Alls Wel that ends Well Read online

  Farewell! Exit HELENA

  Go thou toward home, where I will never come

  Whilst I can shake my sword or hear the drum.

  Away, and for our flight.

  PAROLLES. Bravely, coragio! Exeunt

  ACT III.

  SCENE 1.

  Florence. The DUKE's palace

  Flourish. Enter the DUKE OF FLORENCE, attended; two

  FRENCH LORDS, with a TROOP OF SOLDIERS

  DUKE. So that, from point to point, now have you hear

  The fundamental reasons of this war;

  Whose great decision hath much blood let forth

  And more thirsts after.

  FIRST LORD. Holy seems the quarrel

  Upon your Grace's part; black and fearful

  On the opposer.

  DUKE. Therefore we marvel much our cousin France

  Would in so just a business shut his bosom

  Against our borrowing prayers.

  SECOND LORD. Good my lord,

  The reasons of our state I cannot yield,

  But like a common and an outward man

  That the great figure of a council frames

  By self-unable motion; therefore dare not

  Say what I think of it, since I have found

  Myself in my incertain grounds to fail

  As often as I guess'd.

  DUKE. Be it his pleasure.

  FIRST LORD. But I am sure the younger of our nature,

  That surfeit on their ease, will day by day

  Come here for physic.

  DUKE. Welcome shall they be

  And all the honours that can fly from us

  Shall on them settle. You know your places well;

  When better fall, for your avails they fell.

  To-morrow to th' field. Flourish. Exeunt

  SCENE 2.

  Rousillon. The COUNT'S palace

  Enter COUNTESS and CLOWN

  COUNTESS. It hath happen'd all as I would have had it, save that he

  comes not along with her.

  CLOWN. By my troth, I take my young lord to be a very melancholy

  man.

  COUNTESS. By what observance, I pray you?

  CLOWN. Why, he will look upon his boot and sing; mend the ruff and

  sing; ask questions and sing; pick his teeth and sing. I know a

  man that had this trick of melancholy sold a goodly manor for a

  song.

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

  [Opening a letter]

  CLOWN. I have no mind to Isbel since I was at court. Our old ling

  and our Isbels o' th' country are nothing like your old ling and

  your Isbels o' th' court. The brains of my Cupid's knock'd out;

  and I begin to love, as an old man loves money, with no stomach.

  COUNTESS. What have we here?

  CLOWN. E'en that you have there. Exit

  COUNTESS. [Reads] 'I have sent you a daughter-in-law; she hath

  recovered the King and undone me. I have wedded her, not bedded

  her; and sworn to make the "not" eternal. You shall hear I am run

  away; know it before the report come. If there be breadth enough

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

  Your unfortunate son,

  BERTRAM.'

  This is not well, rash and unbridled boy,

  To fly the favours of so good a king,

  To pluck his indignation on thy head

  By the misprizing of a maid too virtuous

  For the contempt of empire.

  Re-enter CLOWN

  CLOWN. O madam, yonder is heavy news within between two soldiers

  and my young lady.

  COUNTESS. What is the -matter?

  CLOWN. Nay, there is some comfort in the news, some comfort; your

  son will not be kill'd so soon as I thought he would.

  COUNTESS. Why should he be kill'd?

  CLOWN. So say I, madam, if he run away, as I hear he does the

  danger is in standing to 't; that's the loss of men, though it be

  the getting of children. Here they come will tell you more. For my

  part, I only hear your son was run away. Exit

  Enter HELENA and the two FRENCH GENTLEMEN

  SECOND GENTLEMAN. Save you, good madam.

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

  FIRST GENTLEMAN. Do not say so.

  COUNTESS. Think upon patience. Pray you, gentlemen-

  I have felt so many quirks of joy and grief

  That the first face of neither, on the start,

  Can woman me unto 't. Where is my son, I pray you?

  FIRST GENTLEMAN. Madam, he's gone to serve the Duke of Florence.

  We met him thitherward; for thence we came,

  And, after some dispatch in hand at court,

  Thither we bend again.

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

  [Reads] 'When thou canst get the ring upon my finger, which

  never shall come off, and show me a child begotten of thy body

  that I am father to, then call me husband; but in such a "then" I

  write a "never."

  This is a dreadful sentence.

  COUNTESS. Brought you this letter, gentlemen?

  FIRST GENTLEMAN. Ay, madam;

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

  COUNTESS. I prithee, lady, have a better cheer;

  If thou engrossest all the griefs are thine,

  Thou robb'st me of a moiety. He was my son;

  But I do wash his name out of my blood,

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

  FIRST GENTLEMAN. Ay, madam.

  COUNTESS. And to be a soldier?

  FIRST GENTLEMAN. Such is his noble purpose; and, believe 't,

  The Duke will lay upon him all the honour

  That good convenience claims.

  COUNTESS. Return you thither?

  SECOND GENTLEMAN. Ay, madam, with the swiftest wing of speed.

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

  'Tis bitter.

  COUNTESS. Find you that there?

  HELENA. Ay, madam.

  SECOND GENTLEMAN. 'Tis but the boldness of his hand haply, which

  his heart was not consenting to.

  COUNTESS. Nothing in France until he have no wife!

  There's nothing here that is too good for him

  But only she; and she deserves a lord

  That twenty such rude boys might tend upon,

  And call her hourly mistress. Who was with him?

  SECOND GENTLEMAN. A servant only, and a gentleman

  Which I have sometime known.

  COUNTESS. Parolles, was it not?

  SECOND GENTLEMAN. Ay, my good lady, he.

  COUNTESS. A very tainted fellow, and full of wickedness.

  My son corrupts a well-derived nature

  With his inducement.

  SECOND GENTLEMAN. Indeed, good lady,

  The fellow has a deal of that too much

  Which holds him much to have.

  COUNTESS. Y'are welcome, gentlemen.

  I will entreat you, when you see my son,

  To tell him that his sword can never win

  The honour that he loses. More I'll entreat you

  Written to bear along.

  FIRST GENTLEMAN. We serve you, madam,

  In that and all your worthiest affairs.

  COUNTESS. Not so, but as we change our courtesies.

  Will you draw near? Exeunt COUNTESS and GENTLEMEN

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

  Nothing in France until he has no wife!

  Thou shalt have none, Rousillon, none in France

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

  That chase thee from thy country, and expose

  Those tend
er limbs of thine to the event

  Of the non-sparing war? And is it I

  That drive thee from the sportive court, where thou

  Wast shot at with fair eyes, to be the mark

  Of smoky muskets? O you leaden messengers,

  That ride upon the violent speed of fire,

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

  That sings with piercing; do not touch my lord.

  Whoever shoots at him, I set him there;

  Whoever charges on his forward breast,

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

  And though I kill him not, I am the cause

  His death was so effected. Better 'twere

  I met the ravin lion when he roar'd

  With sharp constraint of hunger; better 'twere

  That all the miseries which nature owes

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

  Whence honour but of danger wins a scar,

  As oft it loses all. I will be gone.

  My being here it is that holds thee hence.

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

  The air of paradise did fan the house,

  And angels offic'd all. I will be gone,

  That pitiful rumour may report my flight

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

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

  SCENE 3.

  Florence. Before the DUKE's palace

  Flourish. Enter the DUKE OF FLORENCE, BERTRAM, PAROLLES, SOLDIERS,

  drum and trumpets

  DUKE. The General of our Horse thou art; and we,

  Great in our hope, lay our best love and credence

  Upon thy promising fortune.

  BERTRAM. Sir, it is

  A charge too heavy for my strength; but yet

  We'll strive to bear it for your worthy sake

  To th' extreme edge of hazard.

  DUKE. Then go thou forth;

  And Fortune play upon thy prosperous helm,

  As thy auspicious mistress!

  BERTRAM. This very day,

  Great Mars, I put myself into thy file;

  Make me but like my thoughts, and I shall prove

  A lover of thy drum, hater of love. Exeunt

  SCENE 4.

  Rousillon. The COUNT'S palace

  Enter COUNTESS and STEWARD

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

  Might you not know she would do as she has done

  By sending me a letter? Read it again.

  STEWARD. [Reads] 'I am Saint Jaques' pilgrim, thither gone.

  Ambitious love hath so in me offended

  That barefoot plod I the cold ground upon,

  With sainted vow my faults to have amended.

  Write, write, that from the bloody course of war

  My dearest master, your dear son, may hie.

  Bless him at home in peace, whilst I from far

  His name with zealous fervour sanctify.

  His taken labours bid him me forgive;

  I, his despiteful Juno, sent him forth

  From courtly friends, with camping foes to live,

  Where death and danger dogs the heels of worth.

  He is too good and fair for death and me;

  Whom I myself embrace to set him free.'

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

  Rinaldo, you did never lack advice so much

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

  I could have well diverted her intents,

  Which thus she hath prevented.

  STEWARD. Pardon me, madam;

  If I had given you this at over-night,

  She might have been o'er ta'en; and yet she writes

  Pursuit would be but vain.

  COUNTESS. What angel shall

  Bless this unworthy husband? He cannot thrive,

  Unless her prayers, whom heaven delights to hear

  And loves to grant, reprieve him from the wrath

  Of greatest justice. Write, write, Rinaldo,

  To this unworthy husband of his wife;

  Let every word weigh heavy of her worth

  That he does weigh too light. My greatest grief,

  Though little he do feel it, set down sharply.

  Dispatch the most convenient messenger.

  When haply he shall hear that she is gone

  He will return; and hope I may that she,

  Hearing so much, will speed her foot again,

  Led hither by pure love. Which of them both

  Is dearest to me I have no skill in sense

  To make distinction. Provide this messenger.

  My heart is heavy, and mine age is weak;

  Grief would have tears, and sorrow bids me speak. Exeunt

  SCENE 5.

  Without the walls of Florence

  A tucket afar off. Enter an old WIDOW OF FLORENCE, her daughter DIANA,

  VIOLENTA, and MARIANA, with other CITIZENS

  WIDOW. Nay, come; for if they do approach the city we shall lose

  all the sight.

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

  WIDOW. It is reported that he has taken their great'st commander;

  and that with his own hand he slew the Duke's brother. [Tucket]

  We have lost our labour; they are gone a contrary way. Hark! you

  may know by their trumpets.

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

  report of it. Well, Diana, take heed of this French earl; the

  honour of a maid is her name, and no legacy is so rich as

  honesty.

  WIDOW. I have told my neighbour how you have been solicited by a

  gentleman his companion.

  MARIANA. I know that knave, hang him! one Parolles; a filthy

  officer he is in those suggestions for the young earl. Beware of

  them, Diana: their promises, enticements, oaths, tokens, and all

  these engines of lust, are not the things they go under; many a

  maid hath been seduced by them; and the misery is, example, that

  so terrible shows in the wreck of maidenhood, cannot for all that

  dissuade succession, but that they are limed with the twigs that

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

  hope your own grace will keep you where you are, though there

  were no further danger known but the modesty which is so lost.

  DIANA. You shall not need to fear me.

  Enter HELENA in the dress of a pilgrim

  WIDOW. I hope so. Look, here comes a pilgrim. I know she will lie

  at my house: thither they send one another. I'll question her.

  God save you, pilgrim! Whither are bound?

  HELENA. To Saint Jaques le Grand.

  Where do the palmers lodge, I do beseech you?

  WIDOW. At the Saint Francis here, beside the port.

  HELENA. Is this the way?

  [A march afar]

  WIDOW. Ay, marry, is't. Hark you! They come this way.

  If you will tarry, holy pilgrim,

  But till the troops come by,

  I will conduct you where you shall be lodg'd;

  The rather for I think I know your hostess

  As ample as myself.

  HELENA. Is it yourself?

  WIDOW. If you shall please so, pilgrim.

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

  WIDOW. You came, I think, from France?

  HELENA. I did so.

  WIDOW. Here you shall see a countryman of yours

  That has done worthy service.

  HELENA. His name, I pray you.

  DIANA. The Count Rousillon. Know you such a one?

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

  His face I know not.

  DIANA. What some'er h
e is,

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

  As 'tis reported, for the King had married him

  Against his liking. Think you it is so?

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

  DIANA. There is a gentleman that serves the Count

  Reports but coarsely of her.

  HELENA. What's his name?

  DIANA. Monsieur Parolles.

  HELENA. O, I believe with him,

  In argument of praise, or to the worth

  Of the great Count himself, she is too mean

  To have her name repeated; all her deserving

  Is a reserved honesty, and that

  I have not heard examin'd.

  DIANA. Alas, poor lady!

  'Tis a hard bondage to become the wife

  Of a detesting lord.

  WIDOW. I sweet, good creature, wheresoe'er she is

  Her heart weighs sadly. This young maid might do her

  A shrewd turn, if she pleas'd.

  HELENA. How do you mean?

  May be the amorous Count solicits her

  In the unlawful purpose.

  WIDOW. He does, indeed;

  And brokes with all that can in such a suit

  Corrupt the tender honour of a maid;

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

  In honestest defence.

  Enter, with drum and colours, BERTRAM, PAROLLES, and the

  whole ARMY

  MARIANA. The gods forbid else!

  WIDOW. So, now they come.

  That is Antonio, the Duke's eldest son;

  That, Escalus.

  HELENA. Which is the Frenchman?

  DIANA. He-

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

  I would he lov'd his wife; if he were honester

  He were much goodlier. Is't not a handsome gentleman?

  HELENA. I like him well.

  DIANA. 'Tis pity he is not honest. Yond's that same knave

  That leads him to these places; were I his lady

  I would poison that vile rascal.

  HELENA. Which is he?

  DIANA. That jack-an-apes with scarfs. Why is he melancholy?

  HELENA. Perchance he's hurt i' th' battle.

  PAROLLES. Lose our drum! well.

  MARIANA. He's shrewdly vex'd at something.

  Look, he has spied us.

  WIDOW. Marry, hang you!

  MARIANA. And your courtesy, for a ring-carrier!

  Exeunt BERTRAM, PAROLLES, and ARMY

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