All's Well, that Ends Well

William Shakespeare

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  • All's Well, that Ends Well
  • All's Well, that Ends Well

    Actus primus. Scoena Prima.


    Enter yong Bertram Count of Rossillion, his Mother, and Helena,
    Lord
    Lafew, all in blacke.


      Mother. In deliuering my sonne from me, I burie a second
    husband


       Ros. And I in going Madam, weep ore my
    fathers death anew; but I must attend his maiesties
    command, to whom I am now in Ward, euermore
    in subiection


       Laf. You shall find of the King a husband Madame,
    you sir a father. He that so generally is at all times good,
    must of necessitie hold his vertue to you, whose worthinesse
    would stirre it vp where it wanted rather then lack
    it where there is such abundance


       Mo. What hope is there of his Maiesties amendment?
      Laf. He hath abandon'd his Phisitions Madam, vnder
    whose practises he hath persecuted time with hope,
    and finds no other aduantage in the processe, but onely
    the loosing of hope by time


       Mo. This yong Gentlewoman had a father, O that
    had, how sad a passage tis, whose skill was almost as
    great as his honestie, had it stretch'd so far, would haue
    made nature immortall, and death should haue play for
    lacke of worke. Would for the Kings sake hee were liuing,
    I thinke it would be the death of the Kings disease


       Laf. How call'd you the man you speake of Madam?
      Mo. He was famous sir in his profession, and it was
    his great right to be so: Gerard de Narbon


       Laf. He was excellent indeed Madam, the King very
    latelie spoke of him admiringly, and mourningly: hee
    was skilfull enough to haue liu'd stil, if knowledge could
    be set vp against mortallitie


       Ros. What is it (my good Lord) the King languishes
    of?
      Laf. A Fistula my Lord


       Ros. I heard not of it before


       Laf. I would it were not notorious. Was this Gentlewoman
    the Daughter of Gerard de Narbon?
      Mo. His sole childe my Lord, and bequeathed to my
    ouer looking. I haue those hopes of her good, that her
    education promises her dispositions shee inherits, which
    makes faire gifts fairer: for where an vncleane mind carries
    vertuous qualities, there commendations go with
    pitty, they are vertues and traitors too: in her they are
    the better for their simplenesse; she deriues her honestie,
    and atcheeues her goodnesse


       Lafew. Your commendations Madam get from her
    teares


       Mo. 'Tis the best brine a Maiden can season her praise
    in. The remembrance of her father neuer approches her
    heart, but the tirrany of her sorrowes takes all liuelihood
    from her cheeke. No more of this Helena, go too, no
    more least it be rather thought you affect a sorrow, then
    to haue-
      Hell. I doe affect a sorrow indeed, but I haue it too


       Laf. Moderate lamentation is the right of the dead,
    excessiue greefe the enemie to the liuing


       Mo. If the liuing be enemie to the greefe, the excesse
    makes it soone mortall


       Ros. Maddam I desire your holie wishes


       Laf. How vnderstand we that?
      Mo. Be thou blest Bertrame, and succeed thy father
    In manners as in shape: thy blood and vertue
    Contend for Empire in thee, and thy goodnesse
    Share with thy birth-right. Loue all, trust a few,
    Doe wrong to none: be able for thine enemie
    Rather in power then vse: and keepe thy friend
    Vnder thy owne lifes key. Be checkt for silence,
    But neuer tax'd for speech. What heauen more wil,
    That thee may furnish, and my prayers plucke downe,
    Fall on thy head. Farwell my Lord,
    'Tis an vnseason'd Courtier, good my Lord
    Aduise him


       Laf. He cannot want the best
    That shall attend his loue


       Mo. Heauen blesse him: Farwell Bertram


       Ro. The best wishes that can be forg'd in your thoghts
    be seruants to you: be comfortable to my mother, your
    Mistris, and make much of her


       Laf. Farewell prettie Lady, you must hold the credit
    of your father


       Hell. O were that all, I thinke not on my father,
    And these great teares grace his remembrance more
    Then those I shed for him. What was he like?
    I haue forgott him. My imagination
    Carries no fauour in't but Bertrams.
    I am vndone, there is no liuing, none,
    If Bertram be away. 'Twere all one,
    That I should loue a bright particuler starre,
    And think to wed it, he is so aboue me
    In his bright radience and colaterall light,
    Must I be comforted, not in his sphere;
    Th' ambition in my loue thus plagues it selfe:
    The hind that would be mated by the Lion
    Must die for loue. 'Twas prettie, though a plague
    To see him euerie houre to sit and draw
    His arched browes, his hawking eie, his curles
    In our hearts table: heart too capeable
    Of euerie line and tricke of his sweet fauour.
    But now he's gone, and my idolatrous fancie
    Must sanctifie his Reliques. Who comes heere?
    Enter Parrolles.


    One that goes with him: I loue him for his sake,
    And yet I know him a notorious Liar,
    Thinke him a great way foole, solie a coward,
    Yet these fixt euils sit so fit in him,
    That they take place, when Vertues steely bones
    Lookes bleake i'th cold wind: withall, full ofte we see
    Cold wisedome waighting on superfluous follie


       Par. Saue you faire Queene


       Hel. And you Monarch


       Par. No


       Hel. And no


       Par. Are you meditating on virginitie?
      Hel. I: you haue some staine of souldier in you: Let
    mee aske you a question. Man is enemie to virginitie,
    how may we barracado it against him?
      Par. Keepe him out


       Hel. But he assailes, and our virginitie though valiant,
    in the defence yet is weak: vnfold to vs some war-like
    resistance


       Par. There is none: Man setting downe before you,
    will vndermine you, and blow you vp


       Hel. Blesse our poore Virginity from vnderminers
    and blowers vp. Is there no Military policy how Virgins
    might blow vp men?
      Par. Virginity beeing blowne downe, Man will
    quicklier be blowne vp: marry in blowing him downe
    againe, with the breach your selues made, you lose your
    Citty. It is not politicke, in the Common-wealth of
    Nature, to preserue virginity. Losse of Virginitie, is
    rationall encrease, and there was neuer Virgin goe, till
    virginitie was first lost. That you were made of, is mettall
    to make Virgins. Virginitie, by beeing once lost,
    may be ten times found: by being euer kept, it is euer
    lost: 'tis too cold a companion: Away with't


       Hel. I will stand for't a little, though therefore I die
    a Virgin


       Par. There's little can bee saide in't, 'tis against the
    rule of Nature. To speake on the part of virginitie, is
    to accuse your Mothers; which is most infallible disobedience.
    He that hangs himselfe is a Virgin: Virginitie
    murthers it selfe, and should be buried in highwayes
    out of all sanctified limit, as a desperate Offendresse against
    Nature. Virginitie breedes mites, much like a
    Cheese, consumes it selfe to the very payring, and so
    dies with feeding his owne stomacke. Besides, Virginitie
    is peeuish, proud, ydle, made of selfe-loue, which
    is the most inhibited sinne in the Cannon. Keepe it not,
    you cannot choose but loose by't. Out with't: within
    ten yeare it will make it selfe two, which is a goodly increase,
    and the principall it selfe not much the worse.
    Away with't


       Hel. How might one do sir, to loose it to her owne
    liking?
      Par. Let mee see. Marry ill, to like him that ne're
    it likes. 'Tis a commodity wil lose the glosse with lying:
    The longer kept, the lesse worth: Off with't while 'tis
    vendible. Answer the time of request, Virginitie like
    an olde Courtier, weares her cap out of fashion, richly
    suted, but vnsuteable, iust like the brooch &the tooth-pick,
    which were not now: your Date is better in your
    Pye and your Porredge, then in your cheeke: and your
    virginity, your old virginity, is like one of our French
    wither'd peares, it lookes ill, it eates drily, marry 'tis a
    wither'd peare: it was formerly better, marry yet 'tis a
    wither'd peare: Will you any thing with it?
      Hel. Not my virginity yet:
    There shall your Master haue a thousand loues,
    A Mother, and a Mistresse, and a friend,
    A Phenix, Captaine, and an enemy,
    A guide, a Goddesse, and a Soueraigne,
    A Counsellor, a Traitoresse, and a Deare:
    His humble ambition, proud humility:
    His iarring, concord: and his discord, dulcet:
    His faith, his sweet disaster: with a world
    Of pretty fond adoptious christendomes
    That blinking Cupid gossips. Now shall he:
    I know not what he shall, God send him well,
    The Courts a learning place, and he is one


       Par. What one ifaith?
      Hel. That I wish well, 'tis pitty


       Par. What's pitty?
      Hel. That wishing well had not a body in't,
    Which might be felt, that we the poorer borne,
    Whose baser starres do shut vs vp in wishes,
    Might with effects of them follow our friends,
    And shew what we alone must thinke, which neuer
    Returnes vs thankes.
    Enter Page.


      Pag. Monsieur Parrolles,
    My Lord cals for you


       Par. Little Hellen farewell, if I can remember thee, I
    will thinke of thee at Court


       Hel. Monsieur Parolles, you were borne vnder a
    charitable starre


       Par. Vnder Mars I


       Hel. I especially thinke, vnder Mars


       Par. Why vnder Mars?
      Hel. The warres hath so kept you vnder, that you
    must needes be borne vnder Mars


       Par. When he was predominant


       Hel. When he was retrograde I thinke rather


       Par. Why thinke you so?
      Hel. You go so much backward when you fight


       Par. That's for aduantage


       Hel. So is running away,
    When feare proposes the safetie:
    But the composition that your valour and feare makes
    in you, is a vertue of a good wing, and I like the
    weare well


       Paroll. I am so full of businesses, I cannot answere
    thee acutely: I will returne perfect Courtier, in the
    which my instruction shall serue to naturalize thee, so
    thou wilt be capeable of a Courtiers councell, and vnderstand
    what aduice shall thrust vppon thee, else thou
    diest in thine vnthankfulnes, and thine ignorance makes
    thee away, farewell: When thou hast leysure, say thy
    praiers: when thou hast none, remember thy Friends:
    Get thee a good husband, and vse him as he vses thee:
    So farewell


       Hel. Our remedies oft in our selues do lye,
    Which we ascribe to heauen: the fated skye
    Giues vs free scope, onely doth backward pull
    Our slow designes, when we our selues are dull.
    What power is it, which mounts my loue so hye,
    That makes me see, and cannot feede mine eye?
    The mightiest space in fortune, Nature brings
    To ioyne like, likes; and kisse like natiue things.
    Impossible be strange attempts to those
    That weigh their paines in sence, and do suppose
    What hath beene, cannot be. Who euer stroue
    To shew her merit, that did misse her loue?
    (The Kings disease) my proiect may deceiue me,
    But my intents are fixt, and will not leaue me.


    Exit


    Flourish Cornets. Enter the King of France with Letters, and diuers
    Attendants.


      King. The Florentines and Senoys are by th' eares,
    Haue fought with equall fortune, and continue
    A brauing warre


       1.Lo.G. So tis reported sir


       King. Nay tis most credible, we heere receiue it,
    A certaintie vouch'd from our Cosin Austria,
    With caution, that the Florentine will moue vs
    For speedie ayde: wherein our deerest friend
    Preiudicates the businesse, and would seeme
    To haue vs make deniall


       1.Lo.G. His loue and wisedome
    Approu'd so to your Maiesty, may pleade
    For amplest credence


       King. He hath arm'd our answer,
    And Florence is deni'de before he comes:
    Yet for our Gentlemen that meane to see
    The Tuscan seruice, freely haue they leaue
    To stand on either part


       2.Lo.E. It well may serue
    A nursserie to our Gentrie, who are sicke
    For breathing, and exploit


       King. What's he comes heere.
    Enter Bertram, Lafew, and Parolles.


      1.Lor.G. It is the Count Rosignoll my good Lord,
    Yong Bertram


       King. Youth, thou bear'st thy Fathers face,
    Franke Nature rather curious then in hast
    Hath well compos'd thee: Thy Fathers morall parts
    Maist thou inherit too: Welcome to Paris


       Ber. My thankes and dutie are your Maiesties


       Kin. I would I had that corporall soundnesse now,
    As when thy father, and my selfe, in friendship
    First tride our souldiership: he did looke farre
    Into the seruice of the time, and was
    Discipled of the brauest. He lasted long,
    But on vs both did haggish Age steale on,
    And wore vs out of act: It much repaires me
    To talke of your good father; in his youth
    He had the wit, which I can well obserue
    To day in our yong Lords: but they may iest
    Till their owne scorne returne to them vnnoted
    Ere they can hide their leuitie in honour:
    So like a Courtier, contempt nor bitternesse
    Were in his pride, or sharpnesse; if they were,
    His equall had awak'd them, and his honour
    Clocke to it selfe, knew the true minute when
    Exception bid him speake: and at this time
    His tongue obey'd his hand. Who were below him,
    He vs'd as creatures of another place,
    And bow'd his eminent top to their low rankes,
    Making them proud of his humilitie,
    In their poore praise he humbled: Such a man
    Might be a copie to these yonger times;
    Which followed well, would demonstrate them now
    But goers backward


       Ber. His good remembrance sir
    Lies richer in your thoughts, then on his tombe:
    So in approofe liues not his Epitaph,
    As in your royall speech


       King. Would I were with him he would alwaies say,
    (Me thinkes I heare him now) his plausiue words
    He scatter'd not in eares, but grafted them
    To grow there and to beare: Let me not liue,
    This his good melancholly oft began
    On the Catastrophe and heele of pastime
    When it was out: Let me not liue (quoth hee)
    After my flame lackes oyle, to be the snuffe
    Of yonger spirits, whose apprehensiue senses
    All but new things disdaine; whose iudgements are
    Meere 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 honie can bring home,
    I quickly were dissolued from my hiue
    To giue some Labourers roome


       2.L.E. You'r loued Sir,
    They that least lend it you, shall lacke you first


       Kin. I fill a place I know't: how long ist Count
    Since the Physitian at your fathers died?
    He was much fam'd


       Ber. Some six moneths since my Lord


       Kin. If he were liuing, I would try him yet.
    Lend me an arme: the rest haue worne me out
    With seuerall applications: Nature and sicknesse
    Debate it at their leisure. Welcome Count,
    My sonne's no deerer


       Ber. Thanke your Maiesty.


    Exit


    Flourish.


    Enter Countesse, Steward, and Clowne.


      Coun. I will now heare, what say you of this gentlewoman


       Ste. Maddam the care I haue had to euen your content,
    I wish might be found in the Kalender of my past
    endeuours, for then we wound our Modestie, and make
    foule the clearnesse of our deseruings, when of our selues
    we publish them


       Coun. What doe's this knaue heere? Get you gone
    sirra: the complaints I haue heard of you I do not all beleeue,
    'tis my slownesse that I doe not: For I know you
    lacke not folly to commit them, &haue abilitie enough
    to make such knaueries yours


       Clo. 'Tis not vnknown to you Madam, I am a poore
    fellow


       Coun. Well sir


       Clo. No maddam,
    'Tis not so well that I am poore, though manie
    of the rich are damn'd, but if I may haue your Ladiships
    good will to goe to the world, Isbell the woman and I
    will doe as we may


       Coun. Wilt thou needes be a begger?
      Clo. I doe beg your good will in this case


       Cou. In what case?
      Clo. In Isbels case and mine owne: seruice is no heritage,
    and I thinke I shall neuer haue the blessing of God,
    till I haue issue a my bodie: for they say barnes are blessings


       Cou. Tell me thy reason why thou wilt marrie?
      Clo. My poore bodie Madam requires it, I am driuen
    on by the flesh, and hee must needes goe that the diuell
    driues


       Cou. Is this all your worships reason?
      Clo. Faith Madam I haue other holie reasons, such as
    they are


       Cou. May the world know them?
      Clo. I haue beene Madam a wicked creature, as you
    and all flesh and blood are, and indeede I doe marrie that
    I may repent


       Cou. Thy marriage sooner then thy wickednesse


       Clo. I am out a friends Madam, and I hope to haue
    friends for my wiues sake


       Cou. Such friends are thine enemies knaue


       Clo. Y'are shallow Madam in great friends, for the
    knaues come to doe that for me which I am a wearie of:
    he that eres my Land, spares my teame, and giues mee
    leaue to Inne the crop: if I be his cuckold hee's my
    drudge; he that comforts my wife, is the cherisher of
    my flesh and blood; hee that cherishes my flesh and
    blood, loues my flesh and blood; he that loues 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 feare in marriage, for yong Charbon the
    Puritan, and old Poysam the Papist, how somere their
    hearts are seuer'd in Religion, their heads are both one,
    they may ioule horns together like any Deare i'th Herd


       Cou. Wilt thou euer be a foule mouth'd and calumnious
    knaue?
      Clo. A Prophet I Madam, and I speake the truth the
    next waie, for I the Ballad will repeate, which men full
    true shall finde, your marriage comes by destinie, your
    Cuckow sings by kinde


       Cou. Get you gone sir, Ile talke with you more anon


       Stew. May it please you Madam, that hee bid Hellen
    come to you, of her I am to speake


       Cou. Sirra tell my gentlewoman I would speake with
    her, Hellen I meane


       Clo. Was this faire face the cause, quoth she,
    Why the Grecians sacked Troy,
    Fond done, done, fond was this King Priams ioy,
    With that she sighed as she stood,


    bis


    And gaue this sentence then, among nine bad if one be
    good, among nine bad if one be good, there's yet one
    good in ten


       Cou. What, one good in tenne? you corrupt the song
    sirra


       Clo. One good woman in ten Madam, which is a purifying
    ath' song: would God would serue the world so
    all the yeere, weed finde no fault with the tithe woman
    if I were the Parson, one in ten quoth a? and wee might
    haue a good woman borne but ore euerie blazing starre,
    or at an earthquake, 'twould mend the Lotterie well, a
    man may draw his heart out ere a plucke one


       Cou. Youle begone sir knaue, and doe as I command
    you?
      Clo. That man should be at womans command, and
    yet no hurt done, though honestie be no Puritan, yet
    it will doe no hurt, it will weare the Surplis of humilitie
    ouer the blacke-Gowne of a bigge heart: I am going
    forsooth, the businesse is for Helen to come hither.
    Enter.


      Cou. Well now


       Stew. I know Madam you loue your Gentlewoman
    intirely


       Cou. Faith I doe: her Father bequeath'd her to mee,
    and she her selfe without other aduantage, may lawfullie
    make title to as much loue as shee findes, there is
    more owing her then is paid, and more shall be paid
    her then sheele demand


       Stew. Madam, I was verie late more neere her then
    I thinke shee wisht mee, alone shee was, and did
    communicate to her selfe her owne words to her
    owne eares, shee thought, I dare vowe for her, they
    toucht not anie stranger sence, her matter was, shee
    loued your Sonne; Fortune shee said was no goddesse,
    that had put such difference betwixt their two
    estates: Loue no god, that would not extend his might
    onelie, where qualities were leuell, Queene of Virgins,
    that would suffer her poore Knight surpris'd
    without rescue in the first assault or ransome afterward:
    This shee deliuer'd in the most bitter touch of
    sorrow that ere I heard Virgin exclaime in, which I held
    my dutie speedily to acquaint you withall, sithence in
    the losse that may happen, it concernes you something
    to know it


       Cou. You haue discharg'd this honestlie, keepe it
    to your selfe, manie likelihoods inform'd mee of this
    before, which hung so tottring in the ballance, that
    I could neither beleeue nor misdoubt: praie you
    leaue mee, stall this in your bosome, and I thanke
    you for your honest care: I will speake with you further
    anon.


    Exit Steward.


    Enter Hellen.


      Old.Cou. Euen so it was with me when I was yong:
    If euer we are natures, these are ours, this thorne
    Doth to our Rose of youth rightlie belong
    Our bloud to vs, this to our blood is borne,
    It is the show, and seale of natures truth,
    Where loues strong passion is imprest in youth,
    By our remembrances of daies forgon,
    Such were our faults, or then we thought them none,
    Her eie is sicke on't, I obserue her now


       Hell. What is your pleasure Madam?
      Ol.Cou. You know Hellen I am a mother to you


       Hell. Mine honorable Mistris


       Ol.Cou. Nay a mother, why not a mother? when I
    sed a mother
    Me thought 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 seene
    Adoption striues with nature, and choise breedes
    A natiue slip to vs from forraine seedes:
    You nere opprest me with a mothers groane,
    Yet I expresse to you a mothers care,
    (Gods mercie maiden) dos it curd thy blood
    To say I am thy mother? what's the matter,
    That this distempered messenger of wet?
    The manie colour'd Iris rounds thine eye? - Why, that you are my
    daughter?
      Hell. That I am not


       Old.Cou. I say I am your Mother


       Hell. Pardon Madam.
    The Count Rosillion cannot be my brother:
    I am from humble, he from honored name:
    No note vpon my Parents, his all noble,
    My Master, my deere Lord he is, and I
    His seruant liue, and will his vassall die:
    He must not be my brother


       Ol.Cou. Nor I your Mother


       Hell. You are my mother Madam, would you were
    So that my Lord your sonne were not my brother,
    Indeede my mother, or were you both our mothers,
    I care no more for, then I doe for heauen,
    So I were not his sister, cant no other,
    But I your daughter, he must be my brother


       Old.Cou. Yes Hellen, you might be my daughter in law,
    God shield you meane it not, daughter and mother
    So striue vpon your pulse; what pale agen?
    My feare hath catcht your fondnesse! now I see
    The mistrie of your louelinesse, and finde
    Your salt teares head, now to all sence 'tis grosse:
    You loue my sonne, inuention is asham'd
    Against the proclamation of thy passion
    To say thou doost not: therefore tell me true,
    But tell me then 'tis so, for looke, thy cheekes
    Confesse it 'ton tooth to th' other, and thine eies
    See it so grosely showne in thy behauiours,
    That in their kinde they speake it, onely sinne
    And hellish obstinacie tye thy tongue
    That truth should be suspected, speake, ist so?
    If it be so, you haue wound a goodly clewe:
    If it be not, forsweare't how ere I charge thee,
    As heauen shall worke in me for thine auaile
    To tell me truelie


       Hell. Good Madam pardon me


       Cou. Do you loue my Sonne?
      Hell. Your pardon noble Mistris


       Cou. Loue you my Sonne?
      Hell. Doe not you loue him Madam?
      Cou. Goe not about; my loue hath in't a bond
    Whereof the world takes note: Come, come, disclose:
    The state of your affection, for your passions
    Haue to the full appeach'd


       Hell. Then I confesse
    Here on my knee, before high heauen and you,
    That before you, and next vnto high heauen, I loue your
    Sonne:
    My friends were poore but honest, so's my loue:
    Be not offended, for it hurts not him
    That he is lou'd of me; I follow him not
    By any token of presumptuous suite,
    Nor would I haue him, till I doe deserue him,
    Yet neuer know how that desert should be:
    I know I loue in vaine, striue against hope:
    Yet in this captious, and intemible Siue.
    I still poure in the waters of my loue
    And lacke not to loose still; thus Indian like
    Religious in mine error, I adore
    The Sunne that lookes vpon his worshipper,
    But knowes of him no more. My deerest Madam,
    Let not your hate incounter with my loue,
    For louing where you doe; but if your selfe,
    Whose aged honor cites a vertuous youth,
    Did euer, in so true a flame of liking,
    Wish chastly, and loue dearely, that your Dian
    Was both her selfe and loue, O then giue pittie
    To her whose state is such, that cannot choose
    But lend and giue where she is sure to loose;
    That seekes not to finde that, her search implies,
    But riddle like, liues sweetely where she dies


       Cou. Had you not lately an intent, speake truely,
    To goe to Paris?
      Hell. Madam I had


       Cou. Wherefore? tell true


       Hell. I will tell truth, by grace it selfe I sweare:
    You know my Father left me some prescriptions
    Of rare and prou'd effects, such as his reading
    And manifest experience, had collected
    For generall soueraigntie: and that he wil'd me
    In heedefull'st reseruation to bestow them,
    As notes, whose faculties inclusiue were,
    More then they were in note: Amongst the rest,
    There is a remedie, approu'd, set downe,
    To cure the desperate languishings whereof
    The King is render'd lost


       Cou. This was your motiue for Paris, was it, speake?
      Hell. My Lord, your sonne, made me to think of this;
    Else Paris, and the medicine, and the King,
    Had from the conuersation of my thoughts,
    Happily beene absent then


       Cou. But thinke you Hellen,
    If you should tender your supposed aide,
    He would receiue it? He and his Phisitions
    Are of a minde, he, that they cannot helpe him:
    They, that they cannot helpe, how shall they credit
    A poore vnlearned Virgin, when the Schooles
    Embowel'd of their doctrine, haue left off
    The danger to it selfe


       Hell. There's something in't
    More then my Fathers skill, which was the great'st
    Of his profession, that his good receipt,
    Shall for my legacie be sanctified
    Byth' luckiest stars in heauen, and would your honor
    But giue me leaue to trie successe, I'de venture
    The well lost life of mine, on his Graces cure,
    By such a day, an houre


       Cou. Doo'st thou beleeue't?
      Hell. I Madam knowingly


       Cou. Why Hellen thou shalt haue my leaue and loue,
    Meanes and attendants, and my louing greetings
    To those of mine in Court, Ile staie at home
    And praie Gods blessing into thy attempt:
    Begon to morrow, and be sure of this,
    What I can helpe thee to, thou shalt not misse.


    Exeunt.


    Actus Secundus.


    Enter the King with diuers yong Lords, taking leaue for the
    Florentine
    warre: Count, Rosse, and Parrolles. Florish Cornets.


      King. Farewell yong Lords, these warlike principles
    Doe not throw from you, and you my Lords farewell:
    Share the aduice betwixt you, if both gaine, all
    The guift doth stretch it selfe as 'tis receiu'd,
    And is enough for both


       Lord.G. 'Tis our hope sir,
    After well entred souldiers, to returne
    And finde your grace in health


       King. No, no, it cannot be; and yet my heart
    Will not confesse he owes the mallady
    That doth my life besiege: farwell yong Lords,
    Whether I liue or die, be you the sonnes
    Of worthy French men: let higher Italy
    (Those bated that inherit but the fall
    Of the last Monarchy) see that you come
    Not to wooe honour, but to wed it, when
    The brauest questant shrinkes: finde what you seeke,
    That fame may cry you loud: I say farewell


       L.G. Health at your bidding serue your Maiesty


       King. Those girles of Italy, take heed of them,
    They say our French, lacke language to deny
    If they demand: beware of being Captiues
    Before you serue


       Bo. Our hearts receiue your warnings


       King. Farewell, come hether to me


       1.Lo.G. Oh my sweet Lord y you wil stay behind vs


       Parr. 'Tis not his fault the spark


       2.Lo.E. Oh 'tis braue warres


       Parr. Most admirable, I haue seene those warres


       Rossill. I am commanded here, and kept a coyle with,
    Too young, and the next yeere, and 'tis too early


       Parr. And thy minde stand too't boy,
    Steale away brauely


       Rossill. I shal stay here the for-horse to a smocke,
    Creeking my shooes on the plaine Masonry,
    Till honour be bought vp, and no sword worne
    But one to dance with: by heauen, Ile steale away


       1.Lo.G. There's honour in the theft


       Parr. Commit it Count


       2.Lo.E. I am your accessary, and so farewell


       Ros. I grow to you, &our parting is a tortur'd body


       1.Lo.G. Farewell Captaine


       2.Lo.E. Sweet Mounsier Parolles


       Parr. Noble Heroes; my sword and yours are kinne,
    good sparkes and lustrous, a word good mettals. You
    shall finde in the Regiment of the Spinij, one Captaine
    Spurio his sicatrice, with an Embleme of warre heere on
    his sinister cheeke; it was this very sword entrench'd it:
    say to him I liue, and obserue his reports for me


       Lo.G. We shall noble Captaine


       Parr. Mars doate on you for his nouices, what will
    ye doe?
      Ross. Stay the King


       Parr. Vse a more spacious ceremonie to the Noble
    Lords, you haue restrain'd your selfe within the List of
    too cold an adieu: be more expressiue to them; for they
    weare themselues in the cap of the time, there do muster
    true gate; eat, speake, and moue vnder the influence of
    the most receiu'd starre, and though the deuill leade the
    measure, such are to be followed: after them, and take a
    more dilated farewell


       Ross. And I will doe so


       Parr. Worthy fellowes, and like to prooue most sinewie
    sword-men.


    Exeunt.


    Enter Lafew.


      L.Laf. Pardon my Lord for mee and for my tidings


       King. Ile see thee to stand vp


       L.Laf. Then heres a man stands that has brought his pardon,
    I would you had kneel'd my Lord to aske me mercy,
    And that at my bidding you could so stand vp


       King. I would I had, so I had broke thy pate
    And askt thee mercy for't


       Laf. Goodfaith a-crosse, but my good Lord 'tis thus,
    Will you be cur'd of your infirmitie?
      King. No


       Laf. O will you eat no grapes my royall foxe?
    Yes but you will, my noble grapes, and if
    My royall foxe could reach them: I haue seen a medicine
    That's able to breath life into a stone,
    Quicken a rocke, and make you dance Canari
    With sprightly fire and motion, whose simple touch
    Is powerfull to arayse King Pippen, nay
    To giue great Charlemaine a pen in's hand
    And write to her a loue-line


       King. What her is this?
      Laf. Why doctor she: my Lord, there's one arriu'd,
    If you will see her: now by my faith and honour,
    If seriously I may conuay my thoughts
    In this my light deliuerance, I haue spoke
    With one, that in her sexe, her yeeres, profession,
    Wisedome and constancy, hath amaz'd mee more
    Then I dare blame my weakenesse: will you see her?
    For that is her demand, and know her businesse?
    That done, laugh well at me


       King. Now good Lafew,
    Bring in the admiration, that we with thee
    May spend our wonder too, or take off thine
    By wondring how thou tookst it


       Laf. Nay, Ile fit you,
    And not be all day neither


       King. Thus he his speciall nothing euer prologues


       Laf. Nay, come your waies.
    Enter Hellen.


      King. This haste hath wings indeed


       Laf. Nay, come your waies,
    This is his Maiestie, say your minde to him,
    A Traitor you doe looke like, but such traitors
    His Maiesty seldome feares, I am Cresseds Vncle,
    That dare leaue two together, far you well.
    Enter.


      King. Now faire one, do's your busines follow vs?
      Hel. I my good Lord,
    Gerard de Narbon was my father,
    In what he did professe, well found


       King. I knew him


       Hel. The rather will I spare my praises towards him,
    Knowing him is enough: on's bed of death,
    Many receits he gaue me, chieflie one,
    Which as the dearest issue of his practice
    And of his olde experience, th' onlie darling,
    He bad me store vp, as a triple eye,
    Safer then mine owne two: more deare I haue so,
    And hearing your high Maiestie is toucht
    With that malignant cause, wherein the honour
    Of my deare fathers gift, stands cheefe in power,
    I come to tender it, and my appliance,
    With all bound humblenesse


       King. We thanke you maiden,
    But may not be so credulous of cure,
    When our most learned Doctors leaue vs, and
    The congregated Colledge haue concluded,
    That labouring Art can neuer ransome nature
    From her inaydible estate: I say we must not
    So staine our iudgement, or corrupt our hope,
    To prostitute our past-cure malladie
    To empericks, or to disseuer so
    Our great selfe and our credit, to esteeme
    A sencelesse helpe, when helpe past sence we deeme


       Hell. My dutie then shall pay me for my paines:
    I will no more enforce mine office on you,
    Humbly intreating from your royall thoughts,
    A modest one to beare me backe againe


       King. I cannot giue thee lesse to be cal'd gratefull:
    Thou thoughtst to helpe me, and such thankes I giue,
    As one neere death to those that wish him liue:
    But what at full I know, thou knowst no part,
    I knowing all my perill, thou no Art


       Hell. What I can doe, can doe no hurt to try,
    Since you set vp your rest 'gainst remedie:
    He that of greatest workes is finisher,
    Oft does them by the weakest minister:
    So holy Writ, in babes hath iudgement showne,
    When Iudges haue bin babes; great flouds haue flowne
    From simple sources: and great Seas haue dried
    When Miracles haue by the great'st beene denied.
    Oft expectation failes, and most oft there
    Where most it promises: and oft it hits,
    Where hope is coldest, and despaire most shifts


       King. I must not heare thee, fare thee wel kind maide,
    Thy paines not vs'd, must by thy selfe be paid,
    Proffers not tooke, reape thanks for their reward


       Hel. Inspired Merit so by breath is bard,
    It is not so with him that all things knowes
    As 'tis with vs, that square our guesse by showes:
    But most it is presumption in vs, when
    The help of heauen we count the act of men.
    Deare sir, to my endeauors giue consent,
    Of heauen, not me, make an experiment.
    I am not an Imposture, that proclaime
    My selfe against the leuill of mine aime,
    But know I thinke, and thinke I know most sure,
    My Art is not past power, nor you past cure


       King. Art thou so confident? Within what space
    Hop'st thou my cure?
      Hel. The greatest grace lending grace,
    Ere twice the horses of the sunne shall bring
    Their fiery torcher his diurnall ring,
    Ere twice in murke and occidentall dampe
    Moist Hesperus hath quench'd her sleepy Lampe:
    Or foure and twenty times the Pylots glasse
    Hath told the theeuish minutes, how they passe:
    What is infirme, from your sound parts shall flie,
    Health shall liue free, and sickenesse freely dye


       King. Vpon thy certainty and confidence,
    What dar'st thou venter?
      Hell. Taxe of impudence,
    A strumpets boldnesse, a divulged shame
    Traduc'd by odious ballads: my maidens name
    Seard otherwise, ne worse of worst extended
    With vildest torture, let my life be ended


       Kin. Methinks in thee some blessed spirit doth speak
    His powerfull sound, within an organ weake:
    And what impossibility would slay
    In common sence, sence saues another way:
    Thy life is deere, for all that life can rate
    Worth name of life, in thee hath estimate:
    Youth, beauty, wisedome, courage, all
    That happines and prime, can happy call:
    Thou this to hazard, needs must intimate
    Skill infinite, or monstrous desperate,
    Sweet practiser, thy Physicke I will try,
    That ministers thine owne death if I die


       Hel. If I breake time, or flinch in property
    Of what I spoke, vnpittied let me die,
    And well deseru'd: not helping, death's my fee,
    But if I helpe, what doe you promise me


       Kin. Make thy demand


       Hel. But will you make it euen?
      Kin. I by my Scepter, and my hopes of helpe


       Hel. Then shalt thou giue me with thy kingly hand
    What husband in thy power I will command:
    Exempted be from me the arrogance
    To choose from forth the royall bloud of France,
    My low and humble name to propagate
    With any branch or image of thy state:
    But such a one thy vassall, whom I know
    Is free for me to aske, thee to bestow


       Kin. Heere is my hand, the premises obseru'd,
    Thy will by my performance shall be seru'd:
    So make the choice of thy owne time, for I
    Thy resolv'd Patient, on thee still relye:
    More should I question thee, and more I must,
    Though more to know, could not be more to trust:
    From whence thou cam'st, how tended on, but rest
    Vnquestion'd welcome, and vndoubted blest.
    Giue me some helpe heere hoa, if thou proceed,
    As high as word, my deed shall match thy deed.


    Florish. Exit.


    Enter Countesse and Clowne.


      Lady. Come on sir, I shall now put you to the height
    of your breeding


       Clown. I will shew my selfe highly fed, and lowly
    taught, I know my businesse is but to the Court


       Lady. To the Court, why what place make you speciall,
    when you put off that with such contempt, but to
    the Court?
      Clo. Truly Madam, if God haue lent a man any manners,
    hee may easilie put it off at Court: hee that cannot
    make a legge, put off's cap, kisse his hand, and say nothing,
    has neither legge, hands, lippe, nor cap; and indeed
    such a fellow, to say precisely, were not for the
    Court, but for me, I haue an answere will serue all men


       Lady. Marry that's a bountifull answere that fits all
    questions


       Clo. It is like a Barbers chaire that fits all buttockes,
    the pin buttocke, the quatch-buttocke, the brawn buttocke,
    or any buttocke


       Lady. Will your answere serue fit to all questions?
      Clo. As fit as ten groats is for the hand of an Atturney,
    as your French Crowne for your taffety punke, as
    Tibs rush for Toms fore-finger, as a pancake for Shroue-tuesday,
    a Morris for May-day, as the naile to his hole,
    the Cuckold to his horne, as a scolding queane to a
    wrangling knaue, as the Nuns lip to the Friers mouth,
    nay as the pudding to his skin


       Lady. Haue you, I say, an answere of such fitnesse for
    all questions?
      Clo. From below your Duke, to beneath your Constable,
    it will fit any question


       Lady. It must be an answere of most monstrous size,
    that must fit all demands


       Clo. But a triflle neither in good faith, if the learned
    should speake truth of it: heere it is, and all that belongs
    to't. Aske mee if I am a Courtier, it shall doe you no
    harme to learne


       Lady. To be young againe if we could: I will bee a
    foole in question, hoping to bee the wiser by your answer


       La. I pray you sir, are you a Courtier?
      Clo. O Lord sir theres a simple putting off: more,
    more, a hundred of them


       La. Sir I am a poore freind of yours, that loues you


       Clo. O Lord sir, thicke, thicke, spare not me


       La. I thinke sir, you can eate none of this homely
    meate


       Clo. O Lord sir; nay put me too't, I warrant you


       La. You were lately whipt sir as I thinke


       Clo. O Lord sir, spare not me


       La. Doe you crie O Lord sir at your whipping, and
    spare not me? Indeed your O Lord sir, is very sequent
    to your whipping: you would answere very well to a
    whipping if you were but bound too't


       Clo. I nere had worse lucke in my life in my O Lord
    sir: I see things may serue long, but not serue euer


       La. I play the noble huswife with the time, to entertaine
    it so merrily with a foole


       Clo. O Lord sir, why there't serues well agen


       La. And end sir to your businesse: giue Hellen this,
    And vrge her to a present answer backe,
    Commend me to my kinsmen, and my sonne,
    This is not much


       Clo. Not much commendation to them


       La. Not much imployement for you, you vnderstand
    me


       Clo. Most fruitfully, I am there, before my legges


       La. Hast you agen.


    Exeunt.


    Enter Count, Lafew, and Parolles.


      Ol.Laf. They say miracles are past, and we haue our
    Philosophicall persons, to make moderne and familiar
    things supernaturall and causelesse. Hence is it, that we
    make trifles of terrours, ensconcing our selues into seeming
    knowledge, when we should submit our selues to
    an vnknowne feare


       Par. Why 'tis the rarest argument of wonder, that
    hath shot out in our latter times


       Ros. And so 'tis


       Ol.Laf. To be relinquisht of the Artists


       Par. So I say both of Galen and Paracelsus


       Ol.Laf. Of all the learned and authenticke fellowes


       Par. Right so I say


       Ol.Laf. That gaue him out incureable


       Par. Why there 'tis, so say I too


       Ol.Laf. Not to be help'd


       Par. Right, as 'twere a man assur'd of a-
      Ol.Laf. Vncertaine life, and sure death


       Par. Iust, you say well: so would I haue said


       Ol.Laf. I may truly say, it is a noueltie to the world


       Par. It is indeede if you will haue it in shewing, you
    shall reade it in what do ye call there


       Ol.Laf. A shewing of a heauenly effect in an earthly
    Actor


       Par. That's it, I would haue said, the verie same


       Ol.Laf. Why your Dolphin is not lustier: fore mee
    I speake in respect-
      Par. Nay 'tis strange, 'tis very straunge, that is the
    breefe and the tedious of it, and he's of a most facinerious
    spirit, that will not acknowledge it to be the-
      Ol.Laf. Very hand of heauen


       Par. I, so I say


       Ol.Laf. In a most weake-
      Par. And debile minister great power, great trancendence,
    which should indeede giue vs a further vse to
    be made, then alone the recou'ry of the king, as to bee
      Old Laf. Generally thankfull.
    Enter King, Hellen, and attendants.


      Par. I would haue said it, you say well: heere comes
    the King


       Ol.Laf. Lustique, as the Dutchman saies: Ile like a
    maide the Better whil'st I haue a tooth in my head: why
    he's able to leade her a Carranto


       Par. Mor du vinager, is not this Helen?
      Ol.Laf. Fore God I thinke so


       King. Goe call before mee all the Lords in Court,
    Sit my preseruer by thy patients side,
    And with this healthfull hand whose banisht sence
    Thou hast repeal'd, a second time receyue
    The confirmation of my promis'd guift,
    Which but attends thy naming.
    Enter 3 or 4 Lords.


    Faire Maide send forth thine eye, this youthfull parcell
    Of Noble Batchellors, stand at my bestowing,
    Ore whom both Soueraigne power, and fathers voice
    I haue to vse; thy franke election make,
    Thou hast power to choose, and they none to forsake


       Hel. To each of you, one faire and vertuous Mistris;
    Fall when loue please, marry to each but one


       Old Laf. I'de giue bay curtall, and his furniture
    My mouth no more were broken then these boyes,
    And writ as little beard


       King. Peruse them well:
    Not one of those, but had a Noble father.


    She addresses her to a Lord.


      Hel. Gentlemen, heauen hath through me, restor'd
    the king to health


       All. We vnderstand it, and thanke heauen for you


       Hel. I am a simple Maide, and therein wealthiest
    That I protest, I simply am a Maide:
    Please it your Maiestie, I haue done already:
    The blushes in my cheekes thus whisper mee,
    We blush that thou shouldst choose, but be refused;
    Let the white death sit on thy cheeke for euer,
    Wee'l nere come there againe


       King. Make choise and see,
    Who shuns thy loue, shuns all his loue in mee


       Hel. Now Dian from thy Altar do I fly,
    And to imperiall loue, that God most high
    Do my sighes streame: Sir, wil you heare my suite?
      1.Lo. And grant it


       Hel. Thankes sir, all the rest is mute


       Ol.Laf. I had rather be in this choise, then throw
    Ames-ace for my life


       Hel. The honor sir that flames in your faire eyes,
    Before I speake too threatningly replies:
    Loue make your fortunes twentie times aboue
    Her that so wishes, and her humble loue


       2.Lo. No better if you please


       Hel. My wish receiue,
    Which great loue grant, and so I take my leaue


       Ol.Laf. Do all they denie her? And they were sons
    of mine, I'de haue them whip'd, or I would send them
    to'th Turke to make Eunuches of


       Hel. Be not afraid that I your hand should take,
    Ile neuer do you wrong for your owne sake:
    Blessing vpon your vowes, and in your bed
    Finde fairer fortune, if you euer wed


       Old Laf. These boyes are boyes of Ice, they'le none
    haue heere: sure they are bastards to the English, the
    French nere got em


       La. You are too young, too happie, and too good
    To make your selfe a sonne out of my blood


       4.Lord. Faire one, I thinke not so


       Ol.Lord There's one grape yet, I am sure thy father
    drunke wine. But if thou be'st not an asse, I am a youth
    of fourteene: I haue knowne thee already


       Hel. I dare not say I take you, but I giue
    Me and my seruice, euer whilst I liue
    Into your guiding power: This is the man


       King. Why then young Bertram take her shee's thy
    wife


       Ber. My wife my Leige? I shal beseech your highnes
    In such a busines, giue me leaue to vse
    The helpe of mine owne eies


       King. Know'st thou not Bertram what shee ha's
    done for mee?
      Ber. Yes my good Lord, but neuer hope to know
    why I should marrie her


       King. Thou know'st shee ha's rais'd me from my sickly
    bed


       Ber. But followes it my Lord, to bring me downe
    Must answer for your raising? I knowe her well:
    Shee had her breeding at my fathers charge:
    A poore Physitians daughter my wife? Disdaine
    Rather corrupt me euer


       King. Tis onely title thou disdainst in her, the which
    I can build vp: strange is it that our bloods
    Of colour, waight, and heat, pour'd all together,
    Would quite confound distinction: yet stands off
    In differences so mightie. If she bee
    All that is vertuous (saue what thou dislik'st)
    A poore Phisitians daughter, thou dislik'st
    Of vertue for the name: but doe not so:
    From lowest place, whence vertuous things proceed,
    The place is dignified by th' doers deede.
    Where great additions swell's, and vertue none,
    It is a dropsied honour. Good alone,
    Is good without a name? Vilenesse is so:
    The propertie by what is is, should go,
    Not by the title. Shee is young, wise, faire,
    In these, to Nature shee's immediate heire:
    And these breed honour: that is honours scorne,
    Which challenges it selfe as honours borne,
    And is not like the sire: Honours thriue,
    When rather from our acts we them deriue
    Then our fore-goers: the meere words, a slaue
    Debosh'd on euerie tombe, on euerie graue:
    A lying Trophee, and as oft is dumbe,
    Where dust, and damn'd obliuion is the Tombe.
    Of honour'd bones indeed, what should be saide?
    If thou canst like this creature, as a maide,
    I can create the rest: Vertue, and shee
    Is her owne dower: Honour and wealth, from mee


       Ber. I cannot loue her, nor will striue to doo't


       King. Thou wrong'st thy selfe, if thou shold'st striue
    to choose


       Hel. That you are well restor'd my Lord, I'me glad:
    Let the rest go


       King. My Honor's at the stake, which to defeate
    I must produce my power. Heere, take her hand,
    Proud scornfull boy, vnworthie this good gift,
    That dost in vile misprision shackle vp
    My loue, and her desert: that canst not dreame,
    We poizing vs in her defectiue scale,
    Shall weigh thee to the beame: That wilt not know,
    It is in Vs to plant thine Honour, where
    We please to haue it grow. Checke thy contempt:
    Obey Our will, which trauailes in thy good:
    Beleeue not thy disdaine, but presentlie
    Do thine owne fortunes that obedient right
    Which both thy dutie owes, and Our power claimes,
    Or I will throw thee from my care for euer
    Into the staggers, and the carelesse lapse
    Of youth and ignorance: both my reuenge and hate
    Loosing vpon thee, in the name of iustice,
    Without all termes of pittie. Speake, thine answer


       Ber. Pardon my gracious Lord: for I submit
    My fancie to your eies, when I consider
    What great creation, and what dole of honour
    Flies where you bid it: I finde that she which late
    Was in my Nobler thoughts, most base: is now
    The praised of the King, who so ennobled,
    Is as 'twere borne so


       King. Take her by the hand,
    And tell her she is thine: to whom I promise
    A counterpoize: If not to thy estate,
    A ballance more repleat


       Ber. I take her hand


       Kin. Good fortune, and the fauour of the King
    Smile vpon this Contract: whose Ceremonie
    Shall seeme expedient on the now borne briefe,
    And be perform'd to night: the solemne Feast
    Shall more attend vpon the coming space,
    Expecting absent friends. As thou lou'st her,
    Thy loue's to me Religious: else, do's erre.


    Exeunt.


    Parolles and Lafew stay behind, commenting of this wedding.


      Laf. Do you heare Monsieur? A word with you


       Par. Your pleasure sir


       Laf. Your Lord and Master did well to make his recantation


       Par. Recantation? My Lord? my Master?
      Laf. I: Is it not a Language I speake?
      Par. A most harsh one, and not to bee vnderstoode
    without bloudie succeeding. My Master?
      Laf. Are you Companion to the Count Rosillion?
      Par. To any Count, to all Counts: to what is man


       Laf. To what is Counts man: Counts maister is of
    another stile


       Par. You are too old sir: Let it satisfie you, you are
    too old


       Laf. I must tell thee sirrah, I write Man: to which
    title age cannot bring thee


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


       Laf. I did thinke thee for two ordinaries: to bee a
    prettie wise fellow, thou didst make tollerable vent of
    thy trauell, it might passe: yet the scarffes and the bannerets
    about thee, did manifoldlie disswade me from beleeuing
    thee a vessell of too great a burthen. I haue now
    found thee, when I loose thee againe, I care not: yet art
    thou good for nothing but taking vp, and that th'ourt
    scarce worth


       Par. Hadst thou not the priuiledge of Antiquity vpon
    thee


       Laf. Do not plundge thy selfe to farre in anger, least
    thou hasten thy triall: which if, Lord haue mercie on
    thee for a hen, so my good window of Lettice fare thee
    well, thy casement I neede not open, for I look through
    thee. Giue me thy hand


       Par. My Lord, you giue me most egregious indignity


       Laf. I with all my heart, and thou art worthy of it


       Par. I haue not my Lord deseru'd it


       Laf. Yes good faith, eu'ry dramme of it, and I will
    not bate thee a scruple


       Par. Well, I shall be wiser


       Laf. Eu'n as soone as thou can'st, for thou hast to pull
    at a smacke a'th contrarie. If euer thou bee'st bound
    in thy skarfe and beaten, thou shall finde what it is to be
    proud of thy bondage, I haue a desire to holde my acquaintance
    with thee, or rather my knowledge, that I
    may say in the default, he is a man I know


       Par. My Lord you do me most insupportable vexation


       Laf. I would it were hell paines for thy sake, and my
    poore doing eternall: for doing I am past, as I will by
    thee, in what motion age will giue me leaue.
    Enter.


      Par. Well, thou hast a sonne shall take this disgrace
    off me; scuruy, old, filthy, scuruy Lord: Well, I must
    be patient, there is no fettering of authority. Ile beate
    him (by my life) if I can meete him with any conuenience,
    and he were double and double a Lord. Ile haue
    no more pittie of his age then I would haue of- Ile
    beate him, and if I could but meet him agen.
    Enter Lafew.


      Laf. Sirra, your Lord and masters married, there's
    newes for you: you haue a new Mistris


       Par. I most vnfainedly beseech your Lordshippe to
    make some reseruation of your wrongs. He is my good
    Lord, whom I serue aboue is my master


       Laf. Who? God


       Par. I sir


       Laf. The deuill it is, that's thy master. Why dooest
    thou garter vp thy armes a this fashion? Dost make hose
    of thy sleeues? Do other seruants so? Thou wert best set
    thy lower part where thy nose stands. By mine Honor,
    if I were but two houres yonger, I'de beate thee: mee-think'st
    thou art a generall offence, and euery man shold
    beate thee: I thinke thou wast created for men to breath
    themselues vpon thee


       Par. This is hard and vndeserued measure my Lord


       Laf. Go too sir, you were beaten in Italy for picking
    a kernell out of a Pomgranat, you are a vagabond, and
    no true traueller: you are more sawcie with Lordes and
    honourable personages, then the Commission of your
    birth and vertue giues you Heraldry. You are not worth
    another word, else I'de call you knaue. I leaue you.


    Exit


    Enter Count Rossillion.


      Par. Good, very good, it is so then: good, very
    good, let it be conceal'd awhile


       Ros. Vndone, and forfeited to cares for euer


       Par. What's the matter sweet-heart?
      Rossill. Although before the solemne Priest I haue
    sworne, I will not bed her


       Par. What? what sweet heart?
      Ros. O my Parrolles, they haue married me:
    Ile to the Tuscan warres, and neuer bed her


       Par. France is a dog-hole, and it no more merits,
    The tread of a mans foot: too'th warres


       Ros. There's letters from my mother: What th' import
    is, I know not yet


       Par. I that would be knowne: too'th warrs my boy,
    too'th warres:
    He weares his honor in a boxe vnseene,
    That hugges his kickie wickie heare at home,
    Spending his manlie marrow in her armes
    Which should sustaine the bound and high curuet
    Of Marses fierie steed: to other Regions,
    France is a stable, wee that dwell in't Iades,
    Therefore too'th warre


       Ros. It shall be so, Ile 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 speake. His present gift
    Shall furnish me to those Italian fields
    Where noble fellowes strike: Warres is no strife
    To the darke house, and the detected wife


       Par. Will this Caprichio hold in thee, art sure?
      Ros. Go with me to my chamber, and aduice me.
    Ile send her straight away: To morrow,
    Ile to the warres, she to her single sorrow


       Par. Why these bals bound, ther's noise in it. Tis hard
    A yong man maried, is a man that's mard:
    Therefore away, and leaue her brauely: go,
    The King ha's done you wrong: but hush 'tis so.


    Exit


    Enter Helena and Clowne.


      Hel. My mother greets me kindly, is she well?
      Clo. She is not well, but yet she has her health, she's
    very merrie, but yet she is not well: but thankes be giuen
    she's very well, and wants nothing i'th world: but
    yet she is not well


       Hel. If she be verie wel, what do's she ayle, that she's
    not verie well?
      Clo. Truly she's very well indeed, but for two things
      Hel. What two things?
      Clo. One, that she's not in heauen, whether God send
    her quickly: the other, that she's in earth, from whence
    God send her quickly.
    Enter Parolles.


      Par. Blesse you my fortunate Ladie


       Hel. I hope sir I haue your good will to haue mine
    owne good fortune


       Par. You had my prayers to leade them on, and to
    keepe them on, haue them still. O my knaue, how do's
    my old Ladie?
      Clo. So that you had her wrinkles, and I her money,
    I would she did as you say


       Par. Why I say nothing


       Clo. Marry you are the wiser man: for many a mans
    tongue shakes out his masters vndoing: to say nothing,
    to do nothing, to know nothing, and to haue nothing,
    is to be a great part of your title, which is within a verie
    little of nothing


       Par. Away, th'art a knaue


       Clo. You should haue said sir before a knaue, th'art a
    knaue, that's before me th'art a knaue: this had beene
    truth sir


       Par. Go too, thou art a wittie foole, I haue found
    thee


       Clo. Did you finde me in your selfe sir, or were you
    taught to finde me?
      Clo. The search sir was profitable, and much Foole
    may you find in you, euen to the worlds pleasure, and the
    encrease of laughter


       Par. A good knaue ifaith, and well fed.
    Madam, my Lord will go awaie to night,
    A verie serrious businesse call's on him:
    The great prerogatiue and rite of loue,
    Which as your due time claimes, he do's acknowledge,
    But puts it off to a compell'd restraint:
    Whose want, and whose delay, is strew'd with sweets
    Which they distill now in the curbed time,
    To make the comming houre oreflow with ioy,
    And pleasure drowne the brim


       Hel. What's his will else?
      Par. That you will take your instant leaue a'th king,
    And make this hast as your owne good proceeding,
    Strengthned with what Apologie you thinke
    May make it probable neede


       Hel. What more commands hee?
      Par. That hauing this obtain'd, you presentlie
    Attend his further pleasure


       Hel. In euery thing I waite vpon his will


       Par. I shall report it so.


    Exit Par.


      Hell. I pray you come sirrah.


    Exit


    Enter Lafew and Bertram.


      Laf. But I hope your Lordshippe thinkes not him a
    souldier


       Ber. Yes my Lord and of verie valiant approofe


       Laf. You haue it from his owne deliuerance


       Ber. And by other warranted testimonie


       Laf. Then my Diall goes not true, I tooke this Larke
    for a bunting


       Ber. I do assure you my Lord he is very great in knowledge,
    and accordinglie valiant


       Laf. I haue then sinn'd against his experience, and
    transgrest against his valour, and my state that way is
    dangerous, since I cannot yet find in my heart to repent:
    Heere he comes, I pray you make vs freinds, I will pursue
    the amitie.
    Enter Parolles.


      Par. These things shall be done sir


       Laf. Pray you sir whose his Tailor?
      Par. Sir?
      Laf. O I know him well, I sir, hee sirs a good workeman,
    a verie good Tailor


       Ber. Is shee gone to the king?
      Par. Shee is


       Ber. Will shee away to night?
      Par. As you'le haue her


       Ber. I haue writ my letters, casketted my treasure,
    Giuen order for our horses, and to night,
    When I should take possession of the Bride,
    And ere I doe begin


       Laf. A good Trauailer is something at the latter end
    of a dinner, but on that lies three thirds, and vses a
    known truth to passe a thousand nothings with, should
    bee once hard, and thrice beaten. God saue you Captaine


       Ber. Is there any vnkindnes betweene my Lord and
    you Monsieur?
      Par. I know not how I haue deserued to run into my
    Lords displeasure


       Laf. You haue made shift to run into't, bootes and
    spurres and all: like him that leapt into the Custard, and
    out of it you'le runne againe, rather then suffer question
    for your residence


       Ber. It may bee you haue mistaken him my Lord


       Laf. And shall doe so euer, though I tooke him at's
    prayers. Fare you well my Lord, and beleeue this of
    me, there can be no kernell in this light Nut: the soule
    of this man is his cloathes: Trust him not in matter of
    heauie consequence: I haue kept of them tame, &know
    their natures. Farewell Monsieur, I haue spoken better
    of you, then you haue or will to deserue at my hand, but
    we must do good against euill


       Par. An idle Lord, I sweare


       Ber. I thinke so


       Par. Why do you not know him?
      Ber. Yes, I do know him well, and common speech
    Giues him a worthy passe. Heere comes my clog.
    Enter Helena.


      Hel. I haue sir as I was commanded from you
    Spoke with the King, and haue procur'd his leaue
    For present parting, onely he desires
    Some priuate speech with you


       Ber. I shall obey his will.
    You must not meruaile Helen at my course,
    Which holds not colour with the time, nor does
    The ministration, and required office
    On my particular. Prepar'd I was not
    For such a businesse, therefore am I found
    So much vnsetled: This driues me to intreate you,
    That presently you take your way for home,
    And rather muse then aske why I intreate you,
    For my respects are better then they seeme,
    And my appointments haue in them a neede
    Greater then shewes it selfe at the first view,
    To you that know them not. This to my mother,
    'Twill be two daies ere I shall see you, so
    I leaue you to your wisedome


       Hel. Sir, I can nothing say,
    But that I am your most obedient seruant


       Ber. Come, come, no more of that


       Hel. And euer shall
    With true obseruance seeke to eeke out that
    Wherein toward me my homely starres haue faild
    To equall my great fortune


       Ber. Let that goe: my hast is verie great. Farwell:
    Hie home


       Hel. Pray sir your pardon


       Ber. Well, what would you say?
      Hel. I am not worthie of the wealth I owe,
    Nor dare I say 'tis mine: and yet it is,
    But like a timorous theefe, most faine would steale
    What law does vouch mine owne


       Ber. What would you haue?
      Hel. Something, and scarse so much: nothing indeed,
    I would not tell you what I would my Lord: Faith yes,
    Strangers and foes do sunder, and not kisse


       Ber. I pray you stay not, but in hast to horse


       Hel. I shall not breake your bidding, good my Lord:
    Where are my other men? Monsieur, farwell.


    Exit


      Ber. Go thou toward home, where I wil neuer come,
    Whilst I can shake my sword, or heare the drumme:
    Away, and for our flight


       Par. Brauely, Coragio.

    Actus Tertius.


    Flourish. Enter the Duke of Florence, the two Frenchmen, with a
    troope of
    Souldiers.


      Duke. So that from point to point, now haue you heard
    The fundamentall reasons of this warre,
    Whose great decision hath much blood let forth
    And more thirsts after


       1.Lord. Holy seemes the quarrell
    Vpon your Graces part: blacke and fearefull
    On the opposer


       Duke. Therefore we meruaile much our Cosin France
    Would in so iust a businesse, shut his bosome
    Against our borrowing prayers


       French E. Good my Lord,
    The reasons of our state I cannot yeelde,
    But like a common and an outward man,
    That the great figure of a Counsaile frames,
    By selfe vnable motion, therefore dare not
    Say what I thinke of it, since I haue found
    My selfe in my incertaine grounds to faile
    As often as I guest


       Duke. Be it his pleasure


       Fren.G. But I am sure the yonger of our nature,
    That surfet on their ease, will day by day
    Come heere for Physicke


       Duke. Welcome shall they bee:
    And all the honors that can flye from vs,
    Shall on them settle: you know your places well,
    When better fall, for your auailes they fell,
    To morrow to'th the field.


    Flourish.


    Enter Countesse and Clowne.


      Count. It hath happen'd all, as I would haue had it, saue
    that he comes not along with her


       Clo. By my troth I take my young Lord to be a verie
    melancholly man


       Count. By what obseruance I pray you


       Clo. Why he will looke vppon his boote, and sing:
    mend the Ruffe and sing, aske questions and sing, picke
    his teeth, and sing: I know a man that had this tricke of
    melancholy hold a goodly Mannor for a song


       Lad. Let me see what he writes, and when he meanes
    to come


       Clow. I haue no minde to Isbell since I was at Court.
    Our old Lings, and our Isbels a'th Country, are nothing
    like your old Ling and your Isbels a'th Court: the brains
    of my Cupid's knock'd out, and I beginne to loue, as an
    old man loues money, with no stomacke


       Lad. What haue we heere?
      Clo. In that you haue there.


    Exit


    A Letter.


    I haue sent you a daughter-in-Law, shee hath recouered the
    King, and vndone me: I haue wedded her, not bedded her,
    and sworne to make the not eternall. You shall heare I am
    runne away, know it before the report come. If there bee
    bredth enough in the world, I will hold a long distance. My
    duty to you. Your vnfortunate sonne,
    Bertram.
    This is not well rash and vnbridled boy,
    To flye the fauours of so good a King,
    To plucke his indignation on thy head,
    By the misprising of a Maide too vertuous
    For the contempt of Empire.
    Enter Clowne.


      Clow. O Madam, yonder is heauie newes within betweene
    two souldiers, and my yong Ladie


       La. What is the matter


       Clo. Nay there is some comfort in the newes, some
    comfort, your sonne will not be kild so soone as I thoght
    he would


       La. Why should he be kill'd?
      Clo. So say I Madame, if he runne away, as I heare he
    does, the danger is in standing too't, that's the losse of
    men, though it be the getting of children. Heere they
    come will tell you more. For my part I onely heare your
    sonne was run away.
    Enter Hellen and two Gentlemen.


      French E. Saue you good Madam


       Hel. Madam, my Lord is gone, for euer gone


       French G. Do not say so


       La. Thinke vpon patience, pray you Gentlemen,
    I haue felt so many quirkes of ioy and greefe,
    That the first face of neither on the start
    Can woman me vntoo't. Where is my sonne I pray you?
      Fren.G. Madam he's gone to serue the Duke of Florence,
    We met him thitherward, for thence we came:
    And after some dispatch in hand at Court,
    Thither we bend againe


       Hel. Looke on his Letter Madam, here's my Pasport.
    When thou canst get the Ring vpon my finger, which neuer
    shall come off, and shew mee a childe begotten of thy bodie,
    that I am father too, then call me husband: but in such a (then)
    I write a Neuer.
    This is a dreadfull sentence


       La. Brought you this Letter Gentlemen?
      1.G. I Madam, and for the Contents sake are sorrie
    for our paines


       Old La. I prethee Ladie haue a better cheere,
    If thou engrossest, all the greefes are thine,
    Thou robst me of a moity: He was my sonne,
    But I do wash his name out of my blood,
    And thou art all my childe. Towards Florence is he?
      Fren.G. I Madam


       La. And to be a souldier


       Fren.G. Such is his noble purpose, and beleeu't
    The Duke will lay vpon him all the honor
    That good conuenience claimes


       La. Returne you thither


       Fren.E. I Madam, with the swiftest wing of speed


       Hel. Till I haue no wife, I haue nothing in France,
    'Tis bitter


       La. Finde you that there?
      Hel. I Madame


       Fren.E. 'Tis but the boldnesse of his hand haply, which
    his heart was not consenting too


       Lad. Nothing in France, vntill he haue no wife:
    There's nothing heere that is too good for him
    But onely she, and she deserues a Lord
    That twenty such rude boyes might tend vpon,
    And call her hourely Mistris. Who was with him?
      Fren.E. A seruant onely, and a Gentleman: which I
    haue sometime knowne


       La. Parolles was it not?
      Fren.E. I my good Ladie, hee


       La. A verie tainted fellow, and full of wickednesse,
    My sonne corrupts a well deriued nature
    With his inducement


       Fren.E. Indeed good Ladie the fellow has a deale of
    that, too much, which holds him much to haue


       La. Y'are welcome Gentlemen, I will intreate you
    when you see my sonne, to tell him that his sword can
    neuer winne the honor that he looses: more Ile intreate
    you written to beare along


       Fren.G. We serue you Madam in that and all your
    worthiest affaires


       La. Not so, but as we change our courtesies,
    Will you draw neere?
    Enter.


      Hel. Till I haue no wife I haue nothing in France.
    Nothing in France vntill he has no wife:
    Thou shalt haue none Rossillion, none in France,
    Then hast thou all againe: poore Lord, is't I
    That chase thee from thy Countrie, and expose
    Those tender limbes of thine, to the euent
    Of the none-sparing warre? And is it I,
    That driue thee from the sportiue Court, where thou
    Was't shot at with faire eyes, to be the marke
    Of smoakie Muskets? O you leaden messengers,
    That ride vpon the violent speede of fire,
    Fly with false ayme, moue the still-peering aire
    That sings with piercing, do not touch my Lord:
    Who euer shoots at him, I set him there.
    Who euer charges on his forward brest
    I am the Caitiffe that do hold him too't,
    And though I kill him not, I am the cause
    His death was so effected: Better 'twere
    I met the rauine Lyon when he roar'd
    With sharpe constraint of hunger: better 'twere,
    That all the miseries which nature owes
    Were mine at once. No come thou home Rossillion,
    Whence honor but of danger winnes a scarre,
    As oft it looses all. I will be gone:
    My being heere it is, that holds thee hence,
    Shall I stay heere to doo't? No, no, although
    The ayre of Paradise did fan the house,
    And Angels offic'd all: I will be gone,
    That pittifull rumour may report my flight
    To consolate thine eare. Come night, end day,
    For with the darke (poore theefe) Ile steale away.
    Enter.



    Flourish. Enter the Duke of Florence, Rossillion, drum and
    trumpets,
    soldiers, Parrolles.


      Duke. The Generall of our horse thou art, and we
    Great in our hope, lay our best loue and credence
    Vpon thy promising fortune


       Ber. Sir it is
    A charge too heauy for my strength, but yet
    Wee'l striue to beare it for your worthy sake,
    To th' extreme edge of hazard


       Duke. Then go thou forth,
    And fortune play vpon thy prosperous helme
    As thy auspicious mistris


       Ber. This very day
    Great Mars I put my selfe into thy file,
    Make me but like my thoughts, and I shall proue
    A louer of thy drumme, hater of loue.


    Exeunt. omnes
    Enter Countesse &Steward.


      La. 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. Reade it agen.


    Letter.


    I am S[aint]. Iaques Pilgrim, thither gone:
    Ambitious loue hath so in me offended,
    That bare-foot plod I the cold ground vpon
    With sainted vow my faults to haue amended
    Write, write, that from the bloodie course of warre,
    My deerest Master your deare sonne, may hie,
    Blesse him at home in peace. Whilst I from farre,
    His name with zealous feruour sanctifie:
    His taken labours bid him me forgiue:
    I his despightfull Iuno sent him forth,
    From Courtly friends, with Camping foes to liue,
    Where death and danger dogges the heeles of worth.
    He is too good and faire for death, and mee,
    Whom I my selfe embrace, to set him free.
    Ah what sharpe stings are in her mildest words?
    Rynaldo, you did neuer lacke aduice so much,
    As letting her passe so: had I spoke with her,
    I could haue well diuerted her intents,
    Which thus she hath preuented


       Ste. Pardon me Madam,
    If I had giuen you this at ouer-night,
    She might haue beene ore-tane: and yet she writes
    Pursuite would be but vaine


       La. What Angell shall
    Blesse this vnworthy husband, he cannot thriue,
    Vnlesse her prayers, whom heauen delights to heare
    And loues to grant, repreeue him from the wrath
    Of greatest Iustice. Write, write Rynaldo,
    To this vnworthy husband of his wife,
    Let euerie word waigh heauie of her worth,
    That he does waigh too light: my greatest greefe,
    Though little he do feele it, set downe sharpely.
    Dispatch the most conuenient messenger,
    When haply he shall heare that she is gone,
    He will returne, and hope I may that shee
    Hearing so much, will speede her foote againe,
    Led hither by pure loue: which of them both
    Is deerest to me, I haue no skill in sence
    To make distinction: prouide this Messenger:
    My heart is heauie, and mine age is weake,
    Greefe would haue teares, and sorrow bids me speake.


    Exeunt.


    A Tucket afarre off.


    Enter old Widdow of Florence, her daughter Violenta and
    Mariana, with
    other Citizens.


      Widdow. Nay come,
    For if they do approach the Citty,
    We shall loose all the sight


       Diana. They say, the French Count has done
    Most honourable seruice


       Wid. It is reported,
    That he has taken their great'st Commander,
    And that with his owne hand he slew
    The Dukes brother: we haue lost our labour,
    They are gone a contrarie way: harke,
    you may know by their Trumpets


       Maria. Come lets returne againe,
    And suffice our selues with the report of it.
    Well Diana, take heed of this French Earle,
    The honor of a Maide is her name,
    And no Legacie is so rich
    As honestie


       Widdow. I haue told my neighbour
    How you haue beene solicited by a Gentleman
    His Companion


       Maria. I know that knaue, hang him, one Parolles,
    a filthy Officer he is in those suggestions for the young
    Earle, beware of them Diana; their promises, entisements,
    oathes, tokens, and all these engines of lust, are
    not the things they go vnder: many a maide hath beene
    seduced by them, and the miserie is example, that so
    terrible shewes in the wracke of maiden-hood, cannot
    for all that disswade succession, but that they are limed
    with the twigges that threatens them. I hope I neede
    not to aduise you further, but I hope your owne grace
    will keepe you where you are, though there were no
    further danger knowne, but the modestie which is so
    lost


       Dia. You shall not neede to feare me.
    Enter Hellen.


      Wid. I hope so: looke here comes a pilgrim, I know
    she will lye at my house, thither they send one another,
    Ile question her. God saue you pilgrim, whether are
    bound?
      Hel. To S[aint]. Iaques la grand.
    Where do the Palmers lodge, I do beseech you?
      Wid. At the S[aint]. Francis heere beside the Port


       Hel. Is this the way?


    A march afarre.


      Wid. I marrie ist. Harke you, they come this way:
    If you will tarrie holy Pilgrime
    But till the troopes come by,
    I will conduct you where you shall be lodg'd,
    The rather for I thinke I know your hostesse
    As ample as my selfe


       Hel. Is it your selfe?
      Wid. If you shall please so Pilgrime


       Hel. I thanke you, and will stay vpon your leisure


       Wid. You came I thinke from France?
      Hel. I did so


       Wid. Heere you shall see a Countriman of yours
    That has done worthy seruice


       Hel. His name I pray you?
      Dia. The Count Rossillion: know you such a one?
      Hel. But by the eare that heares most nobly of him:
    His face I know not


       Dia. What somere he is
    He's brauely taken heere. He stole from France
    As 'tis reported: for the King had married him
    Against his liking. Thinke you it is so?
      Hel. I surely meere the truth, I know his Lady


       Dia. There is a Gentleman that serues the Count,
    Reports but coursely of her


       Hel. What's his name?
      Dia. Monsieur Parrolles


       Hel. Oh I beleeue with him,
    In argument of praise, or to the worth
    Of the great Count himselfe, she is too meane
    To haue her name repeated, all her deseruing
    Is a reserued honestie, and that
    I haue not heard examin'd


       Dian. Alas poore Ladie,
    'Tis a hard bondage to become the wife
    Of a detesting Lord


       Wid. I write good creature, wheresoere she is,
    Her hart waighes sadly: this yong maid might do her
    A shrewd turne if she pleas'd


       Hel. How do you meane?
    May be the amorous Count solicites her
    In the vnlawfull purpose


       Wid. He does indeede,
    And brokes with all that can in such a suite
    Corrupt the tender honour of a Maide:
    But she is arm'd for him, and keepes her guard
    In honestest defence.


    Drumme and Colours. Enter Count Rossillion, Parrolles, and the
    whole
    Armie.


      Mar. The goddes forbid else


       Wid. So, now they come:
    That is Anthonio the Dukes eldest sonne,
    That Escalus


       Hel. Which is the Frenchman?
      Dia. Hee,
    That with the plume, 'tis a most gallant fellow,
    I would he lou'd his wife: if he were honester
    He were much goodlier. Is't not a handsom Gentleman
      Hel. I like him well


       Di. 'Tis pitty he is not honest: yonds that same knaue
    That leades him to these places: were I his Ladie,
    I would poison that vile Rascall


       Hel. Which is he?
      Dia. That Iacke-an-apes with scarfes. Why is hee
    melancholly?
      Hel. Perchance he's hurt i'th battaile


       Par. Loose our drum? Well


       Mar. He's shrewdly vext at something. Looke he
    has spyed vs


       Wid. Marrie hang you


       Mar. And your curtesie, for a ring-carrier.
    Enter.


      Wid. The troope is past: Come pilgrim, I wil bring
    you, Where you shall host: Of inioyn'd penitents
    There's foure or fiue, to great S[aint]. Iaques bound,
    Alreadie at my house


       Hel. I humbly thanke you:
    Please it this Matron, and this gentle Maide
    To eate with vs 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. Wee'l take your offer kindly.


    Exeunt.


    Enter Count Rossillion and the Frenchmen, as at first.


      Cap.E. Nay good my Lord put him too't: let him
    haue his way


       Cap.G. If your Lordshippe finde him not a Hilding,
    hold me no more in your respect


       Cap.E. On my life my Lord, a bubble


       Ber. Do you thinke I am so farre
    Deceiued in him


       Cap.E. Beleeue it my Lord, in mine owne direct
    knowledge, without any malice, but to speake of him
    as my kinsman, hee's a most notable Coward, an infinite
    and endlesse Lyar, an hourely promise-breaker, the
    owner of no one good qualitie, worthy your Lordships
    entertainment


       Cap.G. It were fit you knew him, least reposing too
    farre in his vertue which he hath not, he might at some
    great and trustie businesse, in a maine daunger, fayle
    you


       Ber. I would I knew in what particular action to try
    him


       Cap.G. None better then to let him fetch off his
    drumme, which you heare him so confidently vndertake
    to do


       C.E. I with a troop of Florentines wil sodainly surprize
    him; such I will haue whom I am sure he knowes
    not from the enemie: wee will binde and hoodwinke
    him so, that he shall suppose no other but that he is carried
    into the Leager of the aduersaries, when we bring
    him to our owne tents: be but your Lordship present
    at his examination, if he do not for the promise of his
    life, and in the highest compulsion of base feare, offer to
    betray you, and deliuer all the intelligence in his power
    against you, and that with the diuine forfeite of his
    soule vpon oath, neuer trust my iudgement in anie
    thing


       Cap.G. O for the loue of laughter, let him fetch his
    drumme, he sayes he has a stratagem for't: when your
    Lordship sees the bottome of this successe in't, and to
    what mettle this counterfeyt lump of ours will be melted
    if you giue him not Iohn drummes entertainement,
    your inclining cannot be remoued. Heere he comes.
    Enter Parrolles.


      Cap.E. O for the loue of laughter hinder not the honor
    of his designe, let him fetch off his drumme in any
    hand


       Ber. How now Monsieur? This drumme sticks sorely
    in your disposition


       Cap.G. A pox on't, let it go, 'tis but a drumme


       Par. But a drumme: Ist but a drumme? A drum so
    lost. There was excellent command, to charge in with
    our horse vpon our owne wings, and to rend our owne
    souldiers


       Cap.G. That was not to be blam'd in the command
    of the seruice: it was a disaster of warre that Cæsar him
    selfe could not haue preuented, if he had beene there to
    command


       Ber. Well, wee cannot greatly condemne our successe:
    some dishonor wee had in the losse of that drum,
    but it is not to be recouered


       Par. It might haue beene recouered


       Ber. It might, but it is not now


       Par. It is to be recouered, but that the merit of seruice
    is sildome attributed to the true and exact performer,
    I would haue that drumme or another, or hic iacet


       Ber. Why if you haue a stomacke, too't Monsieur: if
    you thinke your mysterie in stratagem, can bring this
    instrument of honour againe into his natiue quarter, be
    magnanimious in the enterprize and go on, I wil grace
    the attempt for a worthy exploit: if you speede well in
    it, the Duke shall both speake of it, and extend to you
    what further becomes his greatnesse, euen to the vtmost
    syllable of your worthinesse


       Par. By the hand of a souldier I will vndertake it


       Ber. But you must not now slumber in it


       Par. Ile about it this euening, and I will presently
    pen downe my dilemma's, encourage my selfe in my
    certaintie, put my selfe into my mortall preparation:
    and by midnight looke to heare further from me


       Ber. May I bee bold to acquaint his grace you are
    gone about it


       Par. I know not what the successe wil be my Lord,
    but the attempt I vow


       Ber. I know th'art valiant,
    And to the possibility of thy souldiership,
    Will subscribe for thee: Farewell


       Par. I loue not many words.


    Exit


      Cap.E. No more then a fish loues water. Is not this
    a strange fellow my Lord, that so confidently seemes to
    vndertake this businesse, which he knowes is not to be
    done, damnes himselfe to do, &dares better be damnd
    then to doo't


       Cap.G. You do not know him my Lord as we doe,
    certaine it is that he will steale himselfe into a mans fauour,
    and for a weeke escape a great deale of discoueries,
    but when you finde him out, you haue him euer after


       Ber. Why do you thinke he will make no deede at
    all of this that so seriouslie hee dooes addresse himselfe
    vnto?
      Cap.E. None in the world, but returne with an inuention,
    and clap vpon you two or three probable lies:
    but we haue almost imbost him, you shall see his fall to
    night; for indeede he is not for your Lordshippes respect


       Cap.G. Weele make you some sport with the Foxe
    ere we case him. He was first smoak'd by the old Lord
    Lafew, when his disguise and he is parted, tell me what
    a sprat you shall finde him, which you shall see this verie
    night


       Cap.E. I must go looke my twigges,
    He shall be caught


       Ber. Your brother he shall go along with me


       Cap.G. As't please your Lordship, Ile leaue you


       Ber. Now wil I lead you to the house, and shew you
    The Lasse I spoke of


       Cap.E. But you say she's honest


       Ber. That's all the fault: I spoke with hir but once,
    And found her wondrous cold, but I sent to her
    By this same Coxcombe that we haue i'th winde
    Tokens and Letters, which she did resend,
    And this is all I haue done: She's a faire creature,
    Will you go see her?
      Cap.E. With all my heart my Lord.


    Exeunt.


    Enter Hellen, and Widdow.


      Hel. If you misdoubt me that I am not shee,
    I know not how I shall assure you further,
    But I shall loose the grounds I worke vpon


       Wid. Though my estate be falne, I was well borne,
    Nothing acquainted with these businesses,
    And would not put my reputation now
    In any staining act


       Hel. Nor would I wish you.
    First giue me trust, the Count he is my husband,
    And what to your sworne counsaile I haue spoken,
    Is so from word to word: and then you cannot
    By the good ayde that I of you shall borrow,
    Erre in bestowing it


       Wid. I should beleeue you,
    For you haue shew'd me that which well approues
    Y'are great in fortune


       Hel. Take this purse of Gold,
    And let me buy your friendly helpe thus farre,
    Which I will ouer-pay, and pay againe
    When I haue found it. The Count he woes your
    daughter,
    Layes downe his wanton siedge before her beautie,
    Resolue to carrie her: let her in fine consent
    As wee'l direct her how 'tis best to beare it:
    Now his important blood will naught denie,
    That shee'l demand: a ring the Countie weares,
    That downward hath succeeded in his house
    From sonne to sonne, some foure or fiue discents,
    Since the first father wore it. This Ring he holds
    In most rich choice: yet in his idle fire,
    To buy his will, it would not seeme too deere,
    How ere repented after


       Wid. Now I see the bottome of your purpose


       Hel. You see it lawfull then, it is no more,
    But that your daughter ere she seemes as wonne,
    Desires this Ring; appoints him an encounter;
    In fine, deliuers me to fill the time,
    Her selfe most chastly absent: after
    To marry her, Ile adde three thousand Crownes
    To what is past already


       Wid. I haue yeelded:
    Instruct my daughter how she shall perseuer,
    That time and place with this deceite so lawfull
    May proue coherent. Euery night he comes
    With Musickes of all sorts, and songs compos'd
    To her vnworthinesse: It nothing steeds vs
    To chide him from our eeues, for he persists
    As if his life lay on't


       Hel. Why then to night
    Let vs assay our plot, which if it speed,
    Is wicked meaning in a lawfull deede;
    And lawfull meaning in a lawfull act,
    Where both not sinne, and yet a sinfull fact.
    But let's about it.

    Actus Quartus.


    Enter one of the Frenchmen, with fiue or sixe other souldiers in
    ambush.


      Lord E. He can come no other way but by this hedge
    corner: when you sallie vpon him, speake what terrible
    Language you will: though you vnderstand it not your
    selues, no matter: for we must not seeme to vnderstand
    him, vnlesse some one among vs, whom wee must produce
    for an Interpreter


       1.Sol. Good Captaine, let me be th' Interpreter


       Lor.E. Art not acquainted with him? knowes he not
    thy voice?
      1.Sol. No sir I warrant you


       Lo.E. But what linsie wolsy hast thou to speake to vs
    againe


       1.Sol. E'n such as you speake to me


       Lo.E. He must thinke vs some band of strangers, i'th
    aduersaries entertainment. Now he hath a smacke of all
    neighbouring Languages: therefore we must euery one
    be a man of his owne fancie, not to know what we speak
    one to another: so we seeme to know, is to know straight
    our purpose: Choughs language, gabble enough, and
    good enough. As for you interpreter, you must seeme
    very politicke. But couch hoa, heere hee comes, to beguile
    two houres in a sleepe, and then to returne &swear
    the lies he forges.
    Enter Parrolles.


      Par. Ten a clocke: Within these three houres 'twill
    be time enough to goe home. What shall I say I haue
    done? It must bee a very plausiue inuention that carries
    it. They beginne to smoake mee, and disgraces haue of
    late, knock'd too often at my doore: I finde my tongue
    is too foole-hardie, but my heart hath the feare of Mars
    before it, and of his creatures, not daring the reports of
    my tongue


       Lo.E. This is the first truth that ere thine own tongue
    was guiltie of


       Par. What the diuell should moue mee to vndertake
    the recouerie of this drumme, being not ignorant of the
    impossibility, and knowing I had no such purpose? I
    must giue my selfe some hurts, and say I got them in exploit:
    yet slight ones will not carrie it. They will say,
    came you off with so little? And great ones I dare not
    giue, wherefore what's the instance. Tongue, I must put
    you into a Butter-womans mouth, and buy my selfe another
    of Baiazeths Mule, if you prattle mee into these
    perilles


       Lo.E. Is it possible he should know what hee is, and
    be that he is


       Par. I would the cutting of my garments wold serue
    the turne, or the breaking of my Spanish sword


       Lo.E. We cannot affoord you so


       Par. Or the baring of my beard, and to say it was in
    stratagem


       Lo.E. 'Twould not do


       Par. Or to drowne my cloathes, and say I was stript


       Lo.E. Hardly serue


       Par. Though I swore I leapt from the window of the
    Citadell


       Lo.E. How deepe?
      Par. Thirty fadome


       Lo.E. Three great oathes would scarse make that be
    beleeued


       Par. I would I had any drumme of the enemies, I
    would sweare I recouer'd it


       Lo.E. You shall heare one anon


       Par. A drumme now of the enemies.


    Alarum within.


      Lo.E. Throca movousus, cargo, cargo, cargo


       All. Cargo, cargo, cargo, villianda par corbo, cargo


       Par. O ransome, ransome,
    Do not hide mine eyes


       Inter. Boskos thromuldo boskos


       Par. I know you are the Muskos Regiment,
    And I shall loose my life for want of language.
    If there be heere German or Dane, Low Dutch,
    Italian, or French, let him speake to me,
    Ile discouer that, which shal vndo the Florentine


       Int. Boskos vauvado, I vnderstand thee, &can speake
    thy tongue: Kerelybonto sir, betake thee to thy faith, for
    seuenteene ponyards are at thy bosome


       Par. Oh


       Inter. Oh pray, pray, pray,
    Manka reuania dulche


       Lo.E. Oscorbidulchos voliuorco


       Int. The Generall is content to spare thee yet,
    And hoodwinkt as thou art, will leade thee on
    To gather from thee. Haply thou mayst informe
    Something to saue thy life


       Par. O let me liue,
    And all the secrets of our campe Ile shew,
    Their force, their purposes: Nay, Ile speake that,
    Which you will wonder at


       Inter. But wilt thou faithfully?
      Par. If I do not, damne me


       Inter. Acordo linta.
    Come on, thou are granted space.


    Exit



    A short Alarum within.


      L.E. Go tell the Count Rossillion and my brother,
    We haue caught the woodcocke, and will keepe him mufled
    Till we do heare from them


       Sol. Captaine I will


       L.E. A will betray vs all vnto our selues,
    Informe on that


       Sol. So I will sir


       L.E. Till then Ile keepe him darke and safely lockt.


    Exit


    Enter Bertram, and the Maide called Diana.


      Ber. They told me that your name was Fontybell


       Dia. No my good Lord, Diana


       Ber. Titled Goddesse,
    And worth it with addition: but faire soule,
    In your fine frame hath loue no qualitie?
    If the quicke fire of youth light not your minde,
    You are no Maiden but a monument
    When you are dead you should be such a one
    As you are now: for you are cold and sterne,
    And now you should be as your mother was
    When your sweet selfe was got


       Dia. She then was honest


       Ber. So should you be


       Dia. No:
    My mother did but dutie, such (my Lord)
    As you owe to your wife


       Ber. No more a'that:
    I prethee do not striue against my vowes:
    I was compell'd to her, but I loue thee
    By loues owne sweet constraint, and will for euer
    Do thee all rights of seruice


       Dia. I so you serue vs
    Till we serue you: But when you haue our Roses,
    You barely leaue our thornes to pricke our selues,
    And mocke vs with our barenesse


       Ber. How haue I sworne


       Dia. Tis not the many oathes that makes the truth,
    But the plaine single vow, that is vow'd true:
    What is not holie, that we sweare not by,
    But take the high'st to witnesse: then pray you tell me,
    If I should sweare by Ioues great attributes,
    I lou'd you deerely, would you beleeue my oathes,
    When I did loue you ill? This ha's no holding
    To sweare by him whom I protest to loue
    That I will worke against him. Therefore your oathes
    Are words and poore conditions, but vnseal'd
    At lest in my opinion


       Ber. Change it, change it:
    Be not so holy cruell: Loue is holie,
    And my integritie ne're knew the crafts
    That you do charge men with: Stand no more off,
    But giue thy selfe vnto my sicke desires,
    Who then recouers. Say thou art mine, and euer
    My loue as it beginnes, shall so perseuer


       Dia. I see that men make rope's in such a scarre,
    That wee'l forsake our selues. Giue me that Ring


       Ber. Ile lend it thee my deere; but haue no power
    To giue it from me


       Dia. Will you not my Lord?
      Ber. It is an honour longing to our house,
    Bequeathed downe from manie Ancestors,
    Which were the greatest obloquie i'th world,
    In me to loose


       Dian. Mine Honors such a Ring,
    My chastities the Iewell of our house,
    Bequeathed downe from many Ancestors,
    Which were the greatest obloquie i'th world,
    In mee to loose. Thus your owne proper wisedome
    Brings in the Champion honor on my part,
    Against your vaine assault


       Ber. Heere, take my Ring,
    My house, mine honor, yea my life be thine,
    And Ile be bid by thee


       Dia. When midnight comes, knocke at my chamber
    window:
    Ile order take, my mother shall not heare.
    Now will I charge you in the band of truth,
    When you haue conquer'd my yet maiden-bed,
    Remaine there but an houre, nor speake to mee:
    My reasons are most strong, and you shall know them,
    When backe againe this Ring shall be deliuer'd:
    And on your finger in the night, Ile put
    Another Ring, that what in time proceeds,
    May token to the future, our past deeds.
    Adieu till then, then faile not: you haue wonne
    A wife of me, though there my hope be done


       Ber. A heauen on earth I haue won by wooing thee


       Di. For which, liue long to thank both heauen &me,
    You may so in the end.
    My mother told me iust how he would woo,
    As if she sate in's heart. She sayes, all men
    Haue the like oathes: He had sworne to marrie me
    When his wife's dead: therfore Ile lye with him
    When I am buried. Since Frenchmen are so braide,
    Marry that will, I liue and die a Maid:
    Onely in this disguise, I think't no sinne,
    To cosen him that would vniustly winne.


    Exit


    Enter the two French Captaines, and some two or three Souldiours.


      Cap.G. You haue not giuen him his mothers letter


       Cap.E. I haue deliu'red it an houre since, there is som
    thing in't that stings his nature: for on the reading it,
    he chang'd almost into another man


       Cap.G. He has much worthy blame laid vpon him,
    for shaking off so good a wife, and so sweet a Lady


       Cap.E. Especially, hee hath incurred the euerlasting
    displeasure of the King, who had euen tun'd his bounty
    to sing happinesse to him. I will tell you a thing, but
    you shall let it dwell darkly with you


       Cap.G. When you haue spoken it 'tis dead, and I am
    the graue of it


       Cap.E. Hee hath peruerted a young Gentlewoman
    heere in Florence, of a most chaste renown, &this night
    he fleshes his will in the spoyle of her honour: hee hath
    giuen her his monumentall Ring, and thinkes himselfe
    made in the vnchaste composition


       Cap.G. Now God delay our rebellion as we are our
    selues, what things are we


       Cap.E. Meerely our owne traitours. And as in the
    common course of all treasons, we still see them reueale
    themselues, till they attaine to their abhorr'd ends: so
    he that in this action contriues against his owne Nobility
    in his proper streame, ore-flowes himselfe


       Cap.G. Is it not meant damnable in vs, to be Trumpeters
    of our vnlawfull intents? We shall not then haue
    his company to night?
      Cap.E. Not till after midnight: for hee is dieted to
    his houre


       Cap.G. That approaches apace: I would gladly haue
    him see his company anathomiz'd, that hee might take
    a measure of his owne iudgements, wherein so curiously
    he had set this counterfeit


       Cap.E. We will not meddle with him till he come;
    for his presence must be the whip of the other


       Cap.G. In the meane time, what heare you of these
    Warres?
      Cap.E. I heare there is an ouerture of peace


       Cap.G. Nay, I assure you a peace concluded


       Cap.E. What will Count Rossillion do then? Will he
    trauaile higher, or returne againe into France?
      Cap.G. I perceiue by this demand, you are not altogether
    of his councell


       Cap.E. Let it be forbid sir, so should I bee a great
    deale of his act


       Cap.G. Sir, his wife some two months since fledde
    from his house, her pretence is a pilgrimage to Saint Iaques
    le grand; which holy vndertaking, with most austere
    sanctimonie she accomplisht: and there residing,
    the tendernesse of her Nature, became as a prey to her
    greefe: in fine, made a groane of her last breath, &now
    she sings in heauen


       Cap.E. How is this iustified?
      Cap.G. The stronger part of it by her owne Letters,
    which makes her storie true, euen to the poynt of her
    death: her death it selfe, which could not be her office
    to say, is come: was faithfully confirm'd by the Rector
    of the place


       Cap.E. Hath the Count all this intelligence?
      Cap.G. I, and the particular confirmations, point
    from point, to the full arming of the veritie


       Cap.E. I am heartily sorrie that hee'l bee gladde of
    this


       Cap.G. How mightily sometimes, we make vs comforts
    of our losses


       Cap.E. And how mightily some other times, wee
    drowne our gaine in teares, the great dignitie that his
    valour hath here acquir'd for him, shall at home be encountred
    with a shame as ample


       Cap.G. The webbe of our life, is of a mingled yarne,
    good and ill together: our vertues would bee proud, if
    our faults whipt them not, and our crimes would dispaire
    if they were not cherish'd by our vertues.
    Enter a Messenger.


    How now? Where's your master?
      Ser. He met the Duke in the street sir, of whom hee
    hath taken a solemne leaue: his Lordshippe will next
    morning for France. The Duke hath offered him Letters
    of commendations to the King


       Cap.E. They shall bee no more then needfull there,
    if they were more then they can commend.
    Enter Count Rossillion.


      Ber. They cannot be too sweete for the Kings tartnesse,
    heere's his Lordship now. How now my Lord,
    i'st not after midnight?
      Ber. I haue to night dispatch'd sixteene businesses, a
    moneths length a peece, by an abstract of successe: I
    haue congied with the Duke, done my adieu with his
    neerest; buried a wife, mourn'd for her, writ to my Ladie
    mother, I am returning, entertain'd my Conuoy, betweene these maine parcels of dispatch, affected many
    nicer needs: the last was the greatest, but that I haue
    not ended yet


       Cap.E. If the businesse bee of any difficulty, and this
    morning your departure hence, it requires hast of your
    Lordship


       Ber. I meane the businesse is not ended, as fearing
    to heare of it hereafter: but shall we haue this dialogue
    betweene the Foole and the Soldiour. Come, bring
    forth this counterfet module, ha's deceiu'd mee, like a
    double-meaning Prophesier


       Cap.E. Bring him forth, ha's sate i'th stockes all night
    poore gallant knaue


       Ber. No matter, his heeles haue deseru'd it, in vsurping
    his spurres so long. How does he carry himselfe?
      Cap.E. I haue told your Lordship alreadie: The
    stockes carrie him. But to answer you as you would be
    vnderstood, hee weepes like a wench that had shed her
    milke, he hath confest himselfe to Morgan, whom hee
    supposes to be a Friar, fro[m] the time of his remembrance
    to this very instant disaster of his setting i'th stockes:
    and what thinke you he hath confest?
      Ber. Nothing of me, ha's a?
      Cap.E. His confession is taken, and it shall bee read
    to his face, if your Lordshippe be in't, as I beleeue you
    are, you must haue the patience to heare it.
    Enter Parolles with his Interpreter.


      Ber. A plague vpon him, muffeld; he can say nothing
    of me: hush, hush


       Cap.G. Hoodman comes: Portotartarossa


       Inter. He calles for the tortures, what will you say
    without em


       Par. I will confesse what I know without constraint,
    If ye pinch me like a Pasty, I can say no more


       Int. Bosko Chimurcho


       Cap. Boblibindo chicurmurco


       Int. You are a mercifull Generall: Our Generall
    bids you answer to what I shall aske you out of a Note


       Par. And truly, as I hope to liue


       Int. First demand of him, how many horse the Duke
    is strong. What say you to that?
      Par. Fiue or sixe thousand, but very weake and vnseruiceable:
    the troopes are all scattered, and the Commanders
    verie poore rogues, vpon my reputation and
    credit, and as I hope to liue


       Int. Shall I set downe your answer so?
      Par. Do, Ile take the Sacrament on't, how &which
    way you will: all's one to him


       Ber. What a past-sauing slaue is this?
      Cap.G. Y'are deceiu'd my Lord, this is Mounsieur
    Parrolles the gallant militarist, that was his owne phrase
    that had the whole theoricke of warre in the knot of his
    scarfe, and the practise in the chape of his dagger


       Cap.E. I will neuer trust a man againe, for keeping
    his sword cleane, nor beleeue he can haue euerie thing
    in him, by wearing his apparrell neatly


       Int. Well, that's set downe


       Par. Fiue or six thousand horse I sed, I will say true,
    or thereabouts set downe, for Ile speake truth


       Cap.G. He's very neere the truth in this


       Ber. But I con him no thankes for't in the nature he
    deliuers it


       Par. Poore rogues, I pray you say


       Int. Well, that's set downe


       Par. I humbly thanke you sir, a truth's a truth, the
    Rogues are maruailous poore


       Interp. Demaund of him of what strength they are a
    foot. What say you to that?
      Par. By my troth sir, if I were to liue this present
    houre, I will tell true. Let me see, Spurio a hundred fiftie, Sebastian so many, Corambus so many, Iaques so
    many: Guiltian, Cosmo, Lodowicke, and Gratij, two hundred
    fiftie each: Mine owne Company, Chitopher, Vaumond,
    Bentij, two hundred fiftie each: so that the muster
    file, rotten and sound, vppon my life amounts not to fifteene
    thousand pole, halfe of the which, dare not shake
    the snow from off their Cassockes, least they shake themselues
    to peeces


       Ber. What shall be done to him?
      Cap.G. Nothing, but let him haue thankes. Demand
    of him my condition: and what credite I haue with the
    Duke


       Int. Well that's set downe: you shall demaund of
    him, whether one Captaine Dumaine bee i'th Campe, a
    Frenchman: what his reputation is with the Duke, what
    his valour, honestie, and expertnesse in warres: or whether
    he thinkes it were not possible with well-waighing
    summes of gold to corrupt him to a reuolt. What say you
    to this? What do you know of it?
      Par. I beseech you let me answer to the particular of
    the intergatories. Demand them singly


       Int. Do you know this Captaine Dumaine?
      Par. I know him, a was a Botchers Prentize in Paris,
    from whence he was whipt for getting the Shrieues fool
    with childe, a dumbe innocent that could not say him
    nay


       Ber. Nay, by your leaue hold your hands, though I
    know his braines are forfeite to the next tile that fals


       Int. Well, is this Captaine in the Duke of Florences
    campe?
      Par. Vpon my knowledge he is, and lowsie


       Cap.G. Nay looke not so vpon me: we shall heare of
    your Lord anon


       Int. What is his reputation with the Duke?
      Par. The Duke knowes him for no other, but a poore
    Officer of mine, and writ to mee this other day, to turne
    him out a'th band. I thinke I haue his Letter in my pocket


       Int. Marry we'll search


       Par. In good sadnesse I do not know, either it is there,
    or it is vpon a file with the Dukes other Letters, in my
    Tent


       Int. Heere 'tis, heere's a paper, shall I reade it to you?
      Par. I do not know if it be it or no


       Ber. Our Interpreter do's it well


       Cap.G. Excellently


       Int. Dian, the Counts a foole, and full of gold


       Par. That is not the Dukes letter sir: that is an aduertisement
    to a proper maide in Florence, one Diana, to
    take heede of the allurement of one Count Rossillion, a
    foolish idle boy: but for all that very ruttish. I pray you
    sir put it vp againe


       Int. Nay, Ile reade it first by your fauour


       Par. My meaning in't I protest was very honest in the
    behalfe of the maid: for I knew the young Count to be a
    dangerous and lasciuious boy, who is a whale to Virginity,
    and deuours vp all the fry it finds


       Ber. Damnable both-sides rogue


       Int.


    Let.


    When he sweares oathes, bid him drop gold, and
    take it:
    After he scores, he neuer payes the score:
    Halfe won is match well made, match and well make it,
    He nere payes after-debts, take it before,
    And say a souldier (Dian) told thee this:
    Men are to mell with, boyes are not to kis.
    For count of this, the Counts a Foole I know it,
    Who payes before, but not when he does owe it.
    Thine as he vow'd to thee in thine eare,
    Parolles


       Ber. He shall be whipt through the Armie with this
    rime in's forehead


       Cap.E. This is your deuoted friend sir, the manifold
    Linguist, and the army-potent souldier


       Ber. I could endure any thing before but a Cat, and
    now he's a Cat to me


       Int. I perceiue sir by your Generals lookes, wee shall
    be faine to hang you


       Par. My life sir in any case: Not that I am afraide to
    dye, but that my offences beeing many, I would repent
    out the remainder of Nature. Let me liue sir in a dungeon,
    i'th stockes, or any where, so I may liue


       Int. Wee'le see what may bee done, so you confesse
    freely: therefore once more to this Captaine Dumaine:
    you haue answer'd to his reputation with the Duke, and
    to his valour. What is his honestie?
      Par. He will steale sir an Egge out of a Cloister: for
    rapes and rauishments he paralels Nessus. Hee professes
    not keeping of oaths, in breaking em he is stronger then
    Hercules. He will lye sir, with such volubilitie, that you
    would thinke truth were a foole: drunkennesse is his best
    vertue, for he will be swine-drunke, and in his sleepe he
    does little harme, saue to his bed-cloathes about him:
    but they know his conditions, and lay him in straw. I
    haue but little more to say sir of his honesty, he ha's euerie
    thing that an honest man should not haue; what an
    honest man should haue, he has nothing


       Cap.G. I begin to loue him for this


       Ber. For this description of thine honestie? A pox
    vpon him for me, he's more and more a Cat


       Int. What say you to his expertnesse in warre?
      Par. Faith sir, ha's led the drumme before the English
    Tragedians: to belye him I will not, and more of his
    souldiership I know not, except in that Country, he had
    the honour to be the Officer at a place there called Mile-end,
    to instruct for the doubling of files. I would doe the
    man what honour I can, but of this I am not certaine


       Cap.G. He hath out-villain'd villanie so farre, that the
    raritie redeemes him


       Ber. A pox on him, he's a Cat still


       Int. His qualities being at this poore price, I neede
    not to aske you, if Gold will corrupt him to reuolt


       Par. Sir, for a Cardceue he will sell the fee-simple of
    his saluation, the inheritance of it, and cut th' intaile from
    all remainders, and a perpetuall succession for it perpetually


       Int. What's his Brother, the other Captain Dumain?
      Cap.E. Why do's he aske him of me?
      Int. What's he?
      Par. E'ne a Crow a'th same nest: not altogether so
    great as the first in goodnesse, but greater a great deale in
    euill. He excels his Brother for a coward, yet his Brother
    is reputed one of the best that is. In a retreate hee outrunnes
    any Lackey; marrie in comming on, hee ha's the
    Crampe


       Int. If your life be saued, will you vndertake to betray
    the Florentine


       Par. I, and the Captaine of his horse, Count Rossillion


       Int. Ile whisper with the Generall, and knowe his
    pleasure


       Par. Ile no more drumming, a plague of all drummes,
    onely to seeme to deserue well, and to beguile the supposition
    of that lasciuious yong boy the Count, haue I run
    into this danger: yet who would haue suspected an ambush
    where I was taken?
      Int. There is no remedy sir, but you must dye: the
    Generall sayes, you that haue so traitorously discouerd
    the secrets of your army, and made such pestifferous reports
    of men very nobly held, can serue the world for
    no honest vse: therefore you must dye. Come headesman,
    off with his head


       Par. O Lord sir let me liue, or let me see my death


       Int. That shall you, and take your leaue of all your
    friends:
    So, looke about you, know you any heere?
      Count. Good morrow noble Captaine


       Lo.E. God blesse you Captaine Parolles


       Cap.G. God saue you noble Captaine


       Lo.E. Captain, what greeting will you to my Lord
    Lafew? I am for France


       Cap.G. Good Captaine will you giue me a Copy of
    the sonnet you writ to Diana in behalfe of the Count
    Rossillion, and I were not a verie Coward, I'de compell
    it of you, but far you well.


    Exeunt.


      Int. You are vndone Captaine all but your scarfe,
    that has a knot on't yet


       Par. Who cannot be crush'd with a plot?
      Inter. If you could finde out a Countrie where but
    women were that had receiued so much shame, you
    might begin an impudent Nation. Fare yee well sir, I
    am for France too, we shall speake of you there.


    Exit


      Par. Yet am I thankfull: if my heart were great
    'Twould burst at this: Captaine Ile be no more,
    But I will eate, and drinke, and sleepe as soft
    As Captaine shall. Simply the thing I am
    Shall make me liue: who knowes himselfe a braggart
    Let him feare this; for it will come to passe,
    That euery braggart shall be found an Asse.
    Rust sword, coole blushes, and Parrolles liue
    Safest in shame: being fool'd, by fool'rie thriue;
    There's place and meanes for euery man aliue.
    Ile after them.
    Enter.


    Enter Hellen, Widdow, and Diana.


      Hel. That you may well perceiue I haue not
    wrong'd you,
    One of the greatest in the Christian world
    Shall be my suretie: for whose throne 'tis needfull
    Ere I can perfect mine intents, to kneele.
    Time was, I did him a desired office
    Deere almost as his life, which gratitude
    Through flintie Tartars bosome would peepe forth,
    And answer thankes. I duly am inform'd,
    His grace is at Marcellae, to which place
    We haue conuenient conuoy: you must know
    I am supposed dead, the Army breaking,
    My husband hies him home, where heauen ayding,
    And by the leaue of my good Lord the King,
    Wee'l be before our welcome


       Wid. Gentle Madam,
    You neuer had a seruant to whose trust
    Your busines was more welcome


       Hel. Nor your Mistris
    Euer a friend, whose thoughts more truly labour
    To recompence your loue: Doubt not but heauen
    Hath brought me vp to be your daughters dower,
    As it hath fated her to be my motiue
    And helper to a husband. But O strange men,
    That can such sweet vse make of what they hate,
    When sawcie trusting of the cosin'd thoughts
    Defiles the pitchy night, so lust doth play
    With what it loathes, for that which is away,
    But more of this heereafter: you Diana,
    Vnder my poore instructions yet must suffer
    Something in my behalfe


       Dia. Let death and honestie
    Go with your impositions, I am yours
    Vpon your will to suffer


       Hel. Yet I pray you:
    But with the word the time will bring on summer,
    When Briars shall haue leaues as well as thornes,
    And be as sweet as sharpe: we must away,
    Our Wagon is prepar'd, and time reuiues vs,
    All's well that ends well, still the fines the Crowne;
    What ere the course, the end is the renowne.


    Exeunt.


    Enter Clowne, old Lady, and Lafew.


      Laf. No, no, no, your sonne was misled with a snipt
    taffata fellow there, whose villanous saffron wold haue
    made all the vnbak'd and dowy youth of a nation in his
    colour: your daughter-in-law had beene aliue at this
    houre, and your sonne heere at home, more aduanc'd
    by the King, then by that red-tail'd humble Bee I speak
    of


       La. I would I had not knowne him, it was the death
    of the most vertuous gentlewoman, that euer Nature
    had praise for creating. If she had pertaken of my flesh
    and cost mee the deerest groanes of a mother, I could
    not haue owed her a more rooted loue


       Laf. Twas a good Lady, 'twas a good Lady. Wee
    may picke a thousand sallets ere wee light on such another
    hearbe


       Clo. Indeed sir she was the sweete Margerom of the
    sallet, or rather the hearbe of grace


       Laf. They are not hearbes you knaue, they are nose-hearbes


       Clowne. I am no great Nabuchadnezar sir, I haue not
    much skill in grace


       Laf. Whether doest thou professe thy selfe, a knaue
    or a foole?
      Clo. A foole sir at a womans seruice, and a knaue at a
    mans


       Laf. Your distinction


       Clo. I would cousen the man of his wife, and do his
    seruice


       Laf. So you were a knaue at his seruice indeed


       Clo. And I would giue his wife my bauble sir to doe
    her seruice


       Laf. I will subscribe for thee, thou art both knaue
    and foole


       Clo. At your seruice


       Laf. No, no, no


       Clo. Why sir, if I cannot serue you, I can serue as
    great a prince as you are


       Laf. Whose that, a Frenchman?
      Clo. Faith sir a has an English maine, but his fisnomie
    is more hotter in France then there


       Laf. What prince is that?
      Clo. The blacke prince sir, alias the prince of darkenesse,
    alias the diuell


       Laf. Hold thee there's my purse, I giue thee not this
    to suggest thee from thy master thou talk'st off, serue
    him still


       Clo. I am a woodland fellow sir, that alwaies loued
    a great fire, and the master I speak of euer keeps a good
    fire, but sure he is the Prince of the world, let his Nobilitie
    remaine in's Court. I am for the house with the
    narrow gate, which I take to be too little for pompe to
    enter: some that humble themselues may, but the manie
    will be too chill and tender, and theyle bee for the
    flowrie way that leads to the broad gate, and the great
    fire


       Laf. Go thy waies, I begin to bee a wearie of thee,
    and I tell thee so before, because I would not fall out
    with thee. Go thy wayes, let my horses be wel look'd
    too, without any trickes


       Clo. If I put any trickes vpon em sir, they shall bee
    Iades trickes, which are their owne right by the law of
    Nature.


    Exit


      Laf. A shrewd knaue and an vnhappie


       Lady. So a is. My Lord that's gone made himselfe
    much sport out of him, by his authoritie hee remaines
    heere, which he thinkes is a pattent for his sawcinesse,
    and indeede he has no pace, but runnes where he will


       Laf. I like him well, 'tis not amisse: and I was about
    to tell you, since I heard of the good Ladies death, and
    that my Lord your sonne was vpon his returne home. I
    moued the King my master to speake in the behalfe of
    my daughter, which in the minoritie of them both, his
    Maiestie out of a selfe gracious remembrance did first
    propose, his Highnesse hath promis'd me to doe it, and
    to stoppe vp the displeasure he hath conceiued against
    your sonne, there is no fitter matter. How do's your
    Ladyship like it?
      La. With verie much content my Lord, and I wish
    it happily effected


       Laf. His Highnesse comes post from Marcellus, of as
    able bodie as when he number'd thirty, a will be heere
    to morrow, or I am deceiu'd by him that in such intelligence
    hath seldome fail'd


       La. It reioyces me, that I hope I shall see him ere I
    die. I haue letters that my sonne will be heere to night:
    I shall beseech your Lordship to remaine with mee, till
    they meete together


       Laf. Madam, I was thinking with what manners I
    might safely be admitted


       Lad. You neede but pleade your honourable priuiledge


       Laf. Ladie, of that I haue made a bold charter, but
    I thanke my God, it holds yet.
    Enter Clowne.


      Clo. O Madam, yonders my Lord your sonne with
    a patch of veluet on's face, whether there bee a scar vnder't
    or no, the Veluet knowes, but 'tis a goodly patch
    of Veluet, his left cheeke is a cheeke of two pile and a
    halfe, but his right cheeke is worne bare


       Laf. A scarre nobly got,
    Or a noble scarre, is a good liu'rie of honor,
    So belike is that


       Clo. But it is your carbinado'd face


       Laf. Let vs go see
    your sonne I pray you, I long to talke
    With the yong noble souldier


       Clowne. 'Faith there's a dozen of em, with delicate
    fine hats, and most courteous feathers, which bow the
    head, and nod at euerie man.


    Exeunt.

    Actus Quintus.


    Enter Hellen, Widdow, and Diana, with two Attendants.


      Hel. But this exceeding posting day and night,
    Must wear your spirits low, we cannot helpe it:
    But since you haue made the daies and nights as one,
    To weare your gentle limbes in my affayres,
    Be bold you do so grow in my requitall,
    As nothing can vnroote you. In happie time,
    Enter a gentle Astringer.


    This man may helpe me to his Maiesties eare,
    If he would spend his power. God saue you sir


       Gent. And you


       Hel. Sir, I haue seene you in the Court of France


       Gent. I haue beene sometimes there


       Hel. I do presume sir, that you are not falne
    From the report that goes vpon your goodnesse,
    And therefore goaded with most sharpe occasions,
    Which lay nice manners by, I put you to
    The vse of your owne vertues, for the which
    I shall continue thankefull


       Gent. What's your will?
      Hel. That it will please you
    To giue this poore petition to the King,
    And ayde me with that store of power you haue
    To come into his presence


       Gen. The Kings not heere


       Hel. Not heere sir?
      Gen. Not indeed,
    He hence remou'd last night, and with more hast
    Then is his vse


       Wid. Lord how we loose our paines


       Hel. All's well that ends well yet,
    Though time seeme so aduerse, and meanes vnfit:
    I do beseech you, whither is he gone?
      Gent. Marrie as I take it to Rossillion,
    Whither I am going


       Hel. I do beseech you sir,
    Since you are like to see the King before me,
    Commend the paper to his gracious hand,
    Which I presume shall render you no blame,
    But rather make you thanke your paines for it,
    I will come after you with what good speede
    Our meanes will make vs meanes


       Gent. This Ile do for you


       Hel. And you shall finde your selfe to be well thankt
    what e're falles more. We must to horse againe, Go, go,
    prouide.
    Enter Clowne and Parrolles.


      Par. Good Mr Lauatch giue my Lord Lafew this letter,
    I haue ere now sir beene better knowne to you, when
    I haue held familiaritie with fresher cloathes: but I am
    now sir muddied in fortunes mood, and smell somewhat
    strong of her strong displeasure


       Clo. Truely, Fortunes displeasure is but sluttish if it
    smell so strongly as thou speak'st of: I will hencefoorth
    eate no Fish of Fortunes butt'ring. Prethee alow the
    winde


       Par. Nay you neede not to stop your nose sir: I spake
    but by a Metaphor


       Clo. Indeed sir, if your Metaphor stinke, I will stop
    my nose, or against any mans Metaphor. Prethe get thee
    further


       Par. Pray you sir deliuer me this paper


       Clo. Foh, prethee stand away: a paper from fortunes
    close-stoole, to giue to a Nobleman. Looke heere he
    comes himselfe.
    Enter Lafew.


      Clo. Heere is a purre of Fortunes sir, or of Fortunes
    Cat, but not a Muscat, that ha's falne into the vncleane
    fish-pond of her displeasure, and as he sayes is muddied
    withall. Pray you sir, vse the Carpe as you may, for he
    lookes like a poore decayed, ingenious, foolish, rascally
    knaue. I doe pittie his distresse in my smiles of comfort,
    and leaue him to your Lordship


       Par. My Lord I am a man whom fortune hath cruelly
    scratch'd


       Laf. And what would you haue me to doe? 'Tis too
    late to paire her nailes now. Wherein haue you played
    the knaue with fortune that she should scratch you, who
    of her selfe is a good Lady, and would not haue knaues
    thriue long vnder? There's a Cardecue for you: Let the
    Iustices make you and fortune friends; I am for other
    businesse


       Par. I beseech your honour to heare mee one single
    word,
      Laf. you begge a single peny more: Come you shall
    ha't, saue your word


       Par. My name my good Lord is Parrolles


       Laf. You begge more then word then. Cox my passion,
    giue me your hand: How does your drumme?
      Par. O my good Lord, you were the first that found
    mee


       Laf. Was I insooth? And I was the first that lost thee


       Par. It lies in you my Lord to bring me in some grace
    for you did bring me out


       Laf. Out vpon thee knaue, doest thou put vpon mee
    at once both the office of God and the diuel: one brings
    thee in grace, and the other brings thee out. The Kings
    comming I know by his Trumpets. Sirrah, inquire further
    after me, I had talke of you last night, though you
    are a foole and a knaue, you shall eate, go too, follow


       Par. I praise God for you.


    Flourish. Enter King, old Lady, Lafew, the two French Lords, with
    attendants.


      Kin. We lost a Iewell of her, and our esteeme
    Was made much poorer by it: but your sonne,
    As mad in folly, lack'd the sence to know
    Her estimation home


       Old La. 'Tis past my Liege,
    And I beseech your Maiestie to make it
    Naturall rebellion, done i'th blade of youth,
    When oyle and fire, too strong for reasons force,
    Ore-beares it, and burnes on


       Kin. My honour'd Lady,
    I haue forgiuen and forgotten all,
    Though my reuenges were high bent vpon him,
    And watch'd the time to shoote


       Laf. This I must say,
    But first I begge my pardon: the yong Lord
    Did to his Maiesty, his Mother, and his Ladie,
    Offence of mighty note; but to himselfe
    The greatest wrong of all. He lost a wife,
    Whose beauty did astonish the suruey
    Of richest eies: whose words all eares tooke captiue,
    Whose deere perfection, hearts that scorn'd to serue,
    Humbly call'd Mistris


       Kin. Praising what is lost,
    Makes the remembrance deere. Well, call him hither,
    We are reconcil'd, and the first view shall kill
    All repetition: Let him not aske our pardon,
    The nature of his great offence is dead,
    And deeper then obliuion, we do burie
    Th' incensing reliques of it. Let him approach
    A stranger, no offender; and informe him
    So 'tis our will he should


       Gent. I shall my Liege


       Kin. What sayes he to your daughter,
    Haue you spoke?
      Laf. All that he is, hath reference to your Highnes


       Kin. Then shall we haue a match. I haue letters sent
    me, that sets him high in fame.
    Enter Count Bertram.


      Laf. He lookes well on't


       Kin. I am not a day of season,
    For thou maist see a sun-shine, and a haile
    In me at once: But to the brightest beames
    Distracted clouds giue way, so stand thou forth,
    The time is faire againe


       Ber. My high repented blames
    Deere Soueraigne pardon to me


       Kin. All is whole,
    Not one word more of the consumed time,
    Let's take the instant by the forward top:
    For we are old, and on our quick'st decrees
    Th' inaudible, and noiselesse foot of time
    Steales, ere we can effect them. You remember
    The daughter of this Lord?
      Ber. Admiringly my Liege, at first
    I stucke my choice vpon her, ere my heart
    Durst make too bold a herauld of my tongue:
    Where the impression of mine eye enfixing,
    Contempt his scornfull Perspectiue did lend me,
    Which warpt the line, of euerie other fauour,
    Scorn'd a faire colour, or exprest it stolne,
    Extended or contracted all proportions
    To a most hideous obiect. Thence it came,
    That she whom all men prais'd, and whom my selfe,
    Since I haue lost, haue lou'd; was in mine eye
    The dust that did offend it


       Kin. Well excus'd:
    That thou didst loue her, strikes some scores away
    From the great compt: but loue that comes too late,
    Like a remorsefull pardon slowly carried
    To the great sender, turnes a sowre offence,
    Crying, that's good that's gone: Our rash faults,
    Make triuiall price of serious things we haue,
    Not knowing them, vntill we know their graue.
    Oft our displeasures to our selues vniust,
    Destroy our friends, and after weepe their dust:
    Our owne loue waking, cries to see what's done,
    While shamefull hate sleepes out the afternoone.
    Be this sweet Helens knell, and now forget her.
    Send forth your amorous token for faire Maudlin,
    The maine consents are had, and heere wee'l stay
    To see our widdowers second marriage day:
    Which better then the first, O deere heauen blesse,
    Or, ere they meete in me, O Nature cesse


       Laf. Come on my sonne, in whom my houses name
    Must be digested: giue a fauour from you
    To sparkle in the spirits of my daughter,
    That she may quickly come. By my old beard,
    And eu'rie haire that's on't, Helen that's dead
    Was a sweet creature: such a ring as this,
    The last that ere I tooke her leaue at Court,
    I saw vpon her finger


       Ber. Hers it was not


       King. Now pray you let me see it. For mine eye,
    While I was speaking, oft was fasten'd too't:
    This Ring was mine, and when I gaue it Hellen,
    I bad her if her fortunes euer stoode
    Necessitied to helpe, that by this token
    I would releeue her. Had you that craft to reaue her
    Of what should stead her most?
      Ber. My gracious Soueraigne,
    How ere it pleases you to take it so,
    The ring was neuer hers


       Old La. Sonne, on my life
    I haue seene her weare it, and she reckon'd it
    At her liues rate


       Laf. I am sure I saw her weare it


       Ber. You are deceiu'd my Lord, she neuer saw it:
    In Florence was it from a casement throwne mee,
    Wrap'd in a paper, which contain'd the name
    Of her that threw it: Noble she was, and thought
    I stood ingag'd, but when I had subscrib'd
    To mine owne fortune, and inform'd her fully,
    I could not answer in that course of Honour
    As she had made the ouerture, she ceast
    In heauie satisfaction, and would neuer
    Receiue the Ring againe


       Kin. Platus himselfe,
    That knowes the tinct and multiplying med'cine,
    Hath not in natures mysterie more science,
    Then I haue in this Ring. 'Twas mine, 'twas Helens,
    Who euer gaue it you: then if you know
    That you are well acquainted with your selfe,
    Confesse 'twas hers, and by what rough enforcement
    You got it from her. She call'd the Saints to suretie,
    That she would neuer put it from her finger,
    Vnlesse she gaue it to your selfe in bed,
    Where you haue neuer come: or sent it vs
    Vpon her great disaster


       Ber. She neuer saw it


       Kin. Thou speak'st it falsely: as I loue mine Honor,
    And mak'st connecturall feares to come into me,
    Which I would faine shut out, if it should proue
    That thou art so inhumane, 'twill not proue so:
    And yet I know not, thou didst hate her deadly,
    And she is dead, which nothing but to close
    Her eyes my selfe, could win me to beleeue,
    More then to see this Ring. Take him away,
    My fore-past proofes, how ere the matter fall
    Shall taze my feares of little vanitie,
    Hauing vainly fear'd too little. Away with him,
    Wee'l sift this matter further


       Ber. If you shall proue
    This Ring was euer hers, you shall as easie
    Proue that I husbanded her bed in Florence,
    Where yet she neuer was.
    Enter a Gentleman.


      King. I am wrap'd in dismall thinkings


       Gen. Gracious Soueraigne.
    Whether I haue beene too blame or no, I know not,
    Here's a petition from a Florentine,
    Who hath for foure or fiue remoues come short,
    To tender it her selfe. I vndertooke it,
    Vanquish'd thereto by the faire grace and speech
    Of the poore suppliant, who by this I know
    Is heere attending: her businesse lookes in her
    With an importing visage, and she told me
    In a sweet verball breefe, it did concerne
    Your Highnesse with her selfe.


    A Letter.


    Vpon his many protestations to marrie mee when his wife was
    dead, I blush to say it, he wonne me. Now is the Count Rossillion
    a Widdower, his vowes are forfeited to mee, and my
    honors payed to him. Hee stole from Florence, taking no
    leaue, and I follow him to his Countrey for Iustice: Grant
    it me, O King, in you it best lies, otherwise a seducer flourishes,
    and a poore Maid is vndone.
    Diana Capilet


       Laf. I will buy me a sonne in Law in a faire, and toule
    for this. Ile none of him


       Kin. The heauens haue thought well on thee Lafew,
    To bring forth this discou'rie, seeke these sutors:
    Go speedily, and bring againe the Count.
    Enter Bertram.


    I am a-feard the life of Hellen (Ladie)
    Was fowly snatcht


       Old La. Now iustice on the doers


       King. I wonder sir, sir, wiues are monsters to you,
    And that you flye them as you sweare them Lordship,
    Yet you desire to marry. What woman's that?
    Enter Widdow, Diana, and Parrolles.


      Dia. I am my Lord a wretched Florentine,
    Deriued from the ancient Capilet,
    My suite as I do vnderstand you know,
    And therefore know how farre I may be pittied


       Wid. I am her Mother sir, whose age and honour
    Both suffer vnder this complaint we bring,
    And both shall cease, without your remedie


       King. Come hether Count, do you know these Women?
      Ber. My Lord, I neither can nor will denie,
    But that I know them, do they charge me further?
      Dia. Why do you looke so strange vpon your wife?
      Ber. She's none of mine my Lord


       Dia. If you shall marrie
    You giue away this hand, and that is mine,
    You giue away heauens vowes, and those are mine:
    You giue away my selfe, which is knowne mine:
    For I by vow am so embodied yours,
    That she which marries you, must marrie me,
    Either both or none


       Laf. Your reputation comes too short for my daughter,
    you are no husband for her


       Ber. My Lord, this is a fond and desp'rate creature,
    Whom sometime I haue laugh'd with: Let your highnes
    Lay a more noble thought vpon mine honour,
    Then for to thinke that I would sinke it heere


       Kin. Sir for my thoughts, you haue them il to friend,
    Till your deeds gaine them fairer: proue your honor,
    Then in my thought it lies


       Dian. Good my Lord,
    Aske him vpon his oath, if hee do's thinke
    He had not my virginity


       Kin. What saist thou to her?
      Ber. She's impudent my Lord,
    And was a common gamester to the Campe


       Dia. He do's me wrong my Lord: If I were so,
    He might haue bought me at a common price.
    Do not beleeue him. O behold this Ring,
    Whose high respect and rich validitie
    Did lacke a Paralell: yet for all that
    He gaue it to a Commoner a'th Campe
    If I be one


       Coun. He blushes, and 'tis hit:
    Of sixe preceding Ancestors that Iemme
    Confer'd by testament to'th sequent issue
    Hath it beene owed and worne. This is his wife,
    That Ring's a thousand proofes


       King. Me thought you saide
    You saw one heere in Court could witnesse it


       Dia. I did my Lord, but loath am to produce
    So bad an instrument, his names Parrolles


       Laf. I saw the man to day, if man he bee


       Kin. Finde him, and bring him hether


       Ros. What of him:
    He's quoted for a most perfidious slaue
    With all the spots a'th world, taxt and debosh'd,
    Whose nature sickens: but to speake a truth,
    Am I, or that or this for what he'l vtter,
    That will speake any thing


       Kin. She hath that Ring of yours


       Ros. I thinke she has; certaine it is I lyk'd her,
    And boorded her i'th wanton way of youth:
    She knew her distance, and did angle for mee,
    Madding my eagernesse with her restraint,
    As all impediments in fancies course
    Are motiues of more fancie, and in fine,
    Her insuite comming with her moderne grace,
    Subdu'd me to her rate, she got the Ring,
    And I had that which any inferiour might
    At Market price haue bought


       Dia. I must be patient:
    You that haue turn'd off a first so noble wife,
    May iustly dyet me. I pray you yet,
    (Since you lacke vertue, I will loose a husband)
    Send for your Ring, I will returne it home,
    And giue me mine againe


       Ros. I haue it not


       Kin. What Ring was yours I pray you?
      Dian. Sir much like the same vpon your finger


       Kin. Know you this Ring, this Ring was his of late


       Dia. And this was it I gaue him being a bed


       Kin. The story then goes false, you threw it him
    Out of a Casement


       Dia. I haue spoke the truth.
    Enter Parolles.


      Ros. My Lord, I do confesse the ring was hers


       Kin. You boggle shrewdly, euery feather starts you:
    Is this the man you speake of?
      Dia. I, my Lord


       Kin. Tell me sirrah, but tell me true I charge you,
    Not fearing the displeasure of your master:
    Which on your iust proceeding, Ile keepe off,
    By him and by this woman heere, what know you?
      Par. So please your Maiesty, my master hath bin an
    honourable Gentleman. Trickes hee hath had in him,
    which Gentlemen haue


       Kin. Come, come, to'th' purpose: Did hee loue this
    woman?
      Par. Faith sir he did loue her, but how


       Kin. How I pray you?
      Par. He did loue her sir, as a Gent. loues a Woman


       Kin. How is that?
      Par. He lou'd her sir, and lou'd her not


       Kin. As thou art a knaue and no knaue, what an equiuocall
    Companion is this?
      Par. I am a poore man, and at your Maiesties command


       Laf. Hee's a good drumme my Lord, but a naughtie
    Orator


       Dian. Do you know he promist me marriage?
      Par. Faith I know more then Ile speake


       Kin. But wilt thou not speake all thou know'st?
      Par. Yes so please your Maiesty: I did goe betweene
    them as I said, but more then that he loued her, for indeede
    he was madde for her, and talkt of Sathan, and of
    Limbo, and of Furies, and I know not what: yet I was in
    that credit with them at that time, that I knewe of their
    going to bed, and of other motions, as promising her
    marriage, and things which would deriue mee ill will to
    speake of, therefore I will not speake what I know


       Kin. Thou hast spoken all alreadie, vnlesse thou canst
    say they are maried, but thou art too fine in thy euidence,
    therefore stand aside. This Ring you say was yours


       Dia. I my good Lord


       Kin. Where did you buy it? Or who gaue it you?
      Dia. It was not giuen me, nor I did not buy it


       Kin. Who lent it you?
      Dia. It was not lent me neither


       Kin. Where did you finde it then?
      Dia. I found it not


       Kin. If it were yours by none of all these wayes,
    How could you giue it him?
      Dia. I neuer gaue it him


       Laf. This womans an easie gloue my Lord, she goes
    off and on at pleasure


       Kin. This Ring was mine, I gaue it his first wife


       Dia. It might be yours or hers for ought I know


       Kin. Take her away, I do not like her now,
    To prison with her: and away with him,
    Vnlesse thou telst me where thou hadst this Ring,
    Thou diest within this houre


       Dia. Ile neuer tell you


       Kin. Take her away


       Dia. Ile put in baile my liedge


       Kin. I thinke thee now some common Customer


       Dia. By Ioue if euer I knew man 'twas you


       King. Wherefore hast thou accusde him al this while


       Dia. Because he's guiltie, and he is not guilty:
    He knowes I am no Maid, and hee'l sweare too't:
    Ile sweare I am a Maid, and he knowes not.
    Great King I am no strumpet, by my life,
    I am either Maid, or else this old mans wife


       Kin. She does abuse our eares, to prison with her


       Dia. Good mother fetch my bayle. Stay Royall sir,
    The Ieweller that owes the Ring is sent for,
    And he shall surety me. But for this Lord,
    Who hath abus'd me as he knowes himselfe,
    Though yet he neuer harm'd me, heere I quit him.
    He knowes himselfe my bed he hath defil'd,
    And at that time he got his wife with childe:
    Dead though she be, she feeles her yong one kicke:
    So there's my riddle, one that's dead is quicke,
    And now behold the meaning.
    Enter Hellen and Widdow.


      Kin. Is there no exorcist
    Beguiles the truer Office of mine eyes?
    Is't reall that I see?
      Hel. No my good Lord,
    'Tis but the shadow of a wife you see,
    The name, and not the thing


       Ros. Both, both, O pardon


       Hel. Oh my good Lord, when I was like this Maid,
    I found you wondrous kinde, there is your Ring,
    And looke you, heeres your letter: this it sayes,
    When from my finger you can get this Ring,
    And is by me with childe, This is done,
    Will you be mine now you are doubly wonne?
      Ros. If she my Liege can make me know this clearly,
    Ile loue her dearely, euer, euer dearly


       Hel. If it appeare not plaine, and proue vntrue,
    Deadly diuorce step betweene me and you.
    O my deere mother do I see you liuing?
      Laf. Mine eyes smell Onions, I shall weepe anon:
    Good Tom Drumme lend me a handkercher.
    So I thanke thee, waite on me home, Ile make sport with
    thee: Let thy curtsies alone, they are scuruy ones


       King. Let vs from point to point this storie know,
    To make the euen truth in pleasure flow:
    If thou beest yet a fresh vncropped flower,
    Choose thou thy husband, and Ile pay thy dower.
    For I can guesse, that by thy honest ayde,
    Thou keptst a wife her selfe, thy selfe a Maide.
    Of that and all the progresse more and lesse,
    Resoluedly more leasure shall expresse:
    All yet seemes well, and if it end so meete,
    The bitter past, more welcome is the sweet.


    Flourish.


    The Kings a Begger, now the Play is done,
    All is well ended, if this suite be wonne,
    That you expresse Content: which we will pay,
    With strife to please you, day exceeding day:
    Ours be your patience then, and yours our parts,
    Your gentle hands lend vs, and take our hearts.


    Exeunt. omn.


    FINIS. ALL'S Well, that Ends Well.