All's Well That Ends Well Part 10

SECOND LORD. 'A will betray us all unto ourselves- Inform on that.

SECOND SOLDIER. So I will, sir.

SECOND LORD. Till then I'll keep him dark and safely lock'd.

Exeunt

ACT IV. SCENE 2.

Florence. The WIDOW'S house

Enter BERTRAM and DIANA

BERTRAM. They told me that your name was Fontibell.

DIANA. No, my good lord, Diana.

BERTRAM. t.i.tled G.o.ddess; And worth it, with addition! But, fair soul, In your fine frame hath love no quality?

If the quick fire of youth light not your mind, You are no maiden, but a monument; When you are dead, you should be such a one As you are now, for you are cold and stern; And now you should be as your mother was When your sweet self was got.

DIANA. She then was honest.

BERTRAM. So should you be.

DIANA. No.

My mother did but duty; such, my lord, As you owe to your wife.

BERTRAM. No more o'that!

I prithee do not strive against my vows.

I was compell'd to her; but I love thee By love's own sweet constraint, and will for ever Do thee all rights of service.

DIANA. Ay, so you serve us Till we serve you; but when you have our roses You barely leave our thorns to p.r.i.c.k ourselves, And mock us with our bareness.

BERTRAM. How have I sworn!

DIANA. 'Tis not the many oaths that makes the truth, But the plain single vow that is vow'd true.

What is not holy, that we swear not by, But take the High'st to witness. Then, pray you, tell me: If I should swear by Jove's great attributes I lov'd you dearly, would you believe my oaths When I did love you ill? This has no holding, To swear by him whom I protest to love That I will work against him. Therefore your oaths Are words and poor conditions, but unseal'd- At least in my opinion.

BERTRAM. Change it, change it; Be not so holy-cruel. Love is holy; And my integrity ne'er knew the crafts That you do charge men with. Stand no more off, But give thyself unto my sick desires, Who then recovers. Say thou art mine, and ever My love as it begins shall so persever.

DIANA. I see that men make hopes in such a case That we'll forsake ourselves. Give me that ring.

BERTRAM. I'll lend it thee, my dear, but have no power To give it from me.

DIANA. Will you not, my lord?

BERTRAM. It is an honour 'longing to our house, Bequeathed down from many ancestors; Which were the greatest obloquy i' th' world In me to lose.

DIANA. Mine honour's such a ring: My chast.i.ty's the jewel of our house, Bequeathed down from many ancestors; Which were the greatest obloquy i' th' world In me to lose. Thus your own proper wisdom Brings in the champion Honour on my part Against your vain a.s.sault.

BERTRAM. Here, take my ring; My house, mine honour, yea, my life, be thine, And I'll be bid by thee.

DIANA. When midnight comes, knock at my chamber window; I'll order take my mother shall not hear.

Now will I charge you in the band of truth, When you have conquer'd my yet maiden bed, Remain there but an hour, nor speak to me: My reasons are most strong; and you shall know them When back again this ring shall be deliver'd.

And on your finger in the night I'll put Another ring, that what in time proceeds May token to the future our past deeds.

Adieu till then; then fail not. You have won A wife of me, though there my hope be done.

BERTRAM. A heaven on earth I have won by wooing thee.

Exit DIANA. For which live long to thank both heaven and me!

You may so in the end.

My mother told me just how he would woo, As if she sat in's heart; she says all men Have the like oaths. He had sworn to marry me When his wife's dead; therefore I'll lie with him When I am buried. Since Frenchmen are so braid, Marry that will, I live and die a maid.

Only, in this disguise, I think't no sin To cozen him that would unjustly win. Exit

ACT IV. SCENE 3.

The Florentine camp

Enter the two FRENCH LORDS, and two or three SOLDIERS

SECOND LORD. You have not given him his mother's letter?

FIRST LORD. I have deliv'red it an hour since. There is something in't that stings his nature; for on the reading it he chang'd almost into another man.

SECOND LORD. He has much worthy blame laid upon him for shaking off so good a wife and so sweet a lady.

FIRST LORD. Especially he hath incurred the everlasting displeasure of the King, who had even tun'd his bounty to sing happiness to him. I will tell you a thing, but you shall let it dwell darkly with you.

SECOND LORD. When you have spoken it, 'tis dead, and I am the grave of it.

FIRST LORD. He hath perverted a young gentlewoman here in Florence, of a most chaste renown; and this night he fleshes his will in the spoil of her honour. He hath given her his monumental ring, and thinks himself made in the unchaste composition.

SECOND LORD. Now, G.o.d delay our rebellion! As we are ourselves,

what things are we!

FIRST LORD. Merely our own traitors. And as in the common course of all treasons we still see them reveal themselves till they attain to their abhorr'd ends; so he that in this action contrives against his own n.o.bility, in his proper stream, o'erflows himself.

SECOND LORD. Is it not meant d.a.m.nable in us to be trumpeters of our unlawful intents? We shall not then have his company to-night?

FIRST LORD. Not till after midnight; for he is dieted to his hour.

SECOND LORD. That approaches apace. I would gladly have him see his company anatomiz'd, that he might take a measure of his own judgments, wherein so curiously he had set this counterfeit.

FIRST LORD. We will not meddle with him till he come; for his presence must be the whip of the other.

SECOND LORD. In the meantime, what hear you of these wars?

FIRST LORD. I hear there is an overture of peace.

SECOND LORD. Nay, I a.s.sure you, a peace concluded.

FIRST LORD. What will Count Rousillon do then? Will he travel higher, or return again into France?

SECOND LORD. I perceive, by this demand, you are not altogether

of his counsel.

FIRST LORD. Let it be forbid, sir! So should I be a great deal of his act.

SECOND LORD. Sir, his wife, some two months since, fled from his house. Her pretence is a pilgrimage to Saint Jaques le Grand; which holy undertaking with most austere sanctimony she accomplish'd; and, there residing, the tenderness of her nature became as a prey to her grief; in fine, made a groan of her last breath, and now she sings in heaven.

FIRST LORD. How is this justified?

SECOND LORD. The stronger part of it by her own letters, which makes her story true even to the point of her death. Her death itself, which could not be her office to say is come, was faithfully confirm'd by the rector of the place.

FIRST LORD. Hath the Count all this intelligence?

SECOND LORD. Ay, and the particular confirmations, point from point, to the full arming of the verity.

FIRST LORD. I am heartily sorry that he'll be glad of this.

SECOND LORD. How mightily sometimes we make us comforts of our losses!

FIRST LORD. And how mightily some other times we drown our gain in tears! The great dignity that his valour hath here acquir'd for him shall at home be encount'red with a shame as ample.

SECOND LORD. The web of our life is of a mingled yarn, good and ill together. Our virtues would be proud if our faults whipt them not; and our crimes would despair if they were not cherish'd by our virtues.

Enter a MESSENGER

How now? Where's your master?

SERVANT. He met the Duke in the street, sir; of whom he hath taken a solemn leave. His lordship will next morning for France.

The Duke hath offered him letters of commendations to the King.

SECOND LORD. They shall be no more than needful there, if they were more than they can commend.

FIRST LORD. They cannot be too sweet for the King's tartness.

Here's his lordship now.

Enter BERTRAM

How now, my lord, is't not after midnight?

BERTRAM. I have to-night dispatch'd sixteen businesses, a month's length apiece; by an abstract of success: I have congied with the Duke, done my adieu with his nearest; buried a wife, mourn'd for her; writ to my lady mother I am returning; entertain'd my convoy; and between these main parcels of dispatch effected many nicer needs. The last was the greatest, but that I have not ended yet.