Isbel
|
24
|
|
|
the woman and I will do as we may.
|
25
|
|
|
Countess.
|
26
|
|
|
Wilt thou needs be a beggar?
|
27
|
|
|
Clown.
|
28
|
|
|
I do beg your good will in this case.
|
29
|
|
|
Countess.
|
30
|
|
|
In what case?
|
31
|
|
|
Clown.
|
32
|
|
|
In Isbel's case and mine own. Service is no
|
33
|
|
|
heritage: and I think I shall never have the
|
34
|
|
|
blessing of God till I have issue o' my body; for
|
35
|
|
|
they say barnes are blessings.
|
36
|
|
|
Countess.
|
37
|
|
|
Tell me thy reason why thou wilt marry.
|
38
|
|
|
Clown.
|
39
|
|
|
My poor body, madam, requires it: I am driven on
|
40
|
|
|
by the flesh; and he must needs go that the devil drives.
|
41
|
|
|
Countess.
|
42
|
|
|
Is this all your worship's reason?
|
43
|
|
|
Clown.
|
44
|
|
|
Faith, madam, I have other holy reasons such as they
|
45
|
|
|
are.
|
46
|
|
|
Countess.
|
47
|
|
|
May the world know them?
|
48
|
|
|
Clown.
|
49
|
|
|
I have been, madam, a wicked creature, as you and
|
50
|
|
|
all flesh and blood are; and, indeed, I do marry
|
51
|
|
|
that I may repent.
|
52
|
|
|
Countess.
|
53
|
|
|
Thy marriage, sooner than thy wickedness.
|
54
|
|
|
Clown.
|
55
|
|
|
I am out o' friends, madam; and I hope to have
|
56
|
|
|
friends for my wife's sake.
|
57
|
|
|
Countess.
|
58
|
|
|
Such friends are thine enemies, knave.
|
59
|
|
|
Clown.
|
60
|
|
|
You're shallow, madam, in great friends; for the
|
61
|
|
|
knaves come to do that for me which I am aweary of.
|
62
|
|
|
He that ears my land spares my team and gives me
|
63
|
|
|
leave to in the crop; if I be his cuckold, he's my
|
64
|
|
|
drudge: he that comforts my wife is the cherisher
|
65
|
|
|
of my flesh and blood; he that cherishes my flesh
|
66
|
|
|
and blood loves my flesh and blood; he that loves my
|
67
|
|
|
flesh and blood is my friend: ergo, he that kisses
|
68
|
|
|
my wife is my friend. If men could be contented to
|
69
|
|
|
be what they are, there were no fear in marriage;
|
70
|
|
|
for young Charbon the Puritan and old Poysam the
|
71
|
|
|
Papist, howsome'er their hearts are severed in
|
72
|
|
|
religion, their heads are both one; they may jowl
|
73
|
|
|
horns together, like any deer i' the herd.
|
74
|
|
|
Countess.
|
75
|
|
|
Wilt thou ever be a foul-mouthed and calumnious knave?
|
76
|
|
|
Clown.
|
77
|
|
|
A prophet I, madam; and I speak the truth the next
|
78
|
|
|
way:
|
79
|
|
|
For I the ballad will repeat,
|
80
|
|
|
Which men full true shall find;
|
81
|
|
|
Your marriage comes by destiny,
|
82
|
|
|
Your cuckoo sings by kind.
|
83
|
|
|
Countess.
|
84
|
|
|
Get you gone, sir; I'll talk with you more anon.
|
85
|
|
|
Steward.
|
86
|
|
|
May it please you, madam, that he bid Helen come to
|
87
|
|
|
you: of her I am to speak.
|
88
|
|
|
Countess.
|
89
|
|
|
Sirrah, tell my gentlewoman I would speak with her;
|
90
|
|
|
Helen, I mean.
|
91
|
|
|
Clown.
|
92
|
|
|
Was this fair face the cause, quoth she,
|
93
|
|
|
Why the Grecians sacked Troy?
|
94
|
|
|
Fond done, done fond,
|
95
|
|
|
Was this King Priam's joy?
|
96
|
|
|
With that she sighed as she stood,
|
97
|
|
|
With that she sighed as she stood,
|
98
|
|
|
And gave this sentence then;
|
99
|
|
|
Among nine bad if one be good,
|
100
|
|
|
Among nine bad if one be good,
|
101
|
|
|
There's yet one good in ten.
|
102
|
|
|
Countess.
|
103
|
|
|
What, one good in ten? you corrupt the song, sirrah.
|
104
|
|
|
Clown.
|
105
|
|
|
One good woman in ten, madam; which is a purifying
|
106
|
|
|
o' the song: would God would serve the world so all
|
107
|
|
|
the year! we'ld find no fault with the tithe-woman,
|
108
|
|
|
if I were the parson. One in ten, quoth a'! An we
|
109
|
|
|
might have a good woman born but one every blazing
|
110
|
|
|
star, or at an earthquake, 'twould mend the lottery
|
111
|
|
|
well: a man may draw his heart out, ere a' pluck
|
112
|
|
|
one.
|
113
|
|
|
Countess.
|
114
|
|
|
You'll be gone, sir knave, and do as I command you.
|
115
|
|
|
Clown.
|
116
|
|
|
That man should be at woman's command, and yet no
|
117
|
|
|
hurt done! Though honesty be no puritan, yet it
|
118
|
|
|
will do no hurt; it will wear the surplice of
|
119
|
|
|
humility over the black gown of a big heart. I am
|
120
|
|
|
going, forsooth: the business is for Helen to come hither.
|
|
121
|
|
|
[Exit]
|
|
122
|
|
|
Countess.
|
123
|
|
|
Well, now.
|
124
|
|
|
Steward.
|
125
|
|
|
I know, madam, you love your gentlewoman entirely.
|
126
|
|
|
Countess.
|
127
|
|
|
Faith, I do: her father bequeathed her to me; and
|
128
|
|
|
she herself, without other advantage, may lawfully
|
129
|
|
|
make title to as much love as she finds: there is
|
130
|
|
|
more owing her than is paid; and more shall be paid
|
131
|
|
|
her than she'll demand.
|
132
|
|
|
Steward.
|
133
|
|
|
Madam, I was very late more near her than I think
|
134
|
|
|
she wished me: alone she was, and did communicate
|
135
|
|
|
to herself her own words to her own ears; she
|
136
|
|
|
thought, I dare vow for her, they touched not any
|
137
|
|
|
stranger sense. Her matter was, she loved your son:
|
138
|
|
|
Fortune, she said, was no goddess, that had put
|
139
|
|
|
such difference betwixt their two estates; Love no
|
140
|
|
|
god, that would not extend his might, only where
|
141
|
|
|
qualities were level; Dian no queen of virgins, that
|
142
|
|
|
would suffer her poor knight surprised, without
|
143
|
|
|
rescue in the first assault or ransom afterward.
|
144
|
|
|
This she delivered in the most bitter touch of
|
145
|
|
|
sorrow that e'er I heard virgin exclaim in: which I
|
146
|
|
|
held my duty speedily to acquaint you withal;
|
147
|
|
|
sithence, in the loss that may happen, it concerns
|
148
|
|
|
you something to know it.
|
149
|
|
|
Countess.
|
150
|
|
|
You have discharged this honestly; keep it to
|
151
|
|
|
yourself: many likelihoods informed me of this
|
152
|
|
|
before, which hung so tottering in the balance that
|
153
|
|
|
I could neither believe nor misdoubt. Pray you,
|
154
|
|
|
leave me: stall this in your bosom; and I thank you
|
155
|
|
|
for your honest care: I will speak with you further anon.
|
156
|
|
|
[Exit Steward]
|
157
|
|
|
[Enter HELENA]
|
158
|
|
|
Even so it was with me when I was young:
|
159
|
|
|
If ever we are nature's, these are ours; this thorn
|
160
|
|
|
Doth to our rose of youth rightly belong;
|
161
|
|
|
Our blood to us, this to our blood is born;
|
162
|
|
|
It is the show and seal of nature's truth,
|
163
|
|
|
Where love's strong passion is impress'd in youth:
|
164
|
|
|
By our remembrances of days foregone,
|
165
|
|
|
Such were our faults, or then we thought them none.
|
166
|
|
|
Her eye is sick on't: I observe her now.
|
167
|
|
|
Helena.
|
168
|
|
|
What is your pleasure, madam?
|
169
|
|
|
Countess.
|
170
|
|
|
You know, Helen,
|
171
|
|
|
I am a mother to you.
|
172
|
|
|
Helena.
|
173
|
|
|
Mine honourable mistress.
|
174
|
|
|
Countess.
|
175
|
|
|
Nay, a mother:
|
176
|
|
|
Why not a mother? When I said 'a mother,'
|
177
|
|
|
Methought you saw a serpent: what's in 'mother,'
|
178
|
|
|
That you start at it? I say, I am your mother;
|
179
|
|
|
And put you in the catalogue of those
|
180
|
|
|
That were enwombed mine: 'tis often seen
|
181
|
|
|
Adoption strives with nature and choice breeds
|
182
|
|
|
A native slip to us from foreign seeds:
|
183
|
|
|
You ne'er oppress'd me with a mother's groan,
|
184
|
|
|
Yet I express to you a mother's care:
|
185
|
|
|
God's mercy, maiden! does it curd thy blood
|
186
|
|
|
To say I am thy mother? What's the matter,
|
187
|
|
|
That this distemper'd messenger of wet,
|
188
|
|
|
The many-colour'd Iris, rounds thine eye?
|
189
|
|
|
Why? that you are my daughter?
|
190
|
|
|
Helena.
|
191
|
|
|
That I am not.
|
192
|
|
|
Countess.
|
193
|
|
|
I say, I am your mother.
|
194
|
|
|
Helena.
|
195
|
|
|
Pardon, madam;
|
196
|
|
|
The Count Rousillon cannot be my brother:
|
197
|
|
|
I am from humble, he from honour'd name;
|
198
|
|
|
No note upon my parents, his all noble:
|
199
|
|
|
My master, my dear lord he is; and I
|
200
|
|
|
His servant live, and will his vassal die:
|
201
|
|
|
He must not be my brother.
|
202
|
|
|
Countess.
|
203
|
|
|
Nor I your mother?
|
204
|
|
|
Helena.
|
205
|
|
|
You are my mother, madam; would you were,—
|
206
|
|
|
So that my lord your son were not my brother,—
|
207
|
|
|
Indeed my mother! or were you both our mothers,
|
208
|
|
|
I care no more for than I do for heaven,
|
209
|
|
|
So I were not his sister. Can't no other,
|
210
|
|
|
But, I your daughter, he must be my brother?
|
211
|
|
|
Countess.
|
212
|
|
|
Yes, Helen, you might be my daughter-in-law:
|
213
|
|
|
God shield you mean it not! daughter and mother
|
214
|
|
|
So strive upon your pulse. What, pale again?
|
215
|
|
|
My fear hath catch'd your fondness: now I see
|
216
|
|
|
The mystery of your loneliness, and find
|
217
|
|
|
Your salt tears' head: now to all sense 'tis gross
|
218
|
|
|
You love my son; invention is ashamed,
|
219
|
|
|
Against the proclamation of thy passion,
|
220
|
|
|
To say thou dost not: therefore tell me true;
|
221
|
|
|
But tell me then, 'tis so; for, look thy cheeks
|
222
|
|
|
Confess it, th' one to th' other; and thine eyes
|
223
|
|
|
See it so grossly shown in thy behaviors
|
224
|
|
|
That in their kind they speak it: only sin
|
225
|
|
|
And hellish obstinacy tie thy tongue,
|
226
|
|
|
That truth should be suspected. Speak, is't so?
|
227
|
|
|
If it be so, you have wound a goodly clew;
|
228
|
|
|
If it be not, forswear't: howe'er, I charge thee,
|
229
|
|
|
As heaven shall work in me for thine avail,
|
230
|
|
|
Tell me truly.
|
231
|
|
|
Helena.
|
232
|
|
|
Good madam, pardon me!
|
233
|
|
|
Countess.
|
234
|
|
|
Do you love my son?
|
235
|
|
|
Helena.
|
236
|
|
|
Your pardon, noble mistress!
|
237
|
|
|
Countess.
|
238
|
|
|
Love you my son?
|
239
|
|
|
Helena.
|
240
|
|
|
Do not you love him, madam?
|
241
|
|
|
Countess.
|
242
|
|
|
Go not about; my love hath in't a bond,
|
243
|
|
|
Whereof the world takes note: come, come, disclose
|
244
|
|
|
The state of your affection; for your passions
|
245
|
|
|
Have to the full appeach'd.
|
246
|
|
|
Helena.
|
247
|
|
|
Then, I confess,
|
248
|
|
|
Here on my knee, before high heaven and you,
|
249
|
|
|
That before you, and next unto high heaven,
|
250
|
|
|
I love your son.
|
251
|
|
|
My friends were poor, but honest; so's my love:
|
252
|
|
|
Be not offended; for it hurts not him
|
253
|
|
|
That he is loved of me: I follow him not
|
254
|
|
|
By any token of presumptuous suit;
|
255
|
|
|
Nor would I have him till I do deserve him;
|
256
|
|
|
Yet never know how that desert should be.
|
257
|
|
|
I know I love in vain, strive against hope;
|
258
|
|
|
Yet in this captious and intenible sieve
|
259
|
|
|
I still pour in the waters of my love
|
260
|
|
|
And lack not to lose still: thus, Indian-like,
|
261
|
|
|
Religious in mine error, I adore
|
262
|
|
|
The sun, that looks upon his worshipper,
|
263
|
|
|
But knows of him no more. My dearest madam,
|
264
|
|
|
Let not your hate encounter with my love
|
265
|
|
|
For loving where you do: but if yourself,
|
266
|
|
|
Whose aged honour cites a virtuous youth,
|
267
|
|
|
Did ever in so true a flame of liking
|
268
|
|
|
Wish chastely and love dearly, that your Dian
|
269
|
|
|
Was both herself and love: O, then, give pity
|
270
|
|
|
To her, whose state is such that cannot choose
|
271
|
|
|
But lend and give where she is sure to lose;
|
272
|
|
|
That seeks not to find that her search implies,
|
273
|
|
|
But riddle-like lives sweetly where she dies!
|
274
|
|
|
Countess.
|
275
|
|
|
Had you not lately an intent,—speak truly,—
|
276
|
|
|
To go to Paris?
|
277
|
|
|
Helena.
|
278
|
|
|
Madam, I had.
|
279
|
|
|
Countess.
|
280
|
|
|
Wherefore? tell true.
|
281
|
|
|
Helena.
|
282
|
|
|
I will tell truth; by grace itself I swear.
|
283
|
|
|
You know my father left me some prescriptions
|
284
|
|
|
Of rare and proved effects, such as his reading
|
285
|
|
|
And manifest experience had collected
|
286
|
|
|
For general sovereignty; and that he will'd me
|
287
|
|
|
In heedfull'st reservation to bestow them,
|
288
|
|
|
As notes whose faculties inclusive were
|
289
|
|
|
More than they were in note: amongst the rest,
|
290
|
|
|
There is a remedy, approved, set down,
|
291
|
|
|
To cure the desperate languishings whereof
|
292
|
|
|
The king is render'd lost.
|
293
|
|
|
Countess.
|
294
|
|
|
This was your motive
|
295
|
|
|
For Paris, was it? speak.
|
296
|
|
|
Helena.
|
297
|
|
|
My lord your son made me to think of this;
|
298
|
|
|
Else Paris and the medicine and the king
|
299
|
|
|
Had from the conversation of my thoughts
|
300
|
|
|
Haply been absent then.
|
301
|
|
|
Countess.
|
302
|
|
|
But think you, Helen,
|
303
|
|
|
If you should tender your supposed aid,
|
304
|
|
|
He would receive it? he and his physicians
|
305
|
|
|
Are of a mind; he, that they cannot help him,
|
306
|
|
|
They, that they cannot help: how shall they credit
|
307
|
|
|
A poor unlearned virgin, when the schools,
|
308
|
|
|
Embowell'd of their doctrine, have left off
|
309
|
|
|
The danger to itself?
|
310
|
|
|
Helena.
|
311
|
|
|
There's something in't,
|
312
|
|
|
More than my father's skill, which was the greatest
|
313
|
|
|
Of his profession, that his good receipt
|
314
|
|
|
Shall for my legacy be sanctified
|
315
|
|
|
By the luckiest stars in heaven: and, would your honour
|
316
|
|
|
But give me leave to try success, I'ld venture
|
317
|
|
|
The well-lost life of mine on his grace's cure
|
318
|
|
|
By such a day and hour.
|
319
|
|
|
Countess.
|
320
|
|
|
Dost thou believe't?
|
321
|
|
|
Helena.
|
322
|
|
|
Ay, madam, knowingly.
|
323
|
|
|
Countess.
|
324
|
|
|
Why, Helen, thou shalt have my leave and love,
|
325
|
|
|
Means and attendants and my loving greetings
|
326
|
|
|
To those of mine in court: I'll stay at home
|
327
|
|
|
And pray God's blessing into thy attempt:
|
328
|
|
|
Be gone to-morrow; and be sure of this,
|
329
|
|
|
What I can help thee to thou shalt not miss.
|
|