William Shakespeare

All's Well That Ends Well

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ACT V

SCENE I. Marseilles. A street.

   Enter Helena, Widow, and Diana, with two Attendants

   Helena

   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

   As nothing can unroot you. In happy time;

   Enter a Gentleman

   This man may help me to his majesty's ear,

   If he would spend his power. God save you, sir.

   Gentleman

   And you.

   Helena

   Sir, I have seen you in the court of France.

   Gentleman

   I have been sometimes there.

   Helena

   I do presume, sir, that you are not fallen

   From the report that goes upon your goodness;

   An therefore, goaded with most sharp occasions,

   Which lay nice manners by, I put you to

   The use of your own virtues, for the which

   I shall continue thankful.

   Gentleman

   What's your will?

   Helena

   That it will please you

   To give this poor petition to the king,

   And aid me with that store of power you have

   To come into his presence.

   Gentleman

   The king's not here.

   Helena

   Not here, sir!

   Gentleman

   Not, indeed:

   He hence removed last night and with more haste

   Than is his use.

   Widow

     Lord, how we lose our pains!

   Helena

   All's well that ends well yet,

   Though time seem so adverse and means unfit.

   I do beseech you, whither is he gone?

   Gentleman

   Marry, as I take it, to Rousillon;

   Whither I am going.

   Helena

   I do beseech you, sir,

   Since you are like to see the king before me,

   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.

   Gentleman

   This I'll do for you.

   Helena

   And you shall find yourself to be well thank'd,

   Whate'er falls more. We must to horse again.

   Go, go, provide.

   Exeunt

SCENE II. Rousillon. Before the Count's palace.

   Enter Clown, and Parolles, following

   Parolles

   Good Monsieur 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 somewhat strong of her strong displeasure.

   Clown

   Truly, fortune's displeasure is but sluttish, if it smell so strongly

   as thou speakest of: I will henceforth eat no fish of fortune's

   buttering. Prithee, allow the wind.

   Parolles

   Nay, you need not to stop your nose, sir; I spake but by a metaphor.

   Clown

   Indeed, sir, if your metaphor stink, I will stop my nose; or against

   any man's metaphor. Prithee, get thee further.

   Parolles

   Pray you, sir, deliver me this paper.

   Clown

   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 cat,--but not a

   musk-cat,--that has fallen 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 knave. I do pity his distress in my similes of comfort and

   leave him to your lordship.

   Exit

   Parolles

   My lord, I am a man whom fortune hath cruelly scratched.

   Lafeu

   And what would you have me to do? 'Tis too late to pare her nails now.

   Wherein have you played 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 the justices make

   you and fortune friends: I am for other business.

   Parolles

   I beseech your honour to hear me one single word.

   Lafeu

   You beg a single penny more: come, you shall ha't; save your word.

   Parolles

   My name, my good lord, is Parolles.

   Lafeu

   You beg more than `word,' then. Cox my passion! give me your hand. How

   does your drum?

   Parolles

   O my good lord, you were the first that found me!

   Lafeu

   Was I, in sooth? and I was the first that lost thee.

   Parolles

   It lies in you, my lord, to bring me in some grace, for you did bring

   me out.

   Lafeu

   Out upon thee, knave! dost thou put upon me at once both the office 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, 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.

   Parolles

   I praise God for you.

   Exeunt

SCENE III. Rousillon. 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.

   Countess

   'Tis past, my liege;

   And I beseech your majesty to make it

   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,

   I have forgiven and forgotten all;

   Though my revenges were high bent upon him,

   And watch'd the time to shoot.

   Lafeu

   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

   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;

   We are reconciled, 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,

   A stranger, no offender; and inform him

   So 'tis our will he should.

   Gentleman

   I shall, my liege.

   Exit

   King

   What says he to your daughter? have you spoke?

   Lafeu

   All that he is hath reference to your highness.

   King

   Then shall we have a match. I have letters sent me

   That set him high in fame.

   Enter Bertram

   Lafeu

   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

   Distracted clouds give way; so stand thou forth;

   The time is fair again.

   Bertram

   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

   The inaudible and noiseless foot of Time

   Steals ere we can effect them. You remember

   The daughter of this lord?

   Bertram

   Admiringly, my liege, at first

   I stuck my choice upon her, ere my heart

   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;

   Extended or contracted all proportions

   To a most hideous object: thence it came

   That she whom all men praised and whom myself,

   Since I have lost, have loved, was in mine eye

   The dust that did offend it.

   King

   Well excused:

   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

   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,

   While shame full late 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.

   Countess

   Which better than the first, O dear heaven, bless!

   Or, ere they meet, in me, O nature, cesse!

   Lafeu

   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,

   That she may quickly come.

   Bertram gives a ring

   By my old beard,

   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 at court,

   I saw upon her finger.

   Bertram

   Hers it was not.

   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

   I would relieve her. Had you that craft, to reave

   her

   Of what should stead her most?

   Bertram

   My gracious sovereign,

   Howe'er it pleases you to take it so,

   The ring was never hers.

   Countess

   Son, on my life,

   I have seen her wear it; and she reckon'd it

   At her life's rate.

   Lafeu

   I am sure I saw her wear it.

   Bertram

   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

   I stood engaged: but when I had subscribed

   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 ceased

   In heavy satisfaction and would never

   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

   That you are well acquainted with yourself,

   Confess 'twas hers, and by what rough enforcement

   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,

   Where you have never come, or sent it us

   Upon her great disaster.

   Bertram

   She never saw it.

   King

   Thou speak'st it falsely, as I love mine honour;

   And makest conjectural fears to come into me

   Which I would fain shut out. If it should prove

   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.

   Guards seize Bertram

   My fore-past proofs, howe'er the matter fall,

   Shall tax my fears of little vanity,

   Having vainly fear'd too little. Away with him!

   We'll sift this matter further.

   Bertram

   If you shall prove

   This ring was ever hers, you shall as easy

   Prove that I husbanded her bed in Florence,

   Where yet she never was.

   Exit, guarded

   King

   I am wrapp'd in dismal thinkings.

   Enter a Gentleman

   Gentleman

   Gracious sovereign,

   Whether I have been to blame or no, I know not:

   Here's a petition from a Florentine,

   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

   With an importing visage; and she told me,

   In a sweet verbal brief, it did concern

   Your highness with herself.

   King

   [Reads] Upon his many protestations to marry me when his wife was dead,

   I blush to say it, he won me. Now is the Count Rousillon a widower: his

   vows are forfeited to me, and my honour's paid to him. He stole from

   Florence, taking no leave, and I follow him to his country for justice:

   grant it me, O king! in you it best lies; otherwise a seducer

   flourishes, and a poor maid is undone.

   Diana CAPILET.

   Lafeu

   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,

   To bring forth this discovery. Seek these suitors:

   Go speedily and bring again the count.

   I am afeard the life of Helen, lady,

   Was foully snatch'd.

   Countess

   Now, justice on the doers!

   Re-enter Bertram, guarded

   King

   I wonder, sir, sith wives are monsters to you,

   And that you fly them as you swear them lordship,

   Yet you desire to marry.

   Enter Widow and Diana

   What woman's that?

   Diana

   I am, my lord, a wretched Florentine,

   Derived from the ancient Capilet:

   My suit, as I do understand, you know,

   And therefore know how far I may be pitied.

   Widow

   I am her mother, sir, whose age and honour

   Both suffer under this complaint we bring,

   And both shall cease, without your remedy.