Alls Wel that ends Well Read online

  Alls Wel that ends Well

  William Shakespeare

  ALLS WELL THAT ENDS WELL

  Dramatis Personae

  KING OF FRANCE

  THE DUKE OF FLORENCE

  BERTRAM, Count of Rousillon

  LAFEU, an old lord

  PAROLLES, a follower of Bertram

  TWO FRENCH LORDS, serving with Bertram

  STEWARD, Servant to the Countess of Rousillon

  LAVACHE, a clown and Servant to the Countess of Rousillon

  A PAGE, Servant to the Countess of Rousillon

  COUNTESS OF ROUSILLON, mother to Bertram

  HELENA, a gentlewoman protected by the Countess

  A WIDOW OF FLORENCE.

  DIANA, daughter to the Widow

  VIOLENTA, neighbour and friend to the Widow

  MARIANA, neighbour and friend to the Widow

  Lords, Officers, Soldiers, etc., French and Florentine

  SCENE:

  Rousillon; Paris; Florence; Marseilles

  ACT I.

  SCENE 1.

  Rousillon. The COUNT'S palace

  Enter BERTRAM, the COUNTESS OF ROUSILLON, HELENA, and LAFEU, all in black

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

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

  but I must attend his Majesty's command, to whom I am now in

  ward, evermore in subjection.

  LAFEU. You shall find of the King a husband, madam; you, sir, a

  father. He that so generally is at all times good must of

  necessity hold his virtue to you, whose worthiness would stir it

  up where it wanted, rather than lack it where there is such

  abundance.

  COUNTESS. What hope is there of his Majesty's amendment?

  LAFEU. He hath abandon'd his physicians, madam; under whose

  practices he hath persecuted time with hope, and finds no other

  advantage in the process but only the losing of hope by time.

  COUNTESS. This young gentlewoman had a father— O, that 'had,' how

  sad a passage 'tis!-whose skill was almost as great as his

  honesty; had it stretch'd so far, would have made nature

  immortal, and death should have play for lack of work. Would, for

  the King's sake, he were living! I think it would be the death of

  the King's disease.

  LAFEU. How call'd you the man you speak of, madam?

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

  great right to be so— Gerard de Narbon.

  LAFEU. He was excellent indeed, madam; the King very lately spoke

  of him admiringly and mourningly; he was skilful enough to have

  liv'd still, if knowledge could be set up against mortality.

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

  LAFEU. A fistula, my lord.

  BERTRAM. I heard not of it before.

  LAFEU. I would it were not notorious. Was this gentlewoman the

  daughter of Gerard de Narbon?

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

  overlooking. I have those hopes of her good that her education

  promises; her dispositions she inherits, which makes fair gifts

  fairer; for where an unclean mind carries virtuous qualities,

  there commendations go with pity-they are virtues and traitors

  too. In her they are the better for their simpleness; she derives

  her honesty, and achieves her goodness.

  LAFEU. Your commendations, madam, get from her tears.

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

  The remembrance of her father never approaches her heart but the

  tyranny of her sorrows takes all livelihood from her cheek. No

  more of this, Helena; go to, no more, lest it be rather thought

  you affect a sorrow than to have-

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

  LAFEU. Moderate lamentation is the right of the dead: excessive

  grief the enemy to the living.

  COUNTESS. If the living be enemy to the grief, the excess makes it

  soon mortal.

  BERTRAM. Madam, I desire your holy wishes.

  LAFEU. How understand we that?

  COUNTESS. Be thou blest, Bertram, and succeed thy father

  In manners, as in shape! Thy blood and virtue

  Contend for empire in thee, and thy goodness

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

  Do wrong to none; be able for thine enemy

  Rather in power than use, and keep thy friend

  Under thy own life's key; be check'd for silence,

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

  That thee may furnish, and my prayers pluck down,

  Fall on thy head! Farewell. My lord,

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

  Advise him.

  LAFEU. He cannot want the best

  That shall attend his love.

  COUNTESS. Heaven bless him! Farewell, Bertram. Exit

  BERTRAM. The best wishes that can be forg'd in your thoughts be

  servants to you! [To HELENA] Be comfortable to my mother, your

  mistress, and make much of her.

  LAFEU. Farewell, pretty lady; you must hold the credit of your

  father. Exeunt BERTRAM and LAFEU

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

  And these great tears grace his remembrance more

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

  I have forgot him; my imagination

  Carries no favour in't but Bertram's.

  I am undone; there is no living, none,

  If Bertram be away. 'Twere all one

  That I should love a bright particular star

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

  In his bright radiance and collateral light

  Must I be comforted, not in his sphere.

  Th' ambition in my love thus plagues itself:

  The hind that would be mated by the lion

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

  To see him every hour; to sit and draw

  His arched brows, his hawking eye, his curls,

  In our heart's table-heart too capable

  Of every line and trick of his sweet favour.

  But now he's gone, and my idolatrous fancy

  Must sanctify his relics. Who comes here?

  Enter PAROLLES

  [Aside] One that goes with him. I love him for his sake;

  And yet I know him a notorious liar,

  Think him a great way fool, solely a coward;

  Yet these fix'd evils sit so fit in him

  That they take place when virtue's steely bones

  Looks bleak i' th' cold wind; withal, full oft we see

  Cold wisdom waiting on superfluous folly.

  PAROLLES. Save you, fair queen!

  HELENA. And you, monarch!

  PAROLLES. No.

  HELENA. And no.

  PAROLLES. Are you meditating on virginity?

  HELENA. Ay. You have some stain of soldier in you; let me ask you a

  question. Man is enemy to virginity; how may we barricado it

  against him?

  PAROLLES. Keep him out.

  HELENA. But he assails; and our virginity, though valiant in the

  defence, yet is weak. Unfold to us some warlike resistance.

  PAROLLES. There is none. Man, setting down before you, will

  u
ndermine you and blow you up.

  HELENA. Bless our poor virginity from underminers and blowers-up!

  Is there no military policy how virgins might blow up men?

  PAROLLES. Virginity being blown down, man will quicklier be blown

  up; marry, in blowing him down again, with the breach yourselves

  made, you lose your city. It is not politic in the commonwealth

  of nature to preserve virginity. Loss of virginity is rational

  increase; and there was never virgin got till virginity was first

  lost. That you were made of is metal to make virgins. Virginity

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

  is ever lost. 'Tis too cold a companion; away with't.

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

  virgin.

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

  of nature. To speak on the part of virginity is to accuse your

  mothers; which is most infallible disobedience. He that hangs

  himself is a virgin; virginity murders itself, and should be

  buried in highways, out of all sanctified limit, as a desperate

  offendress against nature. Virginity breeds mites, much like a

  cheese; consumes itself to the very paring, and so dies with

  feeding his own stomach. Besides, virginity is peevish, proud,

  idle, made of self-love, which is the most inhibited sin in the

  canon. Keep it not; you cannot choose but lose by't. Out with't.

  Within ten year it will make itself ten, which is a goodly

  increase; and the principal itself not much the worse. Away

  with't.

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

  PAROLLES. Let me see. Marry, ill to like him that ne'er it likes.

  'Tis a commodity will lose the gloss with lying; the longer kept,

  the less worth. Off with't while 'tis vendible; answer the time

  of request. Virginity, like an old courtier, wears her cap out of

  fashion, richly suited but unsuitable; just like the brooch and

  the toothpick, which wear not now. Your date is better in your

  pie and your porridge than in your cheek. And your virginity,

  your old virginity, is like one of our French wither'd pears: it

  looks ill, it eats drily; marry, 'tis a wither'd pear; it was

  formerly better; marry, yet 'tis a wither'd pear. Will you

  anything with it?

  HELENA. Not my virginity yet.

  There shall your master have a thousand loves,

  A mother, and a mistress, and a friend,

  A phoenix, captain, and an enemy,

  A guide, a goddess, and a sovereign,

  A counsellor, a traitress, and a dear;

  His humble ambition, proud humility,

  His jarring concord, and his discord dulcet,

  His faith, his sweet disaster; with a world

  Of pretty, fond, adoptious christendoms

  That blinking Cupid gossips. Now shall he-

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

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

  PAROLLES. What one, i' faith?

  HELENA. That I wish well. 'Tis pity-

  PAROLLES. What's pity?

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

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

  Whose baser stars do shut us up in wishes,

  Might with effects of them follow our friends

  And show what we alone must think, which never

  Returns us thanks.

  Enter PAGE

  PAGE. Monsieur Parolles, my lord calls for you. Exit PAGE

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

  think of thee at court.

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

  PAROLLES. Under Mars, I.

  HELENA. I especially think, under Mars.

  PAROLLES. Why under Man?

  HELENA. The wars hath so kept you under that you must needs be born

  under Mars.

  PAROLLES. When he was predominant.

  HELENA. When he was retrograde, I think, rather.

  PAROLLES. Why think you so?

  HELENA. You go so much backward when you fight.

  PAROLLES. That's for advantage.

  HELENA. So is running away, when fear proposes the safety: but the

  composition that your valour and fear makes in you is a virtue of

  a good wing, and I like the wear well.

  PAROLLES. I am so full of business I cannot answer thee acutely. I

  will return perfect courtier; in the which my instruction shall

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

  counsel, and understand what advice shall thrust upon thee; else

  thou diest in thine unthankfulness, and thine ignorance makes

  thee away. Farewell. When thou hast leisure, say thy prayers;

  when thou hast none, remember thy friends. Get thee a good

  husband and use him as he uses thee. So, farewell.

  Exit

  HELENA. Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie,

  Which we ascribe to heaven. The fated sky

  Gives us free scope; only doth backward pull

  Our slow designs when we ourselves are dull.

  What power is it which mounts my love so high,

  That makes me see, and cannot feed mine eye?

  The mightiest space in fortune nature brings

  To join like likes, and kiss like native things.

  Impossible be strange attempts to those

  That weigh their pains in sense, and do suppose

  What hath been cannot be. Who ever strove

  To show her merit that did miss her love?

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

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

  SCENE 2.

  Paris. The KING'S palace

  Flourish of cornets. Enter the KING OF FRANCE, with letters,

  and divers ATTENDANTS

  KING. The Florentines and Senoys are by th' ears;

  Have fought with equal fortune, and continue

  A braving war.

  FIRST LORD. So 'tis reported, sir.

  KING. Nay, 'tis most credible. We here receive it,

  A certainty, vouch'd from our cousin Austria,

  With caution, that the Florentine will move us

  For speedy aid; wherein our dearest friend

  Prejudicates the business, and would seem

  To have us make denial.

  FIRST LORD. His love and wisdom,

  Approv'd so to your Majesty, may plead

  For amplest credence.

  KING. He hath arm'd our answer,

  And Florence is denied before he comes;

  Yet, for our gentlemen that mean to see

  The Tuscan service, freely have they leave

  To stand on either part.

  SECOND LORD. It well may serve

  A nursery to our gentry, who are sick

  For breathing and exploit.

  KING. What's he comes here?

  Enter BERTRAM, LAFEU, and PAROLLES

  FIRST LORD. It is the Count Rousillon, my good lord,

  Young Bertram.

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

  Frank nature, rather curious than in haste,

  Hath well compos'd thee. Thy father's moral parts

  Mayst thou inherit too! Welcome to Paris.

  BERTRAM. My thanks and duty are your Majesty's.

  KING. I would I had that corporal soundness now,

  As when thy father and myself in friendship

  First tried our soldiership. He did look far

  Into the service of the tim
e, and was

  Discipled of the bravest. He lasted long;

  But on us both did haggish age steal on,

  And wore us out of act. It much repairs me

  To talk of your good father. In his youth

  He had the wit which I can well observe

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

  Till their own scorn return to them unnoted

  Ere they can hide their levity in honour.

  So like a courtier, contempt nor bitterness

  Were in his pride or sharpness; if they were,

  His equal had awak'd them; and his honour,

  Clock to itself, knew the true minute when

  Exception bid him speak, and at this time

  His tongue obey'd his hand. Who were below him

  He us'd as creatures of another place;

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

  Making them proud of his humility

  In their poor praise he humbled. Such a man

  Might be a copy to these younger times;

  Which, followed well, would demonstrate them now

  But goers backward.

  BERTRAM. His good remembrance, sir,

  Lies richer in your thoughts than on his tomb;

  So in approof lives not his epitaph

  As in your royal speech.

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

  Methinks I hear him now; his plausive words

  He scatter'd not in ears, but grafted them

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

  This his good melancholy oft began,

  On the catastrophe and heel of pastime,

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

  'After my flame lacks oil, to be the snuff

  Of younger spirits, whose apprehensive senses

  All but new things disdain; whose judgments are

  Mere fathers of their garments; whose constancies

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

  I, after him, do after him wish too,

  Since I nor wax nor honey can bring home,

  I quickly were dissolved from my hive,

  To give some labourers room.

  SECOND LORD. You're loved, sir;

  They that least lend it you shall lack you first.

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

  Since the physician at your father's died?

  He was much fam'd.

  BERTRAM. Some six months since, my lord.