All's Well That Ends Well, William Shakespeare [top 5 books to read .txt] 📗

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:-- God's mercy, maiden! does it curd thy blood To say I am thy mother? What's the matter, That this distemper'd 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 honour'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.

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: 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 behaviours, 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.

HELENA. Good madam, pardon me!

COUNTESS. Do you love my son?

HELENA. Your pardon, noble 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 passions 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 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 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 greatest 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 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.

[Exeunt.]


ACT II.

SCENE 1. Paris. A room in the King's palace.

[Flourish. Enter the King, with young LORDS taking leave for the Florentine war; BERTRAM, PAROLLES, and Attendants.]

KING. Farewell, young lord; these war-like 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 received, And is enough for both.

FIRST 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 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.--Come hither to me.

[The king retires to a couch.]

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 it, 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 tortured body.

FIRST LORD. Farewell, captain.

SECOND LORD. Sweet Monsieur Parolles!

PAROLLES. 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.

FIRST LORD. We shall, noble captain.

PAROLLES. Mars dote on you for his novices!

[Exeunt LORDS.]

What will ye do?

BERTRAM. Stay; the king--

PAROLLES. Use a more spacious ceremony to the noble lords; you have restrained yourself within the list of too cold an adieu: be more expressive to them; for they wear themselves in the cap of the time; there do muster true gait; eat, speak, and move, under the influence of the most received star; and though the devil lead the measure, such are to be followed: after them, and take a more dilated farewell.

BERTRAM. And I will do so.

PAROLLES. Worthy fellows; and like to prove most sinewy sword-men.

[Exeunt BERTRAM and PAROLLES.]

[Enter LAFEU.]

LAFEU. Pardon, my lord [kneeling], for me and for my tidings.

KING. I'll fee thee to stand up.

LAFEU. Then here's a man stands that has bought 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.

LAFEU. Good faith, across; But, my good lord, 'tis thus: will you be cured Of your infirmity?

KING. No.

LAFEU. O, will you eat No grapes, my royal fox? yes, but you will My noble grapes, and 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 spritely fire and motion; whose simple touch Is powerful to araise King Pipin, nay, To give great Charlemain a pen in his hand And write to her a love-line.

KING. What 'her' is that?

LAFEU. Why, doctor 'she': my lord, there's one arriv'd, If you will see her,--now, by my faith and honour, 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 the May spend our wonder too, or take off thine By wondering how thou took'st it.

LAFEU. Nay, I'll fit you, And not be all day neither.

[Exit LAFEU.]

KING. Thus he his special nothing ever prologues.

[Re-enter LAFEU with HELENA.]

LAFEU. Nay, come your ways.

KING. This haste hath wings indeed.

LAFEU. 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.]

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

HELENA. Ay, my good lord. Gerard de Narbon was My father; in what he did profess, well found.

KING. I knew him.

HELENA. 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