The Oxford Shakespeare: The Complete Works

by William Shakespeare

  (To Helen) Be comfortable to my mother, your mistress, and make much of her.

  LAFEU Farewell, pretty lady. You must hold the credit of your father.

  Exeunt Bertram and Lafeu

  HELEN

  O were that all! I think not on my father,

  And these great tears grace his remembrance more

  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,

  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.

  Th’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,

  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 relics. Who comes here?

  Enter Paroles

  One that goes with him. I love him for his sake—

  And yet I know him a notorious liar,

  Think him a great way fool, solely a coward.

  Yet these fixed evils sit so fit in him

  That they take place when virtue’s steely bones

  Looks bleak i’th’ cold wind. Withal, full oft we see

  Cold wisdom waiting on superfluous folly.

  PAROLES Save you, fair queen.

  HELEN And you, monarch.

  PAROLES No.

  HELEN And no.

  PAROLES Are you meditating on virginity?

  HELEN 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? in

  PAROLES Keep him out.

  HELEN But he assails, and our virginity, though valiant in the defence, yet is weak. Unfold to us some warlike resistance.

  PAROLES There is none. Man, setting down before you, will undermine you and blow you up.

  HELEN Bless our poor virginity from underminers and blowers-up. Is there no military policy how virgins might blow up men?

  PAROLES Virginity being blown down, man will quicklier be blown up. Marry, in blowing him down again, with the breach yourselves made you lose your city. It is not politic in the commonwealth of nature to preserve virginity. Loss of virginity is rational increase, and there was never virgin got till virginity was first lost. That you were made of is mettle 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.

  HELEN I will stand for’t a little, though therefore I die a virgin.

  PAROLES 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 that hangs himself is a virgin: virginity murders itself, and should be buried in highways, out of all sanctified limit, as a desperate offendress against nature. Virginity breeds mites, much like a cheese; consumes itself to 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 t’one year it will make itself two, which is a goodly increase, and the principal itself not much the worse. Away with’t.

  HELEN How might one do, sir, to lose it to her own liking?

  PAROLES Let me see. Marry, ill, to like him that 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 suited but unsuitable, just like the brooch and the toothpick, which wear not now. Your date is better in your pie and your porridge than in your cheek, and your virginity, your old virginity, is like one of our French withered pears: it looks ill, it eats drily, marry, ’tis a withered pear—it was formerly better, marry, yet ’tis a withered pear. Will you anything with it?

  HELEN Not my virginity, yet ...

  There shall your master have a thousand loves,

  A mother and a mistress and a friend,

  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,

  His jarring concord and his discord dulcet,

  His faith, his sweet disaster, with a world

  Of pretty fond adoptious christendoms

  That blinking Cupid gossips. Now shall he—

  I know not what he shall. God send him well.

  The court’s a learning place, and he is one—

  PAROLES What one, i’faith?

  HELEN That I wish well. ’Tis pity.

  PAROLES What’s pity?

  HELEN

  That wishing well had not a body in’t

  Which might be felt, that we, the poorer born,

  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.

  Enter a Page

  PAGE

  Monsieur Paroles, my lord calls for you.

  ⌈Exit⌉

  PAROLES Little Helen, farewell. If I can remember thee I will think of thee at court.

  HELEN Monsieur Paroles, you were born under a charitable star.

  PAROLES Under Mars, I.

  HELEN I especially think under Mars.

  PAROLES Why ‘under Mars’?

  HELEN The wars hath so kept you under that you must needs be born under Mars.

  PAROLES When he was predominant.

  HELEN When he was retrograde, I think rather.

  PAROLES Why think you so?

  HELEN You go so much backward when you fight.

  PAROLES That’s for advantage.

  HELEN 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.

  PAROLES I am so full of businesses I cannot answer thee acutely. I will return perfect courtier, in the which my instruction shall serve to naturalize thee, so thou wilt be capable of a courtier’s counsel and understand what advice shall thrust upon thee; else thou diest in thine unthankfulness, and thine ignorance makes thee away. Farewell. When thou hast leisure say thy prayers; when thou hast none remember thy friends. Get thee a good husband and use him as he uses thee. So farewell.

  Exit

  HELEN

  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,

  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

  What hath been cannot be. Who ever strove

  To show her merit that did miss her love?

  The King’s disease—my project may deceive me,

  But my intents are fixed and will not leave me.

  Exit

  1.2 A flourish of cornetts. Enter the King of France with letters, the two Lords Dumaine, ⌈and divers attendants⌉

  KING

  The Florentines and Sienese are by th�
��ears,

  Have fought with equal fortune, and continue

  A braving war.

  FIRST LORD DUMAINE So ’tis reported, sir.

  KING

  Nay, ’tis most credible: we here receive it

  A certainty vouched from our cousin Austria,

  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.

  FIRST LORD DUMAINE

  His love and wisdom

  Approved so to your majesty may plead

  For amplest credence.

  KING

  He hath armed our answer,

  And Florence is denied before he comes.

  Yet for our gentlemen that mean to see

  The Tuscan service, freely have they leave

  To stand on either part.

  SECOND LORD DUMAINE

  It well may serve

  A nursery to our gentry, who are sick

  For breathing and exploit.

  KING

  What’s he comes here?

  Enter Bertram, Lafeu, and Paroles

  FIRST LORD DUMAINE

  It is the Count Roussillon, my good lord,

  Young Bertram.

  KING (to Bertram) Youth, thou bear’st thy father’s face.

  Frank nature, rather curious than in haste,

  Hath well composed thee. Thy father’s moral parts

  Mayst thou inherit, too. Welcome to Paris.

  BERTRAM

  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

  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

  To talk of your good father. In his youth

  He had the wit which I can well observe

  Today in our young lords, but they may jest

  Till their own scorn return to them unnoted

  Ere they can hide their levity in honour.

  So like a courtier, contempt nor bitterness

  Were in his pride or sharpness; if they were

  His equal had awaked them, and his honour—

  Clock to itself—knew the true minute when

  Exception bid him speak, and at this time

  His tongue obeyed his hand. Who were below him

  He used as creatures of another place,

  And bowed his eminent top to their low ranks,

  Making them proud of his humility,.

  In their poor praise he humbled. Such a man

  Might be a copy to these younger times,

  Which followed well would demonstrate them now

  But goers-backward.

  BERTRAM

  His good remembrance, sir, Lies richer in your thoughts than on his tomb.

  So in approof lives not his epitaph

  As in your royal speech.

  KING

  Would I were with him! He would always say—

  Methinks I hear him now; his plausive words

  He scattered not in ears, but grafted them

  To grow there and to bear. ‘Let me not live’—

  This his good melancholy oft began

  On the catastrophe and heel of pastime,

  When 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

  Mere fathers of their garments, whose constancies

  Expire before their fashions.’ This he wished.

  I after him do after him wish too,

  Since I nor wax nor honey can bring home,

  I quickly were dissolvèd from my hive

  To give some labourers room.

  SECOND LORD DUMAINE

  You’re lovèd, 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?

  He was much famed.

  BERTRAM

  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.

  My son’s no dearer.

  BERTRAM)

  Thank your majesty.

  ⌈Flourish.⌉ Exeunt

  1.3 Enter the Countess, Reynaldo her steward, and ⌈behind⌉ Lavatch her clown

  COUNTESS I will now hear. What say you of this gentlewoman?

  REYNALDO Madam, the care I have had to even your content I wish might be found in the calendar of my past endeavours, for then we wound our modesty and make foul the clearness of our deservings, when of ourselves we publish them.

  COUNTESS What does this knave here? (To Lavatch) Get you gone, sirrah. The complaints I have heard of you I do not all believe. ’Tis my slowness that I do not, for I know you lack not folly to commit them and have ability enough to make such knaveries yours.

  LAVATCH ’Tis not unknown to you, madam, I am a poor fellow.

  COUNTESS Well, sir?

  LAVATCH No, madam, ’tis not so well that I am poor, though many of the rich are damned. But if I may have your ladyship’s good will to go to the world, Isbel the woman and I will do as we may.

  COUNTESS Wilt thou needs be a beggar?

  LAVATCH I do beg your good will in this case.

  COUNTESS In what case?

  LAVATCH In Isbel’s case and mine own. Service is no heritage, and I think I shall never have the blessing of God till I have issue o’ my body, for they say bairns are blessings.

  COUNTESS Tell me thy reason why thou wilt marry.

  LAVATCH My poor body, madam, requires it. I am driven on by the flesh, and he must needs go that the devil drives.

  COUNTESS Is this all your worship’s reason?

  LAVATCH Faith, madam, I have other holy reasons, such as they are.

  COUNTESS May the world know them?

  LAVATCH I have been, madam, a wicked creature, as you—and all flesh and blood—are, and indeed I do marry that I may repent.

  COUNTESS Thy marriage sooner than thy wickedness.

  LAVATCH I am out o’ friends, madam, and I hope to have friends for my wife’s sake.

  COUNTESS Such friends are thine enemies, knave.

  LAVATCH You’re shallow, madam—in great friends, for 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 and blood; he that cherishes my flesh and 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 Chairbonne the puritan and old Poisson the papist, howsome‘er their hearts are severed in religion, their heads are both one: they may jowl horns together like any deer i’th’ herd.

  COUNTESS Wilt thou ever be a foul-mouthed and calumnious knave?

  LAVATCH A prophet? Ay, madam, and I speak the truth the next way.

  [He sings]

  For I the ballad will repeat,

  Which men full true shall find:

  Your marriage comes by destiny,

  Your cuckoo sings by kind.

  COUNTESS Get you gone, sir. I’ll talk with you more anon.

  REYNALDO May it please you, madam, that he bid Helen come to you? Of her I am to speak.

  COUNTE
SS (to Lavatch) Sirrah, tell my gentlewoman I would speak with her. Helen, I mean.

  LAVATCH ⌈sings⌉

  ‘Was this fair face the cause’, quoth she,

  ‘Why the Grecians sacked Troy?

  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:

  ‘Among nine bad if one be good,

  Among nine bad if one be good,

  There’s yet one good in ten.’

  COUNTESS What, ‘one good in ten’? You corrupt the song, sirrah.

  LAVATCH One good woman in ten, madam, which is a purifying o‘th’ 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 have a good woman born but ere every blazing star, or at an earthquake, ’twould mend the lottery well. A man may draw his heart out ere a pluck one.

  COUNTESS You’ll be gone, sir knave, and do as I command you.

  LAVATCH 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 business is for Helen to come hither. Exit

  COUNTESS Well now.

  REYNALDO I know, madam, you love your gentlewoman entirely.

  COUNTESS Faith, I do. Her father bequeathed her to 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.

  REYNALDO Madam, I was very late more near her than I think she wished me. Alone she was, and did communicate to herself, her own words to her own ears; she thought, I dare vow for her, they touched not any stranger sense. Her matter was, she loved your son. Fortune, she said, was no goddess, that had put such difference betwixt their two estates; Love no god, that would not extend his might only where qualities were level; Dian no queen of virgins, that would suffer her poor knight surprised without rescue in the first assault or ransom afterward. This she delivered in the most bitter touch of sorrow that e’er I heard virgin exclaim in; which I held my duty speedily to acquaint you withal, sithence in the loss that may happen it concerns you something to know it.