English tragedians, — to belie liiin, 1 will not, — and
more of his soldiersiiij) I know not; except, in that
countrv, he had the honour to be the officer at a
j)Iace there caHd Mile-end, to instruct for the dou-
liliug of Hies: i would do the man what honour I
can, but of this I am not certain.
1 Lord. \\c hath out-villained villainy so far, that
the rarity redeems him.
Bcr. A pox on him ! he's a cat still.
1 Sold. His qualities being at tiiis j)oor price, 1
need not ask you, if gold will corrupt him to re-
voli.
•* an cnr<T out of n cloister ;] lie idll steal any lliintr, lutu-
i^Ci- trijliiiy^ from antf j>lai:i-, hoxuevtr Jtulij. liobiiini^ tlif sj^ital,
- a conioiuu phrusc, ot the lilic import.
\ A '2
398 ALL'S WELL
Par. Sir, for a quaint d'ecu^ he will sell the fee-
simple of his salvation, the inheritance of it ; and
cut the entail from all remainders, and a perpetual
succession for it perpetually.
1 Sold. What's his brother, the other captain
Dumain ?
2 Lord. Why does he ask him of me ?*'
vSold. What's he?
Par. E'en a crow of the same nest ; not altog-e-
ther so great as the first in goodness, but greater a
great deal in evil. He excels his brother for a cow-
ard, yet his brother is reputed one of the best that
is : In a retreat he out-runs any lackey ; marry, in
coming on he has the cramp,
1 Sold. If your life be saved, will you undertake
to betray the Florentine ?
Par. Ay, and the captain of his horse, count
Rousillon.
1 Sold. I'll whisper with the general, and know
his pleasure.
Par. I'll no more drumming ; a plague of all
drums ! Only to seem to deserve well, and to beguile
the supposition^ of that lascivious young boy the
count, have I run into this danger: Yet, who would
have suspected an ambush where I was taken ?
\Jside.
1 Sold. There is no remedy, sir, but you must
die : the general says, you, that have so traitorously
discovered the secrets of your army, and made such
pestiferous reports of men very nobly held, can
^ for a quart d'ecu — ] The fourth part of the smaller
French crown ; about eight-pence of our money.
'' Why dues he ask him (if me ?] This is nature. Every man is,
on such occasions, more willing to hear his neighbour's character
than his own. Johnson.
' •; to begui/e the supposition — ] That is, to deceive the
opinion^ to make the Count think me a man that deserves mdl.
THAT ENDS WELL. 'igg
scnc tlic world for no honest use ; therefore you
must die. Come, headsmen, otf with his head.
Far. O Lord, sir ; let me hve, or let me see my
death !
1 Sold. That shall you, and take your leave of all
your friends. \l''nmuj}iing him.
So, look about you ; Know you any here?
Ber. Good morrow, noble captain.
2 Lord. God bless you, captain Parolles.
1 Lord. God save \-ou, noble captain.
2 Lord. Captain, what greeting will you to my
lord Lafeu ? I am for France.
1 Lord. Good captain, will you give me a copy of
the sonnet you writ to Diana in behalf of the count
Rousillon ? an I were not a very coward, I'd compel
it of you ; but fare you well.
[^Exeunt Bertram, Lords, &c.
1 Sold. You are undone, captain : all but your
scarf, that has a knot on't yet.
Far. Who cannot be crushed with a plot ?
1 Sold. If you could find out a country where
but women were that had received so nmch shame,
you might begin an impudent nation. Fare you
well, sir; I am for France too; we shall speak of
you there. \_L.vit.
Far. Yet am I thankful : if my heart were great,
'Twonld burst at this : Captain, fll be no more;
But I will eat and drink, and sleep as soft
As cajjtain shall, simi)ly the thing I am
j)ly the
Wlio k
Shall make me live. Who knows himself a braggart
Let him fear this ; for it will come to pass,
That every braggart shall be found an ass.
Rust, sword ! c(kj1, blushes ! and, Parolles, live
Safest in shame ! being fool'd, by foolery thrive!
There's place, and means, for every man alive.
I'll after them. L^''^"'^
}
300 ALL'S WELL
SCENE IV.
Florence. A Room in the Widow's House.
Enter Helena, Widow, and Diana.
Hel. That you may well perceive I have not
wrong'd you.
One of the greatest in the Christian world
Shall be my surety ; 'fore Avhose throne, 'tis needful.
Ere I can perfect mine intents, to kneel :
Time was, I did him a desired office.
Dear almost as his life ; which gratitude
Through flinty Tartar s bosom would peep forth.
And answer, thanks : I duly am inform'd,
His grace is at Marseilles ; to which place
We ha\e convenient convoy, l^ou must know,
I am supposed dead : the army breaking.
My husband hies him home ; where, heaven aiding.
And by the leave of my good lord the king,
We'll be, before our welcome.
Wid. Crentle madam,
You never had a servant, to whose trust
Your business was more welcome.
Hel. Nor you, mistress.
Ever a friend, whose thoughts more truly labour
To recompense your love ; doubt not, but heaven
Hath brought me up to be your daughter's dower.
As it hath fated her to be my motive*^
And helper to a husband. But O strange men !
That can such sweet use make of what they hate,
When saucy^ trusting of the cozen'd thoughts
^ mjj motive — ] Motive for assistant, or rather for mover.
9 Wkni saucy — ] Saucy nui}^ very properly signify luxuriotis,
and by consequence lascivious.
THAT ENDS ^^^ELL. 301
Defiles the pitchy night ! so lust doth play
With" what it loaths,"for that which is away:
But moi-e of this hereafter: ^\'ou, Diana,
Under my poor instructions yet must suft'cr
Something in my behalf.
j^ia. Let death and honesty*
Go with your impositions/ 1 am yours
Upon your will to suffer.
Hel. Yet, I i)ray you,
But with the word, the time will bring on summer.
When briars shall have leaves as well as thorns.
And be as sweet as sharp. AVe must away ;
Our waggon is prepar'd, and time revives us :^
AWs xvtlUhat aids well :^ still the fine's the crown;*
Whate'er the course, the end is the renown.
[Exeimt.
SCENE V.
Rousillon. A Room in the Countess's Palace.
Enter Countess, Lafeu, and Clow n.
Laf. No, no, no, your son was misled with a
snii)t-taft"ata fellow there ; whose villainous saffron*
would have made all the unbaked and doughy youth
' death and liovestji — ] i. e. an hooest death.
» ipur impositions,] i. e. your commands.
3 Our i{:atT(ron is prepnr\f, and time revives tcs :'] Time revives
us, seems to refer to the happy and speedy termination of their
embarriifisments. Slie had just before said :
" Witli the word, the time will bring on summer.**
* Airs well that ends xvell ;] All's well that ends well, is one of
Camden's proverbial sentences.
s . sti/l thcfuu\s the crown;] i. e. the end ^ finis coronat.
'' whme vilhinous saffron — ] Here scmie particuUirities of
foyliionabk' dress are ridicukd. Snipl-tuffata needs no explana-
tion ; but villftinuus saffron alludes to a iantastic fu.->hion, then u -Ii
I'ollowed, of using j/rllon) starch for their bands and ruH"
802 ALL'S WELL
of a nation in his colour : your daughter-in-law had
been alive at this hour ; and your son here at home,
more advanced by the king, than by that red-tailed
humble-bee I speak of.
Count. I would, I had not known him ! it was
the death of the most virtuous gentlewoman, that
ever nature had praise for creating : if she had par-
taken of my flesh, and cost me the dearest groans
of a mother, I could not have owed her a more
rooted love.
Laf. 'Twas a good lady, 'twas a good lady : we
may pick a thousand salads, ere we light on such
another herb.
Clo. Indeed, sir, she was the sweet-marjoram of
the salad, or, rather the herb of grace.
Laf. They are not salad-herbs, you knave, they
are nose-herbs.
Clo. I am no great Nebuchadnezzar, sir, I have
not much skill in grass.
Laf. Whether dost thou profess thyself ; a knave,
or a fool ?
Clo. A fool, sir, at a woman's sei-vice, and a
knave at a man's.
Laf. Your distinction ?
Clo. I would cozen the man of his wife, and do
his semce.
Laf. So you were a knave at his sei-vice,
indeed.
Clo. And I would give his wife my bauble, sir,
to do her service.
Laf. I will subscribe for thee; thou art both
knave and fool.
Clo. At your service.
Laf. No, no, no.
Clo. Why, sir, if I cannot serve you, I can serve
as great a prince as you are.
Laf Who's that ? a Frenchman ?
THAT ENDS WELL. 303
Clo. Faith, sir, he has an Enghsh name ; but his
phisnomy is more hotter in France, than there.
LciJ ' What prince is that ?
Clo. The black prince, sir, alias, the prince of
darkness ; alias, the devil.
Lqf. Hold thee, there's my purse : I give thee
not this to suggest^ thee from thy master thou
talkest of; serve hini still.
Clo. I am a woodland follow, sir,^ that always
loved a great fire ; and the master I speak of, ever
keeps a good fire. But, sure, he is the prince of
the woi.i, let his nobility remain in his court. I
am for the house with the narrow gate, which I
take to be too little for pomp to enter : some, that
humble themselves, may ; hut the many will be too
chill and tender; and they'll be for the flowery way,
that leads to the broad gate, and the great fire.
Laf. Go thy ways. I begin to be a-weary of
thee; and I tell thee so before, because I would not
fall out with thee. Go thy w ays ; let my horses be
well looked to, without any tricks.
Clo. If I put any tricks upon 'em, sir, they shall
be judes' tricks ; which are tlieir own right by the
law of nature. \_Exit,
Laf. A slirewd knave, and an unhappy.^
Count. So he is. My lord, that's gone, made
himself much sport out of him : by his authority
he remains here, which he thinks is a patent for his
sauciness ; and, indeed, he has no pace, but runs
wliere he will.
LaJ . I like him well ; 'tis not amiss : and I was
' lo suj^gt'st — ] i. e. seduce.
8 / am a â– woodland Jdlovo^ sir, &c.'] Sliakspcarc is but rarely
jjuilty of such impious trash. And it is ob.scrval)lL', tliat tlu.n la*
always put«t that into the moutli of Imjooh, which is now grown
tkc tljaracteristic of the Jin f ^fintlcman. Wa Rrukton.
'^ — — u/ili(i]>j)i/.'] i. c. mischicvuuily tf-aggis/i, u/duc/a/.
sm ALL'S WELL
about to tell you. Since I heard of the good lady's
death, and that my lord your son was upon his re-
turn home, I moved the king my master, to speak
in the behalf of my daughter ; which, in the mi-
nority of them both, his majesty, out of a self-gra-
cious remembrance, did first ]>i'0]X)se : his highness
hath promised me to do it : and, to stop up the
displeasure he hath conceived against your son,
there is no fitter matter. How does your ladyship
like it?
Count. With very much content, my lorf" and I
wish tt happily effected.
Laf. His highness comes post fi'om Marseilles,
of as able body as when lie numbered thirty ; he
will be here to-morrow, or I am deceived by him
tficit ni sui'h mtelligence hath seldom failed.
Coi/.ut. It rejoices me, that I hope I shall see him
ere I die. 1 have letters, that ray son ^ ill be here
to-night : I shall beseech ynur lordship, to remain
with me till they meet together.
LaJ, Madam, I was thinking, with what manners
I might safely be admitted.
Count. You • need but plead your honourable
privilege.
LaJ. Lady, of that I have made a bold charter;
but, I thank my God, it holds yet.
Re-aiter Clown.
Clo. O madam, yonder's my lord your son with a
patch of velvet on's face ; whether there be a scar
under it, or no, the velvet knows ; but 'tis a goodly
patch of velvet: his left cheek is a cheek of
two pile and a half, but his right cheek is worn
bare.
Laf. A scar nobly got, or a noble scar, is a good
livery of honour ; so, belike, is that. .
11
THAT ENDS WELL. SOS
Clo. But it is your carbonadoed ' face.
Laf. Let us go sec your son, I pray you ; I long
to talk with the young noble soldier.
C/o. 'Faith, there's a dozen of em, with delicate
fine hats, and most courteous feathers, which bow
the head, and nod at every man. \_E.veimt.
ACT Y.
SCEXE I. Marseilles. A Street.
Enter Helena, Widow, ^r;?^/ Diana, zvith two
Attendants.
lie I. But this exceeding posting, day and night,
Must wear your spirits low : we cannot help it ;
But, since you have made the days and nights as one.
To wear your gentle limhs in my affairs,
Be bold, vou do so grow in my requital,
As nothing can unroot you. In hapj)y time ;
Enter a gentle Astringer.^
This man may helj) me to his nrajesty's ear.
If he woukl spend his power. — God save you, sir.
Gent. And you.
Hel. Sir, I have seen you in the court of France.
Gent. I have been sometimes there.
Hel. I do presume, sir, that you are not fallen
From the report that goes upon your goodness ;
' carbonadoed — ] i. c. scorched like a piece of meat for
the gridiron.
* Enter n gpntle Astrin;2cr.3 A p;cntl(' nstrin<frr is a frciillcvuin
fnlcrmrr. The word is derived from oslcrctis or nuslcrcux, a
goshawk ; and thus, says C'owell, in his Laxv Dictinijari/ : " We
usually call a falconer, wlio keeps that kind of hawk, art
eu-'tritir^rr.**
306 ALL'S WELL
And therefore, goaded with most sharp occasions.
Which lay nice manners by, I put you to
The use of your own virtues, for the which
I shall continue thankful. .
Gent. What's your will ?
Hd. That it will please you
To give this poor petition to the king ;
And aid me with that store of power you have.
To come into his presence.
Gent. The king's not here.
Hel. Not here, sir ?
Gent. Not, indeed ;
He hence remov'd last night, and with more haste
Than is his use.
JVid. Lord, how we lose our pains !
Hel. AlVs well that ends well ; yet ;
Though time seem so adverse, and means unfit. —
I do beseech you, whither is he gone ?
Gent. Marry, as I take it, to Rousillon ;
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 thank your pains for it :
I will come after you, with what good speed
Our means will make us means.'
Gent. This I'll do for you.
Hel. And you shall find yourself to be well
thank'd,
Whatc'er falls more. — We must to horse again ; —
Go, go, provide. \_E.veunt.
^ Our meanx mil make us nieans.^ Shakspeare delights much
in this kind of reduplication, sometimes so as to obscure his
meaning, Helena says, they ivill Jhllovo with such speed as the
means which they have will give them ability to exert.
9
THAT ENDS WELL. 307
SCENE IL
Rousillon. The bmcr Court oJ'theCountesss Palace.
Ejitet^ Clown and Parolles.
Par. Good monsieur Lavatch,* give my lord
Lafcu this letter : I have ere now, sir, been better
known to von, when I liave held familiarity with
fresher clothes ; but I am now, sir, muddied in for-
tune's moat, and smell somewhat strong of her
strong displeasure.
C/o. Truly, fortune's displeasure is but sluttisli,
if it smell so strong as thou speakest of: I will
henceforth eat no fish of fortune's buttering.
Pr'ythee, allow the wind.*
Par. Nay, you need not stop your nose, sir ; I
spake but by a metaphor.
C/o. Indeed, sir, if your metaphor stink, I will
stop my nose ; or against any man's mctaphor.
Pr'ythee, get thee further.
Par. Prav you, sir, deliver me this paper.
Clo. Foil, pr'ythee, stand away; A paper from
fortune's close-stool to give to a nobleman ! Look,
liere he comes himself.
Enter Lafeu.
Here is a pur of fortune's, sir, or of fortune's
cat, (but not a musk-cat,) that has fallen into the
unclean Hslipoud of her displeasure, and, as he says,
is muddied withul : Pray you, sir, use the carp as
you may ; for he looks like a poor, decayed, ingc-
< Lava(ch,2 Th'S i« an undoubted, and perhaps irrcnie-
Jiable, corruption «)rsornc' French word.
i ft/loTx t/ie :u/u/.] i. c. stand tu the leeward of rue.
308 ALUS WELL
niouSj foolish, rascally knave. I do pity his dis-
tress in my smiles of comfort, and leave him to your
lordship. \_Ed'it Clown.
Par. My lord, I am a man whom fortune hath
cruelly scratched.
Laf. And what would you have me to do ? 'tis
too late to pare her nails now. Wherein have you
played the knave with fortune, that she should
scratch you, who of herself is a good lady, and
would not have knaves thrive long under her ?
There's a quart cfecu for you : Let the justices
make you and fortune friends ; I am for other
business.
Par. I beseech your honour, to hear me one
single word.
Laf. You beg a single penny more : come, you
shall ha't; save your word. ^
Par. My name, my good lord, is Parolles.
Laf. You beg more than one word then. — Cox*
my passion ! give me your hand : — How dbes your
drum ?
Par. O my good lord, you were the first that
found me.
Laf Was I, in sooth ? 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 upon thee, knave ! dost thou put upon
me at once both the oifice of God and the devil ?
one brings thee in grace, and the other brings thee
out. [Trumpets soundly The king's coming, I
know by his trumpets. — Sirrah, inquire further
after me ; I had talk of you last night : though you
arc a fool and a knave, you shall eat ; ' go to, follow.
Par. I praise God for you. ' [E.vcuiit.
f>
save 7/mir rro?Y/.] i. c. you need not ask ; — here it is.
' you shall eat ;J Farolles has many of tlie ]i)ieaments of
THAT ENDS WELL. SOQ
SCENE in.
The same. A Room in the Countess's Palace,
Flourish. Enter King, Countess, Lafeu, Lords,
Gentlemen, Guards, S<^X'.
Ki?fo\ We lost a jewel of her ; and our esteem*
Was made nuicli poorer by it : luit your son.
As mad in follv, lack'd the sense to know
Her estimatiuw liome.^
Count. 'Tis past, my liege :
And I beseeeh your majesty to make it
Natural rebellion, done i'the blaze of youth ;
W hen oil antl fire, too strong for reason's force.
Overbears it, and burns on.
King. My honour'd lady,
I have forgiven and forgotten all ;
Thcjugli mv reven<j;cs were high bent upon him,
And watcli'd the time to shoot.
Lnf. This I must say,
But first I beg my pardon, — The young lord
Did to his majesty, his mother, and his lady,
Oftence of mi":htv note ; but to himself
The greatest wrong of all : he lost a \n ifc.
Whose beaut}- did astonish the survey
ValstalT.and sccnis to be the cliaracter wliith Shakspeare delighted
to draw, a ftllow tliat had more wit tliua virtue. Though justice
required lliat he slumld be deteeted and exposed, yet his vices sit
sojit in him that he is not at last sufRred to ?tarvc. Johnson.
" esteem — ] Meaning that his esteem was lessened in its
value by Bertram's miicondutt; since a person who w;"^ honoured
tixlh it could be fco ill ti catcd as lielana had bee n, and that with
impunity. i
'^ hunn:.'\ That \fi, coviplelcl^y i^ it,<; full extent.
310 ALL'S WELL
Of richest eyes; ^ whose words all ears took captive;^
Whose dear perfection, hearts that scorn'd to serve,
Humbly call'd mistress.
King. Praising what is lost,
Makes the remembrance dear. Weil, call him
hither ;
We are reconcil'd, and the first view shall kill
All repetition : * — Let him not ask our pardon ;
The nature of his great offence is dead.
And deeper than oblivion do we bury
The incensing relicks of it : let him approach,
A stranger, no offender ; and inform him,
3o 'tis our will he should.
Gent. - I shall, my liege.
\_E.vit Gentleman.
King. What says he to your daughter ? have you
spoke ?
Laf. All that he is hath reference to your highness.
King. Then shall we have a match. I have letters
sent me.
That set him high in fame.
Enter Bertram.
Laf. He looks well on't.
* O/'richest eye^;] Shakspeare means that her beauty had
astonished those, who, having seen the greatest number of fair
women, might be said to be the rkhest in ideas of beauty.
* the first view shall hill
All repetition .'3 The first intervietv shall put an end to all
recollection of the past. Shakspeare is now liastening to the end
of the play, finds his matter sufficient to fill up his remaining
scenes, and therefore, as on such other occasions, contracts his
dialogue and precipitates his action. Decency required that Ber-
tram's double crime of cruelty and disobedience, joined likewise
with some hypocrisy, should raise more resentment ; and that
though his mother might easily forgive him, his king should more
pertinaciously vindicate his own authority and Helen's merit. Of
all this Shakspeare could not be ignorant, but Shakspeare wanted
to conclude his play. Johnson.
THAT ENDS WELL. 3 1 1
King. I am not a day of season,'
For thou may'st see a sun-shine and a hail
In me at once : But to the brightest beams
Distracted clouds give way ; so stand tiiou forth,
Tlie time is fair again.
Bcr. My high-repented blames,**
Dear sovereign pardon to me.
Ki?io\ All is whole ;
Not one word more of the consumed tune.
Let's take the instant by the forward top ;
For we are old, and on our quickest decrees
The inaudible and noiseless foot of time
>Steals ere we can eftbct them : You remember
The daughter of this lord ?
Bcr. Admiringly, my liege : at first
I stuck my choice upon her, ere my heart
Durst make too bold a herald of mv tongue :
Where the impression of mine eye infixnig,
Contempt his scornful perspective did lend me,
W hich warp'd the line of every other favour ;
â–ºScorn'd a fair colour, or express'd it stofn ;
Extended or contracted all proportions.
To a most hideous object : Thence it came,
Tliat she, whom all men prais'd, and whom
myself.
Since I have lost, have lov'd, was in mine eye
• The dust that did offend it.
K'uig. Well excus'd :
That thou didst love her, strikes some scores away
From the great compt : But love, that comes too
late,
Like a remorseful pardon slowly carried.
5 / nm not a day i)f season,'] That Is, of unhtlerriiplcd rain :
orif of those ivrt days that ut>ually happen about the venial ec)iiiiiox.
< My hiftli-rcpenii'tl blames,'] Hii^/i-repcritcd blames, are fuulu
rtpcDted of to the height, to the utmost.
VOL. III. B U
312 ALL'S WELL
To the great sender turns a sour offence.
Crying, That's good that's gone : our rash faults
Make trivial price of serious things we have.
Not knowing them, until we know their grave :
Oft our displeasures, to ourselves unjust.
Destroy our friends, and after weep their dust :
Our own love waking cries to see what's done.
While shameful hate sleeps out the afternoon.
Be this sweet Helen's knell, and now forget her.
Send forth your amorous token for fair Maudlin :
The main consents are had ; and here we'll stay
To see our widower's second marriage-day.
Count. W'hich better than the flrst, O dear hea-
ven, bless !
Or, ere they meet, in me, O nature, cease 1
Laf. Come on, my son, in whom my house's
name
Must be digested, give a favour from you.
To sparkle in the spirits of my daughter.
That she may quickly come. — By my old beard.
And every hair that's on't, Helen, that's dead.
Was a sweet creature ; such a ring as this,
Tlie last that e'er I took her leave at court,
I saw upon 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 to't. —
This ring was mine ; and, when I gave it Helen,
T bade lier, if her fortunes ever stood
Necessitied to help, that by this token
I would relieve her : Had you that craft, to reave her
Of what should stead her most ?
Ber. My gracious sovereign^
Howe'er it pleases you to take it so,
The ring was never hers.
Count. ^Xi} on my life.
THAT ENDS WELL. 313
I have seen her wear it ; and she reckoned it
At her hfe's rate.
Laf. I am sure, I saw her wear it.
Bc)\ You arc deceiv'd, my lord, she never saw it :
In Florence was it from a casement thiown me,*
Wrapp'd in a pajxM-, which contained the name
Of her that tlnvw it : noble she was, and thought
I stood ingag'd :" but when I had subscrib'd
To mine own fortune, and inform'd her fully,
I could not answer in that course of honour
As she had made the overture, she ceas'd.
In heavy satisfaction, and would never
Receive the ring again.
King. Plutus himself.
That knows the tinct and multiplying medicine/
Hath not in nature's mystery' more science.
Than I have in this ring : 'twas mine, 'twas Helen's,
Whoever gave it you : Then, if you know
That you are well acquainted with yourself.
Confess twas hers,** and by what rough enforcement
5 III Florence xats it from a casement ihraitm me,'} Bertram still
continues to have too little virtue to deserve Helen. He did not