it up where it wanted, rather than lack it
where there is such abundance.
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! 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?

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 skilful enough to have lived still, if knowledge could be set up against mortality.

Ber. What is it, my good lord, the king
Laf. A fistula, my lord. [languishes of?

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

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,
[more will,
But never tax'd for speech. What heaven
That thee may furnish, and my prayers pluck
down,

Fall on thy head! Farewell.-My lord,
'Tis an unseason'd courtier; good my lord,
Advise him.
Laf. He cannot want the best
That shall attend his love.
Count.

Farewell, Bertram.

Heaven bless him!-[Exit. Ber. [To Helena.] The best wishes that can be forged in your thought be servants to you! Be comfortab'e to my mother, your mistress, and make much of her. Laf. Farewell, pretty lady: you must hold the credit of your father.

[Exeunt Bertram and Lafeu. Hel. O, were that all-I think not on my

father;

[more And these great tears grace his remembrance Than those I shed for him. What was he like? I have forgot him? my imagination Carries no favour in't 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 : Count. His sole child, my lord; and be- In his bright radiance and collateral light queathed to my overlooking. I have those Must I be comforted, not in his sphere. hopes of her good that her education pro- Th' ambition in my love thus plagues itself: mises: her dispositions she inherits, which The hind that would be mated by the lion make fair gifts fairer; for where an unclean mind carries virtuous qualities, there commendations go with pity,-they are virtues and traitors too in her they are the better for their simpleness; she derives her honesty, and achieves her goodness.

Laf. 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 sorrows takes all livelihood from No more of this, Helena,-go to, no more; lest it be rather thought you affect a sorrow, than to have.

her cheek.

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

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

Hel. 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 suc-
ceed thy father

In manners, as in shape! thy blood and virtue

Must die for love. 'Twas pretty, though a

plague,

To see him every hour; to sit and draw
His arched brows, his hawking eyes, 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.-[Enter Parolles.]
Who comes here?

One that goes with him: I love him for his
And yet I know him a notorious liar, [sake;
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.

though valiant in the defence, yet is weak: un-Of pretty, fond, adoptious christendoms, fold 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't!

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

Par. There's little can be said in 't; 'tis against the rule of nature. To speak on the part of virginity, is to accuse your mothers; which is most infallible disobedience. He that hangs himself is a virgin virginity murders itself; and should be buried in highways, out of all sanctified limit, as a desperate offendress against nature. Virginity 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!

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

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
Returns us thanks.
[never
Enter a Page.

Page. Monsieur Parolles, my lord calls for
you.
[Exit.
Par. Little Helen, farewell: if I can remem-
ber thee, I will think of thee at court.
Hel. Monsieur Parolles, you were born un-
der a charitable star.

Par. Under Mars, I.

Hel. I especially think, under Mars.
Par. Why under Mars?

Hel. The wars have so kept you under,
that you must needs be born under Mars.
Par. When he was predominant.

Hel. When he was retrograde, I think rather.
Par. Why think you so?

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.

Par. I am so full of businesses, I cannot answer thee acutely. I will return perfect courtier; in the which, my instruction shall serve to naturalize thee, so thou wilt be capable Par. Let me see: marry, ill, to like him of a courtier's counsel, and understand what that ne'er it likes. "Tis a commodity that will advice shall thrust upon thee; else thou diest lose the gloss with lying; the longer kept, the in thine unthankfulness, and thine ignorance less worth off with't, while 'tis vendible; an- makes thee away: farewell. When thou hast swer the time of request. Virginity, like an old leisure, say thy prayers; when thou hast none, courtier, wears her cap out of fashion; richly remember thy friends: get thee a good hussuited, but unsuitable: just like the brooch | band, and use him as he uses thee: so fareand the tooth-pick which wear not now. Your well. 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 withered pears, it looks ill, it eats dryly, marry, 'tis a withered pear; it was formerly better: marry, yet 'tis a withered pear: will you anything 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 a world

[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 sup-
pose

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,

Scene 2.

ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL.

[now But my intents are fix'd, and will not leave me. Which, follow'd well, would demonstrate them But goers backward.

SCENE II.-Paris.

[Exit.

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

th' ears;

Have fought with equal fortune, and continue
A braving war.

I Lord. So 'tis reported, sir. [ceive it
King. Nay, 'tis most credible; we here re-
A certainty, vouch'd from our cousin Austria,
With caution, that the Florentine will move us
For speedy aid; wherein our dearest friend
Prejudicates the business, and would seem
To have us make denial.

His love and wisdom,
I Lord.
Approv'd so to your majesty, may plead
For amplest credence.

King.
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 well may serve
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

Mavst thou inherit too! Welcome to Paris.

Ber. My thanks and duty are your majesty's.
King. I would I had that corporal sound-

ness now,

As when thy father and myself in friendship
First tried 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,
It much repairs me
And wore us out of act.
In his youth
To talk of your good father.
He had the wit, which I can well observe
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 honour
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
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;

[him

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.

[always say,
King. 'Would I were with him! He would
(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
[stancies
Mere feathers of their garments: whose con-
Expire before their fashions:"-this he wish'd:
I, after him, do after him wish too,

are

Since I nor wax nor honey can bring home,
I quickly were dissolved from my hive,
To give some labourers room.

You are lov'd, sir;
2 Lord.
They, that least lend it you, shall lack you
[is't, count,
first.
King. I fill a place, I know't.-How long
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 sick-

ness

Debate it at their leisure. Welcome, count;
My son's no dearer.
Ber.

Thank your majesty.
[Exeunt. Flourish.

SCENE III.-Rousillon. A Room in the
Countess'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 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, though many of the rich are damned: but, 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?

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 ; Clo. In Isbel's case and mine own. Serv-which is a purifying o' the song would God ice is no heritage: and I think I shall never would serve the world so all the year! we'd have the blessing of God, till I have issue of find no fault with the tythe-woman, if I were my body; for they say, bairns are blessings. the parson: one in ten, quoth 'a! an we might 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,

wickedness.

sooner than thy

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

have a good woman born but for 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?

will

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; 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. Count. Well, now. [woman entirely. Stew. I know, madam, you love your gentleCount. 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.

Count. Such friends are thy enemies, knave. Clo. You are shallow, madam, in 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 Stew. Madam, I was very late more near her drudge he that comforts my wife is the cher-than, I think, she wished me alone she was, isher of my flesh and blood; he that cherishes and did communicate to herself, her own words 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, howsome'er their hearts are severed in religion, their heads are both one,--they may jowl horns together, like any deer i' the herd. Count. Wilt thou ever be a foul-mouthed and calumnious knave?

:

to her own ears; she thought, I dare vow for her, they touched not any strange 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 surprised, without rescue in the first assault, or ransom afterward. This she delivered in the most bitter touch of sorrow, that e'er I heard virgin ex

Clo. A prophet I, madam; and I speak the claim in: which I held my duty speedily to truth the next way:

For I the ballad will repeat,

Which men full true shall find;
Your marriage comes by destiny,
Your cuckoo sings by kind.

Count. Get you gone, sir; I'll talk with you

more anon.

Stew. May it please you, madam, that he
bid Helen come to you: of her I am to speak.
Count. Sirrah, tell my gentlewoman I would
speak with her; Helen I mean.
Clo. Was this fair face the cause, quoth she,
Why the Grecians sacked Troy ?
Fond done, done fond,

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,

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 you, leave me : stall this in your bosom; and I thank you for your honest care: I will speak with you further anon.

[Exit Steward.

Even so it was with me when I was young:
If ever 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:

[mother, [tions God shield, you mean it not! daughter, and You know my father left me some prescripSo strive upon your pulse. What, pale again? Of rare and prov'd effects, such as his reading My fear hath catch'd your fondness: now I see And manifest experience had collected The mystery of your loneliness, and find For general sovereignty: and that he will'd me Your salt tears' head: now to all sense 'tis In heedfull'st reservation to bestow them, gross, 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 languishings whereof The king is render'd lost.