ZbC XTU^Or SbafteSPCare i« published in thirty-mne 
 
 volumes, including all of 
 the plaj'8 and poems, each imder the special editorship of an American 
 scholar. The general editors are William Allan Neilson, Ph.D., 
 of Harvard University, and Ashley Horace Thorndike, Ph.D., 
 L.H.D., of Columbia University. 
 
 Romeo and Juliet — The General Editors. 
 
 A Midsummer-Night's Dream — John W. Cunlitfe, D.Lit., Profes- 
 sor of English, Columbia University. 
 
 Macbeth — Arthttr C. L. Brown, Ph.D., Professor of English, North- 
 western University. 
 
 Heixry IV, Part I — Frank W. Chandler, Ph.D., Professor of Eng- 
 lish and Comparative Literature, University of Cincinnati. 
 
 Troilus and Cressida — John S. P. Tatlock, Ph.D., Professor of Eng- 
 lish, University of Michigan. 
 
 Henry V — Lewis F. Mott, Ph.D., Professor of English, College of the 
 City of New York. 
 
 The Merchant of Venice — Harrt M. Atres, Ph.D., Aseifltant Pro- 
 fessor of Englieh, Columbia University. 
 
 As You Like It — Martha H. Shackford, Ph.D., Associate Professor 
 of English Literature, Wellesley College. 
 
 Coriolanus — Stuart P. Sherman, Ph.D., Professor of English, Uni- 
 versity of Illinois. 
 
 Henry VI, Part I — Louise Pound, Ph.D., Assistant Professor of Eng- 
 lish, University of Nebraska. 
 
 Henry VIII — Charles G. Dunlap, Litt.D., Professor of Englieh Lit- 
 erature, University of Kansas. 
 
 Comedy of Errors — Frederick Morgan Padelford, Ph.D., Pro- 
 fessor of English, University of Washington. 
 
 King John — Henry M. Belden, Ph.D., Professor of English, Uni- 
 versity of Missouri. 
 
 King Lear — Virginia C. GiLDEBaLEEVE, Ph.D., Dean of Barnard 
 College. 
 
 Much Ado About Nothing —William W. Lawrence, Ph.D., Asaociate 
 Professor of English, Columbia University. 
 
 Love's Labour's Lost — James F. Royster, Ph.D., Profesaor of Eng- 
 lish, University of North Carolina. 
 
 Henry IV, Part II — Elizabeth Deering Hanscom, Ph.D., Pro- 
 fessor of English, Smith College. 
 
 Richard III — George B. Churchill, Ph.D., Professor of English, 
 Amherst College.
 
 The Winter's Tale — Laura J. Wylie, Ph.D., Professor of English, 
 Vassar College. 
 
 Othello — Thomas M. Parrott, Ph.D., Professor of English, Prince- 
 ton University. 
 
 The Two Gentlemen of Verona — Martin W. Sampson, A.M., Gold- 
 win Smith Professor of English Literature, Cornell University. 
 
 All's Well that Ends Well — John L. Lowes, Ph.D., Professor of Eng- 
 lish, Washington University, St. Louis. 
 
 Richard II — Hardin Craig, Ph.D., Professor of English, University 
 of Minnesota. 
 
 Measure for Measure — Edgar C. Morris, A.M., Professor of Eng- 
 lish, Syracuse University. 
 
 Twelfth Night — Walter Morris Hart, Ph.D., Associate Professor 
 of English, University of California. 
 
 The Taming of the Shrew — Frederick Tupper, Jr., Ph.D., Pro- 
 fessor of English, University of Vermont. 
 
 Julius C8esar — Robert M. Lovett, A.B., Professor of English, 
 University of Chicago. 
 
 Timon of Athens — Robert Huntington Fletcher, Ph.D., Pro- 
 fessor of English Literature, Grinnell College, Iowa. 
 
 Venus and Adonis, and Lucrece — Carleton Brown, Ph.D., Pro- 
 fessor of English, Bryn Mawr College. 
 
 Henry VI, Part III — Robert Adger Law, Ph.D., Adjunct Professor 
 of English, the University of Texas. 
 
 Cymbeline — Will D. Howe, Ph.D., Professor of English, Indiana 
 University. 
 
 Merry Wives of Windsor — Fred P. Emeby, A.M., Professor of Eng- 
 lish. Dartmouth College. 
 
 Titus Andronicus — Elmer E. Stoll, Ph.D., 
 
 Pericles — C. Alphonso Smith, Ph.D., Edgar Allan Poe Professor of 
 English, University of Virginia. 
 
 The Sonnets — Raymond M. Alden, Ph.D., Professor of English, 
 University of Illinois. 
 
 Hamlet — George Pierce Baker, A.B., Professor of Dramatic Lit- 
 erature, Harvard University. 
 
 Henry VI, Part II — Charles H. Barnwell, Ph.D., Professor of 
 
 English, University of Alabama. 
 
 The Tempest — Herbert E. Greene, Ph.D., Professor of English, 
 Johns Hopkins University. 
 
 Antony and Cleopatra — George Wyllyb Benedict, Ph.D., Associate 
 P*rofe8Sor of English, Brown University.

 
 ^i}z ®«t nseU is tfjc Keilson STcit copgrigljttlJ in X906 
 bu ®2Hlilltam ^llan Wcilson 
 
 Copsrtflljt, 1912 
 13g STfje ilHacmillan Compang 
 
 Jitat rtitton of tfjis issue of "all's 5:S5eII tf)at EnUs WSiell' 
 printed Beamier, 1912
 
 V 
 
 v 
 
 Zn 5 4 
 
 ^ ^ntjtoDurtton 
 
 ^ Text. —The only authority for the text is the First 
 Folio (Fi), and the play was recorded in the Stationers' 
 Register, under date of November 8, 1623, among those 
 " not formerly entered to other men." The text of 1623 
 is reprinted in the Second, Third, and Fourth Folios. Few 
 of Shakespeare's plays show a greater number of textual 
 
 r^ corruptions, and editorial conjectures and emendations are 
 
 ^^ particularly munerous. 
 
 Date of Composition. —The problem of the date of 
 
 All's Well that Ends Well has been complicated by the 
 
 frequent identification of the play with the Love's Labour's 
 
 Won of Meres's Ust, and by the strong probabiUty that 
 
 i All's Well as it has come down to us represents a recasting 
 
 ^ of an earUer play. There is no external evidence for the 
 
 « date which is convincing. 
 
 ^ The identity of All's Well with Love's Labour's Won 
 is insusceptible of positive proof. The fitness of Meres's 
 title to the present play is perhaps not open to very serious 
 objection. The Taming of the Shrew has been strongly 
 put forward as a rival claimant for the honor,^ but the 
 victory in The Taming of the Shrew is scarcely that of love. 
 
 1 See A. H. Tolman, "Shakespeare's 'Love's Labour's 
 Won' " in The Views About Hamlet (1904). pp. 245-313, re- 
 printed from The Decennial Publications of the University 0/ 
 Chicago, First Series, vol. vii, pp. 159-190. 
 vii
 
 vii! UntroDttCtion 
 
 In either case the identification rests upon the assumption 
 that Love's Labour's Won has been preserved. But the 
 loss of an early play, before Shakespeare's fame was 
 established, is perhaps not so remarkable a thing as some- 
 times seems to be implied. And any argument for a 
 date before 1598 which rests upon the supposed identifi- 
 cation with Love's Labour's Won demands corroboration. 
 
 The majority of the more recent editors and commenta- 
 tors have seen in All's Well indications of both late and 
 early work, although others have failed to recognize 
 any evidence pointing to more than a single date of com- 
 position, at a period of transition in Shakespeare's style. 
 The large percentage of rhymed couplets, the three stanza- 
 groups, the Euphuism of certain passages, and "the 
 lyrical sweetness " of others have especially been appealed 
 to as indicating earlier workmanship. On the other hand, 
 the strongly elliptical character of much of the blank 
 verse, the pregnancy of diction, deep reflectiveness and 
 ** sinewy sternness " of certain passages, and the depth 
 of insight often shov/n in characterization have seemed 
 to evince decided maturity of treatment. Two dates — 
 the one of original composition, the other of revision or 
 recasting — have therefore very commonly been assumed. 
 Chiefly through the influence of the supposed identity 
 of All's Well with Love's Labour's Won the date of com- 
 position has been usually assigned to the early '90's; 
 the date of revision, with somewhat less agreement, to 
 the early years of the next decade. 
 
 The evidence for a very early date of composition, how- 
 ever, is not thoroughly convincing. The four long rhymed
 
 3|ntroDuccton ix 
 
 passages (I. i. 231-244; n. i. 133-213; H. iii. 78-110 
 — ezcluding prose comments; II. iii. 132-151) on which 
 the argument for the early 'go's chiefly rests, differ 
 markedly in their character from the rhymed passages of 
 a corresponding type in the plays known to belong to that 
 period, and the first three suggest in their structure and 
 function a date in the later rather than the earlier years 
 of that decade. The fourth passage (11. iii. 132-151) 
 is freer in its construction than any of the longer rhymed 
 passages even in the plays of the late '90's, and corresponds 
 most closely with the groups of rhymed couplets appear- 
 ing in the very latest plays, notably with Winter's Tale, 
 IV. i. 1-32. Moreover, an application of the usual metrical 
 tests to the blank verse of the passages generally recog- 
 nized as *' late " gives results which point to a date, for 
 these passages, little, if any, earlier than the Romances, 
 Cymbeline, Winter's Tale, and The Tempest. And the 
 blank verse of the ** early " portions of the play corre- 
 sponds more closely to the verse of Twelfth Night, Much 
 Ado, and Hamlet than to that of the earliest comedies. 
 The characterization of the King and the Countess is 
 entirely in keeping with the treatment of men and women 
 of advanced years in the latest plays, and the character- 
 ization in general bears few marks of the period of such 
 plays as Love's Labour's Lost. Where the evidence is so 
 largely metrical and esthetic as it is in the case of All's 
 Well that Ends Well, only the most cautious statements 
 are warranted. But so far as such evidence goes, it seems 
 to point with considerable probability to the conclusion 
 that the play was first written not far from the date that 
 has of late been commonly assigned to its revision;
 
 X ^Introduction 
 
 namely, in the period from 1598 to 1600 or 1601 ; and that 
 it was worked over at a date very near that of the latest 
 tragedies, and not long (if at all) before the Romances — 
 say 1606-1608. 
 
 Source of Plot, — The story of the play is drawn from 
 the ninth novel of the third day of the Decameron, which 
 Shakespeare knew as it was translated in Paynter's Palace 
 of Pleasure. It has been suggested by Klein that the Vir- 
 ginia of Bernardo Accolti (of which there are editions from 
 1513 to 1535), an Italian tragi-comedy based also upon 
 Boccaccio's story, constitutes a supplementary source, but 
 this view has not met with acceptance, and the evidence 
 for it is entirely unconvincing. 
 
 The most important variations between the Paynter- 
 Boccaccio story and the play, in addition to changes of 
 names, — Bertram for Beltramo, Helena for Giletta, — 
 are the following : — 
 
 The Countess, Parolles, the Clown, and Lafeu are all 
 added; Giletta of the story is rich, has refused many 
 suitors, and has kinsfolk of her own; on her arrival in 
 Paris, her first step is to see Beltramo ; the King and not 
 Giletta suggests as her reward the bestowal upon her of a 
 husband, whom Giletta merely requests, thereupon, that 
 she may choose ; the choice of Beltramo is not made in his 
 presence, but he is called in later to hear of it ; after Bel- 
 tramo's desertion (which is not motivated beforehand, 
 as in the play), Giletta returns to Rossiglione, and devotes 
 herself to the care and improvement of Beltramo's estate, 
 rendering herself greatly beloved by his subjects; as
 
 31ntroDttctiou xi 
 
 Beltramo does not return, Giletta sends him word that she 
 is willing to leave Rossiglione, should that insure his 
 return, and it is in reply to this message of Giletta that 
 Beltramo writes his letter ; when Giletta leaves, she does 
 so publicly, telling her subjects that she has determined 
 to spend the rest of her days in pilgrimages and devotion ; 
 the widow at whose house she stays in Florence is not 
 Diana's mother, but a neighbor of her mother, who is also 
 a widow and a gentlewoman ; Giletta remains in Florence, 
 after Beltramo has returned home, until the birth of twin 
 sons ; in the denouement neither Diana nor the King is 
 present, but Giletta simply appears, in poor apparel, with 
 her two sons in her arms, at a feast which Beltramo is 
 giving, and weeping, claims her rights ; there is no mention 
 whatever of a second ring. 
 
 Stage History,— Qmng to the rather unsympathetic 
 character of its plot, All's Well that Ends Well has never 
 been popular on the stage. There is no extant contem- 
 porary reference to it, and the first record of its perform- 
 ance is in 1 74 1. It was performed a number of times 
 during the eighteenth century, notably by John Kemble, 
 and was revived at least twice in the nineteenth century. 
 But on none of these occasions does the venture seem to 
 have met with great success. 
 
 Relations to Contemporary Drama. — In the absence of 
 any certainty regarding the date of All's Well that Ends 
 Well^ it is impossible to speak with assurance of its rela- 
 tions to contemporary drama. The play has been very 
 commonly associated with Measure for Measure and 
 Troilus and Cressida. With the former it agrees in the
 
 xii 31ntroDuction 
 
 repellent device by which the denouement is brought 
 about, and it shares with both a more or less cynical and 
 ironic tone. This atmosphere of disillusion which per- 
 vades the three plays has been interpreted by many 
 critics as the expression of a mood through which Shake- 
 speare himself was passing, — "a mood of contemptuous 
 depreciation of life," — and has been frequently brought 
 into connection with the supposed intrigue which underlies 
 the Sonnets. But such an explanation of the play is, to 
 say the least, of very questionable validity. The somber- 
 ness of mood and the combined bitterness and levity 
 which have been seen in the plays have often been taken 
 too seriously. And the temporary preoccupation of a power- 
 ful and supremely sane mind with the more repellent 
 phenomena of life and character may not legitimately be 
 interpreted as indications of morbid introspection or per- 
 sonal disillusionment on the part of Shakespeare himself. 
 
 Style, — The style of the play, as has already been 
 pointed out, is remarkably uneven. In the dialogue, for 
 example, between the King and Helena, in Act II, Scene i, 
 blank verse which combines the utmost flexibility of 
 rhythm with a richly connotative diction and embodies 
 a brooding, reminiscent reflectiveness, passes, without 
 change of speakers or theme, into rhymed couplets, in 
 which the subject in hand is overlaid with the common-, 
 places of reflection, and the diction is relatively bare of 
 suggestion. In the first scene of the play Helena speaks 
 in two quite different sorts of blank verse — the one clear, 
 flowing, and mature ; the other alliterative, conceited, and 
 antithetical — and also in rhjoned couplets. These are
 
 3|ntroDuction xiii 
 
 fairly typical cases, and the result for the play as a whole 
 is a curious effect of uneven texture, almost of strati- 
 fication. The play abounds in obscurities of phrase, 
 which are partly due to corruption of the text, partly to 
 the tendency toward compressed and elliptical expression 
 which marked the later stages of Shakespeare's develop- 
 ment. 
 
 Interpretation. _ That the play has any definite ethical 
 purpose, or is intended to teach any specific lesson, one 
 may safely doubt. It was inevitable that Shakespeare, 
 in dealing with the materials which he found, should set 
 himself to motivate more fully the actions involved, and 
 should so throw into stronger relief moral values. All 
 the stories of the third day of the Decameron deal with 
 "the adventm-es of such persons as have acquired, by 
 their diligence, something greatly wanted hy them." In 
 all the stress is laid on the gratification of sensual desire, 
 and even in the story of Giletta of Narbonne it is upon 
 the device by which the heroine fulfils her husband's 
 condition that the emphasis falls. In AlPs Well, on the 
 other hand, the purity and strength of Helena's character, 
 as Shakespeare conceived it, carries with it a marked 
 shift of values. But just this change of empha^s itself 
 involves a difficulty, for the very nobility of Helena's 
 nature renders the story which Shakespeare retained less 
 plausible. It is this discord, v;hich even Shakespeare's art 
 has not wholly resolved, that accounts, in large measure, for 
 a certain distaste which the play inspires in the minds of 
 most of its readers, and this effect is heightened by the 
 particularly unlovable character of Bertram, and the rather
 
 XIV 
 
 3|ntro0uction 
 
 hard and unsympathetic portrayal of Parolles. But it 
 was on the indomitable and fearless purity of Helena 
 herself that Shakespeare's interest centered ; and despite 
 the dissonance referred to, it is the character of Helena, 
 as set oft and softened by the grave sweetness and dig- 
 nity of the Countess and the King, which gives to the play 
 its permanent appeal.
 
 au'is mtii mt €nm mtn 
 
 ,k^
 
 [DRAMATIS PERSON/E 
 
 King op France. 
 
 Duke of Florence. 
 
 Bertram, Count of Rousillon. 
 
 L.u^eu, an old lord 
 
 Parolles, a follower of Bertram. 
 
 Two French Lords. 
 
 T ' /-i !" servants to the Countess of Rousilloiu 
 
 Lav ACHE, a Clown, J 
 
 A Page. 
 
 Countess of Rousillon, mother to Bertram. 
 Helena, a gentlewoman protected by the Countess. 
 An old "Widow of Florence. 
 Di-VNA, dauQihtor to the Widow. 
 
 "VlOLEN^T'V 1 
 
 ,, ' ' ' > neighbors and friends to the Widow. 
 Mariana, j 
 
 Lords, Officers, Soldiers, etc., French and Florentine. 
 
 Scene: Rousillon; Paris; Florence; Marseilles.]
 
 Qim mtii tm dftttiis mm 
 
 # 
 
 ACT FIRST 
 
 SCBNB 1 
 
 [Rousillon. The Count* 8 palace.] 
 
 Enter young Bertram, Count of Rousillon, his mother 
 [the Countess of Rou^llon], Helena, and Lord Lafeu, 
 all in black. 
 
 Count. In delivering my son from me, I bury a 
 second husband. 
 
 Ber. And I in going, madam, weep o'er my 
 father's death anew ; but I must attend his 
 Majesty's command, to whom I am now in 5 
 ward, evermore in subjection. 
 
 Laf. You shall find of the King a husband, 
 madam; you, sir, a father. He that so gen- 
 erally is at all times good must of necessity 
 hold his virtue to you, whose worthiness would 10 
 stir it up where it wanted rather than lack it 
 where there is such abundance. 
 3
 
 4 ail'0 OTell tljat Cntig WitW Acti 
 
 Count. What hope is there of his Majesty's 
 amendment ? 
 
 Zqf. He hath abandon'd his physicians, madam, 15 
 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, 
 
 — O, that "had" ! how sad a passage 'tis! 20 
 
 — whose skill was almost as great as his 
 honesty; had it stretch'd 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 wor.\l be the 25 
 death of the King's disease. 
 
 Laf. How call'd 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 30 
 Narbon. 
 
 Laf. He was excellent indeed, madam. The 
 King very lately spoke of him admiringly and 
 mourningly. He was skilful enough to have 
 liv'd still, if knowledge could be set up against 35 
 mortality. 
 
 Ber. What is it, my good lord, the King lan- 
 guishes of.* 
 
 Laf. A fistula, my lord. 
 
 Ber. I heard not of it before. 40
 
 sc. I ail*0 mtll ttot €nr>$ mtil 5 
 
 Laf. I would it were not notorious. Was this 
 gentlewoman the daughter of Gerard de 
 Narbon ? 
 
 Count. His sole child, my lord, and bequeathed 
 
 to my overlooking. I have those hopes of 45 
 her good that her education promises. Her 
 dispositions she inherits, which makes fair 
 gifts fairer ; for where an unclean mind carries 
 virtuous qualities, there commendations go with 
 pity : they are virtues and traitors too. In 50 
 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 sea- 55 
 son her praise in. The remembrance of her 
 father never approaches her heart but the 
 tyranny of her sorrows takes all livelihood 
 from her cheek. No more of this, Helena ; 
 go to, no more, lest it be rather thought you 60 
 affect a sorrow than to have — 
 
 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. 66 
 
 Count. If the living be enemy to the grief, 
 the excess makes it soon mortal. 
 
 Ber. Madam, I desire your holy wishes.
 
 6 ail*0 Well tl^at CnDs; Witli Acti 
 
 Laf. How understand we that ? 
 
 Count, Be thou blest, Bertram, and succeed thy 
 father 70 
 
 In manners, as in shape ! Thy blood and virtue 
 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 75 
 Under thy own life's key. Be check'd for 
 
 silence, 
 But never tax'd for speech. What Heaven more 
 
 will, 
 That thee may furnish and my prayers pluck 
 
 down. 
 Fall on thy head ! Farewell ! My lord, 
 'Tis an unseason'd courtier ; good my lord, 80 
 Advise him. 
 Laf. He cannot want the best 
 
 That shall attend his love. 
 Count. Heaven bless him ! Farewell, Bertram. 
 
 [ExU.] 
 Ber. [To Helena.] The best wishes that can be 
 
 forg'd in your thoughts be servants to you ! 85 
 Be comfortable 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.]
 
 Sc. I airsf WXtW tljat €nnsi OTell 7 
 
 Hel. O, were that all ! I think not on my father, 
 
 And these great tears grace his remembrance 
 
 more 91 
 
 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, 96 
 
 If Bertram be away. 'Twere all one 
 That I should love a bright particular star 
 And think to wed it, he is so above me. 
 In his bright radiance and collateral light 
 Must I be comforted, not in his sphere. 100 
 
 The ambition in my love thus plagues itself. 
 The hind that would be mated by the lion 
 Must die for love. 'Twas pretty, though a 
 
 plague, 
 To see him every hour ; to sit and draw 
 His arched brows, his hawking eye, his curls, 105 
 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 reliques. Who comes here? 
 
 Enter Parolles. 
 
 [Aside.] One that goes with him. I love him 
 for his sake; 110 
 
 And yet I know him a notorious liar.
 
 8 air^ OTell tljat €nt$ mtll Act i 
 
 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 
 Looks bleak i' the cold wind. Withal, full oft we 
 see 115 
 
 Cold wisdom waiting on superfluous folly. 
 
 Par. Save you, fair queen ! 
 
 Hel. And you, monarch ! 
 
 Par. No. 
 
 Hel. And no. 120 
 
 Par. Are you meditating on virginity ? 
 
 Hel. Ay. You have some stain of soldier in you ; 
 let me ask you a question. Man is enemy to 
 virginity ; how^ may we barricado it against him ? 
 
 Par. Keep him out. 125 
 
 Hel. But he assails ; and our virginity, though 
 valiant, in the defence yet is weak. Unfold 
 to us some warlike resistance. 
 
 Par. There is none. Man, sitting down before 
 
 you, will undermine you and blow you up. 130 
 
 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 135 
 him down again, with the breach yourselves 
 made, you lose your city. It is not politic 
 in the commonwealth of nature to preserve
 
 Sc. I airg Witll tt)at <II;nDs Well 9 
 
 virginity. Loss of virginity is rational in- 
 crease, and there was never virgin got till vir- 140 
 ginity 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 145 
 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 150 
 that hangs himself is a virgin. Virginity 
 murders itself, and should be buried in high- 
 ways out of all sanctified limit, as a desperate 
 ofiFendress against nature. Virginity breeds 
 mites, much like a cheese; consumes itself to 155 
 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 year it will make itself 160 
 two, which is a goodly increase, and the prin- 
 cipal itself not much the worse. Away with't ! 
 
 Hel. How might one do, sir, to lose it to her own 
 liking ?
 
 lo airs? Witll t^at (BnDfif Well Acti 
 
 Par. Let me see. Marry, ill, to like him that 165 
 ne'er it likes. 'Tis a commodity will lose 
 the gloss with lying ; the longer kept, the less 
 worth. Off with't while 'tis vendible; answer 
 the time of request. Virginity, like an old 
 courtier, wears her cap out of fashion ; richly 170 
 suited, but unsuitable, — just like the 
 brooch and the tooth-pick, which wear not 
 now. Your date is better in your pie and your 
 porridge than in your cheek ; and your virgin- 
 ity, your old virginity, is like one of our French 
 wither'd pears, it looks ill, it eats drily; 175 
 marry, 'tis a wither'd pear; it was formerly 
 better ; marry, yet 'tis a wither'd 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, 181 
 
 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, 185 
 
 His jarring concord, and his discord dulcet, 
 His faith, his sweet disaster ; with a world 
 Of pretty, fond, adoptions Christendoms, 
 That blinking Cupid gossips. Now shall he — 
 I know not what he shall. God send him well ! 190 
 The court's a learning place, and he is one —
 
 Sc. I M'& Wtll ttiat €niMS Witli ii 
 
 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, 195 
 
 Which might be felt ; that we, the poorer bom, 
 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 
 
 never 
 Returns us thanks. 200 
 
 Enter Page. 
 
 Page. Monsieur Parolles, my lord calls for you. 
 
 [Exit] 
 Par. Little Helen, farewell. If I can remember 
 
 thee, I will think of thee at court. 
 Hel. Monsieur Parolles, you were born under a 
 
 charitable star. 205 
 
 Par. Under Mars, I. 
 Hel. I especially think, under Mars. 
 Par. Why under Mars ? 
 Hel. The wars hath so kept you under that you 
 
 must needs be born under Mars. 210 
 
 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. 215
 
 12 ail'fi? Well ttjat (BnliS Well Act i 
 
 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 220 
 thee acutely. I will return perfect courtier ; 
 in the which, my instruction shall serve to nat- 
 uralize thee, so thou wilt be capable of a court- 
 ier's counsel and understand what advice shall 
 thrust upon thee ; else thou diest in thine un- 225 
 thankfulness, and thine ignorance makes thee 
 away. Farewell ! ^\^len thou hast leisure, 
 say thy prayers ; when thou hast none, remem- 
 ber thy friends. Get thee a good husband, 
 and use him as he uses thee. So, farewell. 230 
 
 [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, 235 
 
 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 
 \Miat hath been cannot be. Who ever strove 211
 
 Sc. 11 ail'fif md\ ttjac Cnos? OTrll 13 
 
 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. The King's palace.] 
 
 Flourish of cornets. Enter the King of France, with 
 letters, [Lofds] and divers attendants. 
 
 King. The Florentines and Senoys are by the ears. 
 Have fought with equal fortune, and continue 
 A braving war. 
 
 1. Lord. So 'tis reported, sir. 
 
 King. Nay, 'tis most credible. We here receive 
 it 
 A certainty, vouch'd from our cousin Austria, 5 
 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. 
 
 1. Lord. His love and wisdom, 
 
 Approv'd so to your Majesty, may plead 10 
 
 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
 
 24 aU'sf Well t^iat C'nti0 Wizll Act i 
 
 The Tuscan service, freely have they leave 
 
 To stand on either part. 
 S. Lord. It well may serve 15 
 
 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, 20 
 Hath well compos'd thee. Thy father's moral 
 
 parts 
 Mayst 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 25 
 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 
 And wore us out of act. It much repairs me 30 
 To talk of your good father. In his youth 
 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
 
 Sc. II 311*0 mdl tfjat (lBnti0 Mell 15 
 
 Ere they can hide their levity in honour 35 
 
 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 40 
 His tongue obey'd his hand. Who were below 
 
 him 
 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 45 
 Might be a copy to these younger times ; 
 Which, followed well, would demonstrate 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 50 
 
 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," 55 
 
 Thus his good melancholy oft began. 
 On the catastrophe and heel of pastime.
 
 i6 Sim OTell t^at €m& mtW Act i 
 
 \Mien 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 judgements 
 are Gi 
 
 Mere fathers of their garments ; whose con- 
 stancies 
 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, 65 
 I quickly were dissolved from my hive. 
 To give some labourers room. 
 S. Lord. You're loved, sir ; 
 
 They that least lend it you shall lack you 
 first. 
 King. I fill a place, I know't. How long is't, 
 Count, 
 Since the physician at your father's died ? 70 
 
 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 sickness 
 Debate it at their leisure. Welcome, Count ; 75 
 My son's no dearer. 
 Ber. Thank your Majesty. 
 
 Exeunt. Flourish.
 
 Sc. Hi ailii OTell tliat C'UO0 WitW 17 
 
 SCENE III 
 
 [Rousillon. The Count'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 con- 
 tent, I wish might be found in the calendar of 
 my past endeavours ; for then we wound our 5 
 modesty and make foul the clearness of our 
 deservings, when of ourselves we publish them. 
 
 Count. ^Vhat does this knave here ? Get you gone, 
 sirrah. The complaints I have heard of you 
 I do not all believe. 'Tis my slowness that 10 
 I do not, for I know you lack not folly to com- 
 mit them, and have ability enough to make 
 such knaveries yours. 
 
 Clo. 'Tis not unknown to you, madam, I am 
 
 a poor fellow. 15 
 
 Count. Well, sir. 
 
 Clo. No, madam, 'tis not so well that I am poor, 
 though many of the rich are damn'd ; but, if I 
 may have your ladyship's good will to go to the 
 world, Isbel the woman and I will do as we 20 
 may. 
 
 Count. Wilt thou needs be a beggar ? 
 
 Clo. I do beg your good will in this case.
 
 i8 au^0 M^ll ttiat enti0 «rU Act i 
 
 Count. In what case ? 
 
 Clo. In Isbel's case and mine own. Service 25 
 is no heritage ; and I think I shall never have 
 the blessing of God till I have issue o' my 
 body ; for they say barnes are blessings. 
 
 Count. Tell me thy reason why thou wilt marry. 
 
 Clo. My poor body, madam, requires it. I am 30 
 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. 35 
 
 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- 40 
 ness. 
 
 Clo. I am out o' friends, madam; and I hope 
 to have friends for my wife's sake. 
 
 Count. Such friends are thine enemies, knave. 
 
 Clo. Y' are shallow, madam, in great friends ; for 45 
 the knaves come to do that for me which I 
 am aweary of. He that ears my land spares 
 my team and gives me leave to in the crop. If 
 I be his cuckold, he's my drudge. He that 
 comforts my wife is the cherisher of my flesh 50 
 and blood; he that cherishes my flesh and
 
 sc. Ill air0 mtii t\)Rt cBnrjs? otipu iq 
 
 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 55 
 puritan and old Poysam the papist, howsom- 
 e'er their hearts are sever'd in religion, their 
 heads are both one ; they may joul horns to- 
 gether, like any deer i' the herd. 
 
 Count. Wilt thou ever be a foul-mouth'd and 60 
 calumnious knave ? 
 
 Clo. A prophet I, madam ; and I speak the 
 truth the next way : 
 
 " For I the ballad will repeat. 
 
 Which men full true shall find : 65 
 
 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 70 
 
 Helen come to you. Of her I am to speak. 
 Count. Sirrah, tell my gentlewoman I would 
 
 speak with her; Helen, I mean. 
 Clo. [Sings.] 
 
 "Was this fair face the cause, quoth she. 
 
 Why the Grecians sacked Troy ? 75
 
 30 aiVflf Well ttjat enUflf Witll Act i 
 
 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 ; 80 
 
 Among nine bad if one be good. 
 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. 85 
 
 Clo. One good woman in ten, madam; which 
 is a purifying o' the song. Would God would 
 serve the world so all the year ! We'd find 
 no fault with the tithe-woman, if I were the 
 parson. One in ten, quoth 'a ! An we might 90 
 have a good woman born but o'er every 
 blazing star, or at an earthquake, 'twould 
 mend the lottery well ; a man may draw his 
 heart out, ere 'a pluck one. 
 
 Count. You'll be gone, sir knave, and do as I com- 
 mand you. 95 
 
 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 100 
 business is for Helen to come hither. Exit.
 
 sc. Ill aii'0 mtii tiiat enDfl? mtw 21 
 
 Count. Well, now. 
 
 Stew. I know, madam, you love your gentle- 
 woman entirely. 
 
 Count. Faith, I do. Her father bequeath'd her to 105 
 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 110 
 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 lov'd your son. Fortune, 115 
 she said, was no goddess, that had put such 
 diflference 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 120 
 surpris'd, without rescue in the first assault 
 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 dut}^ speed- 
 ily to acquaint you withal ; sithence, in the 
 loss that may happen, it concerns you some- 125 
 thing to know it. 
 
 Count. You have discharg'd this honestly ; keep it 
 to yourself. Many likelihoods inform'd me of
 
 33 ail'0 mdl t\)ut €nt}& OTell Acti 
 
 this before, which hung so tottering in the 
 balance that I could neither believe nor mis- 130 
 doubt. 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 135 
 
 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 impressed in youth. 
 By our remembrances of days foregone, 140 
 
 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 honourable mistress. 
 
 Count. Nay, a mother. 145 
 
 Why not a mother ? "When I said "a mother," 
 Methought you saw a serpent. ^Vhat's in 
 
 "mother," 
 That you start at it .' I say, I am your mother ;
 
 Sc. Ill airsf Mell ttjat (BnDs; Witli 23 
 
 And put 3^ou in the catalogue of those 
 
 That vvere enwombed mine. 'Tis often seen 150 
 
 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 155 
 
 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 ? 
 
 Eel. That I am not. 
 
 Count. I say, I am your mother. 
 
 Hel. Pardon, madam ; 
 
 The Count Rousillon cannot be my brother. 161 
 I am from humble, he from honoured 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. 165 
 
 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, 170 
 
 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.
 
 34 ail*0 WitW ttiat enUflf Mell Act i 
 
 God shield you mean it not ! daughter and mother 
 
 So strive upon your pulse. What, pale again ? 175 
 
 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, 180 
 
 To say thou dost not : therefore tell me true ; 
 
 But tell me then, 'tis so ; for, look, thy cheeks 
 
 Confess it, the one to the other ; and thine eyes 
 
 See it so grossly shown in thy behaviours 
 
 That in their kind they speak it. Only sin 186 
 
 And hellish 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, 190 
 
 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 195 
 
 The state of your affection ; for your passions 
 Have to the full appeach'd.
 
 sc. Ill airs; mtw t^at c^tisf witii 35 
 
 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. 200 
 
 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 ; 205 
 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, 210 
 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, 215 
 
 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 220 
 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 !
 
 36 aiPfif Witll t\)nt CBnUfi? Witll Act i 
 
 Count. Had you not lately an intent, — speak truly, — 
 To go to Paris ? 
 
 Hel. Madam, I had. 
 
 Count. WTierefore ? Tell true. 
 
 Hel. I will tell truth ; by grace itself I swear. 226 
 
 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, 231 
 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 235 
 The King is render'd lost. 
 
 Count. This was your motive 
 
 For Paris, was it ? Speak. 
 
 Hel. 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 240 
 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 245 
 
 A poor unlearned virgin, when the schools.
 
 Sc. Ill airsf OTell tljat enos? Witll 27 
 
 Embowell'd of their doctrine, have left oflF 
 The danger to itself ? 
 
 Hel. There's something in't, 
 
 More than my father's skill, which was the greatest 
 Of his profession, that his good receipt 250 
 
 Shall for my legacy be sanctified 
 By the 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. 
 
 Count Dost thou believe't? 
 
 Hel. Ay, madam, knowingly. 256 
 
 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. 260 
 Be gone to-morrow ; and be sure of this, 
 What I can help thee to thou shalt not miss. 
 
 Exeunt.
 
 ACT SECOND 
 
 SCENE I 
 
 [Paris. The King's palace.] 
 
 Flourish of cornets. Enter the King, with divers young 
 Lords taking leave for the Florentine war ; Bertram 
 and Parolles. 
 
 King. Farewell, young lords ! these warlike principles 
 Do not throw from you ; and you, my lords, fare- 
 well ! 
 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. 'Tis our hope, sir, 5 
 
 After well ent'red soldiers, to return 
 And find your Grace in health. 
 
 King. No, no, it cannot be ; and j'et my heart 
 Will not confess he owes the malady 
 That doth my life besiege. Farewell, young lords ! 10 
 Whether I live or die, be you the sons 
 Of worthy Frenclimen. 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 15 
 
 28
 
 Sc. I aU'0 «eU ttiat enU0 mtil 29 
 
 The bravest questant shrinks, find what you seek. 
 That fame may cry you loud. I say, farewell. 
 
 S. 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 20 
 
 If they demand. Beware of being captives 
 Before you serve. 
 
 Both. Our hearts receive your warnings. 
 
 King. Farewell. — Come hither to me. 
 
 [Exit, attended.] 
 
 J. Lord. O my sweet lord, that you will stay behind 
 us ! 
 
 Par. *Tis not his fault, the spark. 
 
 2. Lord. 0,'tis brave wars ! 
 
 Par. Most admirable ! I have seen those wars. 26 
 
 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't, boy, steal away bravely. 
 
 Ber. I shall stay here the forehorse to a smock, 30 
 
 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. 
 
 1. Lord. There's honour in the theft. 
 
 Par. Commit it, Count. 
 
 2. Lord. 1 am your accessary ; and so farewell. 35 
 Ber. I grow to you, and our parting is a tortur'd 
 
 body.
 
 30 aU'0 WitW ttiat (EnUflf mtll Act II 
 
 1. Lord. Farewell, captain. 
 
 2. Lord. Sweet Monsieur Parolles ! 
 
 Par. Noble heroes, my sword and yours are kin. 40 
 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 entrench'd it ; — say to 45 
 him, I live ; and observe his reports for me. 
 
 1. Lord. We shall, noble captain. 
 
 [Exeunt Lords.] 
 
 Par. Mars dote on you for his novices ! What will 
 ye do ? 
 
 Ber. Stay, the King ! 50 
 
 [Re-enter the King.] 
 
 Par. [To Ber.] Use a more spacious ceremony to 
 the noble lords ; you have restrain'd your- 
 self within the list of too cold an adieu. Be 
 more expressive to them ; for they wear them- 
 selves in the cap of the time, there do muster 55 
 true gait, eat, speak, and move under the 
 influence of the most receiv'd star ; and 
 though the devil lead the measure, such are to 
 be followed. After them, and take a more 
 dilated farewell. 
 
 Ber. And I will do so. 00
 
 Sc. I aiP0 WitW tljat <EnD0 mtll 31 
 
 Par. Worthy fellows ; and like to prove most 
 sinewy swordmen. 
 
 Exeunt [Bertram and Parolles]. 
 
 Enter Lafeu. 
 
 Laf. [Kneeling.] Pardon, my lord, 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. 65 
 
 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 ? 71 
 
 King. No. 
 
 Laf. O, will you eat no grapes, my royal fox ? 
 Yes, but you will my noble grapes, an if 
 My royal fox could reach them. I have seen a 
 medicine 75 
 
 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 Pepin, nay, 
 To give great Charlemain a pen in's hand 80 
 
 And write to her a love-line.
 
 33 3lVi Mell t^at C'ltUsf Mell Act ii 
 
 King. What her is this ?• 
 
 iqf. 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 85 
 
 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 91 
 
 May spend our wonder too, or take oflF thine 
 By wondering how thou took'st it. 
 
 Laf. Nay, I'll fit you. 
 
 And not be all day neither. [Exit.] 
 
 King. Thus he his special nothing ever prologues. 95 
 
 [Re-enter Lafeu.] 
 
 Laf. Nay, come your ways. 
 
 Enter Helena. 
 
 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
 
 Sc. I aU'0 Witll t^at enUflf Witii 33 
 
 His Majesty seldom fears. I am Cressid's uncle, 
 That dare leave two together ; fare you well. 101 
 
 Exit. 
 
 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 ; 106 
 
 Knowing him is enough. On's 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, 110 
 
 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 honour 
 Of my dear father's gift stands chief in power, 115 
 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, 
 "WTien our most learned doctors leave us, and 
 The congregated college have concluded 120 
 
 That labouring art can never ransom Nature 
 From her inaidable estate ; I say we must not 
 So stain our judgement or corrupt our hope,
 
 34 aU'0 OTiell ttiat (EnUfif Mell Act ii 
 
 To prostitute our past-cure malady 
 
 To empirics, or to dissever so 125 
 
 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 130 
 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 Hve ; 
 But what at full I know thou know'st no part, 135 
 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 : 140 
 
 So holy writ in babes hath judgement 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 145 
 
 Where most it promises ; and oft it hits 
 Where hope is coldest and despair most fits. 
 
 King. I must not hear thee ; fare thee well, kind 
 maid !
 
 sc. I airsf witw t\)u €nD0 mtii 35 
 
 Thy pains not us'd must by thyself be paid. 
 Proffers not took reap thanks for their reward. 150 
 
 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. 155 
 
 Dear sir, to my endeavours 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. 161 
 
 King. Art thou so confident ? Within what space 
 Hop'st thou my cure ? 
 
 Hel, The great 'st grace lending grace. 
 
 Ere twice the horses of the sun shall bring 
 Their fiery torcher his diurnal ring, 165 
 
 Ere twice in murk and occidental damp 
 Moist Hesperus hath quench'd her sleepy lamp. 
 Or four and twenty times the pilot's glass 
 Hath told the thievish minutes how they pass. 
 What is infirm from your sound parts shall fly, 170 
 Health shall live free and sickness freely die. 
 
 King. Upon thy certainty and confidence 
 What dar'st thou venture ? 
 
 Hel. Tax of impudence, 
 
 A strumpet's boldness, a divulged shame.
 
 36 jaU'fi^ «ell tijat €nt$ «ell Act ii 
 
 Traduc'd by odious ballads, my maiden's name 175 
 Sear'd otherwise ; nay, worse of worst extended. 
 With vilest torture let my life be ended. 
 
 King. Methinks in thee some blessed spirit doth speak 
 His powerful sound within an organ weak ; 
 And what impossibility would slay 180 
 
 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, all 
 That happiness and prime can happy call : 185 
 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. 
 
 HcL If I break time, or flinch in property 190 
 
 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. 195 
 
 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 200 
 
 With any branch or image of thy state -
 
 sc. 11 air0 Mell tljat enos; mdl 37 
 
 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. 205 
 So make the choice of thy ovv^n 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 210 
 
 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. The Count's 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 .5 
 
 you special, when you put off that with such 
 
 contempt ? But to the court !
 
 38 ail's? Mell t^at enUsf «ell Act ii 
 
 Clo. Truly, madam, if God have lent a man any 
 manners, he may easily put it ofiF at court. He 
 that cannot make a leg, put off's cap, kiss his 10 
 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. 
 
 Count. Marry, that's a bountiful answer that fits 15 
 all questions. 
 
 Clo. It is like a barber's chair that fits all buttocks, 
 the pin-buttock, the quatch-buttock, the 
 brawn buttock, or any buttock. 
 
 Count. Will your answer serve fit to all ques- 20 
 tions ? 
 
 Clo. As fit as ten groats is for the hand of an 
 attorney, as your French crown for your 
 tafiFeta punk, as Tib's rush for Tom's fore- 
 finger, as a pancake for Shrove Tuesday, a 25 
 morris for Mayday, as the nail to his hole, 
 the cuckold to his horn, as a scolding quean to 
 a wrangling knave, as the nun's lip to the 
 friar's mouth, nay, as the pudding to his skin. 
 
 Count. Have you, I say, an answer of such fitness 30 
 for all questions ? 
 
 Clo. From below your duke to beneath your con- 
 stable, it will fit any question. 
 
 Count. It must be an answer of most monstrous 
 
 size that must fit all demands, 35
 
 Sc. 11 ail*0 Mell t^at (lBnD0 «eU 39 
 
 Clo. But a trifle neither, in good faith, if the learned 
 should speak truth of it. Here it is, and all 
 that belongs to't. Ask me if I am a courtier : 
 it shall do you no harm to learn. 
 
 Count. To be young again, if we could, I will be a 40 
 fool in question, hoping to be the wiser by your 
 answer. I pray you, sir, are you a courtier ? 
 
 Clo. O Lord, sir ! — There's a simple putting off. 
 More, more, a hundred of them. 
 
 Count. Sir, I am a poor friend of yours, that loves 45 
 you. 
 
 Clo. O Lord, sir ! — Thick, thick, spare not me. 
 
 Count. I think, sir, you can eat none of this homely 
 meat. 
 
 Clo. O Lord, sir ! — Nay, put me to't, I warrant 50 
 you. 
 
 Count. You were lately whipp'd, sir, as I think. 
 
 Clo. O Lord, sir ! — Spare not me. 
 
 Count. Do you cry, "O Lord, sir !" at your whip- 
 ping, and "spare not me" ? Indeed your "0 55 
 Lord, sir ! " is very sequent to your whipping ; 
 you would answer very well to a whipping, if 
 you were but bound to't. 
 
 Clo. I ne'er had worse luck in my life in my **0 
 
 Lord, sir !" I see things may serve long, but 60 
 not serve ever. 
 
 Count. I play the noble housewife with the time. 
 To entertain't so merrily with a fool.
 
 40 all's? Well t^at enO0 OTell Act n 
 
 Clo. O Lord, sir ! — Why, there't serves well 
 
 again. 65 
 
 Count. An end, sir. To your business ! Give Helen 
 this. 
 
 And urge her to a present answer back. 
 
 Commend me to my kinsmen and my son. 
 
 This is not much. 
 Clo. Not much commendation to them. 70 
 
 Count. Not much employment for you. You 
 
 understand me ? 
 Clo. Most fruitfully ; I am there before my legs. 
 Count. Haste you again. Exeunt [severally], 
 
 SCENE III 
 
 [Paris. The King*s palace.] 
 Enter Bertram, Lafeu, and Parolles. 
 
 Laf. They say miracles are past ; and we have our 
 philosophical persons, to make modern and fa- 
 miliar, things supernatural and causeless. Hence 
 is it that we make trifles of terrors, ensconcing 
 ourselves into seeming knowledge, when we 5 
 should submit ourselves to an unknown fear. 
 
 Par. Why, 'tis the rarest argument of wonder that 
 hath shot out in our latter times. 
 
 Ber. And so 'tis. 
 
 Laf. To be relinquish'd of the artists, — 10
 
 Sc. Ill ail'0 Witll tliat (Il;ntJ0 Witll 41 
 
 Par. So I say ; both of Galen and Paracelsus. 
 
 Laf. Of all the learned and authentic fellows, — 
 
 Par. Right ; so I say. 15 
 
 Laf. That gave him out incurable, — 
 
 Par. Why, there 'tis ; so say I too. 
 
 Laf. Not to be help'd, — 
 
 Par. Right ; as 'twere a man assured of a — 
 
 Laf. Uncertain life, and sure death. 20 
 
 Par. Just, you say well ; so would I have said. 
 
 Laf. I may truly say, it is a novelty to the 
 world. 
 
 Par. It is, indeed ; if you will have it in show- 
 ing, you shall read it in — what do ye call 25 
 there ? 
 
 Laf. A showing of a heavenly effect in an earthly 
 actor. 
 
 Par. That's it ; I would have said the very 
 
 same. 30 
 
 Laf. Why, your Dauphin is not lustier. 'Fore me, 
 I speak in respect — 
 
 Par. Nay, 'tis strange, 'tis very strange, that is the 
 brief and the tedious of it ; and he's of a most 
 facinorous spirit that will not acknowledge it 35 
 to be the — 
 
 Laf. Very hand of Heaven. 
 
 Par. Ay, so I say. 
 
 Laf. In a most weak — 
 
 Par. And debile minister, great power, great Iran- 40
 
 43 ail'flf Mell tljat <0nl>0 OTell Actii 
 
 scendence ; which should, indeed, give us a 
 further use to be made than alone the recovery 
 of the King, as to be — 
 Laf. Generally thankful. 
 
 Enter King, Helena, and Attendants. 
 
 Par. I would have said it ; you say well. Here 45 
 comes the King. 
 
 Laf. Lustig, as the Dutchman says. I'll like a 
 maid the better, whilst I have a tooth in my 
 head. ^Vhy, he's able to lead her a coranto. 
 
 Par. Mort du vinaigre ! is not this Helen .'' 50 
 
 Laf. 'Fore God, I think so. 
 
 King. Go, call before me all the lords in court. 
 Sit, my preserver, by thy patient's side ; 
 And with this healthful hand, whose banish'd sense 
 Thou hast repeal'd, a second time receive 55 
 
 The confirmation of my promis'd gift, 
 Which but attends thy naming. 
 
 Enter three or four Lords. 
 
 Fair maid, send forth thine eye. This youthful 
 
 parcel 
 Of noble bachelors stand at my bestowing, 
 O'er whom both sovereign power and father's voice 
 I have to use. Thy frank election make ; 61 
 
 Thou hast power to choose, and they none to for- 
 sake.
 
 sc. Ill airsf mtii ttjac enus? mtw 43 
 
 Hel. To each of you one fair and virtuous mistress 
 
 Fall, when Love please ! Marry, to each but one ! 
 Laf. I'd give bay Curtal and his furniture, 65 
 
 My mouth no more were broken than these boys'. 
 
 And writ as little beard. 
 King. Peruse them well. 
 
 Not one of those but had a noble father. 
 Hel. Gentlemen, 
 
 Heaven hath through me restor'd the King to 
 
 health. 70 
 
 AU. We understand it, and thank Heaven for you. 
 Hel. I am a simple maid, and therein wealthiest, 
 
 That I protest I simply am a maid. 
 
 Please it your Majesty, I have done already. 
 
 The blushes in my cheeks thus whisper me, 75 
 
 *'We blush that thou shouldst choose ; but, be re- 
 fus'd. 
 
 Let the white death sit on thy cheek for ever, 
 
 We'U ne'er come there again." 
 King. Make choice and see. 
 
 Who shuns thy love shuns all his love in me. 
 Hel. Now, Dian, from thy altar do I fly, 80 
 
 And to imperial Love, that god most high. 
 
 Do my sighs stream. Sir, will you hear my suit ? 
 1. Lord. And grant it. 
 
 Hel. Thanks, sir ; all the rest is mute. 
 
 Laf. I had rather be in this choice than throw 
 
 ames-ace for my life. 85
 
 44 aU'Sf mtll tl^at enDg mtll Act II 
 
 HeZ. The honour, sir, that flames in your fair eyes. 
 
 Before I speak, too threateningly repHes. 
 
 Love make your fortunes twenty times above 
 
 Her that so wishes and her humble love ! 
 S. Lord. No better, if you please. 
 Hel. My wish receive, 90 
 
 "WTiich great Love grant ! and so, I take my leave. 
 Laf. Do all they deny her ? An they were sons 
 
 of mine, I'd have them whipp'd ; or I would 
 
 send them to the Turk, to make eunuchs of. 
 Hel. Be not afraid that I your hand should take ; 95 
 
 I'll never do you wrong for your own sake. 
 
 Blessing upon your vows ! and in your bed 
 
 Find fairer fortune, if you ever wed ! 
 Laf. These boys are boys of ice, they'll none have 
 
 her. Sure, they are bastards to the English ; 100 
 
 the French ne'er got 'em. 
 Hel. You are too young, too happy, and too good, 
 
 To make yourself a son out of my blood. 
 ^. Lord. Fair one, I think not so. 
 Laf. There's one grape yet ; I am sure thy father 105 
 
 drunk wine : — but if thou be'st not an ass, I 
 
 am a youth of fourteen. I have known thee 
 
 already. 
 Hel. [To Bertram.] I dare not say I take you ; but I 
 give 
 
 Me and my service, ever whilst I live, 110 
 
 Into your guiding power. This is the man.
 
 Sc. Ill all's; Mell ttiat enO0 Well 45 
 
 King. Why, then, young Bertram, take her ; she's 
 thy wife. 
 
 Ber. My wife, my liege ! I shall beseech your High- 
 ness, 
 In such a business give me leave to use 114 
 
 The help of mine own eyes. 
 
 King. Know'st thou not, Bertram, 
 
 What she has done for me ? 
 
 Ber. Yes, my good lord ; 
 
 But never hope to know why I should marry her. 
 
 King. Thou know'st she has rais'd me from my sickly 
 bed. 
 
 Ber. But follows it, my lord, to bring me down 
 
 Must answer for your raising ? I know her well ; 120 
 She had her breeding at my father's charge. 
 A poor physician's daughter my wife ! Disdain 
 Rather corrupt me ever ! 
 
 King. 'Tis only title thou disdain'st in her, the which 
 
 I can build up. Strange is it that our bloods, 125 
 
 Of^colour, weight, and heat, pour'd all together. 
 
 Would quite confound distinction, yet stand off 
 
 In differences so mighty. If she be 
 
 All that is virtuous, save what thou dislik'st, 
 
 A poor physician's daughter, thou dislik'st 130 
 
 Of virtue for the name. But do not so. 
 
 From lowest place when virtuous things proceed, 
 
 The place is dignified by the doer's deed. 
 
 Where great additions swell's, and virtue none.
 
 46 aU'0 Well ttiat C'utifif «eU Act ii 
 
 It is a dropsied honour. Good alone 135 
 
 Is good, without a name. Vileness is so ; 
 
 The property by what it is should go, 
 
 Not by the title. She is young, wise, fair ; 
 
 In these to nature she's immediate heir. 
 
 And these breed honour. That is honour's scorn, 
 
 Which challenges itself as honour's born 141 
 
 And is not like the sire. Honours thrive, 
 
 When rather from our acts we them derive 
 
 Than our foregoers. The mere word's a slave 
 
 Debauch'd on every tomb, on every grave 145 
 
 A lying trophy, and as oft is dumb 
 
 Where dust and damn'd oblivion is the tomb 
 
 Of honour'd bones indeed. What should be said ? 
 
 If thou canst like this creature as a maid, 
 
 I can create the rest. Virtue and she 150 
 
 Is her own dower ; honour and wealth from me. 
 
 Ber. I cannot love her, nor w^ill strive to do't. 
 
 King. Thou wrong'st thyself, if thou shouldst strive 
 to choose. 
 
 Hel. That you are well restor'd, my lord, I'm glad. 
 
 Let the rest go. 155 
 
 King. My honour's at the stake ; which to defeat, 
 
 I must produce my power. Here, take her hand, 
 Proud scornful boy, unworthy this good gift ; 
 That dost in vile misprision shackle up 
 My love and her desert ; that canst not dream. 
 We, poising us in her defective scale, 161
 
 Sc. in ail's? OTtll t^at CnD0 «ell 47 
 
 Shall weigh thee to the beam, that wilt not know. 
 
 It is in us to plant thine honour where 
 
 We please to have it grow. Check thy contempt ; 
 
 Obey our will, which travails in thy good ; 165 
 
 Believe not thy disdain, but presently 
 
 Do thine own fortunes that obedient right 
 
 Which both thy duty owes and our power claims ; 
 
 Or I will throw thee from my care for ever 
 
 Into the staggers and the careless lapse 170 
 
 Of youth and ignorance ; both my revenge and 
 
 hate 
 Loosing upon thee, in the name of justice, 
 Without all terms of pity. Speak ; thine answer. 
 
 Ber. Pardon, my gracious lord ; for I submit 
 
 My fancy to your eyes. When I consider 175 
 
 What great creation and what dole of honour 
 Flies where you bid it, I find that she, which late 
 Was in my nobler thoughts most base, is now 
 The praised of the King ; who, so ennobled. 
 Is as 'twere born so. 
 
 King. Take her by the hand, 180 
 
 And tell her she is thine ; to whom I promise 
 A counterpoise, if not to thy estate 
 A balance more replete. 
 
 Ber. I take her hand. 
 
 King. Good fortune and the favour of the King 
 
 Smile upon this contract ; whose ceremony 185 
 
 Shall seem expedient on the now-born brief»
 
 48 2ilVsi OTell tljat enti0 OTell Act ii 
 
 And be perform'd to-night. The solemn feast 
 
 Shall more attend upon the coming space, 
 
 Expecting absent friends. As thou lov'st her, 
 
 Thy love's to me religious ; else, does err. 190 
 
 Exeunt all but Lafeu and Parolles, who 
 stay behind, commenting of this wedding. 
 Laf. [Advanchig .] Do you hear, monsieur.'' A 
 
 word with you. 
 Par. Your pleasure, sir ? 
 Laf. Your lord and master did well to make his 
 
 recantation. 195 
 
 Par. Recantation ! My lord ! My master ! 
 Laf. Ay ; is it not a language I speak "^ 
 Par. A most harsh one, and not to be understood 
 
 without bloody succeeding. My master ! 
 Laf. Are you companion to the Count Rou- 200 
 
 sillon ? 
 Par. To any count, to all counts, to what is 
 
 man. 
 Laf. To what is coimt's man. Count's master 
 
 is of another style. 205 
 
 Par. You are too old, sir ; let it satisfy you, you 
 
 are too old. 
 Laf. I must tell thee, sirrah, I write man ; to 
 
 which title age cannot bring thee. 
 Par. AVhat I dare too well do, I dare not do. 210 
 
 Laf. I did think thee, for two ordinaries, to be a 
 
 pretty wise fellow. Thou didst make tolerable
 
 Sc. Ill aU'0 Mell tliat enti0 Mell 49 
 
 vent of thy travel ; it might pass : yet the 
 scarfs and the bannerets about thee did mani- 
 foldly dissuade me from believing thee a vessel 215 
 of too great a burden. I have now found thee. 
 When I lose thee again, I care not ; yet art 
 thou good for nothing but taking up, and that 
 thou'rt scarce worth. 
 
 Par. Hadst thou not the privilege of antiquity 220 
 upon thee, — 
 
 Laj. Do not plunge thyself too far in anger, lest 
 thou hasten thy trial ; which if — Lord have 
 mercy on thee for a hen ! So, my good window 
 of lattice, fare thee well ! Thy casement I 225 
 need not open, for I look through thee. Give 
 me thy hand. 
 
 Par. My lord, you give me most egregious indig- 
 nity. 
 
 Laf. Ay, with all my heart ; and thou art worthy 230 
 of it. 
 
 Par. I have not, my lord, deserv'd it. 
 
 lM,f. Yes, good faith, every dram of it ; and I will 
 not bate thee a scruple. 
 
 Par. Well, I shall be wiser. 235 
 
 lAif. Ev'n as soon as thou canst, for thou hast to 
 pull at a smack o' the contrary. If ever thou 
 be'st bound in thy scarf and beaten, thou shalt 
 find what it is to be proud of thy bondage. I 
 have a desire to hold my acquaintance with 240 
 
 E
 
 so ail'0 Mell tliat (IBnD0 mti\ Act li 
 
 thee, or rather my knowledge, that I may say 
 in the default, he is a man I know. 
 
 Par. My lord, you do me most insupportable vexa- 
 tion. 
 
 Laf. I would it were hell-pains for thy sake, and 245 
 my poor doing eternal ; for doing I am past, 
 as I will by thee, in what motion age will give 
 me leave. Exit. 
 
 Par. Well, thou hast a son shall take this disgrace 
 
 oflf me, scurvy, old, filthy, scurvy lord ! Well, 250 
 I must be patient ; there is no fettering of au- 
 thority. I'll beat him, by my life, if I can meet 
 him with any convenience, an he were double 
 and double a lord. I'll have no more pity of 
 his age than I would have of — I'll beat him, 255 
 an if I could but meet him again. 
 
 Re-enter Lafeu. 
 
 Laf. Sirrah, your lord and master's married ; there's 
 news for you. You have a new mistress. 
 
 Par. I most unfeignedly beseech your lordship to 
 
 make some reservation of your wrongs. He is 260 
 my good lord ; whom I serve above is my 
 master. 
 
 Laf. Who.? God.?^ 
 
 Par. Ay, sir. 
 
 Laf. The devil it is that's thy master. ^Vhy dost 
 
 thou garter up thy arms o' this fashion ? Dost 265
 
 Sc. Ill au^0 OTlell ttjat enO0 Mrll 51 
 
 make hose of thy sleeves ? Do other servants 
 so ? Thou wert best set thy lower part where 
 thy nose stands. By mine honour, if I were 
 but two hours younger, I'd beat thee. Me- 
 thinks, thou art a general offence, and every 270 
 man should beat thee. I think thou wast cre- 
 ated for men to breathe themselves upon thee. 
 
 Par. This is hard and undeserved measure, my 
 lord. 
 
 LkiJ. Go to, sir ; you were beaten in Italy for pick- 275 
 ing a kernel out of a pomegranate. You are a 
 vagabond and no true traveller. You are more 
 saucy with lords and honourable personages 
 than the commission of your birth and virtue 
 gives you heraldry. You are not worth another 280 
 word, else I'd call you knave. I leave you. Exit. 
 
 Re-enter Bertram, 
 
 Par. Good, very good ; it is so then. Good, 
 
 very good ; let it be conceal'd awhile. 
 Ber. Undone, and forfeited to cares for ever ! 
 Par. What's the matter, sweetheart ? 285 
 
 Ber. Although before the solemn priest I have sworn, 
 
 I will not bed her. 
 Par. What, what, sweetheart ? 
 Ber. O my Parolles, they have married me ! 
 
 I'll to the Tuscan wars, and never bed her. 290
 
 52 aU'flf Mrll tliat enU0 Mell Act ii 
 
 Par. France is a dog-hole, and it no more merits 
 The tread of a man's foot. To the wars ! 
 
 Ber. There's letters from my mother ; what the 
 import is, I know not yet. 
 
 Par. Ay, that would be known. To the wars, my boy, 
 to the wars ! 295 
 
 He wears his honour in a box unseen. 
 That hugs his kicky-wicky here at home, 
 Spending his manly marrow in her arms. 
 Which should sustain the bound and high cur- 
 vet 
 Of Mars's fiery steed. To other regions ! 300 
 
 France is a stable, we that dwell in't jades, 
 Therefore, to the war ! 
 
 Ber. It shall be so. I'll send her to my house. 
 Acquaint my mother with my hate to her. 
 And wherefore I am fled ; write to the King 305 
 That which I durst not speak. His present gift 
 Shall furnish me to those Italian fields 
 Where noble fellows strike. War is no strife 
 To the dark house and the detested wife. 
 
 Par. Will this capriccio hold in thee ? Art sure ? 310 
 
 Ber. Go with me to my chamber, and advise me. 
 I'll send her straight away. To-morrow 
 I'll to the wars, she to her single sorrow. 
 
 Par. Why, these balls bound ; there's noise in it. 'Tis 
 hard ! 
 A young man married is a man that's marr'd ; 315
 
 Sc. IV m'& «eU t^at enDsf Mell 53 
 
 Therefore away, and leave her bravely ; go. 
 The King has done you wrong ; but, hush, 'tis so. 
 
 Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV 
 
 [Paris. The King's palace.] 
 
 Enter Helena and Clown. 
 
 Hel. My mother greets me kindly. Is she well ? 
 Clo. She is not well, but yet she has her health. 
 
 She's very merry, but yet she is not well ; but 
 
 thanks be given, she's very well and wants 
 
 nothing i' the world ; but yet she is not well. 5 
 Hel. If she be very well, what does she ail, that 
 
 she's not very well ? 
 Clo. Truly, she's very well indeed, but for two 
 
 things. 
 Hel. What two things ? 10 
 
 Clo. One, that she's not in heaven, whither God 
 
 send her quickly ! the other, that she's in earth, 
 
 from whence God send her quickly ! 
 
 Enter Parolles. 
 
 Par. Bless you, my fortunate lady ! 
 
 Hel. I hope, sir, I have your good will to have 15 
 
 mine own good fortunes. 
 Par. You had my prayers to lead them on ; and
 
 54 ail's? Mell tljat enU0 «ell Actii 
 
 to keep them on, have them still. O, my 
 knave, how does my old lady ? 
 
 Clo. So that you had her wrinkles and I her money, 20 
 I would she did as you say. 
 
 Par. ^Vhy, I say nothing. 
 
 Clo. Marry, you are the wiser man ; for many a 
 man's tongue shakes out his master's undoing. 
 To say nothing, to do nothing, to know nothing, 25 
 and to have nothing, is to be a great part of your 
 title ; which is within a very httle of nothing. 
 
 Par. Away ! thou'rt a knave. 
 
 Clo. You should have said, sir, before a knave 
 
 thou'rt a knave ; that's, before me thou'rt a 30 
 knave. This had been truth, sir. 
 
 Par. Go to, thou art a witty fool ; I have found 
 thee. 
 
 Clo. Did you find me in yourself, sir, or were you 
 
 taught to find me .^ The search, sir, was 35 
 profitable ; and much fool may you find in 
 you, even to the world's pleasure and the in- 
 crease of laughter. 
 
 Par. A good knave, i' faith, and well fed. 
 
 Madam, my lord will go away to-night ; 40 
 
 A very serious business calls on him. 
 The great prerogative and rite of love. 
 Which, as your due, time claims, he does acknow- 
 ledge ; 
 But puts it off to a compell'd restraint ;
 
 Sc. V aU'0 OTell t^at enDsf mtii 55 
 
 Whose want, and whose delay, is strew'd with 
 sweets, 45 
 
 Which they distil now in the curbed time. 
 
 To make the coming hour o'erflow with joy 
 
 And pleasure drown the brim. 
 Hel. What's his will else ? 
 
 Par. That you will take your instant leave o' the King, 
 
 And make this haste as your own good proceeding, 
 
 Strength'ned with what apology you think 51 
 
 May make it probable need. 
 Hel. What more commands he ? 
 
 Par. That, having this obtain'd, you presently 
 
 Attend his further pleasure. 
 Hel. In everything I wait upon his will. 55 
 
 Par. I shall report it so. Exit Parolles, 
 
 Hel. I pray you. 
 
 Come, sirrah. Exeunt, 
 
 Scene V 
 
 [Paris. The King's palace.] 
 
 Enter Lafeu and Bertram. 
 
 Laf. But I hope your lordship thinks not him a sol- 
 dier. 
 Ber. Yes, my lord, and of very valiant approof. 
 Laf. You have it from his own deliverance. 
 Ber. And by other warranted testimony. S
 
 56 ail'flf Mell tt)at enti0 Mell Act ii 
 
 Zaf. Then my dial goes not true. I took this lark 
 for a bunting. 
 
 Ber. I do assure you, my lord, he is very great in 
 knowledge and accordingly valiant. 
 
 Laf. I have then sinn'd against his experience and 10 
 transgress'd against his valour ; and my state 
 that way is dangerous, since I cannot yet find 
 in my heart to repent. Here he comes. I 
 pray you, make us friends ; I will pursue the 
 amity. 15 
 
 EnUr Parolles. 
 
 Par. [To Bertram.] These things shall be done, 
 
 sir. 
 Laf. Pray you, sir, who's his tailor ? 
 Par. Sir? 
 Laf. O, I know him well, I, sir ; he, sir, 's a good 20 
 
 workman, a very good tailor. 
 Ber. [Aside to Par.] Is she gone to the King ? 
 Par. She is. 
 
 Ber. Will she away to-night .^ 
 
 Par. As you'll have her. 25 
 
 Ber. I have writ my letters, casketed my treasure, 
 
 Given order for our horses ; and to-night. 
 
 When I should take possession of the bride. 
 
 End ere I do begin. 
 Laf. A good traveller is something at the latter end 30 
 
 of a dinner ; but one that lies three thirds and
 
 Sc. V 3lVfS Mell tlftat ent)0 OTell 57 
 
 uses a known truth to pass a thousand nothings 
 with, should be once heard and thrice beaten. 
 God save you, captain. 
 
 Ber. Is there any un kindness between my lord and 35 
 you, monsieur? 
 
 Par. I know not how I have deserved to run into 
 my lord's displeasure. 
 
 Laf. You have made shift to run into't, boots and 
 
 spurs and all, like him that leap'd into the cus- 40 
 tard ; and out of it you'll run again, rather 
 than sufifer question for your residence. 
 
 Ber, It may be you have mistaken him, my lord. 
 
 Laf. And shall do so ever, though I took him at's 
 
 prayers. Fare you well, my lord ; and be- 45 
 lieve this of me, there can be no kernel in this 
 light nut : the soul of this man is his clothes. 
 Trust him not in matter of heavy conse- 
 quence ; I have kept of them tame, and know 
 their natures. Farewell, monsieur ! I have 50 
 spoken better of you than you have or will to 
 deserve at my hand ; but we must do good 
 against evil. [Exit.] 
 
 Par. An idle lord, I swear. 
 
 Ber. I think so. 55 
 
 Par. Why, do you not know him ? 
 
 Ber. Yes, I do know him well, and common speech 
 
 Gives him a worthy pass. Here comes my 
 clog.
 
 58 airs; OTell t^at enUs? Well Act ii 
 
 Enter Helena. 
 
 Hel. I have, sir, as I was commanded from you, 
 
 Spoke with the King and have procur'd his leave 
 For present parting ; only he desires 61 
 
 Some private speech with you. 
 
 Ber. I shall obey his will. 
 
 You must not marvel, Helen, at my course, 
 "Which holds not colour with the time, nor does 
 The ministration and required office 65 
 
 On my particular. Prepar'd I was not 
 For such a business ; therefore am I found 
 So much unsettled. This drives me to entreat 
 
 you 
 That presently you take your way for home. 
 And rather muse than ask why I entreat you ; 70 
 For my respects are better than they seem, 
 And my appointments have in them a need 
 Greater than shows itself at the first view 
 To you that know them not. This to my mother : 
 
 [Giving a letter.] 
 'Twill be two days ere I shall see you, so 75 
 
 I leave you to your wisdom. 
 
 Hel. Sir, I can nothing say. 
 
 But that I am your most obedient servant, — 
 
 Ber. Come, come, no more of that. 
 
 Hel. And ever shall 
 
 With true observance seek to eke out that 79
 
 Sc. V airsf OTell t^at CuDsf mtll 59 
 
 Wherein toward me my homely stars have fail'd 
 
 To equal my great fortune. 
 Ber. Let that go. 
 
 My haste is very great. Farewell ; hie home. 
 Hel. Pray, sir, your pardon. 
 
 Ber. Well, what would you say ? 
 
 Hel. I am not worthy of the wealth I owe, 
 
 Nor dare I say 'tis mine, and yet it is ; 85 
 
 But, like a timorous thief, most fain would steal 
 
 What law does vouch mine own. 
 Ber. What would you have ? 
 
 Hel. Something ; and scarce so much. Nothing, in- 
 deed. 
 
 I would not tell you what I would, my lord. 
 
 Faith, yes ! 90 
 
 Strangers and foes do sunder, and not kiss. 
 Ber. I pray you, stay not, but in haste to horse. 
 Hel. I shall not break your bidding, good my lord. 
 Ber. Where are my other men ? 
 Hel. Monsieur, farewell ! 
 
 Exit. 
 Ber. Go thou toward home, where I will never come 
 
 Whilst I can shake my sword or hear the drum. 
 
 Away, and for our flight. 
 Par. Bravely, coraylo ! 
 
 [Exeunt.]
 
 ACT THIRD 
 
 SCBNB I 
 
 [Florence. The Duke's palace.] 
 
 Flourish. Enter the Duke of Florence, the two French 
 Lords, with a troop of soldiers. 
 
 Duke. So that from point to point now have you heard 
 The fundamental reasons of this war, 
 Whose great decision hath much blood let forth 
 And more thirsts after. 
 
 1. Lord. Holy seems the quarrel 
 
 Upon your Grace's part ; black and fearful 5 
 
 On the opposer. 
 
 Duke. Therefore we marvel much our cousin France 
 Would in so just a business shut his bosom 
 Against our borrowing prayers. 
 
 1. Lord. Good my lord. 
 
 The reasons of our state I cannot yield 10 
 
 But like a common and an outward man 
 That the great figure of a council frames 
 By self-unable motion ; therefore dare not 
 Say what I think of it, since I have found 
 Myself in my incertain grounds to fail 15 
 
 As often as I guess'd. 
 
 Duke. Be it his pleasure. 
 
 6o
 
 Sc. II aU'0 Mell t\)U C-ntis; Mell 6i 
 
 2. Lord. But I am sure the younger of our nature, 
 That surfeit on their ease, will day by day 
 Come here for physic. 
 
 Duke. Welcome shall they be ; 
 
 And all the honours that can fly from us 20 
 
 Shall on them settle. — You know your places 
 
 well ; 
 When better fall, for your avails they fell. 
 To-morrow to the field. Flourish, [ExeurU.] 
 
 Scene II 
 
 [Rousillon. The Count* s palace.] 
 Enter Countess and Cloum. 
 
 Count. It hath happen 'd all as I would have had it, 
 save that he comes not along with her. 
 
 Clo. By my troth, I take my young lord to be a 
 very melancholy man. 
 
 Count. By what observance, I pray you .'' 5 
 
 Clo. Why, he will look upon his boot and sing ; 
 mend the ruff and sing ; ask questions and 
 sing ; pick his teeth and sing. I know a man 
 that had this trick of melancholy sold a goodly 
 manor for a song. 10 
 
 Count. Let me see what he writes, and when he 
 
 means to come. [Opening a letter.] 
 
 Clo. I have no mind to Isbel since I was at court.
 
 62 aill'0 Well ttiat (iBnDg mtll Act in 
 
 Our old ling and our Isbels o' the country are 
 nothing like your old ling and your Isbels o' 15 
 the court. The brains of my Cupid's knock'd 
 out, and I begin to love, as an old man loves 
 money, with no stomach. 
 Count. What have we here ? 
 \ Clo. E'en that you have there. Exit. 20 
 
 / [Count. Reads] a letter. " I have sent you a daugh- 
 / ter-in-law ; she hath recovered the King, and 
 
 undone me. I have wedded her, not bedded 
 her; and sworn to make the 'not' eternal. 
 You shall hear I am run away : know it before 25 
 the report come. If there be breadth enough 
 in the world, I will hold a long distance. My 
 duty to you. 
 
 Your unfortunate son, 
 
 Bertram." 
 This is not well, rash and unbridled boy, SO 
 
 To fly the favours of so good a king, 
 To pluck his indignation on thy head 
 By the misprising of a maid too virtuous 
 For the contempt of empire. 
 
 Re-enter Clown. 
 
 Clo. O madam, yonder is heavy news within be- 35 
 
 tween two soldiers and my young lady ! 
 Count. What is the matter ? 
 Clo. Nay, there is some comfort in the news, some
 
 sc. II airsf mtw tijat enos? mtii 63 
 
 comfort. Your son will not be kill'd so soon 
 
 as I thought he would. 40 
 
 Count. Why should he be kill'd ? 
 
 Clo. So say I, madam, if he run away, as I hear he 
 does. The danger is in standing to't. That's 
 the loss of men, though it be the getting of 
 children. Here they come will tell you more ; 45 
 for my part, I only hear your son was run away. 
 
 [ExU.] 
 Enter Helena and the two French Lords. 
 
 1. Lord. Save you, good madam. 
 
 Hel. Madam, my lord is gone, for ever gone. 
 
 2. Lord. Do not say so. 
 
 Count. Think upon patience, pray you. Gentlemen, 
 I have felt so many quirks of joy and grief, 51 
 
 That the first face of neither, on the start, 
 Can woman me unto't. Where is my son, I pray 
 you.?^ 
 2. Lord. Madam, he's gone to serve the Duke of Flor- 
 ence. 
 We met him thitherward ; for thence we came, 55 
 And, after some dispatch in hand at court. 
 Thither we bend again. 
 Hel. Look on his letter, madam ; here's my passport. 
 [Reads.] "When thou canst get the ring upon 
 / my finger which never shall come off, and show 60 
 me a child begotten of thy body that I am
 
 64 31V^ Well t^at (IBnD0 OTell Act in 
 
 father to, then call me husband ; but in such a 
 *then' I write a 'never.'" 
 
 This is a dreadful sentence. 64 
 
 Count. Brought you this letter, gentlemen? 
 
 1. Lord. Ay, madam ; 
 
 And for the contents' sake are sorry for our pains. 
 Count. I prithee, lady, have a better cheer ; 
 If thou engrossest all the griefs are thine. 
 Thou robb'st me of a moiety. He was my son ; 
 But I do wash his name out of my blood, 70 
 
 And thou art all my child. Towards Florence is 
 he? 
 
 2. Lord. Ay, madam. 
 
 Count. And to be a soldier ? 
 
 2. Lord. Such is his noble purpose ; and, believe't. 
 
 The Duke will lay upon him all the honour 74 
 
 That good convenience claims. 
 Count. Return you thither ? 
 
 1. Lord. Ay, madam, with the swiftest wing of speed. 
 Hel. [Reads.] "Till I have no wife, I have nothing 
 
 in France." 
 
 'Tis bitter. 
 Count. Find you that there .? 
 
 Hel. Ay, madam. 
 
 1. Lord. 'Tis but the boldness of his hand, haply, 
 
 which his heart was not consenting to. 80 
 
 Count. Nothing in France, until he have no wife ! 
 
 There's nothing here that is too good for him
 
 Sc. II airsf WitW ttjat CntJSf Mell 65 
 
 But only she ; and she deserves a lord 
 
 That twenty such rude boys might tend upon 
 
 And call her hourly mistress. Who was with him ? 
 
 1. Lord. A servant only, and a gentleman 86 
 
 Which I have sometime known. 
 
 Count. ParoUes, was it not ? 
 
 1. Lord. Ay, my good lady, he. 
 
 Count. A very tainted fellow, and full of wickedness. 
 My son corrupts a well-derived nature 90 
 
 With his inducement. 
 
 1. Lord. Indeed, good lady, 
 
 The fellow has a deal of that too much. 
 Which holds him much to have. 
 Count. You're welcome, gentlemen. 
 
 I will entreat you, when you see my son, 95 
 
 To tell him that his sword can never win 
 The honour that he loses. More I'll entreat you 
 Written to bear along. 
 
 2. Lord. We serve you, madam. 
 
 In that and all your worthiest aflFairs. 
 Count. Not so, but as we change our courtesies. 100 
 
 Will you draw near ? 
 
 Exeunt [Countess and Lords]. 
 Eel. "Till I have no wife, I have nothing in 
 
 France." 
 
 Nothing in France, until he has no wife ! 
 
 Thou shalt have none, Rousillon, none in France ; 
 
 Then hast thou all again. Poor lord ! is't I 105 
 
 F
 
 66 ail'0 Mell tt)at C-nUfif Mell Act in 
 
 That chase thee from thy country and expose 
 
 Those tender limbs of thine to the event 
 
 Of the non-sparing war ? And is it I 
 
 That drive thee from the sportive court, where thou 
 
 Wast shot at with fair eyes, to be the mark 110 
 
 Of smoky muskets ? O you leaden messengers, 
 
 That ride upon the violent speed of fire. 
 
 Fly with false aim ; move the still-peering air. 
 
 That sings with piercing ; do not touch my lord. 
 
 Whoever shoots at him, I set him there ; 115 
 
 Whoever charges on his forward breast, 
 
 I am the caitiff that do hold him to't ; 
 
 And, though I kill him not, I am the cause 
 
 His death was so effected. Better 'twere 
 
 I met the ravin lion when he roar'd 120 
 
 With sharp constraint of hunger ; better 'twere 
 
 That all the miseries which nature owes 
 
 Were mine at once. No, come thou home, Rou- 
 
 sillon. 
 Whence honour but of danger wins a scar. 
 As oft it loses all. I will be gone. 125 
 
 My being here it is that holds thee hence. 
 Shall I stay here to do't ^ No, no, although 
 The air of paradise did fan the house 
 And angels offic'd all. I will be gone. 
 That pitiful rumour may report my flight, 130 
 To consolate thine ear. Come, night ; end, day ! 
 For with the dark, poor thief, I'll steal away. Exit.
 
 sc. IV aii'0 mdi t\)u (iEnu0 mtw 67 
 
 SCENE III 
 
 [Florence. Before the Duke*s palace.] 
 
 Flourish. Enter the Duke of Florence, Bertram, ParolleSy 
 Soldiers, drum and trumpets. 
 
 Duke. The general of our horse thou art ; and we. 
 
 Great in our hope, lay our best love and credence 
 
 Upon thy promising fortune. 
 Ber. Sir, it is 
 
 A charge too heavy for my strength, but yet 
 
 We'll strive to bear it for your worthy sake 5 
 
 To the extreme edge of hazard. 
 Duke. Then go thou forth ; 
 
 And fortune play upon thy prosperous helm. 
 
 As thy auspicious mistress ! 
 Ber. This very day. 
 
 Great Mars, I put myself into thy file. 
 
 Make me but like my thoughts, and I shall prove 
 
 A lover of thy drum, hater of love. 11 
 
 Exeunt omnea. 
 
 SCENE IV 
 
 [Rousillon. The Count's palace.] 
 
 Enter Countess and Steward. 
 
 Count. Alas ! and would you take the letter of her ? 
 Might you not know she would do as she has done. 
 By sending me a letter ? Read it again.
 
 68 aU'sf Witll tliat (Bnl>si Witll Act iii 
 
 [Stew. Reads] letter. 
 
 "I am Saint Jaques' pilgrim, thither gone. 
 
 Ambitious love hath in me so offended, 5 
 
 That barefoot plod I the cold ground upon, 
 
 With sainted vow my faults to have amended. 
 Write, write, that from the bloody course of war 
 
 My dearest master, your dear son, may hie. 
 Bless him at home in peace, whilst I from far 10 
 
 His name with zealous fervour sanctify. 
 His taken labours bid him me forgive. 
 
 I, his despiteful Juno, sent him forth 
 From courtly friends, with camping foes to live, 
 
 Wliere death and danger dogs the heels of 
 worth. 
 He is too good and fair for death and me, 16 
 
 Whom I myself embrace, to set him free." 
 
 [Count.] Ah, what sharp stings are in her mildest 
 words ! 
 Rinaldo, you did never lack advice so much. 
 As letting her pass so. Had I spoke with her, 20 
 I could have well diverted her intents. 
 Which thus she hath prevented. 
 
 Stew. Pardon me, madam ; 
 
 If I had given you this at over-night, 
 She might have been o'erta'en ; and yet she 
 
 writes, 
 Pursuit would be but vain.
 
 sc. V siiv^ mtii tjat enofif mtii 69 
 
 Count What angel shall 25 
 
 Bless this unworthy husband ? He cannot thrive, 
 Unless her prayers, whom Heaven delights to 
 
 hear 
 And loves to grant, reprieve him from the wrath 
 Of greatest justice. Write, write, Rinaldo, 
 To this unworthy husband of his wife. 30 
 
 Let every word weigh heavy of her worth 
 That he does weigh too light. My greatest grief, 
 Though little he do feel it, set down sharply. 
 Dispatch the most convenient messenger. 
 "When haply he shall hear that she is gone, 35 
 
 He will return ; and hope I may that she. 
 Hearing so much, will speed her foot again. 
 Led hither by pure love. Which of them both 
 Is dearest to me, I have no skill in sense 
 To make distinction. Provide this messenger. 40 
 My heart is heavy and mine age is weak ; 
 Grief would have tears, and sorrow bids me speak. 
 
 Exeunt 
 Scene V 
 
 [Florence. Without the walls.] A tucket afar off. 
 
 Enter an old Widow of Florence, her daughter, [Diana,] 
 Violenta, and Mariana, with other Citizens. 
 
 Wid. Nay, come ; for if they do approach the 
 city, we shall lose all the sight.
 
 70 airs? Mell t^at entisf Mell Act iii 
 
 Dia. They say the French count has done most 
 honourable service. 
 
 Wid. It is reported that he has taken their great'st 5 
 commander ; and that with his own hand he 
 slew the Duke's brother. [Tucket.] We have 
 lost our labour ; they are gone a contrary way. 
 Hark ! you may know by their trumpets. 
 
 Mar. Come, let's return again, and suffice our- 10 
 selves with the report of it. Well, Diana, take 
 heed of this French earl. The honour of a 
 maid is her name, and no legacy is so rich as 
 honesty. 
 
 Wid. I have told my neighbour how you have been 15 
 solicited by a gentleman his companion. 
 
 Mar. I know that knave, hang him ! one Parolles ; 
 a filthy officer he is in those suggestions for the 
 young earl. Beware of them, Diana ; their 
 promises, enticements, oaths, tokens, and all 20 
 these engines of lust, are not the things they 
 go under. Many a maid hath been seduced 
 by them ; and the misery is, example, that so 
 terrible shows in the wreck of maidenhood, can- 
 not for all that dissuade succession, but that 25 
 they are limed with the twigs that threatens 
 them. I hope I need not to advise you fur- 
 ther ; but I hope your own grace will keep you 
 where you are, though there were no further 
 danger known but the modesty which is so lost. 30
 
 Sc. V airsf Mell t^at d^nOfif OTell 71 
 
 Z)ia. You shall not need to fear me. 
 
 Enter Helena [disguised like a Pilgrim]. 
 
 Wid. I hope so. Look, here comes a pilgrim. I 
 
 know she will lie at my house ; thither they 
 
 send one another. I'll question her. God 35 
 
 save you, pilgrim ! whither are you bound .' 
 Hel. To Saint Jaques le Grand. 
 
 "WTiere do the palmers lodge, I do beseech you ? 
 Wid. At the Saint Francis here beside the port. 
 Hel. Is this the way ? A march afar. 40 
 
 Wid. Ay, marry, is't. Hark you ! they come this way. 
 
 If you will tarry, holy pilgrim. 
 
 But till the troops come by, 
 
 I will conduct you where you shall be lodg'd ; 
 
 The rather, for I think I know your hostess 45 
 
 As ample as myself. 
 Hel. Is it yourself ? 
 
 Wid. If you shall please so, pilgrim. 
 Hel. I thank you, and will stay upon your leisure. 
 Wid. You came, I think, from France ? 
 Hel. I did so. 
 
 Wid. Here you shall see a countryman of yours 50 
 
 That has done worthy service. 
 Hel. His name, I pray you. 
 
 Dia. The Count Rousillon. Know you such a one ? 
 Hel. But by the ear, that hears most nobly of him. 
 
 His face I know not.
 
 72 au^fi? Mell t^at CnD^ mt\X Act iii 
 
 Z)io. Whatsome'er he is. 
 
 He's bravely taken here. He stole from France, 
 As 'tis reported, for the King had married him 56 
 Against his liking. Think you it is so ? 
 
 Hel. Ay, surely, mere the truth. I know his lady. 
 
 Dia. There is a gentleman that serves the Count 
 Reports but coarsely of her. 
 
 HeL What's his name ? 60 
 
 Dia. Monsieur ParoUes. 
 
 Hel. O, I believe with him. 
 
 In argument of praise, or to the worth 
 Of the great Count himself, she is too mean 
 To have her name repeated. All her deserving 
 Is a reserved honesty, and that 65 
 
 I have not heard examin'd. 
 
 Dia. Alas, poor lady ! 
 
 'Tis a hard bondage to become the wife 
 Of a detesting lord. 
 
 Wid. Ay, right ! Good creature, wheresoe'er she is, 
 Her heart weighs sadly. This young maid might 
 do her 70 
 
 A shrewd turn, if she pleas'd. 
 
 Hel. How do you mean ? 
 
 May be the amorous Count solicits her 
 In the unlawful purpose. 
 
 Wid. He does indeed ; 
 
 And brokes with all that can in such a suit 
 Corrupt the tender honour of a maid. 75
 
 Sc. V aiP0 Well t\)Rt entiflf mtll 73 
 
 But she is arm'd for him and keeps her guard 
 In honestest defence. 
 
 Drum and colours. Enter Bertram, Parolles, and the 
 whole army. 
 
 Mar. The gods forbid else ! 
 
 Wid. So, now they come. 
 
 That is Antonio, the Duke's eldest son ; 
 
 That, Escalus. 
 Hel. ^Tiich is the Frenchman ? 
 
 Dia. He, 
 
 That with the plume ; 'tis a most gallant fellow. 81 
 
 I would he lov'd his wife. If he were honester 
 
 He were much goodlier. Is't not a handsome 
 gentleman ? 
 Hel. I like him well. 
 
 Dia. 'Tis pity he is not honest. Yond's that same 
 knave 85 
 
 That leads him to these places. Were I his lady, 
 
 I would poison that vile rascal. 
 Hel. AVhich is he ? 
 
 Dia. That jack-an-apes with scarfs. Why is he 
 
 melancholy ? 
 Hel. Perchance he's hurt i' the battle. 90 
 
 Par. Lose our drum ! Well. 
 Mar. He's shrewdly vex'd at something. Look, 
 
 he has spied us. 
 Wid. Marry, hang you !
 
 74 aU's; Mell tt)at C-nUg Well Act iii 
 
 Mar. And your courtesy, for a ring-carrier ! 95 
 
 Exeunt [Bertram, Parolles, and army]. 
 Wid. The troop is past. Come, pilgrim, I will bring 
 you 
 Where you shall host. Of enjoin'd penitents 
 There's four or five, to great Saint Jaques bound. 
 Already at my house. 
 Hel. I humbly thank you. 
 
 Please it this matron and this gentle maid 100 
 
 To eat with us to-night, the charge and thanking 
 Shall be for me ; and, to requite you further, 
 I will bestow some precepts of this virgin 
 Worthy the note. 
 Both. We'll take your offer kindly. 
 
 Exeunt. 
 SCENE VI 
 
 [Camp herfore Florence.] 
 
 Enter Bertram and the French Lords, as at first. 
 
 1. Lord. Nay, good my lord, put him to't ; let 
 
 him have his way. 
 
 2. Lord. If your lordship find him not a hilding, 
 
 hold me no more in your respect. 
 1. Lord. On my life, my lord, a bubble. 
 Ber. Do you think I am so far deceived in him ? 
 1. Lord. Believe it, my lord, in mine own direct 
 
 knowledge, without any malice, but to speak
 
 Sc. VI ail*fl; mtW t^at (IEnO0 Mell 75 
 
 of him as my kinsman, he's a most notable 
 coward, an infinite and endless liar, an hourly 10 
 promise-breaker, the owner of no one good 
 quality worthy your lordship's entertainment. 
 
 S. Lord. It were fit you knew him, lest, reposing 
 too far in his virtue, which he hath not, he 
 mif^ht at some great and trusty business in a 15 
 main danger fail you. 
 
 Ber. I would I knew in what particular action to 
 try him. 
 
 S. Lord. None better than to let him fetch off his 
 
 drum, which you hear him so confidently 20 
 undertake to do. 
 
 1. Lord. I, with a troop of Florentines, will sud- 
 denly surprise him ; such I will have, whom I 
 am sure he knows not from the enemy. We will 
 bind and hoodwink him so, that he shall 25 
 suppose no other but that he is carried into 
 the leaguer of the adversaries, when we bring 
 him to our own tents. Be but your lordship 
 present at his examination ; if he do not, for 
 the promise of his life and in the highest com- 30 
 pulsion of base fear, offer to betray you and 
 deliver all the intelligence in his power against 
 you, and that with the divine forfeit of his 
 soul upon oath, never trust my judgement in 
 anything. 35 
 
 S. Lord. O, for the love of laughter, let him fetch
 
 76 aiVfif «ell t^at enDfif Mell Act iii 
 
 his drum ; he says he has a stratagem for't. 
 When your lordship sees the bottom of his suc- 
 cess in't, and to what metal this counterfeit 
 lump of ore will be melted, if you give him not 40 
 John Drum's entertainment, your inclining 
 cannot be removed. Here he comes. 
 
 Enter Parolles. 
 
 1. Lord. [Aside to Ber.] O, for the love of 
 
 laughter, hinder not the honour of his design. 
 Let him fetch off his drum in any hand. 45 
 
 Ber. How now, monsieur ! this drum sticks sorely 
 in your disposition. 
 
 2. Lord. A pox on't, let it go ; 'tis but a 
 
 drum. 
 Par. "But a drum"! is't "but a drum".? A 50 
 drum so lost ! There was excellent command, 
 — to charge in with our horse upon our own 
 wings, and to rend our own soldiers ! 
 
 3. Lord. That was not to be blam'd in the com- 
 
 mand of the service ; it was a disaster of war 55 
 that Csesar himself could not have prevented, 
 if he had been there to command. 
 
 Ber. Well, we cannot greatly condemn our suc- 
 cess. Some dishonour we had in the loss of 
 that drum ; but it is not to be recovered. 60 
 
 Par. It might have been recovered. 
 
 Ber. It might ; but it is not now.
 
 sc. VI aU'0 Mell t^at enli0 Mell 77 
 
 Par. It is to be recovered. But that the merit 
 of service is seldom attributed to the true and 
 exact performer, I would have that drum or Q5 
 another, or "hicjacetJ' 
 
 Ber. Why, if you have a stomach, to't, monsieur : 
 if you think your mystery in stratagem can 
 bring this instrument of honour again into his 
 native quarter, be magnanimous in the en- 70 
 terprise and go on ; I will grace the attempt 
 for a worthy exploit. If you speed well in it, 
 the Duke shall both speak of it, and extend to 
 you what further becomes his greatness, even 
 to the utmost syllable of your worthiness. 75 
 
 Par. By the hand of a soldier, I will undertake 
 it. 
 
 Ber. But you must not now slumber in it. 
 
 Par. I'll about it this evening ; and I will pres- 
 ently pen down my dilemmas, encourage myself 80 
 in my certainty, put myself into my mortal 
 preparation ; and by midnight look to hear 
 further from me. 
 
 Ber. May I be bold to acquaint his Grace you are 
 
 gone about it ? 85 
 
 Par. I know not what the success will be, my lord ; 
 but the attempt I vow. 
 
 Ber. 1 know thou'rt valiant ; and, to the possi- 
 bility of thy soldiership, will subscribe for 
 thee. Farewell. 90
 
 78 2U'0 Mell tljat enDs? mtll Act iii 
 
 Par. I love not many words. Exit. 
 
 1. Lord. No more than a fish loves water. Is not 
 
 this a strange fellow, my lord, that so confi- 
 dently seems to undertake this business, which 
 he knows is not to be done ; damns himself to 95 
 do, and dares better be damn'd than to do't ? 
 
 2. Lord. You do not know him, my lord, as we 
 
 do. Certain it is, that he will steal himself 
 into a man's favour and for a week escape a 
 great deal of discoveries ; but when you find 100 
 him out, you have him ever after. 
 Ber. WTiy, do you think he will make no deed at 
 all of this that so seriously he does address him- 
 self unto .' 
 
 1. Lord. None in the world ; but return with an 105 
 
 invention and clap upon you two or three prob- 
 able lies. But we have almost emboss'd him ; 
 you shall see his fall to-night ; for indeed he 
 is not for your lordship's respect. 
 
 2. Lord. We'll make you some sport with the fox 110 
 
 ere we case him. He was first smok'd by the 
 old lord Lafeu. When his disguise and he is 
 parted, tell me what a sprat you shall find him ; 
 which you shall see this very night. 114 
 
 1. Lord. I must go look my twigs. He shall be caught. 
 Ber. Your brother he shall go along with me. 
 
 2. Lord. As't please your lordship. I'll leave you. 
 
 [Exit.]
 
 Sc. VII 2i\V& Witll ttiat (Enti0 Witll 79 
 
 Ber. Now will I lead you to the house, and show you 
 
 The lass I spoke of. 
 1. Lord. But you say she's honest. 
 
 Ber. That's all the fault. I spoke with her but once 
 
 And found her wondrous cold ; but I sent to 
 her, 121 
 
 By this same coxcomb that we have i' the wind, 
 
 Tokens and letters which she did re-send ; 
 
 And this is all I have done. She's a fair creature : 
 
 Will you go see her ? 
 1. Lord. With all my heart, my lord. 125 
 
 Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE VII 
 
 [Florence. The Widow's house.] 
 Enter Helena and Widow. 
 
 Hel. If you misdoubt me that I am not she, 
 I know not how I shall assure you further. 
 But I shall lose the grounds I work upon. 
 
 Wid. Though my estate be fallen, I was well born, 
 Nothing acquainted with these businesses, 5 
 
 And would not put my reputation now 
 In any staining act. 
 
 Hel. Nor would I wish you. 
 
 First, give me trust, the Count he is my husband ; 
 And what to your sworn counsel I have spoken 
 Is so from word to word ; and then you cannot, 10
 
 8o aiP^ Witll t\)nt enrjs; Mell Act in 
 
 Bj^ the good aid that I of you shall borrow, 
 Err in bestowing it. 
 
 Wid. I should believe you ; 
 
 For you have show'd me that which well approves 
 You're great in fortune. 
 
 Hel. Take this purse of gold. 
 
 And let me buy your friendly help thus far, 15 
 Which I will over-pay and pay again 
 When I have found it. The Count he wooes your 
 
 daughter, 
 Laj's down his wanton siege before her beauty. 
 Resolves to carry her. Let her, in fine, consent 
 As we'll direct her how 'tis best to bear it. 20 
 
 Now his important blood will nought deny 
 That she'll demand. A ring the County wears, 
 That downward hath succeeded in his house 
 From son to son, some four or five descents 
 Since the first father wore it. This ring he holds 
 In most rich choice ; yet in his idle fire, 26 
 
 To buy his will, it would not seem too dear, 
 Howe'er repented after. 
 
 Wid. Now I see 
 
 The bottom of your purpose. 
 
 Hel. You see it lawful, then. It is no more 30 
 
 But that your daughter, ere she seems as won. 
 Desires this ring ; appoints him an encounter ; 
 In fine, delivers me to fill the time. 
 Herself most chastely absent. After this.
 
 Sc. VII m*^ «ell t^at entisf Mrll Si 
 
 To marry her, I'll add three thousand crowns 35 
 To what is past already. 
 
 Wid. I have yielded. 
 
 Instruct my daughter how she shall persever. 
 That time and place with this deceit so lawful 
 May prove coherent. Every night he comes 
 With musics of all sorts and songs compos'd 40 
 To her unworthiness. It nothing steads us 
 To chide him from our eaves, for he persists 
 As if his life lay on't. 
 
 Hel. Why then to-night 
 
 Let us assay our plot ; which, if it speed. 
 Is wicked meaning in a lawful deed 45 
 
 And lawful meaning in a lawful act, 
 WTiere both not sin, and yet a sinful fact. 
 But let's about it. [Exeunt.]
 
 ACT FOURTH 
 Scene 1 
 
 [Without the Florentine camp J] 
 
 Enter First French Lord, with five or six other Soldiers 
 in ambush. 
 
 1. Lord. He can come no other way but by this 
 hedge-corner. WTien you sally upon him, 
 speak what terrible language you will. 
 Though you understand it not yourselves, no 
 matter ; for we must not seem to understand 5 
 him, unless some one among us, whom we must 
 produce for an interpreter. 
 
 1. Sold. Good captain, let me be the inter- 
 preter. 
 
 1. Lord. Art not acquainted with him .^ Knows 10 
 he not thy voice ? 
 
 1. Sold. No, sir, I warrant you. 
 
 1. Lord. But what linsey-woolsey hast thou to 
 speak to us again ? 
 
 1. Sold. E'en such as you speak to me. 15 
 
 1. Lord. He must think us some band of strangers 
 
 i' the adversary's entertainment. Now he 
 
 hath a smack of all neighbouring languages, 
 
 therefore we must every one be a man of his 
 
 8a
 
 Sc. I ail'0 WitW tliat CnD0 OTell 83 
 
 own fancy ; not to know what we speak one to 20 
 another, so we seem to know, is to know straight 
 our purpose : choughs' language, gabble 
 enough, and good enough. As for you, inter- 
 preter, you must seem very politic. But couch, 
 ho ! here he comes, to beguile two hours in a sleep, 25 
 and then to return and swear the lies he forges. 
 
 Enter Parolles. 
 
 Par. Ten o'clock : within these three hours 'twill 
 be time enough to go home. \^Tiat shall I say 
 I have done ? It must be a very plausive in- 
 vention that carries it. They begin to smoke 30 
 me, and disgraces have of late knock'd too often 
 at my door. I find my tongue is too fool- 
 hardy ; but my heart hath the fear of Mars 
 before it and of his creatures, not daring the 
 reports of my tongue. 
 
 1. Lord. [Aside, in ambush.] This is the first 35 
 truth that e'er thine own tongue was guilty of. 
 
 Par. WTiat the devil should move me to undertake 
 the recovery of this drum, being not ignorant of 
 the impossibility, and knowing I had no such 
 purpose .'* I must give myself some hurts, 40 
 and say I got them in exploit. Yet slight 
 ones will not carry it. They will say, "Came 
 you ofiP with so little?" And great ones I 
 dare not give. Wherefore, what's the instance .'' 45
 
 84 aiU'0 Witil t^at €nt$ Mell Act iv 
 
 Tongue, I must put you into a butter-woman's 
 
 mouth and buy myself another of Bajazet's 
 
 mule, if you prattle me into these perils. 
 1. Lord. Is it possible he should know what he is, 
 
 and be that he is ? 
 Par. I would the cutting of my garments would 50 
 
 serve the turn, or the breaking of my Spanish 
 
 sword. 
 1. Lord. We cannot afiFord you so. 
 Par. Or the baring of my beard ; and to say it 
 
 was in stratagem. 55 
 
 1. Lord. 'Twould not do. 
 Par. Or to drown my clothes, and say I was 
 
 stripp'd. 
 1. Lord. Hardly serve. 
 Par. Though I swore I leap'd from the window of 60 
 
 the citadel — 
 1. Lord. How deep ? 
 Par. Thirty fathom. 
 1. Lord. Three great oaths would scarce make 
 
 that be believed. 65 
 
 Par. I would I had any drum of the enemy's. I 
 
 would swear I recover'd it. 
 1. Lord. You shall hear one anon. 
 Par. A drum now of the enemy's, — 
 
 Alarum within. 
 1. Lord. Throca inovousus, cargo, cargo, car- 70 
 
 go.
 
 Sc. I ail*0 OTell t^at enDfl? Mell 85 
 
 All. Cargo, cargo, cargo, villianda par corho, 
 cargo. 
 
 Par. O, ransom, ransom ! do not hide mine eyes. 
 
 [They seize and blindfold him.] 
 
 1. Sold. Bosko thromuldo boskos. 75 
 
 Par. I know you are the Muskos' regiment, 
 And I shall lose my life for want of language. 
 If there be here German, or Dane, low Dutch, 
 Italian, or French, let him speak to me; I'll 
 Discover that which shall undo the Florentine. 80 
 
 1. Sold. Boskos vauvado: I understand thee, and 
 can speak thy tongue. Kerelybonto, sir, betake 
 thee to thy faith, for seventeen poniards are at 
 thy bosom. 
 
 Par. O! 85 
 
 1. Sold. O, pray, pray, pray ! Manka revania 
 dulche. 
 
 1. Lord. OscorbididcJios volivorco. 
 
 1. Sold. The general is content to spare thee yet ; 
 
 And, hoodwink'd as thou art, will lead thee on 90 
 To gather from thee. Haply thou mayst inform 
 Something to save thy life. 
 
 Par. 0, let me live ! 
 
 And all the secrets of our camp I'll show. 
 Their force, their purposes ; nay. I'll speak that 94 
 Which you will wonder at. 
 
 1. Sold. But wilt thou faithfully ? 
 
 Par. If I do not, damn me.
 
 86 air0 OTell tljat enUg Witll Act iv 
 
 1. Sold. Acordo linta. 
 
 Come on ; thou art granted space. 
 
 Exit [with Parolles guarded]. A short alarum 
 within. 
 
 1. Lord. Go, tell the Count Rousillon, and my brother, 
 
 We have caught the woodcock, and will keep him 
 muffled 100 
 
 Till we do hear from them. 
 
 2. Sold. Captain, I will. 
 
 1. Lord. 'A will betray us all unto ourselves : 
 
 Inform on that. 
 
 2. Sold. So I will, sir. 104 
 1. Lord. Till then I'll keep him dark and safely lock'd. 
 
 Exeunt. 
 
 Scene 11 
 
 [Florence. The Widow's house.] 
 Enter Bertram and the maid called Diana. 
 
 Ber. They told me that your name was Fontibell. 
 
 Dia. No, my good lord, Diana. 
 
 Ber. Titled goddess. 
 
 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, 5 
 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 ;
 
 sc. II aii'0 mtw t^at enD0 witw 87 
 
 And now you should be as your mother was 
 When your sweet self was got. 10 
 
 Dia. She then was honest. 
 
 Ber. So should you be. 
 
 Dia. No ; 
 
 My mother did but duty ; such, my lord, 
 As you owe to your wife. 
 
 Ber. No more o' that. 
 
 I prithee, do not strive against my vows. 
 I was compell'd to her ; but I love thee 15 
 
 By love's own sweet constraint, and will for ever 
 Do thee all rights of service. 
 
 Dia. Ay, so you serve us 
 
 Till we serve you ; but when you have our roses, 
 You barely leave our thorns to prick ourselves. 
 And mock us with our bareness. 
 
 Ber. ^ How have I sworn ! 
 
 Dia. ^'Tis not the many oaths that makes the truth, 21 
 But the plain single vow that is vow'd tru^ 
 WTiat 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 25 
 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
 
 88 airs; OTell tljat €nnsi «ell Act iv 
 
 Are words and poor conditions, but unseal'd, 30 
 At least in my opinion. 
 
 Ber. 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, 35 
 
 Who then recovers. Say thou art mine, and ever 
 My love as it begins shall so persever. 
 
 Dia. I see that men make rope's in such a scarre 
 
 That we'll forsake ourselves. Give me that ring. 
 
 Ber. I'll lend it thee, my dear ; but have no power 40 
 To give it from me. 
 
 Dia. Will you not, my lord ? 
 
 Ber. It is an honour longing to our house, 
 Bequeathed down from many ancestors, 
 Which were the greatest obloquy i' the world 
 In me to lose. 
 
 Dia. Mine honour 's such a ring, 45 
 
 My chastity's the jewel of our house. 
 Bequeathed down from many ancestors, 
 \Vhich were the greatest obloquy i' the world 
 In me to lose. Thus your own proper wisdom 
 Brings in the champion Honour on my part, 50 
 Against your vain assault. 
 
 Ber. Here, take my ring ! 
 
 My house, mine honour, yea, my life, be thine. 
 And I'll be bid by thee.
 
 Sc. II ail'fif WSSitil t\)U CBnDsf Witll 89 
 
 Dia. ^\lien midnight comes, knock at my chamber- 
 window. 
 I'll order take my mother shall not hear. 55 
 
 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 ; 60 
 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. 65 
 
 Ber. A heaven on earth I have won by wooing thee. 
 
 [Exit] 
 
 Dia. 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 70 
 
 Have the like oaths. He had sworn to marry me 
 
 When his wife's dead ; therefore I'll lie with him 
 
 "VMien 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 75 
 
 To cozen him that would unjustly win. Exit,
 
 90 airfif wntii tijat C'ttus? mdi Act iv 
 
 Scene III 
 
 [The Florentine camp.] 
 
 Enter the two French Lords and some two or three Sol- 
 diers. 
 
 2. Lord. You have not given him his mother's 
 letter ? 
 
 1. Lord. I have deliver'd it an hour since. There 
 
 is something in't that stings his nature ; for on 
 the reading it he chang'd almost into another 5 
 man. 
 
 2. Lord. He has much worthy blame laid upon him 
 
 for shaking off so good a wife and so sweet a 
 lady. 
 
 1. Lord. Especially he hath incurred the everlast- 10 
 ing 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. 
 
 ^. Lord. When you have spoken it, 'tis dead, and 15 
 I am the grave of it. 
 
 i. Lord. He hath perverted a young gentle- 
 woman here in Florence, of a most chaste re- 
 noTvn ; and this night he fleshes his will in the 
 spoil of her honour. He hath given her his 20 
 monumental ring, and thinks himself made in 
 the unchaste composition.
 
 Sc. Ill aU'0 Well t^at enUfif Witll 91 
 
 S. Lord. Now, God delay our rebellion ! As we are 
 ourselves, what things are we ! 
 
 1. Lord. Merely our own traitors. And as in the 25 
 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 nobility, in his proper 
 stream o'erflows himself. 30 
 
 3. Lord. Is it not meant damnable in us, to be 
 trumpeters of our unlawful intents .' We shall 
 not then have his company to-night ? 
 
 1. Lord. Not till after midnight ; for he is dieted 
 
 to his hour. 35 
 
 2. Lord. That approaches apace. I would gladly 
 
 have him see his company anatomiz'd, that he 
 might take a measure of his own judgements, 
 wherein so curiously he had set this counter- 
 feit. 40 
 
 1. Lord. We will not meddle with him till he 
 
 come, for his presence must be the whip of the 
 other. 
 
 2. Lord. In the mean time, what hear you of these 
 
 wars ? 45 
 
 1. Lord. I hear there is an overture of peace. 
 
 2. Lord. Nay, I assure you, a peace con- 
 
 cluded. 
 1. Lord. WTiat will Count Rousillon do then? 
 
 Will he travel higher, or return again into 50 
 France '?
 
 93 airs? Mell t^at (BnDs? Mell Act iv 
 
 ^. Lore?. I perceive, by this demand, you are not 
 altogether of his council. 
 
 1. Lord. Let it be forbid, sir ; so should I be a 
 
 great deal of his act. . 55 
 
 2. Lord. Sir, his wife some two months since fled 
 
 from his house. Her pretence is a pilgrimage 
 to Saint Jaques le Grand ; which holy under- 
 taking with most austere sanctimony she ac- 
 complish'd ; and, there residing, the tender- 60 
 ness 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. 
 
 1. Lord. How is this justified ? 
 
 2. Lord. The stronger part of it by her own 65 
 
 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 faith- 
 fully confirm'd by the rector of the place. 
 
 1. Lord. Hath the Count all this intelligence .'' 70 
 
 2. Lord. Ay, and the particular confirmations, 
 
 point from point, to the full arming of the 
 verity. 
 
 1. Lord. I am heartily sorry that he'll be glad 
 
 of this. 75 
 
 2. Lord. How mightily sometimes we make us 
 
 comforts of our losses ! 
 1. Lord. And how mightily some other times we 
 drown our gain in tears ! The great dignity that
 
 Sc. Ill all's? OTell t^at C^uDs Mell 93 
 
 his valour hath here acquir'd for him shall at 80 
 honLe be encount'red with a shame as ample. 
 2. Lore/, \jrhe web of om- Hfe is of a mingled 
 yarn, good and ill together : om* virtues would 
 be proud, if our faults whipp'd them not ; and 
 our crimes would despair, if they were not 85 
 cherish'd by our virtues^^ 
 
 Enter a Messenger, 
 
 How now ! where's your master ? 
 Mess. He met the Duke in the street, sir, of 
 w^hom he hath taken a solemn leave. His 
 lordship will next morning for France. The 90 
 Duke hath offered him letters of commenda- 
 tions to the King. 
 
 1. Lord. They shall be no more than needful there, 
 
 if they were more than they can commend. 
 
 Enter Bertram. 
 
 2. Lord. They cannot be too sweet for the 95 
 
 King's tartness. Here's his lordship now. 
 How now, my lord ! is't not after midnight ? 
 Ber. I have to-night dispatch'd sixteen busi- 
 nesses, a month's length a-piece, by an abstract 
 of success. I have congied with the Duke, 100 
 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
 
 94 3U'sf Mell tl)at eni30 Mril Act iv 
 
 between these main parcels of dispatch effected 
 many nicer needs. The last was the greatest, 105 
 but that I have not ended yet. 
 
 1. Lord. If the business be of any difficulty, 
 and this morning your departure hence, it re- 
 quires haste of your lordship. 
 
 Ber. I mean, the business is not ended, as 110 
 fearing to hear of it hereafter. But shall we 
 have this dialogue between the fool and the 
 soldier ^ Come, bring forth this counterfeit 
 module, has deceiv'd me, like a double-mean- 
 ing prophesier. 115 
 
 1. Lord. Bring him forth. Has sat i* the 
 stocks all night, poor gallant knave. 
 
 Ber. No matter; his heels have deserv'd it, 
 in usurping his spurs so long. How does he 
 carry himself.'^ 120 
 
 1. Lord. I have told your lordship already, 
 the stocks carry him. But to answer you as 
 you would be understood, he weeps like a 
 wench that had shed her milk. He hath con- 
 fess'd himself to Morgan, whom he supposes to 125 
 be a friar, from the time of his remembrance 
 to this very instant disaster of his setting i' the 
 stocks ; and what think you he hath confess'd ? 
 
 Ber. Nothing of me, has 'a ? 
 
 1. Lord. His confession is taken, and it shall be 130 
 read to his face. If your lordship be in't, as
 
 Sc. Ill airsf Mell ttjat CEnDfli Mell 95 
 
 I believe you are, you must have the patience 
 to hear it. 
 
 Enter Parolles mth [First Soldier as] his Interpreter. 
 
 Ber. A plague upon him ! Muffled ! He can 
 
 say nothing of me. Hush ! hush ! 135 
 
 5. Lord. Hoodman comes ! Portotartarossa. 
 
 1. Sold. He calls for the tortures. What will 
 you say without 'em ? 
 
 Par. I will confess what I know without con- 
 straint. If ye pinch me like a pasty, I can 140 
 say no more. 
 
 1. Sold. Bosko chimurco. 
 
 2. Lord. Bohlihindo chicurmurco. 
 
 1. Sold. You are a merciful general. Our gen- 
 eral bids you answer to what I shall ask you 145 
 out of a note. 
 
 Par. And truly, as I hope to live. 
 
 1. Sold. [Reads.] "First demand of him how 
 many horse the Duke is strong." What 
 say you to that ? 150 
 
 Par. Five or sLx thousand ; but very weak and 
 unserviceable. The troops are all scattered, 
 and the commanders very poor rogues, upon 
 my reputation and credit and as I hope to live. 
 
 1. Sold. Shall I set down your answer so.'' 155 
 
 Par. Do : I'll take the sacrament on't, how 
 and which way you will.
 
 96 ail'sf OTell t^at CBnDfi; Mell Act iv 
 
 5er. All's one to him. "What a past-saving 
 slave is this ! 
 
 2. Lord. You're deceiv'd, my lord; this is 160 
 Monsieur Parolles, the gallant militarist, — 
 that was liis own phase, — that had the whole 
 theoric of war in the knot of his scarf, and the 
 practice in the chape of his dagger. 
 
 1. Lord. I will never trust a man again for 165 
 keeping his sword clean, nor believe he can 
 have everything in him by wearing his apparel 
 neatly. 
 
 1. Sold, Well, that's set down. 
 
 Par. Five or six thousand horse, I said, — I 170 
 w^ll say true, — or thereabouts, set down, for 
 I'll speak truth. 
 
 2. Lord. He's very near the truth in this. 
 
 Ber. But I con him no thanks for't, in the na- 
 ture he delivers it. 175 
 
 Par. Poor rogues, I pray you, say. 
 
 1. Sold. Well, that's set down. 
 
 Par. I humbly thank you, sir. A truth's a 
 truth; the rogues are marvellous poor. 
 
 1. Sold. [Reads.] "Demand of him, of what 180 
 strength they are a-foot." What say you to 
 that ? 
 
 Par. By my troth, sir, if I were to live this 
 present hour, I will tell true. Let me see : — 
 Spurio, a hundred and fifty ; Sebastian, so
 
 sc. in aU'fi! Mfll ttjat CBnOfi? WirW 97 
 
 many ; Corambus, so many ; Jaques, so many ; 185 
 Guiltian, Cosmo, Lodowick, and Gratii, 
 two hundred fifty each; mine own company, 
 Chitopher, Vaumond, Bentii, two hundred 
 fifty each ; so that the muster-file, rotten and 
 sound, upon my life, amounts not to fifteen 190 
 thousand poll; half of the which dare not 
 shake the snow from off their cassocks, lest 
 they shake themselves to pieces. 
 
 Ber. What shall be done to him ? 
 
 2. Lord. Nothing, but let him have thanks. 195 
 Demand of him my condition, and what credit 
 I have with the Duke. 
 
 1. Sold. Well, that's set down. 
 
 [Reads.] "You shall demand of him, whether 
 
 one Captain Dumain be i' the camp, a French- 200 
 man; what his reputation is with the 
 Duke ; what his valour, honesty, and expert- 
 ness in wars ; or whether he thinks it were not 
 possible, with well-weighing sums of gold, to / 
 corrupt him to a revolt." What say you to 205 
 this ? What do you know of it ? 
 
 Par. I beseech you, let me answer to the 
 particular of the inter'gatories. Demand 
 them singly. 
 
 1. Sold. Do you know this Captain Dumain ? 210 
 
 Par. I know him. 'A was a botcher's 'prentice 
 in Paris, from whence he was whipp'd for 
 
 H
 
 98 ^U'^ OTell t\)Rt enDg WitW Act IV 
 
 getting the shrieve's fool with child, — a dumb 
 
 innocent, that could not say him nay. 
 Ber. Nay, by your leave, hold your hands; 215 
 
 though I know his brains are forfeit to the next 
 
 tile that falls. 
 1. Sold. Well, is this captain in the Duke of 
 
 Florence's camp ? 
 Par. Upon my knowledge, he is, and lousy. 220 
 
 S. Lord. Nay, look not so upon me ; we shall hear 
 
 of your lordship anon. 
 1. Sold. ^Miat is his reputation with the 
 
 Duke ? 
 Par. The Duke knows him for no other but 225 
 
 a poor officer of mine ; and writ to me this 
 
 other day to turn him out o' the band. I think 
 
 I have his letter in my pocket. 
 1. Sold. Marry, we'll search. 
 Par. In good sadness, I do not know. Either 230 
 
 it is there, or it is upon a file with the Duke's 
 
 other letters in my tent. 
 
 1. Sold. Here 'tis; here's a paper. Shall I read 
 
 it to you ? 
 Par. I do not know if it be it or no. 235 
 
 Ber. Our interpreter does it well. 
 
 2. Lord. Excellently. 
 
 1. Sold. [Reads.] "Dian, the Count's a fool, and 
 
 full of gold," — 
 Par. That is not the Duke's letter, sir; that
 
 sc. Ill au*0 «ell tt)at CnO0 mtW 99 
 
 is an advertisement to a proper maid in 240 
 Florence, one Diana, to take heed of the al- 
 Im^ement of one Comit Rousillon, a foolish idle 
 boy, but for all that very ruttish. I pray you, 
 sir, put it up again. 
 
 1. Sold. Nay, I'll read it first, by your favour. 245 
 
 Par. My meaning in't, I protest, was very 
 honest in the behalf of the maid ; for I knew 
 the young Count to be a dangerous and lascivi- 
 ous boy, who is a w^hale to virginity and de- 
 vours up all the fry it finds. 250 
 
 Ber. Damnable both-sides rogue ! 
 
 1. Sold. [Reads.] 
 
 "When he swears oaths, bid him drop gold, 
 and take it ; 
 After he scores, he never pays the score. 
 Half won is match well made; match, and well 
 
 make it : 
 
 1 He ne'er pays after-debts, take it before; 255 
 And say a soldier, Dian, told thee this, 
 Men are to mell with, boys are not to kiss ; 
 For count of this, the Count's a fool, I know it, 
 Who pays before, but not when he does owe it. 
 Thine, as he vow'd to thee in thine ear, 260 
 
 Parolles." 
 
 Ber. He shall be whipp'd through the army with 
 this rhyme in 's forehead.
 
 loo aU'0 WSSitli t^at (IBnD0 M^ll Act iv 
 
 1. Lord. This is your devoted friend, sir, the 
 manifold linguist and the armipotent sol- 
 dier. 265 
 
 Ber. I could endure anything before but a cat; 
 and now he's a cat to me. 
 
 1. Sold. I perceive, sir, by our general's looks, 
 we shall be fain to hang you. 
 
 Par. My life, sir, in any case : not that I am 270 
 afraid to die; but that, my offences being 
 many, I would repent out the remainder of 
 nature. Let me live, sir, in a dungeon, i' the 
 stocks, or anywhere, so I may live. 
 
 1. Sold. We'll see what may be done, so you 275 
 confess freely; therefore, once more to this 
 Captain Dumain. You have answer' d to his 
 reputation with the Duke, and to his valour; 
 what is his honesty ? 
 Par. He v\'ill steal, sir, an egg out of a clois- 280 
 ter. For rapes and ravishments he parallels 
 Nessus. He professes not keeping of oaths ; in 
 breaking 'em he is stronger than Hercules ; he 
 will lie, sir, with such volubility, that you would 
 think truth were a fool. Drunkenness is his 285 
 best virtue, for he will be swine drunk, and 
 in his sleep he does little harm, save to his bed- 
 clothes about him ; but they know his condi- 
 tions and lay him in straw. I have but little more 
 to say, sir, of his honesty. He has everything 290
 
 Sc. Ill airs' Witii t^at CDnDs? Mell loi 
 
 that an honest man should not have ; what 
 an honest man should have, he has nothing. 
 
 S. Lord. I begin to love him for this. 
 
 Ber. For this description of thine honesty ? A pox 
 
 upon him for me, he's more and more a cat. 2^5 
 
 1. Sold. ^Vhat say you to his expertness in war.'' 
 
 Par. Faith, sir, has led the drum before the 
 English tragedians. To belie liim, I will not, 
 and more of his soldiership I know not ; except, 
 in that country he had the honour to be the 300 
 officer at a place there called Mile-end, to in- 
 struct for the doubling of files. I would do the 
 man what honour I can, but of this I am not 
 certain. 
 
 ^. Lord. He hath out-villain'd villainy so far, that 305 
 the rarity redeems him. 
 
 Ber. A pox on him, he's a cat still. 
 
 1. Sold. His qualities being at this poor price, 
 I need not to ask you if gold will corrupt him 
 to revolt. 310 
 
 Par. Sir, for a quart d'ecu he will sell the fee- 
 simple of his salvation, the inheritance of 
 it ; and cut the entail from all remainders, and 
 a perpetual succession for it perpetually. 
 
 1. Sold, ^^^lat's his brother, the other Captain 315 
 Dumain ? 
 
 1. Lord. Why does he ask him of me.'* 
 
 1. Sold. What's he?
 
 I03 ail'flf Mell tljat (EnUfif Mell Act iv 
 
 Par. E'en a crow o' the same nest ; not altogether 
 
 so great as the first in goodness, but greater 320 
 a great deal in evil. He excels his brother 
 for a coward, yet his brother is reputed one of 
 the best that is. In a retreat he outruns any 
 lackey ; marry, in coming on he has the cramp. 
 
 1. Sold. If your life be saved, will you un- 325 
 dertake to betray the Florentine ? 
 
 Par. Ay, and the captain of his horse. Count 
 Rousillon. 
 
 1. Sold. I'll whisper with the general, and know 
 
 his pleasure. 330 
 
 Par. [Aside.] I'll no more drumming; a plague 
 of all drums ! Only to seem to deserve well, 
 and to beguile the supposition of that lasciv- 
 ious young boy the Count, have I run into 
 this danger. Yet who would have suspected 335 
 an ambush where I was taken ? 
 
 1. Sold. There is no remedy, sir, but you 
 must die. The general says, you that have 
 so traitorously discover'd the secrets of your 
 army and made such pestiferous reports of men 340 
 very nobly held, can serve the world for no 
 honest use ; therefore you must die. Come, 
 headsman, off with his head. 
 
 Par. O Lord, sir, let me live, or let me see my 
 
 death ! 345 
 
 1. Sold. That shall you, and take your leave
 
 Sc. Ill aU'sf Witll tljat enOfif Mell 103 
 
 of all your friends. [Unblinding him.] So, 
 look about you. Know you any here ? 
 Ber. Good morrow, noble captain. 
 
 1. Lord. God bless you, Captain ParoUes. 350 
 
 2. Lord. God save you, noble captain. 
 
 1. Lord. Captain, what greeting will you to my 
 
 Lord Lafeu ? I am for France. 
 
 2. Lord. Good captain, will you give me a copy 
 
 of the sonnet you writ to Diana in behalf of the 355 
 Count Rousillon ? An I were not a very cow- 
 ard, I 'd compel it of you ; but fare you well. 
 
 Exeunt [Bertram and Lords]. 
 
 1. Sold. You are undone, captain, all but your 
 scarf; that has a knot on't yet. 
 
 Par. Who cannot be crush'd with a plot ? 360 
 
 1. Sold. If you could find out a country 
 where but women were that had received so 
 much shame, you might begin an impudent na- 
 tion. Fare ye well, sir ; I am for France too. 
 We shall speak of you there. 365 
 
 Exit [vnth Soldiers]. 
 
 Par. Yet am I thankful. If my heart were 
 great, 
 'Twould burst at this. Captain I'll be no more; 
 But I will eat and drink, and sleep as soft 
 As captain shall. Simply the thing I am 
 Shall make me live. Who knows himself a brag- 
 gart, 370
 
 I04 M'& Wizll tliat C^UDSf Mell Act IV 
 
 Let him fear this ; for it will come to pass 
 That every braggart shall be found an ass. 
 Rust, sword ! cool, blushes ! and, Parolles, live 
 Safest in shame ! Being fool'd, by foolery 
 
 thrive ! 
 There's place and means for every man alive. 375 
 I'll after them. Exit. 
 
 SCENE IV 
 
 [Florence. The Widow's house.] 
 Enter Helena^ Widow, and Diana. 
 
 Hel. That you may well perceive I have not wrong'd 
 
 you, 
 One of the greatest in the Christian world 
 Shall be my surety ; 'fore whose throne 'tis 
 
 needful. 
 Ere I can perfect mine intents, to kneel. 
 Time was, I did him a desired oflBce, 5 
 
 Dear almost as his life ; which gratitude 
 Through flinty Tartar's bosom would peep forth, 
 And answer, thanks. I duly am inform'd 
 His Grace is at Marseilles, to which place 
 We have convenient convoy. You must know, 10 
 I am supposed dead. The army breaking. 
 My husband hies him home; where. Heaven 
 
 aiding,
 
 Sc. IV ail'fi? OTell t^at €ntjfif Witll 105 
 
 And by the leave of my good lord the King, 
 We'll be before our welcome. 
 
 Wid. Gentle madam, 
 
 You never had a servant to whose trust 15 
 
 Your business was more welcome. 
 
 Hel. Nor you, mistress, 
 
 Ever a friend whose thoughts more truly labour 
 To recompense your love. Doubt not but Heaven 
 Hath brought me up to be your daughter's 
 
 dower, 
 As it hath fated her to be my motive 20 
 
 And helper to a husband. But, O strange men ! 
 That can such sweet use make of what they 
 
 hate. 
 When saucy trusting of the cozen'd thoughts 
 Defiles the pitchy night ; so lust doth play 
 With what it loathes for that which is away. 25 
 But more of this hereafter. You, Diana, 
 Under my poor instructions yet must suffer 
 Something in my behalf. 
 
 Dia. Let death and honesty 
 
 Go with your impositions, I am yours 
 Upon your will to suffer. 
 
 Hel. Yet, I pray you. 30 
 
 But with the word the time will bring on sum- 
 mer, 
 When briers shall have leaves as well as thorns, 
 And be as sweet as sharp. We must away.
 
 io6 air^ «ell tliat enDsf Well Act iv 
 
 Our waggon is prepared, and time revives us. 
 All's well that ends well ! Still the fine's the 
 crown ; 35 
 
 \^Tiate'er the course, the end is the renown. 
 
 Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE V 
 
 [Rousillon. The Count's palace.] 
 Enter Countess, Lafeu, and Clown. 
 
 Laf. No, no, no, your son was misled with a snipt- 
 taffeta fellow there, v-hose villanous saffron 
 would have made all the unbak'd and doughy 
 youth of a nation in his colour. Your daughter- 
 in-law had been alive at this hour, and your 5 
 son here at home, more advanc'd by the King 
 than by that red-tail 'd humble-bee I speak of. 
 
 Count. I would I had not known him. It was 
 the death of the most virtuous gentlen'oman 
 that ever Nature had praise for creating. If 10 
 she had partaken of my flesh, and cost me the 
 dearest groans of a mother, I could not have 
 owed her a more rooted love. 
 
 Laf. 'Twas a good lady, 'twas a good lady. We 
 
 may pick a thousand salads ere we light on 15 
 such another herb. 
 
 CIo. Indeed, sir, she was the sweet-marjoram 
 of the salad, or rather, the herb of grace.
 
 sc. V aU'flf Well tliat c^nDg; Well 107 
 
 Laj. They are not [salad] herbs, you knave ; they 
 
 are nose-herbs. 20 
 
 Clo. I am no great Nebuchadnezzar, sir; I have 
 
 not much skill in grass. 
 Laj. Whether dost thou profess thyself a 
 
 knave or a fool ? 
 Clo. A fool, sir, at a woman's service, and a 25 
 
 knave at a man's. 
 Laj. Your distinction ? 
 Clo. I would cozen the man of his wife and do 
 
 his service. 
 Laf. So you were a knave at his service, in- 30 
 
 deed. 
 Clo. hud I would give his wife my bauble, sir, 
 
 to do her service. 
 Laf. I will subscribe for thee, thou art both 
 
 knave and fool. 35 
 
 Clo. At your service. 
 Laf. No, no, no. 
 Clo. Why, sir, if I cannot serve you, I can serve 
 
 as great a prince as you are. 
 Laf. Who's that.? A Frenchman.? 40 
 
 Clo. Faith, sir, 'a has an English name ; but his 
 
 fisnomy is more hotter in France than there. 
 Laf. \\Tiat prince is that ? 
 Clo. The black prince, sir; alias, the prince of 
 
 darkness; alias, the devil. 45 
 
 Laf. Hold thee, there's my purse. I give thee
 
 io8 aU'fiJ mtll tljat entifit Wlell Act IV 
 
 not this to suggest thee from thy master thou 
 talk'st of. Serve him still. 
 
 Clo. I am a woodland fellow, sir, that always 
 
 loved a great fire ; and the master I speak of 50 
 ever keeps a good fire. But, sure, he is the 
 prince of the world ; let his nobility remain in's 
 court. I am for the house with the narrow 
 gate, which I take to be too little for pomp 
 to enter. Some that humble themselves may ; 55 
 but the many will be too chill and tender, and 
 they'll be for the flowery way that leads to the 
 broad gate and the great fire. 
 
 Laf. Go thy ways, I begin to be aweary of 
 
 thee ; and I tell thee so before, because I would 60 
 not fall out with thee. Go thy ways. Let my 
 horses be well look'd to, without any tricks. 
 
 Clo. If I put any tricks upon 'em, sir, they 
 shall be jades' tricks ; which are their own right 
 by the law of nature. Exit. 
 
 Laf. A shrewd knave and an unhappy. 66 
 
 Count. So 'a is. My lord that's gone made 
 himself much sport out of him. By his au- 
 thority he remains here, which he thinks is 
 a patent for his sauciness ; and, indeed, he has 70 
 no pace, but runs where he will. 
 
 Laf. I like him well ; 'tis not amiss. And I was 
 about to tell you, since I heard of the good 
 lady's death and that my lord your son was upon
 
 Sc. V all's; «ell ttiat enti0 Mell 109 
 
 his return home, I moved the King my master 75 
 to speak in the behalf of my daughter ; which, 
 in the minority of them both, his Majesty, 
 out of a self-gracious remembrance, did first 
 propose. His Highness hath promis'd me to 
 do it ; and, to stop up the displeasure he hath 80 
 conceived against your son, there is no fitter 
 matter. How does your ladyship like it ? 
 
 Count. With very much content, my lord; and 
 I wish it happily effected. 
 
 Laj. His Highness comes post from Marseilles, 85 
 of as able body as when he number'd thirty. 
 'A will be here to-morrow, or I am deceiv'd by 
 him that in such intelligence hath seldom fail'd. 
 
 Count. It rejoices me, that I hope I shall see 
 
 him ere I die. I have letters that my son will 90 
 be here to-night. I shall beseech your lordship 
 to remain with me till they meet together. 
 
 Lo,J. Madam, I was thinking with what manners 
 I might safely be admitted. 
 
 Count. You need but plead your honourable 95 
 privilege. 
 
 Laf. Lady, of that I have made a bold 
 charter ; but I thank ray God it holds yet. 
 
 Re-enter Clown. 
 
 Clo. O madam, yonder's my lord your son 
 
 with a patch of velvet on's face. "Whether 100
 
 no ail's? Mell ti)at (Bnntsi Witll Act iv 
 
 there be a scar under't or no, the velvet 
 knows ; but 'tis a goodly patch of velvet. His 
 left cheek is a cheek of two pile and a half, but 
 his right cheek is worn bare. 
 
 Laf. A scar nobly got, or a noble scar, is a good 
 livery of honour ; so belike is that. 
 
 Clo. But it is your carbonado'd face. 
 
 Laf. Let us go see your son, I pray you. 
 long to talk with the young noble soldier. 
 
 Clo. 'Faith, there's a dozen of 'em, with deli- 
 cate fine hats and most courteous feathers 
 which bow the head and nod at every man. 
 
 Exeunt 
 
 105 
 
 110
 
 ACT FIFTH 
 Scene I 
 
 [Marseilles. A street.] 
 
 Enter Helena, Widow, and Diana, with two Attendants. 
 
 Hel. But this exceeding posting day and night 
 
 Must wear your spirits low; we cannot help it: 
 But since you have made the days and nights 
 
 as one. 
 To wear your gentle limbs in my affairs, 
 Be bold you do so grow in my requital 5 
 
 Enter a Gentle Astringer, 
 
 As nothing can unroot you. In happy time 
 This man may help me to his Majesty's ear. 
 If he would spend his power. God save you, sir. 
 
 Gent. And you. 
 
 Hel. Sir, I have seen you in the court of France. 10 
 
 Gent. I have been sometimes there. 
 
 Hel. I do presume, sir, that you are not fallen 
 
 From the report that goes upon your goodness ; 
 And therefore, goaded with most sharp occasions. 
 Which lay nice manners by, I put you to X5 
 
 The use of your own virtues, for the which 
 I shall continue thankful. 
 Ill
 
 112 airs; mtll t^at €nr>& OTrll Actv 
 
 Gent. What's your will? 
 
 Hel. That it will please you 
 
 To give this poor petition to the King, 
 
 And aid me with that store of power you have 20 
 
 To come into his presence. 
 Gent. The King's not here. 
 Hel. Not here, sir ! 
 
 Gent. Not, indeed. 
 
 He hence remov'd last night, and with more haste 
 
 Than is his use. 
 Wid. Lord, how we lose our pains 
 
 Hel. All's well that ends well yet, 25 
 
 Though time seem so adverse and means unfit. 
 
 I do beseech you, whither is he gone ? 
 Gejit. Marry, as I take it, to Rousillon, 
 
 Whither I am going. 
 Hel. I do beseech you, sir. 
 
 Since you are like to see the King before me, 30 
 
 Commend the paper to his gracious hand. 
 
 Which I presume shall render you no blame 
 
 But rather make you thank your pains for it. 
 
 I will come after you with what good speed 
 
 Our means will make us means. 
 Gent. This I'll do for you. 
 
 Hel. And you shall find yourself to be well thank'd, 36 
 
 Wliate'er falls more. We must to horse again. 
 
 Go, go, provide. [Exeunt.]
 
 sc. II M'^ Mell tljat emu Mell 113 
 
 Scene II 
 
 [Rousillon. Inner court of the Count's palace.] 
 Enter Clown and Parolles. 
 
 Par. Good Master Lavache, give my Lord Lafeu 
 this letter. I have ere now, sir, been better 
 known to you, when I have held familiarity 
 with fresher clothes ; but I am now, sir, 
 muddied in Fortune's mood, and smell some- 5 
 what strong of her strong displeasure. 
 
 Clo. Truly, Fortune's displeasure is but sluttish, 
 if it smell so strongly as thou speak' st of. I 
 will henceforth eat no fish of Fortune's butter- 
 ing. Prithee, allow the wind. 10 
 
 Par. Nay, you need not to stop your nose, sir ; I 
 spake but by a metaphor. 
 
 Clo. Indeed, sir, if your metaphor stink, I will stop 
 my nose ; or against any man's metaphor. 
 Prithee, get thee further. 15 
 
 Par. Pray you, sir, deliver me this paper. 
 
 Clo. Foh ! prithee, stand away. A paper from 
 Fortune's close-stool to give to a nobleman ! 
 Look, here he comes himself. 
 
 Enter Lafeu. 
 
 Here is a purr of Fortune's, sir, or of Fortune's 20 
 cat, — but not a musk-cat, — that has fallen
 
 114 M'& mtli tliat (IBnD0 WHtil Act v 
 
 into the unclean fishpond of her displeasure, 
 and, as he says, is muddied withal. Pray you, 
 sir, use the carp as you may ; for he looks like 
 a poor, decayed, ingenious, foolish, rascally 25 
 knave. I do pity his distress in my similes of 
 comfort, and leave him to your lordship. [Exit.] 
 
 Par. My lord, I am a man whom Fortune hath 
 cruelly scratch'd. 
 
 Laf. And what would you have me to do ? 'Tis 30 
 too late to pare her nails now. Wherein have 
 you play'd the knave with Fortune, that she 
 should scratch you, who of herself is a good 
 lady and would not have knaves thrive long 
 under her ? There's a quart d'ecu for you. Let 35 
 the justices make you and Fortune friends ; 
 I am for other business. 
 
 Par. I beseech your honour to hear me one single 
 word. 
 
 Laf. You beg a simple penny more. Come, you 
 
 shall ha' 't ; save your word. 40 
 
 Par. My name, my good lord, is ParoUes. 
 
 Laf. You beg more than word, then. Cox my 
 passion ! give me your hand. How does your 
 drum ? 
 
 Par. my good lord, you were the first that found 45 
 me ! 
 
 Laf. Was I, in sooth ? And I was the first that 
 lost thee.
 
 Sc. Ill ail*0 WitW tliat enw Witli IIS 
 
 Par. It lies in you, my lord, to bring me in some 
 
 grace, for you did bring me out. 50 
 
 Laf. Out upon thee, knave ! Dost thou put upon 
 me at once both the oJBSce of God and the 
 devil ? one brings thee in grace and the other 
 brings thee out. [Trumpets sound.] The King's 
 coming ; I know by his trumpets. Sirrah, 55 
 inquire further after me. I had talk of you last 
 night. Though you are a fool and a knave, you 
 shall eat ; go to, follow. 
 
 Par. I praise God for you. [Exeunt.] 
 
 SCENE III 
 
 [Bmisillon. The Count's palace.] 
 
 Flourish. Enter King, Countess, Lafeu, the two French 
 Lords, with Attendants. 
 
 King. We lost a jewel of her, and our esteem 
 
 Was made much poorer by it ; but your son. 
 As mad in folly, lack'd the sense to know 
 Her estimation home. 
 
 Count. 'Tis past, my liege ; 
 
 And I beseech yqur Majesty to make it 5 
 
 Natural rebellion, done i' the blaze of youth ; 
 When oil and fire, too strong for reason's force, 
 O'erbears it and burns on. 
 
 King. My honour'd lady.
 
 ii6 ail's; Mell tljac enD0 Mrll Actv 
 
 I have forgiven and forgotten all ; 
 
 Though my revenges were high bent upon him, 10 
 
 And watch'd the time to shoot. 
 
 Laj. This I must say. 
 
 But first I beg my pardon, the young lord 
 Did to his Majesty, his mother, and his lady 
 Offence of mighty note ; but to himself 
 The greatest wrong of all. He lost a wife 15 
 
 Whose beauty did astonish the survey 
 Of richest eyes, whose words all ears took captive. 
 Whose dear perfection hearts that scorn'd to 
 
 serve 
 Humbly call'd mistress. 
 
 King. Praising what is lost 
 
 Makes the remembrance dear. Well, call him 
 hither ; 20 
 
 We are reconcil'd, and the first view shall kill 
 All repetition. Let him not ask our pardon. 
 The nature of his great offence is dead. 
 And deeper than oblivion we do bury 
 The incensing relics of it. Let him approach, 25 
 A stranger, no offender ; and inform him 
 So 'tis our will he should. 
 
 1. Lord. I shall, my liege. 
 
 [Exit] 
 
 King. What says he to your daughter .'^ Have you 
 spoke .'* 
 
 Laj. All that he is hath reference to your Highness.
 
 sc. IH ail's; OTell tliat enD0 Mell 117 
 
 King. Then shall we have a match. I have letters 
 sent me 30 
 
 That sets him high in fame. 
 
 Enter Bertram. 
 
 Laf. He looks well on't. 
 
 King. I am not a day of season. 
 
 For thou mayst see a sunshine and a hail 
 In me at once. But to the brightest beams 34 
 Distracted clouds give way, so stand thou forth ; 
 The time is fair again. 
 
 Ber. My high-repented blames. 
 
 Dear sovereign, pardon to me. 
 
 King. All is whole ; 
 
 Not one word more of the consumed time. 
 Let's take the instant by the forward top ; 
 For we are old, and on our quick'st decrees 40 
 The inaudible and noiseless foot of Time 
 Steals ere we can effect them. You remember 
 The daughter of this lord "^ 
 
 Ber. Admiringly, my liege. At first 
 
 I stuck my choice upon her, ere my heart 45 
 
 Durst make too bold a herald of my tongue, 
 Where the impression of mine eye infixing, 
 Contempt his scornful perspective did lend me, 
 Which warp'd the line of every other favour, 
 Scorn'd a fair colour, or express'd it stolen, 50 
 Extended or contracted all proportions
 
 ii8 aiP0 OTell tt)at €nt}& WitW Act v 
 
 To a most hideous object. Thence it came 
 That she whom all men prais'd and whom myself, 
 Since I have lost, have lov'd, was in mine eye 
 The dust that did oflfend it. 
 
 King. Well excus'd. 55 
 
 That thou didst love her, strikes some scores away 
 From the great compt ; but love that comes too late, 
 Like a remorseful pardon slowly carried. 
 To the great sender turns a sour offence. 
 Crying, "That's good that's gone." Our rash 
 faults 60 
 
 Make trivial price of serious things we have, 
 Not knowing them until we know their grave. 
 Oft our displeasures, to ourselves unjust, 
 Destroy our friends and after weep their dust. 
 Our own love waking cries to see what's done, 65 
 While shameful hate sleeps out the afternoon. 
 Be this sweet Helen's knell, and now forget her. 
 Send forth your amorous token for fair Maudlin. 
 The main consents are had ; and here we'll stay 
 To see our widower's second marriage-day, 70 
 
 Which better than the first, O dear Heaven, bless ! 
 Or, ere they meet, in me, O nature, cease ! 
 
 Laf. Come on, my son, in whom my house's name 
 Must be digested, give a favour from you 
 To sparkle in the spirits of my daughter, 75 
 
 That she may quickly come. [Bertram gives a ring.] 
 By my old beard.
 
 Sc. Ill ail'0 Mell t^at enOflf Witll 119 
 
 And every hair that's on't, Helen, that's dead. 
 Was a sweet creature ; such a ring as this, 
 The last that e'er I took her leave at court, 
 I saw upon her finger. 
 
 Ber. Hers it was not. 80 
 
 King. Now, pray you, let me see it ; for mine eye. 
 While I was speaking, oft was fasten'd to't. 
 This ring was mine ; and, when I gave it Helen, 
 I bade her, if her fortunes ever stood 
 Necessitied to help, that by this token 85 
 
 I would relieve her. Had you that craft, to reave 
 
 her 
 Of what should stand her most ? 
 
 Ber. My gracious sovereign, 
 
 Howe'er it pleases you to take it so. 
 The ring was never hers. 
 
 Count. Son, on my life, 
 
 I have seen her wear it ; and she reckon'd it 90 
 At her life's rate. 
 
 Laf. I am sure I saw her wear it. 
 
 Ber. You are deceived, my lord, she never saw it. 
 In Florence was it from a casement thrown me, 
 Wrapp'd in a paper, which contain'd the name 
 Of her that threw it. Noble she was, and thought 95 
 I stood engag'd ; but when I had subscrib'd 
 To mine own fortune, and inform'd her fully 
 I could not answer in that course of honour 
 As she had made the overture, she ceas'd
 
 I20 ail'flf Mell ttiat (EnDs? WizW Act v 
 
 In heavy satisfaction and would never 100 
 
 Receive the ring again. 
 
 King. Plutus himself, 
 
 That knows the tinct and multiplying medicine. 
 
 Hath not in nature's mystery more science 
 
 Than I have in this ring. 'Twas mine, 'twas 
 
 Helen's, 
 Whoever gave it you. Then, if you know 105 
 
 That you are well acquainted with yourself. 
 Confess 'twas hers, and by what rough enforce- 
 ment 
 You got it from her. She call'd the saints to surety 
 That she would never put it from her finger. 
 Unless she gave it to yourself in bed, 110 
 
 Where you have never come, or sent it us 
 Upon her great disaster. 
 
 Ber. She never saw it. 
 
 King. Thou speak'st it falsely, as I love mine honour ; 
 And mak'st conjectural fears to come into me. 
 Which I would fain shut out. If it should prove 115 
 That thou art so inhuman, — 'twill not prove 
 
 so ; — 
 And yet I know not : thou didst hate her deadly. 
 And she is dead ; which nothing, but to close 
 Her eyes myself, could win me to believe. 
 More than to see this ring. Take him away. 120 
 
 [Gtiards seize Bertram.] 
 My fore-past proofs, howe'er the matter fall.
 
 Sc. Ill airsf Mell t^at enD£f Well 121 
 
 Shall tax my fears of little vanity. 
 Having vainly fear'd too little. Away with him ! 
 We'll sift this matter further. 
 Ber. If you shall prove 
 
 This ring was ever hers, you shall as easy 125 
 
 Prove that I husbanded her bed in Florence, 
 \Miere yet she never was. [Exit, guarded.] 
 
 Enter a Gentleman. 
 
 King. I am wrapp'd in dismal thinkings. 
 
 Gent. Gracious sovereign, 
 
 Whether I have been to blame or no, I know not. 
 Here's a petition from a Florentine, ISO 
 
 Who hath for four or five removes come short 
 To tender it herself. I undertook it, 
 Vanquish'd thereto by the fair grace and speech 
 Of the poor suppliant, who by this I know 
 Is here attending. Her business looks in her 135 
 With an importing visage ; and she told me. 
 In a sweet verbal brief, it did concern 
 Your Highness with herself. 
 
 [King. Reads] a letter. "Upon his many protes- 
 tations to marry me when his wife was dead, 140 
 I blush to say it, he won me. Now is ._ the 
 Count Rousillon a widower ; his vows are for- 
 feited to me, and my honour's paid to him. 
 He stole from Florence, taking no leave, and I 
 
 /
 
 123 3111*51 tiMell t^at CnHfli Well Act v 
 
 follow him to his country for justice. Grant it 145 
 me, O king ! In you it best lies. Otherwise 
 a seducer flourishes, and a poor maid is undone. 
 
 Diana Capilet." 
 
 Laf. I will buy me a son-in law in a fair, and toll 
 
 for this. I'll none of him. 
 King. The heavens have thought well on thee, 
 Lafeu, 150 
 
 To bring forth this discovery. Seek these suitors. 
 
 Go speedilj' and bring again the Count. 
 
 I am afeard the life of Helen, lady. 
 
 Was foully snatch'd. 
 Count. Now, justice on the doers ! 
 
 Re-enter Bertram [gwirded]. 
 
 King. I wonder, sir, sith wives are monsters to you, 155 
 And that you fly them as you swear them lordship, 
 Yet you desire to marry. What woman's that ? 
 
 Enter Widow and Diana. 
 
 Dia. I am, my lord, a wretched Florentine, 
 Derived from the ancient Capilet. 
 My suit, as I do understand, you know, IGO 
 
 And therefore know how far I may be pitied. 
 
 Wid. I am her mother, sir, whose age and honour 
 Both suffer under this complaint we bring. 
 And both shall cease, without your remedy.
 
 Sc. Ill ail'0 Well t^at enOsf Mell 123 
 
 King. Come hither, Count ; do you know these 
 women ? 165 
 
 Ber. My lord, I neither can nor will deny 
 
 But that I know them. Do they charge me further ? 
 Dia. \Miy do you look so strange upon your wife ? 
 Ber. She's none of mine, my lord. 
 Dia. If you shall marry, 
 
 You give away this hand, and that is mine ; 170 
 
 You give away heaven's vows, and those are mine ; 
 
 You give away myself, which is known mine ; 
 
 For I by vow am so embodied yours. 
 
 That she which marries you must marry me, 
 
 Either both or none. 175 
 
 Laf. Your reputation comes too short for my 
 
 daughter ; you are no husband for her. 
 Ber. My lord, this is a fond and desperate creature. 
 
 Whom sometime I have laugh'd with. Let your 
 Highness 
 
 Lay a more noble thought upon mine honour 180 
 
 Than for to think that I would sink it here. 
 King. Sir, for my thoughts, you have them ill to friend 
 
 Till your deeds gain them. Fairer prove your 
 honour 
 
 Than in my thought it lies. 
 Dia. Good my lord. 
 
 Ask him upon his oath, if he does think 185 
 
 He had not my virginity. 
 King. What say'st thou to her ?
 
 L24 ail's; Mell t^at enti0 OTell Act v 
 
 Ber. She's impudent, my lord. 
 
 And was a common gamester to the camp. 
 
 Dia. He does me wrong, my lord ; if I were so. 
 
 He might have bought me at a common price. 190 
 Do not believe him. O, behold this ring. 
 Whose high respect and rich validity 
 Did lack a parallel ; yet for all that 
 He gave it to a commoner o' the camp. 
 If I be one. 
 
 Count. He blushes, and 'tis hit. 195 
 
 Of six preceding ancestors, that gem, 
 Conferr'd by testament to the sequent issue. 
 Hath it been owed and worn. This is his wife ; 
 That ring's a thousand proofs. 
 
 King. Methought you said 
 
 You saw one here in court could witness it. 200 
 
 Dia. I did, my lord, but loath am to produce 
 So bad an instrument. His name's Parolles. 
 
 Laf. I saw the man to-day, if man he be. 
 
 King. Find him, and bring him hither. 
 
 [Exit an attendant.] 
 
 Ber. What of him ? 
 
 He's quoted for a most perfidious slave, 205 
 
 With all the spots o' the world tax'd and debauch'd, 
 Whose nature sickens but to speak a truth. 
 Am I or that or this for what he'll utter, 
 That will speak anything ? 
 
 King. She hath that ring of yours.
 
 Sc. Ill aU'flf mtli t^at <EnO0 Mell 125 
 
 Ber, I think she has. Certain it is I lik'd her, 210 
 And boarded her i' the wanton way of youth. 
 She knew her distance and did angle for me. 
 Madding my eagerness with her restraint. 
 As all impediments in fancy's course 
 Are motives of more fancy ; and, in fine, 215 
 
 Her infinite cunning, with her modern grace, 
 Subdu'd me to her rate. She got the ring ; 
 And I had that which any inferior might 
 At market-price have bought. 
 
 Dia. I must be patient. 
 
 You, that have turn'd off a first so noble wife, 220 
 May justly diet me. I pray you yet, — 
 Since you lack virtue, I will lose a husband, — 
 Send for your ring, I will return it home. 
 And give me mine again. 
 
 Ber. I have it not. 
 
 King. What ring was yours, I pray you ? 
 
 Dia. Sir, much like 
 
 The same upon your finger. 226 
 
 King. Know you this ring ? This ring was his of late. 
 
 Dia. And this was it I gave him, being abed. 
 
 King. The story then goes false, you threw it him 
 Out of a casement. 
 
 Dia. I have spoke the truth. 230 
 
 Enter Parolles. 
 Ber. My lord, I do confess the ring was hers.
 
 136 2i\Vfi mtW t^at C^nDs; OTell Act v 
 
 King, You boggle shrewdly, every feather starts you. 
 Is this the man you speak of ? 
 
 Dia. Ay, my lord. 
 
 King. Tell me, sirrah, but tell me true, I charge you. 
 Not fearing the displeasure of your master, 235 
 ^Miich on your just proceeding I'll keep off, 
 By him and by this woman here what know you ? 
 
 Par. So please your Majesty, my master hath been 
 an honourable gentleman. Tricks he hath had 
 in him, which gentlemen have. 240 
 
 King. Come, come, to the purpose. Did he love 
 this woman ? 
 
 Par. Faith, sir, he did love her ; but how ? 
 
 King. How, I pray you ? 
 
 Par. He did love her, sir, as a gentleman loves a 245 
 woman. 
 
 King. How is that ? 
 
 Par. He lov'd her, sir, and lov'd her not. 
 
 King. As thou art a knave, and no knave. 
 
 V^Tiat an equivocal companion is this ! 250 
 
 Par. I am a poor man, and at your Majesty's com- 
 mand. 
 
 Laf. He's a good drum, my lord, but a naughty 
 orator. 
 
 Dia. Do you know he promis'd me marriage ? 255 
 
 Par. Faith, I know more than I'll speak. 
 
 King. But wilt thou not speak all thou know'st ? 
 
 Par. Yes, so please your Majesty. I did go be-
 
 Sc. Ill ail's; Mell tl^at CnD0 watii 127 
 
 tween them, as I said ; but more than that, 
 he lov'd her ; for indeed he was mad for her, 260 
 and talk'd of Satan and of Limbo and of 
 Furies and I know not what. Yet I was in 
 that credit with them at that time that I 
 knew of their going to bed, and of other mo- 
 tions, as promising her marriage, and things 265 
 which would derive me ill will to speak of ; 
 therefore, I will not speak what I know. 
 
 King. Thou hast spoken all already, unless thou 
 canst say they are married. But thou art too 
 fine in thy evidence ; therefore stand aside. 270 
 This ring, you say, was yours ? 
 
 Dia. Ay, my good lord. 
 
 King. Where did you buy it ? Or who gave it you ? 
 
 Dia. It was not given me, nor I did not buy it. 
 
 King. Who lent it you .'' 
 
 Dia. It was not lent me neither. 
 
 King. Where did you find it, then ? 
 
 Dia. I found it not. 
 
 King. If it were yours by none of all these ways, 276 
 How could you give it him ? 
 
 Dia. I never gave it him. 
 
 Laf. This woman's an easy glove, my lord ; she 
 goes off and on at pleasure. 
 
 King. This ring was mine ; I gave it his first wife. 280 
 
 Dia. It might be yours or hers, for aught I know. 
 
 King. Take her away ; I do not like her now.
 
 i28 air^ OTell t^at enDg OTell Act v 
 
 To prison with her ; and away with him. 
 Unless thou tell'st me where thou hadst this 
 ring, 284 
 
 Thou diest within this hour. 
 
 Dia. I'll never tell you. 
 
 King. Take her away. 
 
 Dia. I'll put in bail, my liege. 
 
 King. I think thee now some common customer. 
 
 Dia. By Jove, if ever I knew man, 'twas you. 
 
 King. Wherefore hast thou accus'd him all this while ? 
 
 Dia. Because he's guilty, and he is not guilty. 290 
 
 He knows I am no maid, and he'll swear to't : 
 I'll swear I am a maid, and he knows not. 
 Great king, I am no strumpet, by my life ; 
 I am either maid, or else this old man's wife. 
 
 King. She does abuse our ears. To prison with her ! 295 
 
 Dia. Good mother, fetch my bail. Stay, royal sir, 
 
 [Exit Widow.] 
 The jeweller that owes the ring is sent for, 
 And he shall surety me. But for this lord, 
 WTio hath abus'd me, as he knows himself. 
 Though yet he never harm'd me, here I quit him. 300 
 He knows himself my bed he hath defil'd. 
 And at that time he got his wife with child. 
 Dead though she be, she feels her young one 
 
 kick. 
 So there's my riddle : one that's dead is quick ; 
 And now behold the meaning.
 
 Sc. Ill aU'fif Mell t\)U euDflf Mell 129 
 
 Re-enter Widow^ vnth Heleim. 
 
 King. Is there no exorcist 
 
 Beguiles the truer office of mine eyes ? 306 
 
 Is't real that I see ? 
 Hel. No, my good lord ; 
 
 'Tis but the shadow of a wife you see, 
 
 The name and not the thing. 
 Ber. Both, both. O, pardon ! 
 
 Hel. O my good lord, when I was like this maid, 310 
 
 I found you wondrous kind. There is your ring ; 
 
 And, look you, here's your letter. This it says : 
 
 " When from my finger you can get this ring 
 
 And are by me with child," etc. 
 
 This is done. 
 
 Will you be mine, now you are doubly won ^ 315 
 Ber. If she, my liege, can make me know this clearly, 
 
 I'll love her dearly, ever, ever dearly. 
 Hel. If it appear not plain and prove untrue. 
 
 Deadly divorce step between me and you ! 
 
 my dear mother, do I see you living ? 320 
 Laf. Mine eyes smell onions ; I shall weep anon. 
 
 [To Parolles.] Good Tom Drum, lend me a hand- 
 kercher. So, 
 
 1 thank thee ; wait on me home, I'll make sport 
 
 with thee. 
 Let thy courtesies alone, they are scurvy ones. 
 King. Let us from point to point this story know, 325 
 
 E
 
 I30 ail'0 Mell tt)at (I0nU0 «eU Act v 
 
 To make the even truth in pleasure flow. 
 
 [To Diana.] If thou be'st yet a fresh uncropped 
 
 flower, 
 Choose thou thy husband, and I'll pay thy dower ; 
 For I can guess that by thy honest aid 
 Thou kept'st a wife herself, thyself a maid. 330 
 Of that and all the progress, more and less, 
 Resolvedly more leisure shall express. 
 All yet seems well ; and if it end so meet. 
 The bitter past, more welcome is the sweet. 
 
 Flourish. 
 
 [EPILOGUE] 
 
 [King.] The king's a beggar, now the play is done. 335 
 All is well ended, if this suit be won. 
 That you express content ; which we will pay. 
 With strife to please you, day exceeding day. 
 Ours be your patience then, and yours our parts ; 
 Your gentle hands lend us, and take our hearts. 340 
 
 Exeunt omnes.
 
 0ott& 
 
 Act First, Scene i. The play is divided into acts in the 
 Folio; the scene divisions and notes of place have been 
 added by later editors. The stage directions are in the 
 main those of the Folio, with some later expansions and 
 additions, distinguished by brackets. 
 
 I. i. 10-12. whose worthiness . . . abundance. Even 
 if the King lacked kindness, your worthiness would inspire 
 it; how much more, then, shall you find it, when it is 
 already present in abundance. 
 
 I. i. 51. simpleness. Absence of the complexity which 
 exists where mind and qualities do not accord. Helena's 
 disposition and gifts are of a piece. 
 
 I. i. 69. How understand we that? Lafeu's diflSculty 
 is not with Bertram's words, but with the preceding speech 
 of the Countess, who has given to Lafeu's commonplace 
 observation a turn suggested by her suspicion (cf. I. iii. 
 127) that the living Bertram is the enemy to Helena's 
 sorrow for her dead father. Meantime Bertram has been 
 quick to change the subject. 
 
 I. i. 70-81. Compare Polonius's advice to Laertes, 
 Hamlet, I. iii. 59-80. 
 
 I. i. 81, 82. He is sure to have the best advice that those 
 who love him can give. 
 
 I. i. 91. these great tears. The tears which Helena 
 sheds for Bertram, but which the others suppose to be 
 for her father. 
 
 131
 
 133 il^oteflf 
 
 I. i. 100. sphere. Cf. especially Hamlet, IV. vii. 15. 
 
 I. i. 114. take place. Take precedence. 
 
 I. i. 121-179. This passage has been regarded by many 
 editors as an interpolation — a view to which its seeming 
 inconsistency with Helena's character, as well as the break 
 in the connection at its close, lends some color. But it 
 should also be remembered that many things which are 
 distasteful to us were not so to an Elizabethan audience, 
 or even to Shakespeare. 
 
 I. i. 172. toothpick. Toothpicks were actually worn, 
 either in the hat or on a ribbon. 
 
 I. i. 180. There. The break in the connection makes 
 the reference obscure. There has been interpreted vari- 
 ously as referring to the Court, to Helena herself, and even 
 to both, on the supposition that Helena secretly means 
 herself, but ostensibly (for Parolles's benefit) the Court. 
 
 I. i. 199, 200. show . . . thanks. The contrast is 
 between showing (" with effects," by deeds) and merely 
 thinking, which never yields us gratitude. 
 
 I. i. 218. of a good wing. A term of praise, as applied 
 to a falcon, but used here with a quibble on the other sense 
 of flight. 
 
 I. i. 237, 238. Those who are sundered by the greatest 
 disparity of fortune nature (through the affections) brings 
 together, so that they join like things that are alike and 
 native to each other. For space in fortune, cf. I. iii. 115- 
 117; for kiss, cf. Timon of Athens, IV. iii. 388, 389. 
 
 I. i. 240. weigh their pains in sense. Estimate their 
 labors on the basis of mere reason, instead of daring greatly. 
 
 I. ii. 41. his hand. The clock's hand; its rarely occurs 
 in Shakespeare.
 
 j^teflf 133 
 
 I. ii. 43. He treated as strangers, or, as being of higher 
 rank than they were. 
 
 I. ii. 44, 45. Making . . . humbled. Making them 
 proud through his condescension, and humbling himself 
 n receiving the inadequate praise which it called forth. 
 The passage is perhaps corrupt. 
 
 I. ii. 54, 55. Probably a reminiscence of the Collect 
 in the Book of Common Prayer: " Grant . . . that the 
 words which we have heard with our outward ears may 
 . . . be so grafted inwardly . . . that they may bring forth 
 the fruit of good living." (Knight.) 
 
 I. ii. 68. lend it you. Give you love. 
 
 I. iii. 19. to go to the world. To be married. 
 
 I. iii. 45. Y'are shallow ... in great friends. Your 
 knowledge of great friends is not profound. 
 
 I. iii. 55, 56. Charbon . . . Poysam. It has been con- 
 jectured plausibly that the words may stand for Chair- 
 bonne and Poisson, and may refer to the respective Lenten 
 fare of the Puritan and the Papist. 
 
 I. iii. 64-67. Cf. the lines of a ballad published in 
 1577- 
 
 Content yourself as well as I, 
 Let reason rule your mind : 
 As cuckolds come by destiny 
 So cuckoos sing by kind. 
 
 I. iii. 74-83. Probably also adapted from a contempor- 
 ary ballad. With the first line compare Marlowe's Doctor 
 Faustus, xiii. 92: 
 
 " Was this the face that launch'd a thousand ships. 
 And burn'd the topless towers of Ilium ? "
 
 134 0Otti 
 
 I. iii. 91. o'er every blazing star. Over (that is, during 
 the time of) every comet. Collier reads one for o'er, 
 Capell, or. 
 
 I. iii. 99. A reference to the Puritan aversion to the 
 surplice, for which the black Geneva gown was substituted. 
 
 I. iii. 100. big heart. Haughty spirit. 
 
 I. iii. 135. these. Such pains of love as Helena is 
 undergoing. The idea is at once made explicit in " This 
 thorn." 
 
 I. iii. 169-171. Or were you . . . not his sister. If you 
 were the mother of both of us, I should care for it as I care 
 for heaven, if only thereby I were not his sister. No more 
 than is litotes. 
 
 I. iii. 208. captious and intenible (Fi intemible). If 
 captious means " able to contain " or " capacious," as it 
 is commonly interpreted, it appears nowhere else in this sense ; 
 and intenible (" incapable of retaining ") is found only 
 here. Singer suggests that captious has the sense of 
 " deceitful, fallacious," and that the reference may be to the 
 sieve of the Danaides. The phrase, as it stands, seems to 
 mean a deceptive sieve that will not hold. 
 
 I. iii. 219. both herself and love. Chastity and passion 
 together. 
 
 I. iii. 230. For general sovereignty. As of sovereign 
 and universal value. 
 
 I. iii. 231. In heedfulPst reservation to bestow them. 
 To treasure them up with the utmost care. 
 
 I. iii. 232, 233. notes . . . note. Prescriptions the vir- 
 tues of which were more comprehensive than was matter of 
 common knowledge. 
 
 II. i. 1, 2. lords . . . lords. The Cambridge editors
 
 j^otta 135 
 
 suggest that ** probably the young noblemen are divided 
 into two sections as they intend to take service with the 
 Florentines or ' Senoys.' " 
 
 II. i. 6. After well ent'red soldiers. After being well 
 initiated as soldiers. 
 
 II. i. 12-14. higher Italy . . . monarchy. The passage 
 is probably corrupt. Higher Italy has been variously 
 interpreted as " Upper Italy," and " the worthiest among 
 Italians." The last monarchy has been explained as Rome, 
 and as the empire of Charles V. 
 
 II. i. 27. I am . . . kept a coil. I have a fuss made 
 about me. 
 
 II. i. 30. the forehorse to a smock. A lady's usher. 
 
 II. i. 54, 55. wear themselves in the cap of the time. 
 Are in the height of fashion. Cf. Hamlet, II. ii. 233. 
 
 II. i. 55, 56. muster true gait. Apparently, make a 
 parade of the correct gait. Cf. 2 Henry IV, II. iii. 28-32; 
 Winter's Tale, IV. iv. 755. 
 
 II. i. 70. across. By a clumsy or unskilful stroke. Cf. 
 Much Ado, V. i. 139; .4^ You Like It, III. iv. 44-47. 
 
 II. i. 87, 88. hath amazed . . . weakness. My amaze- 
 ment is too great to be accounted for by imputing it to 
 my weakness. 
 
 II. i. 138. set up your rest. Make up your mind. A 
 phrase from the game of primero, but frequently used in a 
 figurative sense as here. 
 
 II. i. 158, 159. proclaim . . . aim. I do not insincerely 
 claim powers for myself contrary to what I know I can 
 effect. 
 
 II. i. 166. murk. Either noun or adjective. 
 
 II. i. 176. nay . . . eirtended. What is worst, drawn
 
 136 i^otrfif 
 
 out to what is even worse. For a fuller statement of the 
 same idea, cf. King Lear, IV. i. 8, 9 ; 27-30. The passage is 
 obscure : see Textual Variants. 
 
 II. i. 180, 181. And . . . way. That which seems 
 impossible in the light of everyday reason, sounder reason 
 may accept on other grounds. 
 
 II. i. 183. in thee hath estimate. May be reckoned as 
 thine. 
 
 II. i. 190, 191. flinch . . . spoke. Fall short in what 
 pertains to my promise. 
 
 II. i. 194. make it even. Carry it out. 
 
 II. ii. 23. French crown. Bald head. Cf. Midsummer 
 Nighfs Dream, I. ii. 99. For taffeta punk, cf. 1 Henry IV, 
 I. ii. 10. 
 
 II. ii. 24. Tib's . . . forefinger. The rush ring was used 
 in rustic marriage ceremonies, especially those of a some- 
 what equivocal character. Tom and Tib are cant terms 
 for lad and lass; cf. Jack and Jill. 
 
 II. ii. 25. a pancake for Shrove Tuesday. A reference 
 to the old custom of eating pancakes on the last day before 
 Lent. 
 
 II. iii. 7. argument of wonder. Amazing affair. 
 
 II. iii. 31. Dauphin. Fi reads Dolphin, a common 
 spelling of Dauphin. It is possible that a pun is intended. 
 
 II. iii. 64. to each but one. To each only one. Some 
 editors understand, to each save one (i.e. Bertram). 
 
 II. iii. 83. All the rest is mute. I have nothing more 
 to say to you. Cf. Hamlet, V. ii. 369. 
 
 II. iii. 85. Ames-ace. The lowest throw at dice. 
 Lafeu is speaking ironically. 
 
 II. iii. 134. swell's. Swell us.
 
 jl^oteflf 137 
 
 II. iii. 136. VUeness is so. I.e. vileness is vile, without 
 a name. 
 
 II. iii. 156. which to defeat. Which peril to my honor 
 to avert. 
 
 II. iii. 161. poising us in. Throwing our own weight 
 into. 
 
 II. iii. 186. Shall . . . brief. Perhaps, must show itself 
 as following promptly upon the contract that has just been 
 made. But the line is obscure. 
 
 II. iii. 188. Shall . . . space. Shall be longer delayed. 
 
 II. iii. 211. for two ordinaries. For the space of two 
 meals. 
 
 II. iii. 237. pull at a smack of the contrary. There's 
 a dash of the opposite {i.e. folly) in the dram you have to 
 drink. 
 
 II. iii. 242. in the default. If necessary. 
 
 II. iii. 247. will. Will pass. 
 
 II. iii. 260. make some reservation of your wrongs. 
 Keep your insults to yourself. 
 
 II. V. 3. valiant approof. Proved valor. 
 
 II. V. 30-34. Lafeu is continuing his gibing remarks 
 that have been interrupted, at 1. 21, by the asides 
 between Bertram and Parolles, and 11. 30-34 are directed 
 against Parolles. 
 
 II. v. 40. him that leap'd into the custard. A refer- 
 ence to a not uncommon custom for the Fool at state 
 banquets. Cf. Ben Jonson, The Devil is an xiss. Act I, 
 sc. i : 
 
 He may perchance, in tail of a sherifE's dinner, 
 Skip with a rhyme on the table, from New-Nothing 
 And take his Almain leap into a custard.
 
 138 0Ott& 
 
 II. V. 42. your residence. Your remaining in it (i.e. 
 in my displeasure). 
 
 II. V. 64. holds not colour with. Is not in keeping with. 
 
 II. V. 66. on my particular. On my part — to be con- 
 nected with required. 
 
 III. i. 11-13. an outward . . . motion. An outsider 
 who has to form his conception of a council by means of 
 his own feeble intelligence. 
 
 III. ii. 7. the ruff. The rufiF around the top of the boot, 
 which it was the fashion of the time to wear. 
 
 III. ii. 14. old ling. Kinnear conjectured codlings, raw 
 youths. 
 
 III. ii. 34. For the contempt of empire. For even an 
 emperor to disdain. 
 
 III. ii. 92, 93. has ... to have. An obscure passage. 
 Perhaps has a deal of that over-confidence which avers 
 (holds) his high endowments. Or, possibly, which keeps him 
 from having much, being worth much. 
 
 III. ii. 113. the still-peering air. Numerous emenda- 
 tions for this passage have been suggested. The reading 
 of the text (without the hyphen) is that of Fi. Ff2-4 have 
 still 'piercing. Steevens's emendation still-piecing (i.e. 
 " continually closing up ") has been adopted by many 
 editors. But it seems more probable that peering has here 
 the common sense of " showing itself, appearing," so that 
 the phrase would mean " the air that ever presents itself 
 (as a mark)." 
 
 III. ii. 124. Whence. From the wars, where, etc. 
 
 III. iv. 4. Saint Jaques' pilgrim. A pilgrim to one of 
 the shrines of Saint James. 
 
 III. iv. 27, 28. whom . . . grant. A confused construe-
 
 p>ttsi 139 
 
 tion. Whom taken with delights refers to her; taken with 
 loves, to prayers. 
 
 III. V. 25. dissuade succession. Dissuade others from 
 following the same course. 
 
 III. V. 55. bravely taken. Regarded as brave. 
 
 III. V. 62. In argument of praise. So far as praise- 
 worthiness is concerned. 
 
 III. V. 62. to. As compared with. 
 
 III. vi. 41. John Drum's entertainment. Often in the 
 form " Jack (or Tom) Drum's entertainment " (cf. V. iii. 
 322). The phrase was proverbial for a beating, or for 
 maltreatment of various sorts. Cf. Holinshed : " Tom 
 Drum his entertainment, which is, to hale a man in by the 
 heade, and thrust him out by bothe the shoulders;" 
 Withal's Dictionarie: " Hee thrust him foorthe of doores 
 by head and shoulders, as they say, Jack Drum's entertain- 
 ment." It is not necessary to suppose that there is any 
 reference to Marston's play. Jack Drum's Entertainment 
 (1600). 
 
 III. vi. 66. or *'hic jacet." Or you may write my 
 epitaph. 
 
 III. vi. 81. mortal preparation. Preparation for death. 
 
 III. vi. 115. my twigs. Cf. III. v. 26. 
 
 III. vi. 122. that we have i' the wind. On whose 
 scent we are. 
 
 III. vii. 3. But I shall lose, etc. Without losing. 
 Bertram is the only witness she can call, and to do that 
 would be to frustrate her plan. 
 
 III. vii. 9. to your sworn counsel. Under pledge of 
 secrecy. 
 
 III. vii. 21. important blood. Urgent passion.
 
 14© il^oteflf 
 
 III. vii. 26. most rich choice. Highest estimation. 
 
 IV. i. 46. Bajazet's mule. No explanation of this 
 reference has been found. Perhaps it is Parolles's mistake 
 for Balaam's ass. 
 
 IV. i. 99. woodcock. The stock emblem of stupidity. 
 Cf. Twelfth Night, II. v. 92; Hamlet, I. iii. 115, etc. 
 
 IV. ii. 38. Make rope's in such a scarre. A hopelessly 
 obscure and probably corrupt passage, for which numerous 
 unsatisfactory emendations have been proposed. As the 
 line stands, 's in rope's (Ffi-2; ropes, FU-i) presumably rep- 
 resents us; a scarre is a cliff or precipice. The general 
 sense — that men somehow bring women to such a pass 
 that they forget themselves — is clear enough. More de- 
 tailed explanation is futile. 
 
 IV. ii. 62. Another ring. This second ring is Shake- 
 speare's own addition to the plot. Its effectiveness as a 
 device for enhancing the complication is obvious. 
 
 IV. iii. 23. God delay our rebellion! I.e. against Him, 
 or against our true selves. Cf. our own traitors (1. 25), 
 contrives against his own nobility (1. 29). 
 
 IV. iii. 31. Is it not meant damnable in us? Is not 
 our intention a damnable one ? 
 
 IV. iii. 99. an abstract of success. " A successful 
 summary proceeding." (Schmidt.) 
 
 IV, iii. 136. Hoodman comes! An allusion to the game 
 of hoodman-blind, now known as blind-man's buff. Cf. 
 Hamlet, III. iv. 77. 
 
 IV. iii. 175. in the nature. After the fashion in which. 
 
 IV. iii. 183. this present hour. Only this present 
 hour. 
 
 IV. iii. 280. He will . . . cloister. " He will steal
 
 i^oteflf 141 
 
 anything, however trifling, from any place, however holy." 
 (Johnson.) 
 
 IV. iii. 297, 298. A reference to the use of the drum to 
 announce the arrival of strolling actors. 
 
 IV. iii. 301. Mile-end. Where the London militia 
 was drilled. Cf. 2 Henry IV, III. ii. 298-306. 
 
 IV. iii. 306. the rarity. The very excellence of his 
 performance. 
 
 IV. iii. 333. beguile the supposition of. Create a false 
 opinion in the mind of. 
 
 IV. iv. 7. flinty Tartar's bosom. Cf. Merchant of 
 Venice, IV. i. 30-33. 
 
 IV. iv. 30. Yet, I pray you. Helena's yet takes up 
 again, after Diana's interruption, the yet of 1. 27. 
 
 IV. iv. 31. with the word. Even while we speak. 
 
 IV. iv. 35. the fine's the crown. Finis coronat opus. 
 
 IV. v. 1-4. Snipt-taffeta . . . colour. Both snipt-taffeta 
 and saffron, like red-taiVd in 1. 7, refer contemptuously 
 to Parolles's dress (cf . II. iii. 214, 264, 265 ; II. v. 48 ; 
 III. V. 88; etc.). The frequent use of saffron not only as 
 a dye in starch, but also for coloring pastry (cf. Winter's 
 Tale, IV. iii. 48), suggests the figure in unbak'd and 
 doughy. 
 
 IV. V. 22. grass. An obvious pun upon grace, 1. 18. 
 
 IV. V. 41. 'a has an English name. Black Prince (1. 
 44) is of course used in a double sense. If the Folio reading 
 maine (" mane ") is correct {name is Howe's emendation), 
 the reference is probably to the shagginess of the con- 
 ventional stage Devil. The mention of the hotter fisnomy 
 is another of the numerous allusions to the so-called French 
 disease. Cf. II. ii. 23 and IV. v. 100.
 
 14^ 0ottii 
 
 IV. V. 57. the flowery way. Cf. Macbeth, II. iii. 21 ; 
 Hamlet, I. iii. 50. 
 
 IV. V. 103. two pile and a half. A reference to the 
 closeness of the pile of velvet. Cf. Measure for Measure, 
 I. ii. 32-36. 
 
 IV. V. 107. carbonado'd. Scored across, like a piece 
 of meat for broiling. Cf. Coriolanus, IV. v. 199. 
 
 V. i. 5. s. d. a Gentle Astringer. The reading of the 
 First Folio. Ff3-4 read Enter a Gentleman a stranger. An 
 astringer was a falconer, and since there is nothing to indi- 
 cate such a calling on the part of the courtier, who is else- 
 where referred to only as Gent, (or Gen.), it has been con- 
 jectured that the later Ff. are correct. This is both 
 plausible and tempting, but considering the vogue of 
 falconry, emendation is unsafe. 
 
 V. ii. 25. ingenious. Perhaps, tricky. 
 
 V. ii. 26. similes of comfort. ConsoHng similes {i.e. 
 Fortune's close-stool. Fortune's cat, etc.), with ironical ref- 
 erence on the Fool's part to Parolles's metaphor (1. 12). 
 Fi reads smiles. Cf. 1 Henry IV, I. ii. 89, for the same 
 misprint. 
 
 V. ii. 42. more than word. A play on Parolles's name, 
 which in French is the plural of "word." Ff3-4 read one word. 
 
 V. ii. 42. Cox my passion. A distortion of " God's my 
 passion." 
 
 V. iii. 3, 4. to know Her estimation home. To appre- 
 ciate her thoroughly. 
 
 V. iii. 6. Natural rebellion. The rebellion of nature. 
 Cf. IV. iii. 23. 
 
 V. iii. 6. The blaze of youth. Blaze is Warburton's 
 emendation for blade of the Folio, the sense of which would
 
 ipoted 143 
 
 be " the spring-time of youth." With the passage as it 
 stands in the text, cf. Hamlet, I. iii. 115-120; III. iv. 82-85. 
 
 V. iii. 17. richest eyes. Eyes that have seen most. 
 Cf. As You Like It, IV. i. 24. 
 
 V. iii, 22. repetition. I.e. of our harsh feelings toward 
 him. 
 
 V. iii. 29. All . . . Highness. He is your Highness's 
 to command. 
 
 V. iii. 32. a day of season. A seasonable day. For the 
 construction, cf. Winter's Tale, III. ii. 107, strength of limit, 
 i.e. limited strength. 
 
 V. iii. 52. Thence it came. I.e. from this contempt. 
 Bertram is dexterously turning his previous admiration 
 for Lafeu's daughter into an explanation of his attitude 
 toward Helena (to whom she of 1. 53 refers). 
 
 V. iii. 65, 66. Our own love ... the afternoon. A 
 puzzling passage, upon which the commentators have 
 wreaked much ingenuity. It perhaps means nothing more 
 than that love, even when (as in Bertram's case) it awakes 
 too late, has at least the grace of tears, while shameful 
 hate (with which the King does not yet charge Bertram) 
 never awakes at all. But the King seems to be generalizing 
 with little or no specific application. 
 
 V. iii. 79. The last . . . leave. The last time that she 
 took leave of me. 
 
 V. iii. 96, 97. subscrib'd To mine own fortime. Made 
 a full statement of my affairs. 
 
 V. iii. 100. In heavy satisfaction. With sorrowful con- 
 viction. 
 
 V. iii. 102. the tinct and multiplying medicine. The 
 elixir that transmutes the baser metals into gold.
 
 144 0Ott& 
 
 V. iii. 121-123. My fore-past proof s . . .too little. My 
 former fears, based on such evidence as I then had, can 
 scarcely now be censured as delusive, since I have rather, 
 in my folly, feared too little. 
 
 V. iii. 131. for four or five removes come short. Come 
 short (of overtaking the King) by four or five post-stages. 
 
 V. iii. 148. Toll for this. The reference is probably 
 to certain statutes regulating the sale of horses at fairs, 
 rather than to ringing a knell, and the sense is that Lafeu 
 will buy a properly registered son-in-law and advertise 
 Bertram as for sale. 
 
 V. iii. 199, 200. Apparently a slip, as Diana has not said 
 this. 
 
 V. iii. 216. her modem grace. Modem is used in its 
 usual Shakespearean sense of "common, ordinary." Bertram 
 is emphasizing Diana's cunning, but wilfully minimizing her 
 attractions. 
 
 V. iii. 305. Exorcist. Here, one who can raise spirits. 
 Cf. Julivs Caesar, II. i. 323. 
 
 V. iii. 335. The king's a beggar ; i.e. for the " expressed 
 content " of applause.
 
 Cejrtwal a^ariantjj 
 
 The text in the present edition is based upon the first Folio, 
 and the following list records the more important variations 
 from that version. 
 
 I. i. 129. sitting] Johnson ; setting Ff . 
 wear] Capell ; were Ff . 
 Thus] Pope; This Ff . 
 o'er] Rowe ; ore Fi ; one Collier. 
 [Diana no] Theobald ; Ff omit. 
 loneliness] Theobald ; loneliness Ff . 
 the one to the other] 'ton tooth to th' other Ff. 
 II. i. 43. with his cicatrice, an] Theobald ; his sicatrice, with 
 anFi. 
 fee] Theobald; see Ff . 
 fits] Theobald conj. ; shifts Ff. 
 otherwise ; nay] Malone conj. ; otherwise, ne Fi. 
 heaven] Thirlby conj. ; helpe Fi. 
 facinorous] Steevens; facinerious Ff. 
 After father, Ff. insert [She addresses her to a Lord, 
 stand] Rowe ; stands Ff . 
 when] Thirlby conj. ; whence Ff . 
 detested] Rowe; detected Ff. 
 End] Collier; And Ff . 
 
 Keightley's arrangement. Ff. give whole line to 
 Helena. 
 III. i. 9. 1 Lord] French E. Ff. 
 
 2 Lord] Rowe; Fren. G. Ff. 
 L 145 
 
 '.. i. 
 
 129. 
 
 
 172. 
 
 ii. 
 
 56. 
 
 iii. 
 
 91. 
 
 
 119. 
 
 
 177. 
 
 
 183. 
 
 ;. i. 
 
 43. 
 
 
 64. 
 
 
 147. 
 
 
 176. 
 
 
 195. 
 
 iii. 
 
 35. 
 
 
 68. 
 
 
 127. 
 
 
 132. 
 
 
 309. 
 
 V. 
 
 29. 
 
 
 94. 
 
 '.. i. 
 
 9. 
 
 
 17.
 
 146 tCmual J^ariantfif 
 
 ii. 9. sold] F3; holdFi. 
 
 20. E'en] Theobald; In Ff. 
 47, etc. 1. Lord] French E. Ff. 
 49, etc. £. Lord] French G. Ff. 
 65. 1. Lord] 1 G. Ff. 
 vi. 1, etc. 1. Lord] nowe; Cap.E.Ff. 
 3, etc. 2. Lord]IU>we; Cap.G.FL 
 38. his] Rowe ; this Ff . 
 40. ore] oar Theobald ; ours Ff. 
 vii. 34. this] F2-4 ; Fi omits. 
 IV. i. 1. 1. Lord] 1. Lord E. Ff. 
 9, etc. 1. Lord] Lord E. Ff. 
 ii. 38. Hopelessly corrupt. 
 iii. 1, etc. 2. Lord] Cap. G. Ff. 
 3, etc. 1. Lord] Cap. E. Ff. 
 158. All's one to him] Capell ; continued to Parolles Ff. 
 222. lordship] Pope; Lord Ff. 
 268. our] Capell ; your F1-2 ; the F3-4. 
 V. 19. [salad] sallet Rowe ; Ff. omit. 
 V. ii. 26. similes] Theobald ; smiles Ff . 
 iii. 6. blaze] Theobald conj. ; blade Ff. 
 27. 1. Lord] Gent. Ff. 
 155. sith] Dyce; sir, Fi. 
 
 158. s. d. and Diana] Rowe ; Diana and Parolles Ff. 
 216. infinite cunning] Singer ; insuite comming Fi.
 
 dSlDjsisari? 
 
 'a, he; IV. v. 41. 
 
 abuse, maltreat, offend ; V. iii. 295 : deceive ; V. iii. 299. 
 
 act, activity, active service; I. ii. 30. 
 
 addition, title; II. iii. 134 : augmentation; IV. ii. 3. 
 
 admiration, wonder, wonderful object ; II. i. 91. 
 
 adoptious, assumed or adopted ; I. i. 188. 
 
 advertisement, advice ; IV. iii. 240. 
 
 advice, judgment, consideration ; III. iv. 19. 
 
 against, in the face of ; I. iii. 180. 
 
 ample, amply, thoroughly ; III. v. 46. 
 
 an, if; II. i. 29. 
 
 anatomize, dissect ; IV. iii. 37. 
 
 appeach, inform against; I. iii. 197. 
 
 appliance, cure; II. i. 116. 
 
 appointment, engagement; II. v. 72. 
 
 apprehensive, capricious, fastidious ; I. ii, 60. 
 
 approof, approval ; I. ii. 50. 
 
 approve, confirm, vouch for; I. ii. 10: try» prove; I. iii. 
 
 234. 
 araise, raise up ; II. i. 79. 
 armipotent, mighty in arms; IV. iii. 264. 
 artist, learned and expert physician ; II. iii. 10. 
 attend, be in attendance on ; I. i. 4 : await; II. iii. 57. 
 authentic, of acknowledged authority ; II. iii. 14. 
 avail, profit, advantage ; III. i. 22. 
 
 bare, shave ; IV. i. 54. 
 
 bames, children (with a quibble) ; I. iii. 28, 
 
 bate, remit ; II. iii. 234. 
 
 bated, excepted; II. i. 13. 
 
 147
 
 148 ^loa^m 
 
 bauble, the Fool's baton ; IV. v. 32. 
 
 board, woo; V. iii. 211. 
 
 botcher, mender of old clothes ; IV. iii. 211. 
 
 braid, deceitful ; IV. ii. 73. 
 
 brave, fine, splendid ; II. i. 25. 
 
 bravely, boldly, or (perhaps) finely, in a showy manner; 
 II. i. 29. 
 
 braving, defiant, threatening ; I. ii. 3. 
 
 breathe, take exercise; II. iii. 272. 
 
 breathing, exercise; I. ii. 17. 
 
 brief, contract (here, betrothal) ; II. iii. 186 ; a brief ac- 
 count; V. iii. 137. 
 
 broke, act as a procurer; III. v. 74. 
 
 broken, with gaps in the teeth ; II. iii. 66. 
 
 bunting, a bird like the lark, but almost songless; II. v. 7. 
 
 by, about, concerning ; V. iii. 237. 
 
 canary, a quick and lively dance ; II. i. 77. 
 
 capable (of), susceptible (to) ; I. i. 106, 223. 
 
 cappriccio^ Ital., caprice, fancy ; II. iii. 310. 
 
 careless, not cared for; II. iii. 170. 
 
 case, flay, skin; III. vi. 111. 
 
 cassock, military cloak ; IV. iii. 192. 
 
 catastrophe, end, conclusion ; I. ii. 57. 
 
 catch, seize (mentally), perceive; I. iii. 176. 
 
 challenge, assert; II. iii. 141. 
 
 change, exchange; III. ii. 100. 
 
 chape, the metal tip of a scabbard ; IV. iii. 164. 
 
 charge, expense; II. iii. 121. 
 
 check, rebuke, chide ; I. i. 76. 
 
 chough, jackdaw ; IV. i. 22. 
 
 Christendom, Christian name ; I. i. 188. 
 
 cite, recount, bear witness to ; I. iii. 216. 
 
 coil, turmoil, bustle, fuss, ado; II. i. 27.
 
 ^Io0fifar^ 149 
 
 collateral, indirect; I. i. 99. 
 
 commission, warrant; II. iii. 279. 
 
 commoner, prostitute ; V. iii. 194. 
 
 companion, fellow ; V. iii. 250. 
 
 company, companion; IV. iii. 37. 
 
 composition, compact, agreement ; IV. iii. 22. 
 
 compt, account, reckoning ; V. iii. 57. 
 
 con thanks, be thankful ; IV. iii. 174. 
 
 condition, character; IV. iii. 196: habits; IV. iii. 288. 
 
 congied, taken leave; IV. iii. 100. 
 
 consolate, console; III. ii. 131. 
 
 conversation, intercourse ; I. iii. 240. 
 
 coranto, a lively spirited dance ; II. iii. 49. 
 
 coimt (of), attend to; IV. iii. 258. 
 
 Cotmty, Count ; III. vii. 22. 
 
 cozen, cheat ; IV. ii. 76 ; IV. iv. 23. 
 
 credence, belief, confidence ; III. iii. 2. 
 
 curious, careful ; I. ii. 20. 
 
 curiously, carefully ; IV. iii. 39. 
 
 Curtal, bob-tailed (used as a horse's name) ; II. iii. 65. 
 
 curvet, prancing; II. iii. 299. 
 
 customer, prostitute ; V. iii. 287. 
 
 dear, heartfelt, coming home to one closely; IV. v. 12; V. 
 
 iii. 18. 
 debauch, debase; II. iii. 145. 
 debile, weak; II. iii. 41. 
 
 defective, wanting, coming short ; II. iii. 161. 
 deliverance, utterance ; II. i. 85; II. v. 4. 
 desperate, reckless; II. i. 187. 
 dial, watch; II. v. 6. 
 
 diet, keep fasting ; IV. iii. 34 ; V. iii. 221. 
 digest, absorb ; V. iii. 74. 
 dilated, expanded, detailed ; II. i. 59.
 
 ISO ^li)fi?0ar^ 
 
 discover, reveal ; IV. i. 80. 
 
 dispatch, business; IV. iii. 104. 
 
 disposition, mood ; III. vi. 47. 
 
 dissolve, separate ; I. ii. 66. 
 
 distempered, boding change of weather, stormy; I. iii. 
 
 157. 
 doctrine, learning ; I. iii. 247. 
 
 ear, plow, till ; I. iii. 47. 
 
 emboss, run to cover, close around; III. vi. 107. 
 
 embowel, exhaust, empty; I. iii. 247. 
 
 empiric, quack; II. i. 125. 
 
 enforce, force, press (something) upon; II. i. 129. 
 
 engine, de\-ice, contrivance; III. v. 21. 
 
 engross, gain exclusive possession of, concentrate in one's 
 
 own possession ; III. ii. 68. 
 enjoined, under a vow ; III. v. 97. 
 entail, the settlement of the succession of a landed estate; 
 
 IV. iii. 313. 
 entertainment, service; III. vi. 12; IV. i. 17. 
 esteem, worth; V. iii. 1. 
 even, full ; V. iii. 326. 
 even, keep pace with, act up to ; I. iii. 3. 
 event, outcome, chance ; III. ii. 107. 
 examine, call in question ; III. v. 66. 
 exception, contradiction ; I. ii. 40. 
 expect, look for; II. iii. 189. 
 expedient, proper, suitable; II. iii. 186. 
 express, declare ; V. iii. 50. 
 expressive, communicative; II. i. 54. 
 
 facinorous, infamous, atrocious ; II. iii. 35. 
 fact, evil deed ; III. vii. 47. 
 faith, religious belief; IV. i. 83.
 
 €>lo00ar^ 151 
 
 fancy, love ; V. iii. 214. 
 
 fated, fateful, supposed to determine our fates; I. i. 232. 
 
 favour, look, appearance; I. i. 107; V. iii. 49. 
 
 fee, reward ; II. i. 63. 
 
 fee-simple, absolute possession; IV. iii. 311. 
 
 file, roll, muster-list; III. iii. 9. 
 
 find, detect, see through; II. iii. 216; II. iv. 32. 
 
 fine, subtle ; V. iii. 270. 
 
 fine, end; IV. iv. 35. 
 
 fisnomy, physiognomy ; IV. v. 42. 
 
 fistula, a long, sinuous ulcer; I. i. 39. 
 
 flesh, gratify; IV. iii. 19. 
 
 follow, attend on, wait on; II. i. 102. 
 
 fond, foolish ; I. i. 188 ; V. iii. 178 : foolishly ; I. iii. 76. 
 
 forehorse, foremost horse of a team ; see note, II. i. 30. 
 
 forsake, refuse ; II. iii. 62. 
 
 found, equipped ; II. i. 105. See find. 
 
 frank, liberal, bountiful ; I. ii. 20 : free ; II. iii. 61. 
 
 furnish to, equip for ; II. iii. 307. 
 
 furniture, equipment, trappings ; II. iii. 65. 
 
 gamester, prostitute; V. iii. 188. 
 
 gossip, stand sponsor to, christen ; I. i. 189. 
 
 gross, palpable ; I. iii. 178. 
 
 haggish, like a hag ; I. ii. 29. 
 
 hand, " in any h.," in any case ; III. vi. 45. 
 
 hawking, hawk-like, keen ; I. i. 105. 
 
 heraldry, valid title ; II. iii. 280. 
 
 herb of grace, rue ; IV. v. 18. Cf. Hamlet, IV. v. 181, 182. 
 
 higher, farther ; IV. iii. 50. 
 
 hilding, a worthless person ; III. vi. 3. 
 
 honest, chaste ; IV. ii. 11. 
 
 honesty, chastity ; III. v. 14.
 
 152 ^Io0i0far^ 
 
 hoodwink, blindfold ; III. vi. 25 ; IV. i. 90. 
 host, lodge ; III. v. 97. 
 
 idle, silly, absurd ; II. v. 54 ; III. vii. 26. 
 
 importing, full of meaning, significant; V. iii. 136. 
 
 in, to harvest, house ; I. iii. 48. 
 
 inducement, instigation; III. ii. 91. 
 
 infix, imprint ; V. iii. 47. 
 
 inhibited, prohibited ; I. i. 159. 
 
 innocent, idiot; IV. iii. 214. 
 
 instance, cause, motive ; IV. i. 45. 
 
 intimate, suggest, imply; II. i. 186. 
 
 into, upon; I. iii. 260. 
 
 issue, fruit, result; II. i. 109. 
 
 joul, thrust, knock; I. iii. 58. 
 justify, attest, confirm; IV. iii. 64. 
 
 kicky-wicky, sweetheart, wife; II. iii. 297. . 
 
 kind, nature ; I. iii. 67, 
 
 knowingly, by experience ; I. iii. 256. 
 
 lapse, deviation from rectitude, moral slip; II. iii. 170. 
 
 lead, carry ; IV. iii. 297. 
 
 leaguer, camp ; III. vi. 27. 
 
 leg, a bow (made by drawing one leg backward) ; II. ii. 10. 
 
 level, the direction of one's aim ; II. i. 159. 
 
 lie, lodge; III. v. 34. 
 
 ling, cheap salted fish ; III. ii. 14. 
 
 linsey-woolsey, fabric woven of mixed wool and flax, hence, 
 
 a medley; IV. i. 12. 
 list, boundary, limit; II. i. 53. 
 livelihood, liveliness, animation ; I. i. 58. 
 longing, belonging; IV. ii. 42. 
 lustig^ Ger., merry, II. iii. 47.
 
 ^lOSSfat^ 153 
 
 magnanimous, bold, heroic ; III. vi. 70. 
 
 manifest, well known ; I. Hi. 229. 
 
 measure, dance; II. i. 58. 
 
 medicine, physician ; II. i. 75. 
 
 mell, meddle, have to do ; IV. iii. 257. 
 
 misdoubt, mistrust; III. vii. 1. 
 
 misprise, undervalue, despise; III. ii. 33. 
 
 misprision, error, disdain; II. iii. 159. 
 
 modern, commonplace, ordinary ; II. iii. 2 ; V. iii. 216. 
 
 module, mere image; IV. iii. 114. 
 
 moiety, half ; III. ii. 69. 
 
 monstrous, enormously, exceedingly ; II. i. 187. 
 
 monumental, memorial ; IV. iii. 20. 
 
 morris, morris-dance ; II. ii. 26. 
 
 Mort du Vinaigre, Fr., a meaningless oath ; II. iii. 50. 
 
 motion, sense ; III. i. 13: act; V. iii. 264. 
 
 motive, agent ; IV. iv. 20. 
 
 muse, wonder ; II. v. 70. 
 
 mystery, skill in one's calling ; III. vi. 68. 
 
 naturalize, initiate ; I. i. 222. 
 
 nature, quality, kind ; III. i. 17 : almost equivalent to 
 
 "cause "; V. iii. 23. 
 naughty, good for nothing ; V. iii. 254. 
 next, nearest; I. iii. 63. 
 
 nice, trifling; IV. iii. 105: punctilious; V. i. 15. 
 note, mark of distinction ; I. iii. 163 : attention ; III. v. 104. 
 
 of, in, I. i. 7; V. iii. 1: as regards; II. iii. 126: .n; III. 
 
 V. 103. 
 office, to perform oflBces or functions; III. ii. 129. 
 ordinary, a public meal at a fixed price; II. iii. 211. 
 outward, uninitiated; hence, outward man, an outsider; 
 
 III. i. 11.
 
 154 6lofi(0ar^ 
 
 overlooking, supervision, oversight ; I. i. 45. 
 
 over-night, last night ; III. iv. 23. 
 
 owe, have, own, possess ; II. i. 9 ; II. v. 84 ; V. iii. 
 
 297. 
 
 parcel, party, group ; II. iii. 58. 
 
 pass, repute; II. v. 58, 
 
 passage, that which passes or happens, an occurrence; 
 
 I. i. 20. 
 
 passport, dismissal ; III. ii. 58. 
 
 Pepin, King of the Franks (mentioned as one long dead) ; 
 
 II. i. 79. 
 
 persecute, pursue, follow up ; I. i. 16. 
 
 perspective, a glass that produces an optical illusion; 
 
 V. iii. 48. 
 plausive, pleasing, winning ; I. ii. 53 : specious, plausible ; 
 
 IV. i. 29. 
 poise, weigh; II. iii. 161. 
 port, gate ; III. v. 39. 
 practicer, practitioner; II. i. 188. 
 predominant, supreme in influence; I. i. 211. 
 present, immediate; II. v. 61. 
 presently, immediately; II. iii. 166. 
 pretence, pretext ; IV. iii. 57. 
 prevent, frustrate, forestall ; III. iv. 22. 
 prime, youth; II. i. 185. 
 proceed, take place, be done; IV. ii. 62. 
 profession, what one professes to be able to do ; II. 
 
 i. 86. 
 proper, one's own ; IV. ii. 49 ; IV. iii. 29. 
 property, inherent quality; II. iii. 137. 
 provide, supply with what is needful ; III. iv. 40. 
 pudding, sausage ; II. ii. 29. 
 punk, strumpet ; II. ii. 24.
 
 ^lofif^ar^ 155 
 
 quart d'ecu, a quarter of a French crown; IV. iii. 311; 
 
 V. ii. 35. 
 quatch-buttock, a flat or squat buttock ; II. ii. 18. 
 quean, wench, hussy ; II. ii. 27. 
 questant, seeker, aspirant; II. i. 16. 
 quirk, caprice, a sudden turn or start ; III. ii. 51. 
 quote, set down ; V. iii. 205. 
 
 rate, estimate, value; II. i. 182: price; V. iii. 91, 217. 
 
 rather, sooner; II. i. 106. 
 
 ravin, ravening; III. ii. 120. 
 
 receiv'd, accredited, fashionable; II. i. 57. 
 
 recover, restore ; III. ii. 22. 
 
 rector, the head of a religious house ; IV. iii. 69. 
 
 remainder, the residual interest remaining over from a 
 
 particular estate; IV. iii. 313. 
 remorseful, compassionate ; V. iii. 58. 
 render, report, state; I. iii. 236. 
 repair, restore ; I. ii. 30. 
 repeal, recall ; II. iii. 55. 
 resolvedly, satisfactorily, clearly ; V. iii. 332. 
 respect, reason, motive; II. v. 71. 
 retrograde, moving backward, retreating ; I. i. 212. 
 ring, circuit, round; II. i. 165. 
 ring-carrier, go-between ; III. v. 95. 
 ruttish, lecherous; IV. iii. 243. 
 
 sadness, seriousness ; in good sadness, in earnest ; IV. iii. 230. 
 sanctimony, piety, devotion ; IV. iii. 59. 
 saucy, impudent, wanton ; IV. iv. 23. 
 science, knowledge, learning; V. iii. 103. 
 seem, appear, show itself ; II. iii. 186. 
 sense, perception, apprehension; I. iii. 178: reason; 
 II. i. 127.
 
 156 ^lo00ar^ 
 
 senseless, unreasonable; II i. 127. 
 
 sequent, consequent ; II. ii. 56. 
 
 several, different, each his own ; I. ii. 74. 
 
 shrewd, bad, mischievous; III. v. 71 : sly, cunning; IV. 
 V. 66. 
 
 shrewdly, sharply, severely ; III. v. 92. 
 
 shrieve, sheriff; IV. iii. 213. 
 
 sinister, left ; II. i. 44. 
 
 sith, since; V. iii. 155. 
 
 sithence, since; I. iii. 124. 
 
 sleepy, sleep-inducing, associated with sleep ; II. i. 167. 
 
 smack, smattering; IV. i. 18: taste, dash; II. iii. 237. 
 
 smock, a woman's undergarment, a woman; II. i. 30. 
 
 smoke, smell out, detect; III. vi. Ill; IV. i. 30. 
 
 snuff, contempt ; I. ii. 59. 
 
 solely, absolutely, altogether; I. i. 112. 
 
 solemn, formal ; IV. iii. 89. 
 
 spacious, extended, elaborate; II. i. 51. 
 
 sportive, merry; III. ii. 109. 
 
 square, shape, regulate; II. i. 153. 
 
 staggers, bewilderment, confusion (suggested by the reel- 
 ing gait of a horse with the disease so-called) ; II. iii. 
 170. 
 
 stain, tincture, dash; I. i. 122. 
 
 stead, benefit, help; III. vii. 41. 
 
 still, always, constantly ; I. iii. 210; IV. iii. 26. 
 
 stomach, inclination ; III. vi. 67. 
 
 strong, certain, important; IV. iii. 65. 
 
 style, title, appellation ; II. iii. 205. 
 
 success, issue, result; I. iii. 253; III. vi. 86. 
 
 suggest, tempt ; IV. v. 47. 
 
 suggestion, incitement to evil, temptation ; III. v. 18. 
 
 superfluous, having more than enough, luxurious; I. i. 
 116.
 
 €>lo00ar^ 157 
 
 taffeta, a fine silken stuff ; II. ii. 24. 
 
 take up, rebuke, scold ; II. iii. 218. 
 
 tax, reproach, censure, charge; I. i. 77; II. i. 173. 
 
 that, so that ; I. iii. 218. 
 
 then, than ; II. i. 88. 
 
 top, head ; I. ii. 43. 
 
 triple, third ; II. i. 111. 
 
 unclean, not fair, ill ; I. i. 48. 
 unhappy, mischievous ; IV. v. 66. 
 
 validity, value; V. iii. 192. 
 
 vent, utterance; II. iii. 213. 
 
 virtuous, endowed with virtues ; I. i. 49 ; III. ii. 33. 
 
 will, lust; IV. iii. 19. 
 
 worthy, deserved ; IV. iii. 7. 
 
 write, lay claim to; II. iii. 67: call one's self; II. iii. 208. 
 
 yield, deliver, exhibit; III. i. 10. 
 
 rUVXTXD IX THJE UNITKD 6TATSS OF AMXBIOA.
 
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