ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL.

PERSONS REPRESENTED.

King of France.

Duke of Florence.

Bertram, Count of Rousillon.

Parolles, a follower of Bertram.

Lafeu, an old Lord.

Countess of Rousillon, mother to Bertram.
Helena, a gentlewoman protected by the Countess
An old Widow of Florence.

Diana, daughter to the widow.

Violenta,

Several young French Lords, that serve with Ber- Mariana, neighbours and friends to the widow.

Steward, Clown, A Page.

tram in the Florentine war.

servants to the Countess of Rousillon.

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

Scene, partly in France, and partly in Tuscany.

ACT I.

SCENE I-Rousillon. A Room in the Countess's Palace. Enter Bertram, the Countess of Rousillon, Helena, and Lafeu, in mourning.

Countess.

Ber. I heard not of it before.

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

Count. 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 make fair gifts fairer; for where

IN delivering my son from me, I bury a second an unclean mind carries virtuous qualities, there

husband.

commendations go with pity, they are virtues and Ber. And I, in going, madam, weep o'er my traitors too; in her they are the better for their father's death anew but I must attend his majes- simpleness; she derives her honesty, and achieves ty's command, to whom I am now in ward,' ever- her goodness. more in subjection.

Laf. Your commendations, madam, get from Laf. You shall find of the king a husband, ma- her tears. dam-you, sir, a father: He that so generally is Count. 'Tis the best brine a maiden can season at all times good, must of necessity hold his virtue her praise in. The remembrance of her father to you; whose worthiness would stir it up where never approaches her heart, but the tyranny of her it wanted, rather than lack it where there is such sorrows takes all livelihoods from her cheek. No abundance. more of this, Helena, go to, no more; lets it be rather thought you affect a sorrow, than to have. Hel. I do affect a sorrow, indeed, but I have it

Count. What hope is there of his majesty's amendment?

Laf. He hath abandoned 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.

Count. This young gentlewoman had a father (0, that had 2 how sad a passage 'tis !) whose skill was almost as great as his honesty; had it stretched 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. Laf. How called you the man you speak of,

madam?

too.

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

Count. If the living be enemy to the grief, the excess makes it soon mortal.

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

Count. 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,

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 mourn-
ingly he was skilful enough to have lived still, if
knowledge could be set up against mortality. Fall on thy head! Farewell.-My lord,
Ber. What is it, my good lord, the king lan-Tis an unseason'd courtier; good my lord,
guishes of?

Laf. A fistula, my lord.

(1) Under his particular care, as my guardian. (2) The countess recollects her own loss of a husband, and observes how heavily had passes through her mind.

(3) Qualities of good breeding and erudition.

Virginity

That shall attend his love. Par. There's little can be said in't; 'tis against Count. Heaven bless him!-Farewell, Bertram. the rule of nature. To speak on the part of vir [Exit Countess. ginity, is to accuse your mothers: which is most Ber. The best wishes, that can be forged in your infallible disobedience. He, that hangs himself, is thoughts, [To Helena.] be servants to you!! Be a virgin virginity murders itself; and should be comfortable to my mother, your mistress, and make buried in highways, out of all sanctified limit, as much of her. a desperate offendress against nature. 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 years it will make itself ten, which is a goodly increase; and the principal itself not much the worse: Away with't.

Laf. Farewell, pretty lady: You must hold the
credit of your father. [Exe. Bertram and Lafeu.
Hel. 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 it, but Bertram's.
I am undone; there is no living, none,
If Bertram be away. It were 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.
The 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.

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
Look bleak in the cold wind; withal, full oft we see
Cold wisdom waiting on superfluous 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 stain of soldier in you; let me ask you a question: 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 some warlike resistance.

Par. There is none; man, sitting down before you, will undermine you, and blow you up.

Hel. Bless our poor virginity from underminers, and blowers up!-Is there no military policy, how virgins might blow up men?

Par. 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 it.

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

(1) i. e. May you be mistress of your wishes, and have power to bring them to effect.

(2) Helena considers her heart as the tablet on which his resemblance was portrayed.

(3) Peculiarity of feature. (4) Countenance.

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

Par. 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 re-
quest. Virginity, like an old courtier, wears her
cap out of fashion; richly suited, but unsuitable :
just like the brooch and 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-
ed pears; it looks ill, it eats dryly; marry, 'tis a
withered pear; it was formerly better; marry, yet,
'tis a withered pear: Will you any thing with it?
Hel. 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 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-
Par. What one, i'faith?

Hel. That I wish well.-'Tis pity-
Par. What's pity?

Hel. 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.

Hel. You go so much backward, when you fight.
Par. That's for advantage.

Hel. 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.

King. I would I had that corpora! soundness now, As when thy father, and myself, in friendship First try'd our soldiership! He did look far Into the service of the time, and was Discipled of the bravest : he lasted long; But on us both did haggish age steal on, Par. I am so full of businesses, I cannot answer And wore us out of act. It much repairs' me thee acutely: I will return perfect courtier; in the To talk of your good father: In his youth which, my instruction shall serve to naturalize thee, He had the wit, which I can well observe so thou wilt be capable of a courtier's counsel, To-day in our young lords; but they may jest and understand what advice shall thrust upon thee; Till their own scorn return to them unnoted, else thou diest in thine unthankfulness, and thine Ere they can hide their levity in honour. 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. [Erit.

Hel. 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.2
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.
[Erit.
SCENE II.-Paris. A room in the King's palace.
Flourish of cornets. Enter the King of France,
with letters; Lords and others attending.
King. The Florentines and Senoys are by the

2 Lord. A nursery to our gentry, who are sick For breathing and exploit.

King.

What's he comes here?
Enter Bertram, Lafeu, and Parolles.
1 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
Mar'st thou inherit too! Welcome to Paris.

Ber. My thanks and duty are your majesty's.

(1) i. e. Thou wilt comprehend it.

(2) Things formed by nature for each other. (3) The citizens of the small republic of which Sienna is the capital.

(4) To repair, here signifies to renovate.

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, follow'd well, would démonstrate them now
But goers backward.
Ber.
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 al

ways 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,—
Thus 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,
quickly were dissolved from my hive,
To give some labourers room.

2 Lord.
You are lov'd, 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.

Ber.
Some six months since, my lord.
King. If he were living, I would try him yet;-
Lend me an arm;-the rest have worn me out
With several applications:-nature and sickness
Debate it at their leisure. Welcome, count;
My son's no dearer.
Ber.

Thank your majestv.
[Exeunt. Flourish.

SCENE III-Rousillon. A Room in the Coun-
tess's Palace. Enter Countess, Steward, and
Clown.

Count. I will now hear; what say you of this gentlewoman?

Stew. Madam, the care I have had to even your content, I wish might be found in the calendar of my past endeavours; for then we wound our

modesty, and make foul the clearness of our de-l servings, when of ourselves we publish them.

Count. What does this knave here? Get you gone, sirrah: The complaints, I have heard of you, (do not al believe; 'tis my slowness, that I do not: for, I know, you lack not folly to commit them, and have ability enough to make such knaveries yours. Clo. 'Tis not unknown to you, madam, I am a poor fellow.

Count. Well, sir.

Clo. No, madam, 'tis not so well, that I am poor; though many of the rich are damned: But, if may have your ladyship's good will to go to the world, Isbel the woman and I will do as we may. Count. Wilt thou needs be a beggar? Clo, I do beg your good will in this case. Count. In what case?

Clo. In Isbel's case, and mine own. Service is no heritage: and, I think, I shall never have the blessing of God, till I have issue of my body; for, they say, bearns are blessings.

Count. Tell me the reason why thou wilt marry. Clo. My poor body, madam, requires it: I am driven on by the flesh; and he must needs go, that the devil drives.

Count. Is this all your worship's reason?

Clo. Faith, madam, I have other holy reasons, such as they are.

Count. May the world know them?

Clo. I have been, madam, a wicked creature, as you and all flesh and blood are; and, indeed, I do marry, that I may repent.

Count. Thy marriage, sooner than thy wicked

ness.

Clo. I am out of friends, madam; and I hope to have friends for my wife's sake.

Was this king Priam's joy?
With that she sighed as she stood,
With that she sighed as she stood,

And gave this sentence then;
Among nine bad if one be good,
Among nine bad if one be good,
There's yet one good in ten.
Count. What, one good in ten? you corrupt the
song, sirrah.

Clo. One good woman in ten, madam; which is a purifying o' the song: 'Would God would serve the world so all the year! we'd find no fault with the tythe-woman, if I were the parson: One in ten, quoth a'! an we might have a good woman born but every blazing star, or at an earthquake, 'twould mend the lottery well; a man may draw his heart out, ere he pluck one.

Count. You'll be gone, sir knave, and do as I command you?

Clo. That man should be at woman's command, and yet no hurt done!-Though honesty be no puritan, yet it will do no hurt; it will wear the surplice of humility over the black gown of a big heart.-I am going, forsooth: the business is for Helen to come hither. [Exit Clown.

Count. Well, now. Stew. I know, madam, you love your gentlewoman entirely.

Count. Faith, I do her father bequeathed her to me; and she herself, without other advantage, may lawfully make title to as much love as she finds: there is more owing her, than is paid; and more shall be paid her, than she'll demand.

Stew. Madam, I was very late more near her than, I think, she wished me: alone she was, and did communicate to herself, her own words to her Count. Such friends are thine enemies, knave. own ears; she thought, I dare vow for her, they Clo. You are shallow, madam; e'en great friends; touched not any stranger sense. Her matter was, for the knaves come to do that for me, which I am she loved your son: Fortune, she said, was no a-weary of. He, that ears' my land, spares my goddess, that had put such difference betwixt their team, and gives me leave to inn the crop: If I be two estates; Love, no god, that would not extend his cuckold, he's my drudge: He, that comforts his might, only where qualities were level; Diana, my wife, is the cherisher of my flesh and blood; no queen of virgins, that would suffer her poor he, that cherishes my flesh and blood, loves my knight to be surprised, without rescue, in the first flesh and blood; he, that loves my flesh and blood, assault, or ransome afterward: This she delivered is my friend: ergo, he that kisses my wife, is my in the most bitter touch of sorrow, that e'er I heard friend. If men could be contented to be what they virgin exclaim in: which I held my duty, speedily are, there were no fear in marriage; for young to acquaint you withal; sithence, in the loss that Charbon the puritan, and old Poysam the papist, may happen, it concerns you something to know it. howsoe'er their hearts are severed in religion, their Count. You have discharged this honestly; keep heads are both one, they may joll horns together, it to yourself: many likelihoods informed me of like any deer i' the herd. this before, which hung so tottering in the balance

Count. Wilt thou ever be a foul-mouthed and that I could neither believe, nor misdoubt: Pray calumnious knave? you, leave me: stall this in your bosom, and I Clo. A prophet I, madam; and I speak the thank you for your honest care: I will speak with truth the next way: you further anon.

For I the ballad will repeat,

Which men full true shall find;

Your marriage comes by destiny,

Your cuckoo sings by kind.

Enter Helena.

[Exit Steward.

Count. Even so it was with me, when I was young:

If we are nature's, these are ours; this thorn

Count. Get you gone, sir; I'll talk with you Doth to our rose of youth rightly belong

more anon.

Our blood to us, this to our blood is born;

Stew. May it please you, madam, that he bid It is the show and seal of nature's truth, Helen come to you; of her I am to speak.

Where love's strong passion is impress'd in youth:

Count. Sirrah, tell my gentlewoman, I would By our remembrances of days foregone, speak with her; Helen I mean. Such were our faults;-or then we thought them

Clo. Was this fair face the cause, quoth she,

Why the Grecians sacked Troy?

[Singing.

Fond done, done fond,

You know, Helen,

Hel.
Count.
Wherefore? tell true.
Hel. I will tell truth; by grace itself, I swear,
You know, my father left me some prescriptions
Of rare and prov'd effects, such as his reading,
And manifest experience, had collected
For general sovereignty; and that he will'd me
In heedfullest reservation to bestow them,

Count. Yes, Helen, you might be my daughter-As notes, whose faculties inclusive were,