William Shakespeare

All's Well That Ends Well

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ACT III

SCENE I. Florence. The Duke's palace.

   Flourish. Enter the Duke of Florence attended; the two Frenchmen, 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.

   First Lord

   Holy seems the quarrel

   Upon your grace's part; black and fearful

   On the opposer.

   Duke

   Therefore we marvel much our cousin France

   Would in so just a business shut his bosom

   Against our borrowing prayers.

   Second Lord

   Good my lord,

   The reasons of our state I cannot yield,

   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

   As often as I guess'd.

   Duke

   Be it his pleasure.

   First 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

   Shall on them settle. You know your places well;

   When better fall, for your avails they fell:

   To-morrow to the field.

   Flourish. Exeunt

SCENE II. Rousillon. The Count's palace.

   Enter Countess and Clown

   Countess

   It hath happened all as I would have had it, save that he comes not

   along with her.

   Clown

   By my troth, I take my young lord to be a very melancholy man.

   Countess

   By what observance, I pray you?

   Clown

   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.

   Countess

   Let me see what he writes, and when he means to come.

   Opening a letter

   Clown

   I have no mind to Isbel since I was at court: our old ling and our

   Isbels o' the country are nothing like your old ling and your Isbels o'

   the court: the brains of my Cupid's knocked out, and I begin to love,

   as an old man loves money, with no stomach.

   Countess

   What have we here?

   Clown

   E'en that you have there.

   Exit

   Countess

   [Reads] I have sent you a daughter-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 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.

   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

   Clown

   O madam, yonder is heavy news within between two soldiers and my young

   lady!

   Countess

   What is the matter?

   Clown

   Nay, there is some comfort in the news, some comfort; your son will not

   be killed so soon as I thought he would.

   Countess

   Why should he be killed?

   Clown

   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: for my part, I only hear

   your son was run away.

   Exit

   Enter Helena, and two Gentlemen

   First Gentleman

   Save you, good madam.

   Helena

   Madam, my lord is gone, for ever gone.

   Second Gentleman

   Do not say so.

   Countess

   Think upon patience. Pray you, gentlemen,

   I have felt so many quirks of joy and grief,

   That the first face of neither, on the start,

   Can woman me unto't: where is my son, I pray you?

   Second Gentleman

   Madam, he's gone to serve the duke of Florence:

   We met him thitherward; for thence we came,

   And, after some dispatch in hand at court,

   Thither we bend again.

   Helena

   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 me a child begotten of thy body that I am father to,

   then call me husband: but in such a `then' I write a `never.'

   This is a dreadful sentence.

   Countess

   Brought you this letter, gentlemen?

   First Gentleman

   Ay, madam;

   And for the contents' sake are sorry for our pain.

   Countess

   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,

   And thou art all my child. Towards Florence is he?

   Second Gentleman

   Ay, madam.

   Countess

     And to be a soldier?

   Second Gentleman

   Such is his noble purpose; and believe 't,

   The duke will lay upon him all the honour

   That good convenience claims.

   Countess

   Return you thither?

   First Gentleman

   Ay, madam, with the swiftest wing of speed.

   Helena

   [Reads] Till I have no wife I have nothing in France.

   'Tis bitter.

   Countess

     Find you that there?

   Helena

   Ay, madam.

   First Gentleman

   'Tis but the boldness of his hand, haply, which his heart was not

   consenting to.

   Countess

   Nothing in France, until he have no wife!

   There's nothing here that is too good for him

   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?

   First Gentleman

   A servant only, and a gentleman

   Which I have sometime known.

   Countess

   Parolles, was it not?

   First Gentleman

   Ay, my good lady, he.

   Countess

   A very tainted fellow, and full of wickedness.

   My son corrupts a well-derived nature

   With his inducement.

   First Gentleman

   Indeed, good lady,

   The fellow has a deal of that too much,

   Which holds him much to have.

   Countess

   You're welcome, gentlemen.

   I will entreat you, when you see my son,

   To tell him that his sword can never win

   The honour that he loses: more I'll entreat you

   Written to bear along.

   Second Gentleman

   We serve you, madam,

   In that and all your worthiest affairs.

   Countess

   Not so, but as we change our courtesies.

   Will you draw near!

   Exeunt Countess and Gentlemen

   Helena

   `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

   That chase thee from thy country and expose

   Those tender limbs of thine to the event

   Of the none-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

   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;

   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

   With sharp constraint of hunger; better 'twere

   That all the miseries which nature owes

   Were mine at once. No, come thou home, Rousillon,

   Whence honour but of danger wins a scar,

   As oft it loses all: I will be gone;

   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 officed all: I will be gone,

   That pitiful rumour may report my flight,

   To consolate thine ear. Come, night; end, day!

   For with the dark, poor thief, I'll steal away.

   Exit

SCENE III. Florence. Before the Duke's palace.

   Flourish. Enter the Duke of Florence, Bertram, Parolles, 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.

   Bertram

   Sir, it is

   A charge too heavy for my strength, but yet

   We'll strive to bear it for your worthy sake

   To the extreme edge of hazard.

   Duke

   Then go thou forth;

   And fortune play upon thy prosperous helm,

   As thy auspicious mistress!

   Bertram

   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.

   Exeunt

SCENE IV. Rousillon. The Count's palace.

   Enter Countess and Steward

   Countess

   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.

   Steward

   [Reads] I am Saint Jaques' pilgrim, thither gone:

   Ambitious love hath so in me offended,

   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

   His name with zealous fervor sanctify:

   His taken labours bid him me forgive;

   I, his despiteful Juno, sent him forth

   From courtly friends, with camping foes to live,

   Where death and danger dogs the heels of worth:

   He is too good and fair for death and me:

   Whom I myself embrace, to set him free.

   Countess

   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,

   I could have well diverted her intents,

   Which thus she hath prevented.

   Steward

   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.

   Countess

   What angel shall

   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;

   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,

   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:

   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, Diana, Violenta, and Mariana, with

   other Citizens

   Widow

   Nay, come; for if they do approach the city, we shall lose all the

   sight.

   Diana

   They say the French count has done most honourable service.

   Widow

   It is reported that he has taken their greatest 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.

   Mariana

   Come, let's return again, and suffice ourselves 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.

   Widow

   I have told my neighbour how you have been solicited by a gentleman his

   companion.

   Mariana

   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 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, cannot for all that dissuade succession, but that they

   are limed with the twigs that threaten them. I hope I need not to

   advise you further; 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.

   Diana

   You shall not need to fear me.

   Widow

   I hope so.

   Enter Helena, disguised like a Pilgrim

   Look, here comes a pilgrim: I know she will lie at my house; thither

   they send one another: I'll question her. God save you, pilgrim!

   whither are you bound?

   Helena

   To Saint Jaques le Grand.

   Where do the palmers lodge, I do beseech you?

   Widow

   At the Saint Francis here beside the port.

   Helena

   Is this the way?

   Widow

   Ay, marry, is't.

   A march afar

   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 lodged;

   The rather, for I think I know your hostess

   As ample as myself.

   Helena

   Is it yourself?

   Widow

   If you shall please so, pilgrim.