All's Well That Ends Well Part 2

CLOWN. 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 COUNTESS. Well, now.

STEWARD. I know, madam, you love your gentlewoman entirely.

COUNTESS. Faith I do. Her father bequeath'd her to me; and she herself, without other advantage, may lawfully make t.i.tle 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.

STEWARD. Madam, I was very late more near her than I think she wish'd me. Alone she was, and did communicate to herself her own words to her own ears; she thought, I dare vow for her, they touch'd not any stranger sense. Her matter was, she loved your son. Fortune, she said, was no G.o.ddess, that had put such difference betwixt their two estates; Love no G.o.d, that would not extend his might only where qualities were level; Diana no queen of virgins, that would suffer her poor knight surpris'd without rescue in the first a.s.sault, or ransom afterward. This she deliver'd 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.

COUNTESS. YOU have discharg'd this honestly; keep it to yourself.

Many likelihoods inform'd me of this before, which hung so tott'ring in the balance that I could neither believe nor mis...o...b... 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

Enter HELENA

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 pa.s.sion 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.

HELENA. What is your pleasure, madam?

COUNTESS. You know, Helen, I am a mother to you.

HELENA. Mine honourable mistress.

COUNTESS. 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 A native slip to us from foreign seeds.

You ne'er oppress'd me with a mother's groan, Yet I express to you a mother's care.

G.o.d's mercy, maiden! does it curd thy blood To say I am thy mother? What's the matter, That this distempered messenger of wet, The many-colour'd Iris, rounds thine eye?

Why, that you are my daughter?

HELENA. That I am not.

COUNTESS. I say I am your mother.

HELENA. Pardon, madam.

The Count Rousillon cannot be my brother: I am from humble, he from honoured name; No note upon my parents, his all n.o.ble.

My master, my dear lord he is; and I His servant live, and will his va.s.sal die.

He must not be my brother.

COUNTESS. Nor I your mother?

HELENA. 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?

COUNTESS. Yes, Helen, you might be my daughter-in-law.

G.o.d 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 myst'ry 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 pa.s.sion, To say thou dost not. Therefore tell me true; But tell me then, 'tis so; for, look, thy cheeks Confess it, th' one to th' other; and thine eyes See it so grossly shown in thy behaviours That in their kind they speak it; only sin And h.e.l.lish obstinacy tie thy tongue, That truth should be suspected. Speak, is't so?

If it be so, you have wound a goodly clew; If it be not, forswear't; howe'er, I charge thee, As heaven shall work in me for thine avail, To tell me truly.

HELENA. Good madam, pardon me.

COUNTESS. Do you love my son?

HELENA. Your pardon, n.o.ble mistress.

COUNTESS. Love you my son?

HELENA. Do not you love him, madam?

COUNTESS. 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 pa.s.sions Have to the full appeach'd.

HELENA. 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, 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 honour 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!

COUNTESS. Had you not lately an intent-speak truly- To go to Paris?

HELENA. Madam, I had.

COUNTESS. Wherefore? Tell true.

HELENA. 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 heedfull'st 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 languishings whereof The King is render'd lost.

COUNTESS. This was your motive For Paris, was it? Speak.

HELENA. My lord your son made me to think of this, Else Paris, and the medicine, and the King, Had from the conversation of my thoughts Haply been absent then.

COUNTESS. 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 let off The danger to itself?

HELENA. There's something in't More than my father's skill, which was the great'st Of his profession, that his good receipt Shall for my legacy be sanctified By th' luckiest stars in heaven; and, would your honour 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.

COUNTESS. Dost thou believe't?

HELENA. Ay, madam, knowingly.

COUNTESS. 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 G.o.d's blessing into thy attempt.

Be gone to-morrow; and be sure of this, What I can help thee to thou shalt not miss. Exeunt

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ACT II. SCENE 1.

Paris. The KING'S palace

Flourish of cornets. Enter the KING with divers young LORDS taking leave for the Florentine war; BERTRAM and PAROLLES; ATTENDANTS

KING. Farewell, young lords; these war-like principles Do not throw from you. And you, my lords, farewell; Share the advice betwixt you; if both gain all, The gift doth stretch itself as 'tis receiv'd, And is enough for both.

FIRST LORD. 'Tis our hope, sir, After well-ent'red 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 honour, but to wed it; when The bravest questant shrinks, find what you seek, That fame may cry you aloud. I say farewell.

SECOND 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. [To ATTENDANTS] Come hither to me.

The KING retires attended FIRST LORD. O my sweet lord, that you will stay behind us!

PAROLLES. 'Tis not his fault, the spark.

SECOND LORD. O, 'tis brave wars!

PAROLLES. Most admirable! I have seen those wars.

BERTRAM. I am commanded here and kept a coil with 'Too young' and next year' and "Tis too early.'

PAROLLES. An thy mind stand to 't, boy, steal away bravely.

BERTRAM. I shall stay here the forehorse to a smock, Creaking my shoes on the plain masonry, Till honour be bought up, and no sword worn But one to dance with. By heaven, I'll steal away.

FIRST LORD. There's honour in the theft.

PAROLLES. Commit it, Count.

SECOND LORD. I am your accessary; and so farewell.

BERTRAM. I grow to you, and our parting is a tortur'd body.

FIRST LORD. Farewell, Captain.

SECOND LORD. Sweet Monsieur Parolles!

PAROLLES. n.o.ble heroes, my sword and yours are kin. Good sparks and l.u.s.trous, 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 entrench'd it. Say to him I live; and observe his reports for me.

FIRST LORD. We shall, n.o.ble Captain.

PAROLLES. Mars dote on you for his novices! Exeunt LORDS What will ye do?