Alls Wel that ends Well

by William Shakespeare

PAROLLES. O Lord, sir, let me live, or let me see my death!

  FIRST SOLDIER. That shall you, and take your leave of all your

  friends. [Unmuffling him] So look about you; know you any here?

  BERTRAM. Good morrow, noble Captain.

  FIRST LORD. God bless you, Captain Parolles.

  SECOND LORD. God save you, noble Captain.

  FIRST LORD. Captain, what greeting will you to my Lord Lafeu? I am

  for France.

  SECOND LORD. Good Captain, will you give me a copy of the sonnet

  you writ to Diana in behalf of the Count Rousillon? An I were not

  a very coward I'd compel it of you; but fare you well.

  Exeunt BERTRAM and LORDS

  FIRST SOLDIER. You are undone, Captain, all but your scarf; that

  has a knot on 't yet.

  PAROLLES. Who cannot be crush'd with a plot?

  FIRST SOLDIER. If you could find out a country where but women were

  that had received so much shame, you might begin an impudent

  nation. Fare ye well, sir; I am for France too; we shall speak of

  you there. Exit with SOLDIERS

  PAROLLES. 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 braggart,

  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 fool'ry thrive.

  There's place and means for every man alive.

  I'll after them. Exit

  SCENE 4.

  The WIDOW'S house

  Enter HELENA, WIDOW, and DIANA

  HELENA. 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 office,

  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

  I am supposed dead. The army breaking,

  My husband hies him home; where, heaven aiding,

  And by the leave of my good lord the King,

  We'll be before our welcome.

  WIDOW. Gentle madam,

  You never had a servant to whose trust

  Your business was more welcome.

  HELENA. 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

  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.

  But more of this hereafter. You, Diana,

  Under my poor instructions yet must suffer

  Something in my behalf.

  DIANA. Let death and honesty

  Go with your impositions, I am yours

  Upon your will to suffer.

  HELENA. Yet, I pray you:

  But with the word the time will bring on summer,

  When briers shall have leaves as well as thorns

  And be as sweet as sharp. We must away;

  Our waggon is prepar'd, and time revives us.

  All's Well that Ends Well. Still the fine's the crown.

  Whate'er the course, the end is the renown. Exeunt

  SCENE 5.

  Rousillon. The COUNT'S palace

  Enter COUNTESS, LAFEU, and CLOWN

  LAFEU. No, no, no, son was misled with a snipt-taffeta fellow

  there, whose villainous 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 son here at home, more

  advanc'd by the King than by that red-tail'd humble-bee I speak

  of.

  COUNTESS. I would I had not known him. It was the death of the most

  virtuous gentlewoman that ever nature had praise for creating. If

  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.

  LAFEU. 'Twas a good lady, 'twas a good lady. We may pick a thousand

  sallets ere we light on such another herb.

  CLOWN. Indeed, sir, she was the sweet-marjoram of the sallet, or,

  rather, the herb of grace.

  LAFEU. They are not sallet-herbs, you knave; they are nose-herbs.

  CLOWN. I am no great Nebuchadnezzar, sir; I have not much skill in

  grass.

  LAFEU. Whether dost thou profess thyself-a knave or a fool?

  CLOWN. A fool, sir, at a woman's service, and a knave at a man's.

  LAFEU. Your distinction?

  CLOWN. I would cozen the man of his wife, and do his service.

  LAFEU. So you were a knave at his service, indeed.

  CLOWN. And I would give his wife my bauble, sir, to do her service.

  LAFEU. I will subscribe for thee; thou art both knave and fool.

  CLOWN. At your service.

  LAFEU. No, no, no.

  CLOWN. Why, sir, if I cannot serve you, I can serve as great a

  prince as you are.

  LAFEU. Who's that? A Frenchman?

  CLOWN. Faith, sir, 'a has an English name; but his fisnomy is more

  hotter in France than there.

  LAFEU. What prince is that?

  CLOWN. The Black Prince, sir; alias, the Prince of Darkness; alias,

  the devil.

  LAFEU. Hold thee, there's my purse. I give thee not this to suggest

  thee from thy master thou talk'st of; serve him still.

  CLOWN. I am a woodland fellow, sir, that always loved a great fire;

  and the master I speak of 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; but

  the many will be too chill and tender: and they'll be for the

  flow'ry way that leads to the broad gate and the great fire.

  LAFEU. Go thy ways, I begin to be aweary of thee; and I tell thee

  so before, because I would not fall out with thee. Go thy ways;

  let my horses be well look'd to, without any tricks.

  CLOWN. If I put any tricks upon 'em, sir, they shall be jades'

  tricks, which are their own right by the law of nature.

  Exit

  LAFEU. A shrewd knave, and an unhappy.

  COUNTESS. So 'a is. My lord that's gone made himself much sport

  out of him. By his authority he remains here, which he thinks is

  a patent for his sauciness; and indeed he has no pace, but runs

  where he will.

  LAFEU. 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 his return home, I moved the King my master 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 conceived against your son, there

  is no fitter matter. How does your ladyship like it?

  COUNTESS. With very much content, my lord; and I wish it happily

  effected.

  LAFEU. His Highness comes post from Marseilles, 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.

  COUNTESS. It rejoices me that I hope I shall see him ere I die.

  I have letters that my son will be here to-night. I shall beseech

  your lordship to remain with me tal they meet together.

  LAFEU. Madam, I was thinking with what manners I might safely be

  admitted.

  COUNTESS. You need but plead your honourable privilege.

  LAFEU. Lady, of that I have made a bold charter; but, I thank my

  God, it holds yet.

  Re-enter CLOWN

  CLOWN. O madam, yonder's my lord your son with a patch of velvet

  on's face; whether 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.

  LAFEU. A scar nobly got, or a noble scar, is a good liv'ry of

  honour; so belike is that.

  CLOWN. But it is your carbonado'd face.

  LAFEU. Let us go see your son, I pray you;

  I long to talk with the young noble soldier.

  CLOWN. Faith, there's a dozen of 'em, with delicate fine hats, and

  most courteous feathers, which bow the head and nod at every man.

  Exeunt

  ACT V.

  SCENE 1.

  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.

  Enter a GENTLEMAN

  In happy time!

  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 fall'n

  From the report that goes upon your goodness;

  And 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 remov'd 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 2.

  Rousillon. The inner court of the COUNT'S palace

  Enter CLOWN and PAROLLES

  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 speak'st of. I will henceforth eat no fish

  of Fortune's butt'ring. 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 pur of Fortune's, sir, or of Fortune's cat, but not

  a musk-cat, that has fall'n 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 scratch'd.

  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 cardecue 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 the 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 3.

  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' th' 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 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 do we bury

  Th' 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 GENTLEMAN

  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 sets 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

  Th' 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 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 stol'n,

  Extended or contracted all proportions

  To a most hideous object. Thence it came

  That she whom all men prais'd, and whom myself,