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KING of France.
Duke of Florence.
Bertram, Count of Roufillon.
Lafeu, an old Lord.
Parolles, a parastical follower of Bertram ; a coward,

but vain, and a great pretender to valour.
Several
young

French Lords, that serve with Bertram in the Florentine war. Steward,

Servants to the Countess of Roufillon. Clown,

}Serva

Countess of Roufillon, mother to Bertram.
Helena, daughter to Gerard de Narbon, a famous ply-

fician, fome time fince dead.
An old ruidow of Florence.
Dianna, danghter to the widow.
Violenta,
Mariana,

} Neighbours, and friends to the widow.

Lords attending on the King ; Officers, Soldiers, &c.

SCENE lies partly in France ; and, partly

in Tuscany.

All's

A L L's well, that Ends well.

ACT

C T I.

SCENE, the Countess of Rousillon's

House in France.

Enter Bertram, the Countess of Rousillon, Helena,

and Lafeu, all in Mourning.

I

COUNTBS S. N delivering my fon from me, I bury a second husband.

Ber. And I in going, Madam, weep o'er my father's death anew; but I must attend his Majetty's command, to whom I am now in ward, evermore in subjection.

Laf. You shall find of the King a husband, Madam; you, Sir, a father. He, that lo generally is at all times good, muft of necessity hold his virtue to you; (1) whose worthiness would stir it up were it wanted, rather than slack it where there is such abundance.

(1) whose wortbiness would Bir it up where it wanted, rather than lack it wbere ibere is such abundance.) An oppofition of terms is visibly design’d in this sentence; tho' the opposition is not visible, as the terms now ftand. Wanted and Abundance are the opposites to one another; but how is lack a contrast to fir up? The addition of a liagle letter gives it, and the very sense requires it. Mr, Warburton.

A 3

Count.

Count. What hope is there of his Majesty's amendnient?

Laf. He hath abandon'd his Phyficians, Madam, under whose practices he hath perfecuted time with hope ; and finds no other advantage in the process, but only the lofing of hope by time.

Count. This young Gentlewoman had a father, (0, that had! how sad a passage 'tis !) whose skill was almost as great as his honefty; had it stretch'd fo far, it would have made nature immortal, and death should have play for lack of work. Would, for the King's Jake, he were living! I think, it would be the death of the King's disease.

Laf. How call'd you the man you speak of, Madam?

Count. 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 lately spoke of him admiringly, and mourningly: he was kilful enough to have liv'd fill, if knowledge could be set up against mortality.

Ber. What is it, my good Lord, the King languishes of

Laf. A fiftula, my Lord.
Per. I heard not of it before.

Laf. I would, it were not notorious. Was this Gentlewoman the daughter of Gerard de Narbon.

Gount. His fole child, my Lord, and bequeathed to my overlooking. I have those hopes of her good, that her education promises her; disposition me inherits, which makes fair gifts fairer; for where an unclean mind carries virtuous qualities, there commendations go with pity, they are virtues and traitors roo: in her they are the better for their fimpleness; the derives her honesty, and atchieves her goodness.

Laj. Your commendations, Madam, get from her

tears.

Count. '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 forrows takes all livelihood from her cheek. No more of this,

Helena;

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Helena; go to, no more ; left it be rather thought you affect a forrow, than to have

Hel. I do affect a forrow, indeed, but I have it too.

Laf. Moderate lamentation is the right of the dead, exceffive grief the enemy to the living.

Count. (2) If the living be not enemy to the grief, the excess makes it soon mortal.

Ber. Madam, I defire your holy wishes.
Laf. How understand we that?

Count. Be thou bleft, 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 birth-right! 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 filence,
But never tax'd for speech. What heav'n more will,
That thee may furnish, and my prayers pluck down,
Fall on thy head ! farewel, my Lord;
'Tis an unseason'd courtier, good my Lord,
Advise him.

Laf. He cannot want the best,
That shall attend his love.
Count. Heav'n bless him! Farewel, Bertram.

[Exit Countefs. Ber. [T. Hel.] The best wilhes, that can be forg'd in your thoughts, be servants to you : be comfortable to my mother, your Mistress, and make much of her. Laf. Farewel, pretty Lady, you must hold the credit father.

[Exeunt Ber, and Laf.
Hel. Oh, were that all!—I think not on my father;
And these great tears grace his remembrance more,
Than those I thed for him. What was he like:
I have forgot him. My imagination

of your

(2) If the living be enemy to tbe grief, the excess makes it soon mertet.] This seems very obscure, but the addition of a negative perfectly dispels all the mift. If tbe living be not enemy, &c. Excessive grief is an enemy to the living, says Lofeu : Yes, replies the Cuuntess; and if the living be not enemy to the grief, [i, e, trive to conquer it,} the excess makes it soon mortal.

Mr. Warburton.

Carries

A 4

Carries no favour in it, but my Bertram's.
I am undone ; there is no living, none,
If Bertram be away. It were all one
That I should love a bright partic'lar ftar,
And think to wed it; he is fo 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, tho' a plague,
To see him every hour; to fit 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 relicks. Who comes here i

Enter Parolles.
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 fit' so fit in him,
That they take place, when virtue's steely bones
Look bleak in the cold wind; full oft we fee
Cold wisdom waiting on fuperfluous folly.

Par. Save you, fair Queen.
Hel. And you, Monarch.
Par. No.
Hel. And, no.
Par. Are you meditating on virginity?
Hel. Ay: you have some ftain of soldier in you;

let me ask you a queftion. Man is enemy to virginity, how may we barricado it against him?

Par. Keep him out.

Hel. But he assails; and our virginity, though valiant, in the defence yet is weak: unfold to us fome warlike resistance.

Par. There is none: man, setting down before you, will undermine you and blow you up. Hel. Bless our poor virginity from underminers and

blowers

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