Complete Plays, The

by William Shakespeare

  Helena

  Pardon, madam;

  The Count Rousillon cannot be my brother:

  I am from humble, he from honour’d 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:

  He must not be my brother.

  Countess

  Nor I your mother?

  Helena

  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,

  So I were not his sister. Can’t no other,

  But, I your daughter, he must be my brother?

  Countess

  Yes, Helen, you might be my daughter-in-law:

  God shield you mean it not! daughter and mother

  So strive upon your pulse. What, pale again?

  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 ashamed,

  Against the proclamation of thy passion,

  To say thou dost not: therefore tell me true;

  But tell me then, ’tis so; for, look thy cheeks

  Confess it, th’ one to th’ other; and thine eyes

  See it so grossly shown in thy behaviors

  That in their kind they speak it: only sin

  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,

  Tell me truly.

  Helena

  Good madam, pardon me!

  Countess

  Do you love my son?

  Helena

  Your pardon, noble mistress!

  Countess

  Love you my son?

  Helena

  Do not you love him, madam?

  Countess

  Go not about; my love hath in’t a bond,

  Whereof the world takes note: come, come, disclose

  The state of your affection; for your passions

  Have to the full appeach’d.

  Helena

  Then, I confess,

  Here on my knee, before high heaven and you,

  That before you, and next unto high heaven,

  I love your son.

  My friends were poor, but honest; so’s my love:

  Be not offended; for it hurts not him

  That he is loved of me: I follow him not

  By any token of presumptuous suit;

  Nor would I have him till I do deserve him;

  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,

  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,

  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

  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!

  Countess

  Had you not lately an intent,— speak truly,—

  To go to Paris?

  Helena

  Madam, I had.

  Countess

  Wherefore? tell true.

  Helena

  I will tell truth; by grace itself I swear.

  You know my father left me some prescriptions

  Of rare and proved 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,

  As notes whose faculties inclusive were

  More than they were in note: amongst the rest,

  There is a remedy, approved, set down,

  To cure the desperate languishings whereof

  The king is render’d lost.

  Countess

  This was your motive

  For Paris, was it? speak.

  Helena

  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

  Haply been absent then.

  Countess

  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

  A poor unlearned virgin, when the schools,

  Embowell’d of their doctrine, have left off

  The danger to itself?

  Helena

  There’s something in’t,

  More than my father’s skill, which was the greatest

  Of his profession, that his good receipt

  Shall for my legacy be sanctified

  By the luckiest stars in heaven: and, would your honour

  But give me leave to try success, I’ld venture

  The well-lost life of mine on his grace’s cure

  By such a day and hour.

  Countess

  Dost thou believe’t?

  Helena

  Ay, madam, knowingly.

  Countess

  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:

  Be gone to-morrow; and be sure of this,

  What I can help thee to thou shalt not miss.

  Exeunt

  ACT II

  SCENE I. PARIS. THE KING’S PALACE.

  Flourish of cornets. Enter the King, attended 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, farewell:

  Share the advice betwixt you; if both gain, all

  The gift doth stretch itself as ’tis received,

  And is enough for both.

  First Lord

  ’Tis our hope, sir,

  After well enter’d soldiers, to return

  And find your grace in health.

  King

  No, no, it cannot be; and yet my heart

  Will not confess he owes the malady

  That doth my life besiege. Farewell, young lords;

  Whether I live or die, be you the sons

  Of worthy Frenchmen: 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

  The bravest questant shrinks, find what you seek,

  That fame may cry you loud: I say, farewell.

  Second 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,

  If they demand: beware of being captives,

  Before you se
rve.

  Both

  Our hearts receive your warnings.

  King

  Farewell. Come hither to me.

  Exit, attended

  First Lord

  O, my sweet lord, that you will stay behind us!

  Parolles

  ’Tis not his fault, the spark.

  Second Lord

  O, ’tis brave wars!

  Parolles

  Most admirable: I have seen those wars.

  Bertram

  I am commanded here, and kept a coil with

  ‘Too young’ and ’the next year’ and ’’tis too early.’

  Parolles

  An thy mind stand to’t, boy, steal away bravely.

  Bertram

  I shall stay here the forehorse to a smock,

  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.

  First Lord

  There’s honour in the theft.

  Parolles

  Commit it, count.

  Second Lord

  I am your accessary; and so, farewell.

  Bertram

  I grow to you, and our parting is a tortured body.

  First Lord

  Farewell, captain.

  Second Lord

  Sweet Monsieur Parolles!

  Parolles

  Noble heroes, my sword and yours are kin. 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 entrenched it: say to him, I live; and observe his reports for me.

  First Lord

  We shall, noble captain.

  Exeunt Lords

  Parolles

  Mars dote on you for his novices! what will ye do?

  Bertram

  Stay: the king.

  Re-enter King. Bertram and Parolles retire

  Parolles

  [To Bertram] Use a more spacious ceremony to the noble lords; you have restrained yourself within the list of too cold an adieu: be more expressive to them: for they wear themselves in the cap of the time, there do muster true gait, eat, speak, and move under the influence of the most received star; and though the devil lead the measure, such are to be followed: after them, and take a more dilated farewell.

  Bertram

  And I will do so.

  Parolles

  Worthy fellows; and like to prove most sinewy sword-men.

  Exeunt Bertram and Parolles

  Enter Lafeu

  Lafeu

  [Kneeling] Pardon, my lord, for me and for my tidings.

  King

  I’ll fee thee to stand up.

  Lafeu

  Then here’s a man stands, that has brought his pardon.

  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.

  Lafeu

  Good faith, across: but, my good lord ’tis thus;

  Will you be cured of your infirmity?

  King

  No.

  Lafeu

  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

  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,

  And write to her a love-line.

  King

  What ‘her’ is this?

  Lafeu

  Why, Doctor She: my lord, there’s one arrived,

  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

  With one that, in her sex, her years, profession,

  Wisdom and constancy, hath amazed 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

  May spend our wonder too, or take off thine

  By wondering how thou took’st it.

  Lafeu

  Nay, I’ll fit you,

  And not be all day neither.

  Exit

  King

  Thus he his special nothing ever prologues.

  Re-enter Lafeu, with Helena

  Lafeu

  Nay, come your ways.

  King

  This haste hath wings indeed.

  Lafeu

  Nay, come your ways:

  This is his majesty; say your mind to him:

  A traitor you do look like; but such traitors

  His majesty seldom fears: I am Cressid’s uncle,

  That dare leave two together; fare you well.

  Exit

  King

  Now, fair one, does your business follow us?

  Helena

  Ay, my good lord.

  Gerard de Narbon was my father;

  In what he did profess, well found.

  King

  I knew him.

  Helena

  The rather will I spare my praises towards him:

  Knowing him is enough. On’s bed of death

  Many receipts he gave me: chiefly one.

  Which, as the dearest issue of his practise,

  And of his old experience the oily darling,

  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,

  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,

  When our most learned doctors leave us and

  The congregated college have concluded

  That labouring art can never ransom nature

  From her inaidible estate; I say we must not

  So stain our judgment, or corrupt our hope,

  To prostitute our past-cure malady

  To empirics, or to dissever so

  Our great self and our credit, to esteem

  A senseless help when help past sense we deem.

  Helena

  My duty then shall pay me for my pains:

  I will no more enforce mine office on you.

  Humbly entreating from your royal thoughts

  A modest one, to bear me back a 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 live:

  But what at full I know, thou know’st no part,

  I knowing all my peril, thou no art.

  Helena

  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:

  So holy writ in babes hath judgment 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

  Where most it promises, and oft it hits

  Where hope is coldest and despair most fits.

&
nbsp; King

  I must not hear thee; fare thee well, kind maid;

  Thy pains not used must by thyself be paid:

  Proffers not took reap thanks for their reward.

  Helena

  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.

  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.

  King

  Are thou so confident? within what space

  Hopest thou my cure?

  Helena

  The great’st grace lending grace

  Ere twice the horses of the sun shall bring

  Their fiery torcher his diurnal ring,

  Ere twice in murk and occidental damp

  Moist Hesperus hath quench’d his 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,

  Health shall live free and sickness freely die.

  King

  Upon thy certainty and confidence

  What darest thou venture?

  Helena

  Tax of impudence,

  A strumpet’s boldness, a divulged shame

  Traduced by odious ballads: my maiden’s name

  Sear’d otherwise; nay, worse — if worse — 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

  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:

  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.

  Helena

  If I break time, or flinch in property

  Of what I spoke, unpitied let me die,

  And well deserved: not helping, death’s my fee;

  But, if I help, what do you promise me?

  King

  Make thy demand.

  Helena

  But will you make it even?

  King

  Ay, by my sceptre and my hopes of heaven.

  Helena

  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,