The Dramatic Works of W. Shakespeare

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. 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, 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 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

ears;

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

King.

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 honor.
So like a courtier, contempt nor bitterness
Were in his pride or sharpness; if they were,
His equal had awak’d them; and his honor,
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 used 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 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
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
All but new things disdain, whose judgments are
Of younger spirits, whose apprehensive senses
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 laborers 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,

What's he comes here? SCENE III.-Rousillon. A Room in the Coun

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

Mavst thou inherit too! Welcome to Paris.

Ber. 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 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, 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

Things formed by nature for each other.

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 endeavors; for then we wound our modesty, and make foul the clearness of our deservings, when of ourselves we publish them.

Count. What does this knave here? Get you gone, sirrah: The complaints, I have heard of you, I do not all 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;

The citizens of the small republic of which Sienna is though many of the rich are damned: But, if I may

the capital.

• Approbation.

To act up to your desires.

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.

Count. Such friends are thine enemies, knave. Clo. You are shallow, madam; e'en great friends; for the knaves come to do that for me, which I am a-weary of. He, that ears my land, spares my team, and gives me leave to inn the crop: If I be his cuckold, he's my drudge: He, that comforts my wife, is the cherisher of my flesh and blood; he, that cherishes my flesh and blood, loves my flesh and blood; he, that loves my flesh and blood, is my friend: ergo,' he that kisses my wife, is my friend. If men could be contented to be what they are, there were no fear in marriage; for young Charbon the puritan, and old Poysam the papist, how so'eer their hearts are several in religion, their heads are both one, they may joll horns together, like any deer i' the herd.

Count. Wilt thou ever be a foul-mouthed and calumnious knave?

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. Indeed, 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 own ears; she thought, I dare vow for her, they touched not any stranger sense. Her matter was, she loved your son: Fortune, she said, was no goddess, that had put such difference betwixt their two estates; Love, no god, that would not extend his might, only where qualities were level: Diana, no queen of virgins, that would suffer her poor knight to be surprised, without rescue, in the first assault, or ransome afterwards: This she delivered in the most bitter touch of sorrow, that e'er I heard virgin exclaim in: which I held my duty, speedily to acquaint you withal; sithence,' in the loss that may happen, it concerns you something to know it.

Count. You have discharged this honestly; keep it to yourself: many likelihoods informed me of this before, which hung so tottering in the balance, that I could neither believe, nor misdoubt: Pray

Clo. A prophet I, madam; and I speak the truth you, leave me; stall this in your bosom, and I

the next way:

thank you for your honest care: I will speak with
you further anon.
[Exit Steward.

Enter HELENA.
Count. Even so it was with me, when I was young:
If we are nature's, these are ours: this thorn
Doth to our rose of youth rightly belong;

Our blood to us, this to our blood is born;
It is the show and seal of nature's truth,
Where love's strong passion is impress'd in youth:
By our remembrances of days foregone,
Such were our faults:-or then we thought them

none.

Her eye is sick on't; I observe her now.
Hel. What is your pleasure, madam?
Count.
You know, Helen,

I am a mother to you.

Hel. Mine honorable mistress.

Count.
Nay, a mother;
Why not a mother? When I said, a mother,
Methought you saw a serpent! What's in mother,
That you start at it? I say, I am your mother;
And put you in the catalogue of those
That were enwombed mine: "Tis often seen,
Adoption strives with nature; and choice breeds
You ne'er oppress'd me with a mother's groan,
A native slip to us from foreign seeds:
Yet I express to you a mother's care:
God's mercy, maiden! does it curd thy blood,

1 Since.

To say I am thy mother? What's the matter,
That this distemper'd messenger of wet,
The many-color'd Iris, rounds thine eye?
Why? -that you are my daughter?
Hel.
That I am not.
Count. I say, I am your mother.
Hel.
Pardon, madam;
The count Rousillon cannot be my brother:
I am from humble, he from honor'd name;
No note upon my parents, his all noble:
My master, my dear lord he is; and I
His servant live, and will his vassal die:
He must not be my brother.

Count.

Nor I your mother? Hel. You are my mother, madam; 'Would you

were

(So that my lord, your son, were not my brother,)
Indeed, my mother!- -or were you both our mothers,
I care no more for," than I do for heaven,
So I were not his sister: Can't no other,
But I, your daughter, he must be my brother?
Count. Yes, Helen, you might be my daughter-
in-law;

God shield, you mean it not! daughter, and mother
So strive upon your pulse: What, pale again?
My fear hath catch'd your fondness: Now I see
The mystery of your loneliness, and find
Your salt tears' head.' Now to all sense 'tis gross,
You love my son; invention is asham'd,
Against the proclamation of thy passion,
To say thou dost not: therefore tell me true;
But tell me then, 'tis so;-for, look, thy cheeks
Confess it, one to the other; and thine eyes
See it so grossly shown in thy behaviors,
That in their kind they speak it; only sin
And hellish obstinacy tie thy tongue,
That truth should be suspected: Speak, is't so?
If it be so, you have wound a goodly clue;
If it be not, forswear't: howe'er, I charge thee,
As heaven shall work in me for thine avail,
To tell me truly.

Hel.

Good madam, pardon me! Count. Do you love my son!

Hel.

Your pardon, noble mistress!

Count. Love you my son? Hel. Do not you love him, madam? Count. Go not about; my love hath in't a bond, Whereof the world takes note: come, come, disclose The state of your affection; for your passions Have to the full appeach'd.

Hel.

Then I confess,

Here on my knee, before high heaven and you,
That before you, and next unto high heaven,
I love your son :—

My friends were poor, but honest; so's my love.
Be not offended; for it hurts not him,
That he is lov'd of me: I follow him not
By any token of presumptuous suit;
Nor would I have him, till I do deserve him;
Yet never know how that desert should be.
I know I love in vain, strive against hope;
Yet, in this captious and intenible sieve,
I still pour in the waters of my love,

i. e. I care as much for: I wish it equally. • Contend. The source, the cause of your grief.

And lack not to lose still: thus, Indian-like,
Religious in mine error, I adore

The sun, that looks upon his worshipper,
But knows of him no more. My dearest madam,
Let not your hate encounter with my love,
For loving where you do: but, if yourself,
Whose aged honor cites a virtuous youth,
Did ever, in so true a flame of liking,
Wish chastely, and love dearly, that your Dian
Was both herself and love; O then, give pity
To her, whose state is such that cannot choose
But lend and give, where she is sure to lose;
That seeks not to find that her search implies,
But, riddle-like, lives sweetly where she dies.
Count. Had you not lately an intent, speak truly,
To go to Paris?
Hel.
Count.
Wherefore? tell true.
Hel. I will tell true; 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

Madam, I had.

For general sovereignty; and that he will'd me
In heedfullest reservation to bestow them,
As notes, whose faculties inclusive were
More than they were in note: amongst the rest,
There is a remedy, approv'd, set down,
To cure the desperate languishes, whereof
The king is render'd lost.

Else Paris, and the medicine, and the king, Had, from the conversation of my thoughts, Haply, been absent then.

Count.

But think you, Helen, If you should tender your supposed aid, He would receive it? He and his physicians Are of a mind; he, that they cannot help him; They, that they cannot help: How shall they credit A poor unlearned virgin, when the schools, Embowell'd of their doctrine,' have left off The danger to itself?

Hel. There's something hints, More than my father's skill, which was the greatest Of his profession, that his good receipt Shall, for my legacy, be sanctified

By the luckiest stars in heaven: and, would your honor

But give me leave to try success, I'd venture
The well-lost life of mine on his grace's cure,
By such a day and hour.

Count.
Dost thou believe 't?
Hel. Ay, madam, knowingly.

Count. Why, Helen, thou shalt have my leave,
and love,

Means, and attendants, and my loving greetings
To those of mine in court; I'll stay at home,
And pray God's blessing into thy attempt:
Be gone to-morrow; and be sure of this,
What I can help thee to, thou shalt not miss.

⚫ Appearance.

[Exeunt.

• Exhausted of their skill

ACT II.

SCENE I.-Paris. A Room in the King's Palace. Flourish. Enter KING, with young Lords taking leave for the Florentine war; BERTRAM, PAROLLES, and Attendants.

King. Farewell, young lord, these warlike principles

Do not throw from you:-and you, my lord, farewell:

Share the advice betwixt you; if both gain all,
The gift doth stretch itself as 'tis receiv'd,
And is enough for both.

1 Lord.

It is our hope, sir,

After well-enter'd soldiers, to return
And find your grace in health.

King. No, no, it cannot be; and yet my heart
Will not confess he owes the malady
That doth my life besiege. Farewell, young lords;
Whether I live or die, be you the sons
Of worthy Frenchmen: let higher Italy
(Those 'bated, that inherit but the fall
Of the last monarchy) see, that you come
Not to woo honor, but to wed it; when
The bravest questant' shrinks, find what you seek,
That fame may cry you loud: I say, farewell.

2 Lord. Health, at your bidding, serve your majesty!

King. Those girls of Italy, take heed of them; They say, our French lack language to deny, If they demand: beware of being captives, Before you serve. Both. Our hearts receive your warnings. King. Farewell.-Come hither to me. [The KING retires to a couch. 1 Lord. O my sweet lord, that you will stay behind us!

Par. 'Tis not his fault; the spark— 2 Lord.

O, 'tis brave wars. Par. Most admirable: I have seen those wars. Ber. I am commanded here, and kept a coil with

Too young, and the next year, and 'tis too early. Par. An thy mind stand to it, boy, steal away bravely.

Ber. I shall stay here the forehorse to a smock, Creaking my shoes on the plain masonry, Till honor be bought up, and no sword worn, But one to dance with! By heaven, I'll steal away. 1 Lord. There's honor in the theft. Par. Commit it, count. 2 Lord. I am your accessary; and so farewell. Ber. I grow to you, and our parting is a tortured body.

Lord. Farewell, captain.

2 Lord. Sweet monsieur Parolles!

Par. Noble heroes, my sword and yours are kin. Good sparks and lustrous, a word, good metals:You shall find in the regiment of the Spinii, one captain Spurio, with his cicatrice, an emblem of war, here on his sinister cheek; it was this very sword entrenched it: say to him, I live; and observe his reports for me.

2 Lord. We shall, noble captain. Par. Mars dote on you for his novices! [Exeunt Lords.] What will you do? Ber. Stay: the king—

[Seeing him rise. Par. Use a more spacious ceremony to the noble i. e. The Roman empire. Seeker, enquirer. Be not captives before you are soldiers.

1 In a bustle.

Laf. Pardon, my lord, [Kneeling.] for me and for my tidings.

King. I'll fee thee to stand up.

Laf. Then here's a man Stands, that has brought his pardon. I would, you Had kneel'd, my lord, to ask me mercy; and That, at my bidding, you could so stand up. King. I would I had; so I had broke thy pate And ask'd thee mercy for't. Laf.

Good faith, across :" But, my good lord, 'tis thus; Will you be cur'd Of your infirmity? King. Laf.

No.

will,

O, will you eat No grapes, my royal fox? yes, but you My noble grapes, an if my royal fox Could reach them: I have seen a medicine," That's able to breathe life into a stone; Quicken a rock, and make you dance canary, With sprightly fire and motion; whose simple touch Is powerful to araise king Pepin, nay, To give great Charlemain a pen in his hand, And write to her a love-line.

King.
What her is this?
Laf. Why, doctor she: My lord, there's one ar-
riv'd,

If you will see her,-now, by my faith and honor,
If seriously I may convey my thoughts
In this my light deliverance, I have spoke
With one, that, in her sex, her years, profession,
Wisdom, and constancy, hath amaz'd me more
Than I dare blame my weakness: Will you see her,
(For that is her demand,) and know her business?
That done, laugh well at me.

King.
Now, good Lafeu,
Bring in the admiration; that we with thee
May spend our wonder too, or take off thine,
By wondering how thou took'st it.
Laf.

Nay I'll fit you, [Exit LAFEU.

And not be all day neither.
King. Thus he his special nothing ever prologues.

Re-enter LAFEU with HELENA.

Laf. Nay, come your ways.
King.

This haste hath wings indeed.
Laf. Nay, come your ways;
This is his majesty, say your mind to him:
A traitor you do look like: but such traitors
His majesty seldom fears: I am Cressid's uncle,'
That dare leave two together; fare you well. [Exit.

They are the foremost in the fashion.
Have the true military step.

1 The dance.

2 Unskilfully; a phrase taken from the exercise at a quintain. A female physician. A kind of dance. I am like Pandarus.

King. Now, fair one, does your business follow us?

Hel. Ay, my good lord. Gerard de Narbon was My father, in what he did profess, well found. King. I knew him.

Hel. The rather will I spare my praises towards him;

Knowing him, is enough. On his bed of death
Many receipts he gave me; chiefly one,
Which, as the dearest issue of his practice,
And of his old experience the only darling,
He bade me store up, as a triple eye,'
Safer than mine own two, more dear; I have so:
And hearing your high majesty is touch'd
With that malignant cause wherein the honor
Of my dear father's gift stands chief in power,
I come to tender it, and my appliance,
With all bound humbleness.

King.

We thank you, maiden; But may not be so credulous of cure,When our most learned doctors leave us; and The congregated college have concluded That laboring art can never ransom nature From her inaidable estate,-I say we must not So stain our judgment, or corrupt our hope, To prostitute our past-cure malady To empirics; or to dissever so

Our great self and our credit, to esteem

A senseless help, when help past sense we deem.
Hel. My duty then shall pay me for my pains:
I will no more enforce mine office on you;
Humbly entreating from your royal thoughts
A modest one, to bear me back again.

King. I cannot give thee less, to be call'd grateful: Thou thought'st to help me; and such thanks I give,

As one near death to those that wish him live:
But what at full I know, thou know'st no part;
I knowing all my peril, thou no art.

Hel. What I can do, can do no hurt to try,
Since you set up your rest 'gainst remedy:
He that of greatest works is finisher,
Oft does them by the weakest minister:
So holy writ in babes hath judgment shown,
When judges have been babes. Great floods have
flown

From simple sources; and great seas have dried,
When miracles have by the greatest been denied.
Oft expectation fails, and most oft there
Where most it promises; and oft it hits,
Where hope is coldest, and despair most sits.
King. I must not hear thee; fare thee well, kind
maid;

Thy pains not uesd, must by thyself be paid:
Proffers, not took, reap thanks for their reward.
Hel. Inspired merit so by breath is barr'd:
It is not so with him that all things knows,
As 'tis with us that square our guess by shows:
But, most it is presumption in us, when
The help of heaven we count the act of men.
Dear sir, to my endeavors give consent;
Of heaven, not me, make an experiment.
I am not an impostor, that proclaim
Myself against the level of mine aim;
But know, I think, and think I know most sure,
My art is not past power, nor you past cure.
King. Art thou so confident? Within what

Ere twice in murk and occidental damp
Moist Hesperus hath quenched his sleepy lamp;
Or four and twenty times the pilot's glass
Hath told the thievish minutes how they pass;
What is infirm from the sound part shall fly,
Health shall live free, and sickness freely die.
King. Upon thy certainty and confidence,
What dar'st thou venture?
Hel.
A strumpet's boldness, a divulged shame,-
Traduced by odious ballads; my maiden's name
Sear'd otherwise; no worse of worst extended,
With vilest torture let my life be ended.

Tax of impudence,

King. Methinks, in thee some blessed spirit doth speak;

His powerful sound, within an organ weak:
And what impossibility would slay

In common sense, sense saves another way.
Thy life is dear; for all, that life can rate
Worth name of life, in thee hath estimate;
Youth, beauty, wisdom, courage, virtue, all
That happiness and prime can happy call:
Thou this to hazard, needs must intimate
Skill infinite, or monstrous desperate.
Sweet practiser, thy physic I will try;
That ministers thine own death, if I die.

Hel. If I break time, or flinch in property
Of what I spoke, unpitied let me die;
And well deserv'd: Not helping, death's my fee;
But if I help, what do you promise me?
King. Make thy demand.

Hel.
But will you make it even?
King. Ay, by my sceptre and my hopes of heaven.
Hel. Then shalt thou give me, with thy kingly
hand,

What husband in thy power I will command:
Exempted be from me the arrogance

To choose from forth the royal blood of France;
My low and humble name to propagate
With any branch or image of thy state:
But such a one, thy vassal, whom I know
Is free for me to ask, thee to bestow.

King. Here is my hand; the premises observ'd,
Thy will by my performance shall be serv'd;
So make the choice of thine own time; for I,
Thy resolv'd patient, on thee still rely.
More should I question thee, and more I must;
Though, more to know, could not be more to trust;
From whence thou cam'st, how 'tended on,-But

rest

Unquestion'd welcome, and undoubted blest.-
Give me some help here, ho!-If thou proceed
As high as word, my deed shall match thy deed.
[Flourish. Exeunt.

SCENE II-Rousillon. A Room in the Countess' Palace.

Enter COUNTESS and Clown.

Count. Come on, sir; I shall now put you to the height of your breeding.

Clo. I will show myself highly fed and lowly taught: I know my business is but to the court.

Count. To the court! why, what place make you special, when you put off that with such contempt? But to the court!

Clo. Truly, madam, if God have lent a man any manners, he may easily put it off at court; he that cannot make a leg, put off's cap, kiss his hand, and say nothing, has neither leg, hands, lip, nor cap; and, indeed, such a fellow, to say precisely, were not for the court: but, for me, I have an answer will serve all men.

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