[To third Lord.] Be not afraid that I your hand should take;
I’ll never do you wrong for your own sake.
Blessing upon your vows, and in your bed
Find fairer fortune, if you ever wed!
LAFEW.
 Sure, they are
bastards to the English; the French ne’er got ’em.
HELENA.
[To fourth Lord.]
FOURTH LORD.
Fair one, I think not so.
LAFEW.
There’s one grape yet. I am sure thy father drank wine. But if thou beest
not an ass, I am a youth of fourteen; I have known thee already.
HELENA.
[To Bertram.] I dare not say I take you, but I give
Me and my service, ever whilst I live,
Into your guiding power. This is the man.
KING.
Why, then, young Bertram, take her; she’s thy wife.
BERTRAM.
My wife, my liege! I shall beseech your highness,
In such a business give me leave to use
The help of mine own eyes.
KING.
Know’st thou not, Bertram,
What she has done for me?
BERTRAM.
Yes, my good lord,
But never hope to know why I should marry her.
KING.
Thou know’st she has rais’d me from my sickly bed.
BERTRAM.
But follows it, my lord, to bring me down
Must answer for your raising? I know her well;
She had her breeding at my father’s charge:
A poor physician’s daughter my wife! Disdain
Rather corrupt me ever!
KING.
’Tis only title thou disdain’st in her, the which
I can build up. Strange is it that our bloods,
Of colour, weight, and heat, pour’d all together,
Would quite confound distinction, yet stands off
In differences so mighty. If she be
All that is virtuous, save what thou dislik’st,
A poor physician’s daughter,—thou dislik’st—
Of virtue for the name. But do not so.
From lowest place when virtuous things proceed,
The place is dignified by the doer’s deed.
Where great additions swell’s, and virtue none,
It is a dropsied honour. Good alone
Is good without a name; vileness is so:
The property by what it is should go,
Not by the title. She is young, wise, fair;
In these to nature she’s immediate heir;
And these breed honour: that is honour’s scorn
Which challenges itself as honour’s born,
And is not like the sire. Honours thrive
When rather from our acts we them derive
Than our fore-goers.  What should be said?
If thou canst like this creature as a maid,
I can create the rest. Virtue and she
Is her own dower; honour and wealth from me.
BERTRAM.
I cannot love her, nor will strive to do ’t.
KING.
Thou wrong’st thyself, if thou shouldst strive to choose.
HELENA.
That you are well restor’d, my lord, I am glad.
Let the rest go.
KING.
My honour’s at the stake, which to defeat,
I must produce my power. Here, take her hand,
Proud scornful boy, unworthy this good gift,
That dost in vile misprision shackle up
My love and her desert; that canst not dream
We, poising us in her defective scale,
Shall weigh thee to the beam; that wilt not know
It is in us to plant thine honour where
We please to have it grow. Check thy contempt;
Obey our will, which travails in thy good;
Believe not thy disdain, but presently
Do thine own fortunes that obedient right
Which both thy duty owes and our power claims;
Or I will throw thee from my care for ever
Into the staggers and the careless lapse
Of youth and ignorance; both my revenge and hate
Loosing upon thee in the name of justice,
Without all terms of pity. Speak! Thine answer!
BERTRAM.
Pardon, my gracious lord; for I submit
My fancy to your eyes. When I consider
What great creation, and what dole of honour
Flies where you bid it, I find that she, which late
Was in my nobler thoughts most base, is now
The praised of the king; who, so ennobled,
Is as ’twere born so.
KING.
Take her by the hand,
And tell her she is thine; to whom I promise
A counterpoise; if not to thy estate,
A balance more replete.
BERTRAM.
 The solemn feast
Shall more attend upon the coming space,
Expecting absent friends. As thou lov’st her,
Thy love’s to me religious; else, does err.
[Exeunt King, Bertram, Helena, Lords, and Attendants.]
LAFEW.
Do you hear, monsieur? A word with you.
PAROLLES.
Your pleasure, sir.
LAFEW.
Your lord and master did well to make his recantation.
PAROLLES.
Recantation! My lord! My master!
LAFEW.
Ay. Is it not a language I speak?
PAROLLES.
 My master!
LAFEW.
Are you companion to the Count Rossillon?
PAROLLES.
To any count; to all counts; to what is man.
LAFEW.
To what is count’s man: count’s master is of another style.
PAROLLES.

LAFEW.
I must tell thee, sirrah, I write man; to which title age cannot bring thee.
PAROLLES.
What I dare too well do, I dare not do.
LAFEW.
I did think thee, for two ordinaries, to be a pretty wise fellow; thou didst
make tolerable vent of thy travel; it might pass. Yet the scarfs and the
bannerets about thee did manifoldly dissuade me from believing thee a vessel of
too great a burden. I have now found thee; when I lose thee again I care not.
Yet art thou good for nothing but taking up, and that thou art scarce worth.
PAROLLES.
Hadst thou not the privilege of antiquity upon thee—
LAFEW.
Do not plunge thyself too far in anger, lest thou hasten thy trial; which
if—Lord have mercy on thee for a hen! So, my good window of lattice, fare
thee well; thy casement I need not open, for I look through thee. Give me thy
hand.
PAROLLES.
My lord, you give me most egregious indignity.
LAFEW.
Ay, with all my heart; and thou art worthy of it.
PAROLLES.
I have not, my lord, deserv’d it.
LAFEW.
Yes, good faith, every dram of it; and I will not bate thee a scruple.
PAROLLES.
Well, I shall be wiser.
LAFEW.
Ev’n as soon as thou canst, for thou hast to pull at a smack o’
th’ contrary. If ever thou beest bound in thy scarf and beaten, thou
shalt find what it is to be proud of thy bondage. I have a desire to hold my
acquaintance with thee, or rather my knowledge, that I may say in the default,
“He is a man I know.”
PAROLLES.
My lord, you do me most insupportable vexation.
LAFEW.
I would it were hell-pains for thy sake, and my poor doing eternal; for doing I
am past, as I will by thee, in what motion age will give me leave.
[Exit.]
PAROLLES.
Well, thou hast a son shall take this disgrace off me; scurvy, old, filthy,
scurvy lord! Well, I must be patient; there is no fettering of authority.
I’ll beat him, by my life, if I can meet him with any convenience, an he
were double and double a lord. I’ll have no more pity of his age than I
would have of—I’ll beat him, and if I could but meet him again.
Enter Lafew.
LAFEW.
Sirrah, your lord and master’s married; there’s news for you; you
have a new mistress.
PAROLLES.
I most unfeignedly beseech your lordship to make some reservation of your
wrongs. He is my good lord; whom I serve above is my master.
LAFEW.
Who? God?
PAROLLES.
Ay, sir.
LAFEW.
The devil it is that’s thy master. Why dost thou garter up thy arms
o’ this fashion? Dost make hose of thy sleeves? Do other servants so?
Thou wert best set thy lower part where thy nose stands. By mine honour, if I
were but two hours younger, I’d beat thee. Methink’st thou art a
general offence, and every man should beat thee. I think thou wast created for
men to breathe themselves upon thee.
PAROLLES.
This is hard and undeserved measure, my lord.
LAFEW.
 You are more saucy with lords and
honourable personages than the commission of your birth and virtue gives you
heraldry.  I
leave you.
[Exit.]
Enter Bertram.
PAROLLES.
Good, very good, it is so then. Good, very good; let it be conceal’d
awhile.
BERTRAM.
Undone, and forfeited to cares for ever!
PAROLLES.
What’s the matter, sweetheart?
BERTRAM.
Although before the solemn priest I have sworn,
I will not bed her.
PAROLLES.
What, what, sweetheart?
BERTRAM.
O my Parolles, they have married me!
I’ll to the Tuscan wars, and never bed her.
PAROLLES.
France is a dog-hole, and it no more merits
The tread of a man’s foot: to the wars!
BERTRAM.
There’s letters from my mother; what th’ import is
I know not yet.
PAROLLES.
Ay, that would be known. To th’ wars, my boy, to th’ wars!
He wears his honour in a box unseen
That hugs his kicky-wicky here at home,
Spending his manly marrow in her arms,
Which should sustain the bound and high curvet
Of Mars’s fiery steed. To other regions!
France is a stable; we that dwell in’t, jades,
Therefore, to th’ war!
BERTRAM.
 His present gift
Shall furnish me to those Italian fields
Where noble fellows strike. War is no strife
To the dark house and the detested wife.
PAROLLES.
Will this caprichio hold in thee, art sure?
BERTRAM.
Go with me to my chamber and advise me.
I’ll send her straight away. Tomorrow
I’ll to the wars, she to her single sorrow.
PAROLLES.
Why, these balls bound; there’s noise in it. ’Tis hard:
A young man married is a man that’s marr’d.
Therefore away, and leave her bravely; go.
The king has done you wrong; but hush ’tis so.
[Exeunt.]
Enter Helena and Clown.
HELENA.
My mother greets me kindly: is she well?
CLOWN.
She is not well, but yet she has her health; she’s very
merry, but yet she is not well. But thanks be given, she’s very
well, and wants nothing i’ the world; but yet she is not well.
HELENA.
If she be very well, what does she ail that she’s not very well?
CLOWN.
Truly, she’s very well indeed, but for two things.
HELENA.
What two things?
CLOWN.
One, that she’s not in heaven, whither God send her quickly!
The other, that she’s in earth, from whence God send her quickly!
Enter Parolles.
PAROLLES.
Bless you, my fortunate lady!
HELENA.
I hope, sir, I have your good will to have mine own good
fortune.
PAROLLES.
You had my prayers to lead them on; and to keep them on,
have them still. O, my knave how does my old lady?
CLOWN.
So that you had her wrinkles and I her money, I would she did as
you say.
PAROLLES.
Why, I say nothing.
CLOWN.
Marry, you are the wiser man; for many a man’s tongue shakes out
his master’s undoing. To say nothing, to do nothing, to know
nothing, and to have nothing, is to be a great part of your
title; which is within a very little of nothing.
PAROLLES.
Away! Thou art a knave.
CLOWN.
You should have said, sir, before a knave thou art a knave;
that is before me thou art a knave. This had been truth, sir.
PAROLLES.
Go to, thou art a witty fool; I have found thee.
CLOWN.
Did you find me in yourself, sir? or were you taught to find me? The search,
sir, was profitable; and much fool may you find in you, even to the
world’s pleasure and the increase of laughter.
PAROLLES.
A good knave, i’ faith, and well fed.
Madam, my lord will go away tonight;
A very serious business calls on him.
The great prerogative and right of love,
Which, as your due, time claims, he does acknowledge;
But puts it off to a compell’d restraint;
Whose want, and whose delay, is strew’d with sweets;
Which they distil now in the curbed time,
To make the coming hour o’erflow with joy
And pleasure drown the brim.
HELENA.
What’s his will else?
PAROLLES.
That you will take your instant leave o’ the king,
And make this haste as your own good proceeding,
Strengthen’d with what apology you think
May make it probable need.
HELENA.
What more commands he?
PAROLLES.
That, having this obtain’d, you presently
Attend his further pleasure.
HELENA.
In everything I wait upon his will.
PAROLLES.
I shall report it so.
HELENA.
I pray you. Come, sirrah.
[Exeunt.]
Enter Lafew and Bertram.
LAFEW.
But I hope your lordship thinks not him a soldier.
BERTRAM.
Yes, my lord, and of very valiant approof.
LAFEW.
You have it from his own deliverance.
BERTRAM.
And by other warranted testimony.
LAFEW.
Then my dial goes not true; I took this lark for a bunting.
BERTRAM.
I do assure you, my lord, he is very great in knowledge, and accordingly
valiant.
LAFEW.
I have, then, sinned against his experience and transgressed against his
valour; and my state that way is dangerous, since I cannot yet find in my heart
to repent. Here he comes; I pray you make us friends; I will pursue the amity
Enter Parolles.
PAROLLES.
[To Bertram.] These things shall be done, sir.
LAFEW.
Pray you, sir, who’s his tailor?
PAROLLES.
Sir!
LAFEW.
O, I know him well, I, sir; he, sir, is a good workman, a very good tailor.
BERTRAM.
[Aside to Parolles.] Is she gone to the king?
PAROLLES.
She is.
BERTRAM.
Will she away tonight?
PAROLLES.
As you’ll have her.
BERTRAM.
I have writ my letters, casketed my treasure,
Given order for our horses; and tonight,
When I should take possession of the bride,
End ere I do begin.
LAFEW.
A good traveller is something at the latter end of a dinner; but one that lies
three-thirds and uses a known truth to pass a thousand nothings with, should be
once heard and thrice beaten.—
BERTRAM.
Is there any unkindness between my lord and you, monsieur?
PAROLLES.
I know not how I have deserved to run into my lord’s displeasure.
LAFEW.
You have made shift to run into ’t, boots and spurs and all, like him
that leapt into the custard; and out of it you’ll run again, rather than
suffer question for your residence.
BERTRAM.
It may be you have mistaken him, my lord.
LAFEW.
And shall do so ever, though I took him at his prayers. Fare you well, my lord;
and believe this of me, there can be no kernal in this light nut; the soul of
this man is his clothes; trust him not in matter of heavy consequence; I have
kept of them tame, and know their natures. Farewell, monsieur; I have spoken
better of you than you have or will to deserve at my hand; but we must do good
against evil.
[Exit.]
PAROLLES.
An idle lord, I swear.
BERTRAM.
I think so.
PAROLLES.
Why, do you not know him?
BERTRAM.
Yes, I do know him well; and common speech
Gives him a worthy pass. Here comes my clog.
Enter Helena.
HELENA.
I have, sir, as I was commanded from you,
Spoke with the king, and have procur’d his leave
For present parting; only he desires
Some private speech with you.
BERTRAM.
I shall obey his will.
You must not marvel, Helen, at my course,
Which holds not colour with the time, nor does
The ministration and required office
On my particular. Prepared I was not
For such a business; therefore am I found
So much unsettled: this drives me to entreat you;
That presently you take your way for home,
And rather muse than ask why I entreat you:
For my respects are better than they seem;
And my appointments have in them a need
Greater than shows itself at the first view
To you that know them not. This to my mother.
[Giving a letter.]
’Twill be two days ere I shall see you; so
I leave you to your wisdom.
HELENA.
Sir, I can nothing say
But that I am your most obedient servant.
BERTRAM.
Come, come, no more of that.
HELENA.
And ever shall
With true observance seek to eke out that
Wherein toward me my homely stars have fail’d
To equal my great fortune.
BERTRAM.
Let that go.
My haste is very great. Farewell; hie home.
HELENA.
Pray, sir, your pardon.
BERTRAM.
Well, what would you say?
HELENA.
I am not worthy of the wealth I owe;
Nor dare I say ’tis mine, and yet it is;
But, like a timorous thief, most fain would steal
What law does vouch mine own.
BERTRAM.
What would you have?
HELENA.
Something; and scarce so much; nothing indeed.
I would not tell you what I would, my lord. Faith, yes,
Strangers and foes do sunder and not kiss.
BERTRAM.
I pray you, stay not, but in haste to horse.
HELENA.
I shall not break your bidding, good my lord.
Where are my other men, monsieur?
Farewell,
[Exit Helena.]
BERTRAM.
Go thou toward home, where I will never come
Whilst I can shake my sword or hear the drum.
Away, and for our flight.
PAROLLES.
Bravely, coragio!
[Exeunt.]
Flourish. Enter the Duke of Florence attended; two French Lords, and 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.
Tomorrow to the field.
[Flourish. Exeunt.]
Enter Countess and Clown.
COUNTESS.
It hath happen’d 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 lings and our Isbels
o’ th’ country are nothing like your old ling and your Isbels
o’ th’ court. The brains of my Cupid’s knock’d 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 misprizing of a maid too virtuous
For the contempt of empire.
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
kill’d so soon as I thought he would.
COUNTESS.
Why should he be kill’d?
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 the 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 despatch in hand at court,
Thither we bend again.
HELENA.
Look on this 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 pains.
COUNTESS.
I pr’ythee, 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!
 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.
Y’are 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, Rossillon, 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.
 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, Rossillon,
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.
 No, no, although
The air of paradise did fan the house,
And angels offic’d 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.]
Flourish. Enter the Duke of Florence, Bertram, drum and trumpets, Soldiers, Parolles.
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 th’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.]
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.

Bless him at home in peace, whilst I from far
His name with zealous fervour 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 dog 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!
Rynaldo, 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, Rynaldo,
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.]
Enter an old Widow of Florence, Diana, Violenta, Mariana and 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 great’st commander, and that with
his own hand he slew the duke’s brother.
[A tucket afar off.]
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.
Enter Helena in the dress of a pilgrim.
WIDOW.
I hope so. Look, here comes a pilgrim. I know she will lie at my house; thither
they send one another; I’ll question her.  Whither
are 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?
[A march afar.]
WIDOW.
Ay, marry, is’t. 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 lodg’d;
The rather for I think I know your hostess
As ample as myself.
HELENA.
Is it yourself?
WIDOW.
If you shall please so, pilgrim.
HELENA.
I thank you, and will stay upon your leisure.
WIDOW.
You came, I think, from France?
HELENA.
I did so.
WIDOW.
Here you shall see a countryman of yours
That has done worthy service.
HELENA.
His name, I pray you.
DIANA.
The Count Rossillon.
HELENA.
But by the ear, that hears most nobly of him;
His face I know not.
DIANA.
Whatsome’er he is,
He’s bravely taken here. He stole from France,
As ’tis reported, for the king had married him
Against his liking. Think you it is so?
HELENA.
Ay, surely, mere the truth; I know his lady.
DIANA.
There is a gentleman that serves the count
Reports but coarsely of her.
HELENA.
What’s his name?
DIANA.
Monsieur Parolles.
HELENA.
O, I believe with him,
In argument of praise, or to the worth
Of the great count himself, she is too mean
To have her name repeated; all her deserving
Is a reserved honesty, and that
I have not heard examin’d.
DIANA.
Alas, poor lady!
’Tis a hard bondage to become the wife
Of a detesting lord.
WIDOW.
Ay, right; good creature, wheresoe’er she is,
Her heart weighs sadly. This young maid might do her
A shrewd turn, if she pleas’d.
HELENA.
How do you mean?
Maybe the amorous count solicits her
In the unlawful purpose.
WIDOW.
He does indeed,
And brokes with all that can in such a suit
Corrupt the tender honour of a maid;
But she is arm’d for him, and keeps her guard
In honestest defence.
Enter, with a drum and colours, a party of the Florentine army, Bertram and Parolles.
MARIANA.
The gods forbid else!
WIDOW.
So, now they come.
That is Antonio, the Duke’s eldest son;
That Escalus.
HELENA.
Which is the Frenchman?
DIANA.
He;
That with the plume; ’tis a most gallant fellow.
I would he lov’d his wife; if he were honester
He were much goodlier. Is’t not a handsome gentleman?
HELENA.
I like him well.
DIANA.
’Tis pity he is not honest. Yond’s that same knave
That leads him to these places. Were I his lady
I would poison that vile rascal.
HELENA.
Which is he?
DIANA.
That jack-an-apes with scarfs. Why is he melancholy?
HELENA.
Perchance he’s hurt i’ the battle.
PAROLLES.
Lose our drum! Well.
MARIANA.
He’s shrewdly vex’d at something. Look, he has spied us.
WIDOW.
Marry, hang you!
MARIANA.
And your courtesy, for a ring-carrier!
[Exeunt Bertram, Parolles, Officers and Soldiers.]
WIDOW.
The troop is past. Come, pilgrim, I will bring you
Where you shall host; of enjoin’d penitents
There’s four or five, to great Saint Jaques bound,
Already at my house.
HELENA.
I humbly thank you.
Please it this matron and this gentle maid
To eat with us tonight; the charge and thanking
Shall be for me; and, to requite you further,
I will bestow some precepts of this virgin,
Worthy the note.
BOTH.
We’ll take your offer kindly.
[Exeunt.]
Enter Bertram and the two French Lords.
FIRST LORD.
Nay, good my lord, put him to’t; let him have his way.
SECOND LORD.
If your lordship find him not a hilding, hold me no more in your respect.
FIRST LORD.

BERTRAM.
Do you think I am so far deceived in him?
FIRST LORD.
Believe it, my lord, in mine own direct knowledge, without any malice, but to
speak of him as my kinsman, he’s a most notable coward, an infinite and
endless liar, an hourly promise-breaker, the owner of no one good quality
worthy your lordship’s entertainment.
SECOND LORD.
It were fit you knew him; lest, reposing too far in his virtue, which he hath
not, he might at some great and trusty business, in a main danger fail you.
BERTRAM.
I would I knew in what particular action to try him.
SECOND LORD.
None better than to let him fetch off his drum, which you hear him so
confidently undertake to do.
FIRST LORD.
I with a troop of Florentines will suddenly surprise him; such I will have whom
I am sure he knows not from the enemy; we will bind and hoodwink him so that he
shall suppose no other but that he is carried into the leaguer of the
adversaries when we bring him to our own tents. Be but your lordship present at
his examination; if he do not for the promise of his life, and in the highest
compulsion of base fear, offer to betray you, and deliver all the intelligence
in his power against you, and that with the divine forfeit of his soul upon
oath, never trust my judgment in anything.
SECOND LORD.
O, for the love of laughter, let him fetch his drum; he says he has a stratagem
for’t. When your lordship sees the bottom of his success in’t, and
to what metal this counterfeit lump of ore will be melted, if you give him not
John Drum’s entertainment, your inclining cannot be removed. Here he
comes.
Enter Parolles.
FIRST LORD.
O, for the love of laughter, hinder not the honour of his design: let him fetch
off his drum in any hand.
BERTRAM.
How now, monsieur! This drum sticks sorely in your disposition.
SECOND LORD.
A pox on ’t; let it go; ’tis but a drum.
PAROLLES.
But a drum! Is’t but a drum? A drum so lost! There was excellent command,
to charge in with our horse upon our own wings, and to rend our own soldiers.
SECOND LORD.
That was not to be blam’d in the command of the service; it was a
disaster of war that Caesar himself could not have prevented, if he had been
there to command.
BERTRAM.
Well, we cannot greatly condemn our success: some dishonour we had in the loss
of that drum, but it is not to be recovered.
PAROLLES.
It might have been recovered.
BERTRAM.
It might, but it is not now.
PAROLLES.
It is to be recovered. But that the merit of service is seldom attributed to
the true and exact performer, I would have that drum or another, or hic
jacet.
BERTRAM.
Why, if you have a stomach, to’t, monsieur, if you think your mystery in
stratagem can bring this instrument of honour again into his native quarter, be
magnanimous in the enterprise, and go on; I will grace the attempt for a worthy
exploit; if you speed well in it, the duke shall both speak of it and extend to
you what further becomes his greatness, even to the utmost syllable of your
worthiness.
PAROLLES.
By the hand of a soldier, I will undertake it.
BERTRAM.
But you must not now slumber in it.
PAROLLES.
I’ll about it this evening; and I will presently pen down my dilemmas,
encourage myself in my certainty, put myself into my mortal preparation; and
by midnight look to hear further from me.
BERTRAM.
May I be bold to acquaint his grace you are gone about it?
PAROLLES.
I know not what the success will be, my lord, but the attempt I vow.
BERTRAM.
I know th’art valiant; and to the possibility of thy soldiership, will
subscribe for thee. Farewell.
PAROLLES.
I love not many words.
[Exit.]
FIRST LORD.
No more than a fish loves water. Is not this a strange fellow, my lord, that so
confidently seems to undertake this business, which he knows is not to be done;
damns himself to do, and dares better be damn’d than to do’t.
SECOND LORD.
You do not know him, my lord, as we do; certain it is that he will steal
himself into a man’s favour, and for a week escape a great deal of
discoveries, but when you find him out, you have him ever after.
BERTRAM.
Why, do you think he will make no deed at all of this, that so seriously he
does address himself unto?
FIRST LORD.
None in the world; but return with an invention, and clap upon you two or three
probable lies; but we have almost embossed him; you shall see his fall tonight;
for indeed he is not for your lordship’s respect.
SECOND LORD.
We’ll make you some sport with the fox ere we case him. He was first
smok’d by the old Lord Lafew; when his disguise and he is parted, tell me
what a sprat you shall find him; which you shall see this very night.
FIRST LORD.
I must go look my twigs. He shall be caught.
BERTRAM.
Your brother, he shall go along with me.
FIRST LORD.
As’t please your lordship. I’ll leave you.
[Exit.]
BERTRAM.
Now will I lead you to the house, and show you
The lass I spoke of.
SECOND LORD.
But you say she’s honest.
BERTRAM.
That’s all the fault. I spoke with her but once,
And found her wondrous cold, but I sent to her
By this same coxcomb that we have i’ the wind
Tokens and letters which she did re-send,
And this is all I have done. She’s a fair creature;
Will you go see her?
SECOND LORD.
With all my heart, my lord.
[Exeunt.]
Enter Helena and Widow.
HELENA.
If you misdoubt me that I am not she,
I know not how I shall assure you further,
But I shall lose the grounds I work upon.
WIDOW.
Though my estate be fall’n, I was well born,
Nothing acquainted with these businesses,
And would not put my reputation now
In any staining act.
HELENA.
Nor would I wish you.
First give me trust, the count he is my husband,
And what to your sworn counsel I have spoken
Is so from word to word; and then you cannot,
By the good aid that I of you shall borrow,
Err in bestowing it.
WIDOW.
I should believe you,
For you have show’d me that which well approves
Y’are great in fortune.
HELENA.
Take this purse of gold,
And let me buy your friendly help thus far,
Which I will over-pay, and pay again
When I have found it. The count he woos your daughter
Lays down his wanton siege before her beauty,
Resolv’d to carry her; let her in fine consent,
As we’ll direct her how ’tis best to bear it.
Now his important blood will naught deny
That she’ll demand; a ring the county wears,
That downward hath succeeded in his house
From son to son, some four or five descents
Since the first father wore it. This ring he holds
In most rich choice; yet, in his idle fire,
To buy his will, it would not seem too dear,
Howe’er repented after.
WIDOW.
Now I see
The bottom of your purpose.
HELENA.
You see it lawful then; it is no more
But that your daughter, ere she seems as won,
Desires this ring; appoints him an encounter;
In fine, delivers me to fill the time,
Herself most chastely absent. After,
To marry her, I’ll add three thousand crowns
To what is pass’d already.
WIDOW.
I have yielded.
Instruct my daughter how she shall persever,
That time and place with this deceit so lawful
May prove coherent. Every night he comes
With musics of all sorts, and songs compos’d
To her unworthiness: it nothing steads us
To chide him from our eaves; for he persists
As if his life lay on ’t.
HELENA.
Why then tonight
Let us assay our plot; which, if it speed,
Is wicked meaning in a lawful deed,
And lawful meaning in a lawful act,
Where both not sin, and yet a sinful fact.
But let’s about it.
[Exeunt.]
Enter first Lord with five or six Soldiers in ambush.
FIRST LORD.
He can come no other way but by this hedge-corner. When you sally upon him,
speak what terrible language you will; though you understand it not yourselves,
no matter; for we must not seem to understand him, unless someone among us,
whom we must produce for an interpreter.
FIRST SOLDIER.
Good captain, let me be th’ interpreter.
FIRST LORD.
Art not acquainted with him? Knows he not thy voice?
FIRST SOLDIER.
No sir, I warrant you.
FIRST LORD.
But what linsey-woolsey has thou to speak to us again?
FIRST SOLDIER.
E’en such as you speak to me.
FIRST LORD.
He must think us some band of strangers i’ the adversary’s
entertainment. Now he hath a smack of all neighbouring languages, therefore we
must every one be a man of his own fancy; not to know what we speak one to
another, so we seem to know, is to know straight our purpose: choughs’
language, gabble enough, and good enough. As for you, interpreter, you must
seem very politic. But couch, ho! Here he comes; to beguile two hours in a
sleep, and then to return and swear the lies he forges.
Enter Parolles.
PAROLLES.
Ten o’clock. Within these three hours ’twill be time enough to go
home. What shall I say I have done? It must be a very plausive invention that
carries it. They begin to smoke me, and disgraces have of late knock’d too
often at my door. I find my tongue is too foolhardy, but my heart hath the fear
of Mars before it, and of his creatures, not daring the reports of my tongue.
FIRST LORD.
[Aside.] This is the first truth that e’er thine own tongue was
guilty of.
PAROLLES.
What the devil should move me to undertake the recovery of this drum, being not
ignorant of the impossibility, and knowing I had no such purpose? I must give
myself some hurts, and say I got them in exploit; yet slight ones will not
carry it. They will say “Came you off with so little?” and great
ones I dare not give. Wherefore, what’s the instance? Tongue, I must put
you into a butter-woman’s mouth, and buy myself another of
Bajazet’s mule, if you prattle me into these perils.
FIRST LORD.
[Aside.] Is it possible he should know what he is, and be that he is?
PAROLLES.
I would the cutting of my garments would serve the turn, or the
breaking of my Spanish sword.
FIRST LORD.
[Aside.] We cannot afford you so.
PAROLLES.
Or the baring of my beard, and to say it was in stratagem.
FIRST LORD.
[Aside.] ’Twould not do.
PAROLLES.
Or to drown my clothes, and say I was stripped.
FIRST LORD.
[Aside.] Hardly serve.
PAROLLES.
Though I swore I leap’d from the window of the citadel,—
FIRST LORD.
[Aside.] How deep?
PAROLLES.
Thirty fathom.
FIRST LORD.
[Aside.] Three great oaths would scarce make that be believed.
PAROLLES.
I would I had any drum of the enemy’s; I would swear I recover’d
it.
FIRST LORD.
[Aside.] You shall hear one anon.
PAROLLES.
A drum now of the enemy’s!
[Alarum within.]
FIRST LORD.
Throca movousus, cargo, cargo, cargo.
ALL.
Cargo, cargo, cargo, villianda par corbo, cargo.
[They seize and blindfold him.]
PAROLLES.
O, ransom, ransom! Do not hide mine eyes.
FIRST SOLDIER.
Boskos thromuldo boskos.
PAROLLES.
I know you are the Muskos’ regiment,
And I shall lose my life for want of language.
If there be here German, or Dane, Low Dutch,
Italian, or French, let him speak to me,
I’ll discover that which shall undo the Florentine.
FIRST SOLDIER.
Boskos vauvado. I understand thee, and can speak thy tongue.
Kerelybonto. Sir, Betake thee to thy faith, for seventeen poniards are
at thy bosom.
PAROLLES.
O!
FIRST SOLDIER.
O, pray, pray, pray!
Manka revania dulche.
FIRST LORD.
Oscorbidulchos volivorco.
FIRST SOLDIER.
The General is content to spare thee yet;
And, hoodwink’d as thou art, will lead thee on
To gather from thee. Haply thou mayst inform
Something to save thy life.
PAROLLES.
O, let me live,
And all the secrets of our camp I’ll show,
Their force, their purposes; nay, I’ll speak that
Which you will wonder at.
FIRST SOLDIER.
But wilt thou faithfully?
PAROLLES.

FIRST SOLDIER.
Acordo linta.
Come on; thou art granted space.
[Exit, with Parolles guarded.]
A short alarum within.
FIRST LORD.
Go tell the Count Rossillon and my brother
We have caught the woodcock, and will keep him muffled
Till we do hear from them.
SECOND SOLDIER.
Captain, I will.
FIRST LORD.
’A will betray us all unto ourselves;
Inform on that.
SECOND SOLDIER.
So I will, sir.
FIRST LORD.
Till then I’ll keep him dark, and safely lock’d.
[Exeunt.]
Enter Bertram and Diana.
BERTRAM.
They told me that your name was Fontybell.
DIANA.
No, my good lord, Diana.
BERTRAM.
Titled goddess;
And worth it, with addition! But, fair soul,
In your fine frame hath love no quality?

DIANA.
She then was honest.
BERTRAM.
So should you be.
DIANA.
No.
My mother did but duty; such, my lord,
As you owe to your wife.
BERTRAM.
No more a’ that!
I pr’ythee do not strive against my vows;
I was compell’d to her; but I love thee
By love’s own sweet constraint, and will for ever
Do thee all rights of service.
DIANA.
Ay, so you serve us
Till we serve you; but when you have our roses,
You barely leave our thorns to prick ourselves,
And mock us with our bareness.
BERTRAM.
How have I sworn?
DIANA.
’Tis not the many oaths that makes the truth,
But the plain single vow that is vow’d true.
What is not holy, that we swear not by,
But take the highest to witness: then, pray you, tell me,
If I should swear by Jove’s great attributes
I lov’d you dearly, would you believe my oaths
When I did love you ill? This has no holding,
To swear by him whom I protest to love
That I will work against him. Therefore your oaths
Are words and poor conditions; but unseal’d,—
At least in my opinion.
BERTRAM.
Change it, change it.
Be not so holy-cruel. Love is holy;
And my integrity ne’er knew the crafts
That you do charge men with.  Say thou art mine, and ever
My love as it begins shall so persever.
DIANA.
I see that men make hopes in such a case,
That we’ll forsake ourselves. Give me that ring.
BERTRAM.
I’ll lend it thee, my dear, but have no power
To give it from me.
DIANA.
Will you not, my lord?
BERTRAM.
It is an honour ’longing to our house,
Bequeathed down from many ancestors,
Which were the greatest obloquy i’ the world
In me to lose.
DIANA.
Mine honour’s such a ring;
My chastity’s the jewel of our house,
Bequeathed down from many ancestors,
Which were the greatest obloquy i’ the world
In me to lose. Thus your own proper wisdom
Brings in the champion honour on my part
Against your vain assault.
BERTRAM.
Here, take my ring;
My house, mine honour, yea, my life be thine,
And I’ll be bid by thee.
DIANA.
When midnight comes, knock at my chamber window;
I’ll order take my mother shall not hear.
Now will I charge you in the band of truth,
When you have conquer’d my yet maiden-bed,
Remain there but an hour, nor speak to me.
My reasons are most strong; and you shall know them
When back again this ring shall be deliver’d;
And on your finger in the night, I’ll put
Another ring, that what in time proceeds
May token to the future our past deeds.
Adieu till then; then fail not. You have won
A wife of me, though there my hope be done.
BERTRAM.
A heaven on earth I have won by wooing thee.
[Exit.]
DIANA.
For which live long to thank both heaven and me!
You may so in the end.
My mother told me just how he would woo,
As if she sat in’s heart. She says all men
Have the like oaths. He had sworn to marry me
When his wife’s dead; therefore I’ll lie with him
When I am buried.
Only, in this disguise, I think’t no sin
To cozen him that would unjustly win.
[Exit.]
Enter the two French Lords and two or three Soldiers.
FIRST LORD.
You have not given him his mother’s letter?
SECOND LORD.
I have deliv’red it an hour since; there is something in’t that
stings his nature; for on the reading it, he chang’d almost into another
man.
FIRST LORD.

SECOND LORD.
Especially he hath incurred the everlasting displeasure of the king, who had
even tun’d his bounty to sing happiness to him. I will tell you a thing,
but you shall let it dwell darkly with you.
FIRST LORD.
When you have spoken it, ’tis dead, and I am the grave of it.
SECOND LORD.
He hath perverted a young gentlewoman here in Florence, of a most chaste
renown, and this night he fleshes his will in the spoil of her honour; he hath
given her his monumental ring, and thinks himself made in the unchaste
composition.
FIRST LORD.
Now, God delay our rebellion! As we are ourselves, what things are we!
SECOND LORD.
Merely our own traitors. And as in the common course of all treasons, we still
see them reveal themselves till they attain to their abhorr’d ends; so he
that in this action contrives against his own nobility, in his proper stream,
o’erflows himself.
FIRST LORD.
Is it not meant damnable in us to be trumpeters of our unlawful intents? We
shall not then have his company tonight?
SECOND LORD.
Not till after midnight; for he is dieted to his hour.
FIRST LORD.
That approaches apace. I would gladly have him see his company anatomized, that
he might take a measure of his own judgments, wherein so curiously he had set
this counterfeit.
SECOND LORD.
We will not meddle with him till he come; for his presence must be the whip of
the other.
FIRST LORD.
In the meantime, what hear you of these wars?
SECOND LORD.
I hear there is an overture of peace.
FIRST LORD.

SECOND LORD.
What will Count Rossillon do then? Will he travel higher, or return again into
France?
FIRST LORD.
I perceive by this demand, you are not altogether of his council.
SECOND LORD.
Let it be forbid, sir! So should I be a great deal of his act.
FIRST LORD.
Sir, his wife some two months since fled from his house. Her pretence is a
pilgrimage to Saint Jaques le Grand; which holy undertaking with most austere
sanctimony she accomplished; and there residing, the tenderness of her nature
became as a prey to her grief; in fine, made a groan of her last breath, and
now she sings in heaven.
SECOND LORD.
How is this justified?
FIRST LORD.
The stronger part of it by her own letters, which makes her story true, even to
the point of her death. Her death itself, which could not be her office to say
is come, was faithfully confirm’d by the rector of the place.
SECOND LORD.
Hath the count all this intelligence?
FIRST LORD.
Ay, and the particular confirmations, point from point, to the full arming of
the verity.
SECOND LORD.
I am heartily sorry that he’ll be glad of this.
FIRST LORD.
How mightily sometimes we make us comforts of our losses!
SECOND LORD.
And how mightily some other times we drown our gain in tears! The great dignity
that his valour hath here acquir’d for him shall at home be encountered
with a shame as ample.
FIRST LORD.
The web of our life is of a mingled yarn, good and ill together; our virtues
would be proud if our faults whipped them not; and our crimes would despair if
they were not cherish’d by our virtues.
Enter a Messenger.
How now? Where’s your master?
MESSENGER.
He met the duke in the street, sir; of whom he hath taken a solemn leave: his
lordship will next morning for France. The duke hath offered him letters of
commendations to the king.
SECOND LORD.
They shall be no more than needful there, if they were more than they can
commend.
Enter Bertram.
FIRST LORD.
They cannot be too sweet for the king’s tartness. Here’s his
lordship now. How now, my lord, is’t not after midnight?
BERTRAM.
I have tonight despatch’d sixteen businesses, a month’s length
apiece; by an abstract of success: I have congied with the duke, done my adieu
with his nearest; buried a wife, mourn’d for her, writ to my lady mother
I am returning, entertained my convoy, and between these main parcels of
despatch effected many nicer needs: the last was the greatest, but that I have
not ended yet.
SECOND LORD.
If the business be of any difficulty and this morning your departure hence, it
requires haste of your lordship.
BERTRAM.
I mean the business is not ended, as fearing to hear of it hereafter. But shall
we have this dialogue between the Fool and the Soldier? Come, bring forth this
counterfeit module has deceiv’d me like a double-meaning prophesier.
SECOND LORD.
Bring him forth.
[Exeunt Soldiers.]
Has sat i’ the stocks all night, poor gallant knave.
BERTRAM.
No matter; his heels have deserv’d it, in usurping his spurs so long. How
does he carry himself?
FIRST LORD.
I have told your lordship already; the stocks carry him. But to answer you as
you would be understood: he weeps like a wench that had shed her milk; he hath
confessed himself to Morgan, whom he supposes to be a friar, from the time of
his remembrance to this very instant disaster of his setting i’ the
stocks. And what think you he hath confessed?
BERTRAM.
Nothing of me, has he?
SECOND LORD.
His confession is taken, and it shall be read to his face; if your lordship be
in’t, as I believe you are, you must have the patience to hear it.
Enter Soldiers with Parolles.
BERTRAM.
A plague upon him! muffled! he can say nothing of me; hush, hush!
FIRST LORD.
Hoodman comes! Portotartarossa.
FIRST SOLDIER.
He calls for the tortures. What will you say without ’em?
PAROLLES.
I will confess what I know without constraint. If ye pinch me like a pasty I
can say no more.
FIRST SOLDIER.
Bosko chimurcho.
FIRST LORD.
Boblibindo chicurmurco.
FIRST SOLDIER.
 Our general bids you answer to what I shall ask you
out of a note.
PAROLLES.
And truly, as I hope to live.
FIRST SOLDIER.
‘First demand of him how many horse the duke is strong.’ What say
you to that?
PAROLLES.
Five or six thousand; but very weak and unserviceable: the troops are all
scattered, and the commanders very poor rogues, upon my reputation and credit,
and as I hope to live.
FIRST SOLDIER.
Shall I set down your answer so?
PAROLLES.
Do. I’ll take the sacrament on ’t, how and which way you will.
BERTRAM.
All’s one to him.
FIRST LORD.
You are deceived, my lord; this is Monsieur Parolles, the gallant militarist
(that was his own phrase), that had the whole theoric of war in the knot of his
scarf, and the practice in the chape of his dagger.
SECOND LORD.
I will never trust a man again for keeping his sword clean, nor believe he can
have everything in him by wearing his apparel neatly.
FIRST SOLDIER.
Well, that’s set down.
PAROLLES.
‘Five or six thousand horse’ I said—I will say true—or
thereabouts, set down,—for I’ll speak truth.
FIRST LORD.
He’s very near the truth in this.
BERTRAM.
But I con him no thanks for’t in the nature he delivers it.
PAROLLES.
Poor rogues, I pray you say.
FIRST SOLDIER.
Well, that’s set down.
PAROLLES.
I humbly thank you, sir; a truth’s a truth, the rogues are marvellous
poor.
FIRST SOLDIER.
‘Demand of him of what strength they are a-foot.’ What say you to
that?
PAROLLES.
By my troth, sir, if I were to live this present hour, I will tell true.
BERTRAM.
What shall be done to him?
FIRST LORD.
Nothing, but let him have thanks. Demand of him my condition, and what credit I
have with the duke.
FIRST SOLDIER.
Well, that’s set down. ‘You shall demand of him whether one Captain
Dumaine be i’ the camp, a Frenchman; what his reputation is with the
duke, what his valour, honesty and expertness in wars; or whether he thinks it
were not possible with well-weighing sums of gold to corrupt him to a
revolt.’ What say you to this? What do you know of it?
PAROLLES.
I beseech you, let me answer to the particular of the inter’gatories.
Demand them singly.
FIRST SOLDIER.
Do you know this Captain Dumaine?
PAROLLES.
I know him: he was a botcher’s ’prentice in Paris, from whence he
was whipped for getting the shrieve’s fool with child, a dumb innocent
that could not say him nay.
[First Lord lifts up his hand in anger.]
BERTRAM.
Nay, by your leave, hold your hands; though I know his brains are forfeit to
the next tile that falls.
FIRST SOLDIER.
Well, is this captain in the Duke of Florence’s camp?
PAROLLES.
Upon my knowledge, he is, and lousy.
FIRST LORD.
Nay, look not so upon me; we shall hear of your lordship anon.
FIRST SOLDIER.
What is his reputation with the duke?
PAROLLES.
The duke knows him for no other but a poor officer of mine, and writ to me this
other day to turn him out o’ the band. I think I have his letter in my
pocket.
FIRST SOLDIER.
Marry, we’ll search.
PAROLLES.
In good sadness, I do not know; either it is there or it is upon a file, with
the duke’s other letters, in my tent.
FIRST SOLDIER.
Here ’tis; here’s a paper; shall I read it to you?
PAROLLES.
I do not know if it be it or no.
BERTRAM.
Our interpreter does it well.
FIRST LORD.
Excellently.
FIRST SOLDIER.
[Reads.]
PAROLLES.
That is not the duke’s letter, sir; that is an advertisement to a proper
maid in Florence, one Diana, to take heed of the allurement of one Count
Rossillon, a foolish idle boy, but for all that very ruttish. I pray you, sir,
put it up again.
FIRST SOLDIER.
Nay, I’ll read it first by your favour.
PAROLLES.
My meaning in’t, I protest, was very honest in the behalf of the maid;
for I knew the young count to be a dangerous and lascivious boy, who is a whale
to virginity, and devours up all the fry it finds.
BERTRAM.
Damnable both sides rogue!
FIRST SOLDIER.
[Reads.]
When he swears oaths, bid him drop gold, and take it;
After he scores, he never pays the score.
Half won is match well made; match, and well make it;
He ne’er pays after-debts, take it before.
And say a soldier, ‘Dian,’ told thee this:
Men are to mell with, boys are not to kiss;
For count of this, the count’s a fool, I know it,
Who pays before, but not when he does owe it.
Thine, as he vow’d to thee in thine ear,
PAROLLES.
BERTRAM.
He shall be whipped through the army with this rhyme in’s forehead.
SECOND LORD.
This is your devoted friend, sir, the manifold linguist, and the armipotent
soldier.
BERTRAM.
I could endure anything before but a cat, and now he’s a cat to me.
FIRST SOLDIER.
I perceive, sir, by our general’s looks we shall be fain to hang you.
PAROLLES.
My life, sir, in any case. Not that I am afraid to die, but that, my offences
being many, I would repent out the remainder of nature. Let me live, sir, in a
dungeon, i’ the stocks, or anywhere, so I may live.
FIRST SOLDIER.
We’ll see what may be done, so you confess freely. Therefore, once more
to this Captain Dumaine: you have answer’d to his reputation with the
duke, and to his valour. What is his honesty?
PAROLLES.
He will steal, sir, an egg out of a cloister: for rapes and ravishments he
parallels Nessus. He professes not keeping of oaths; in breaking them he is
stronger than Hercules. He will lie, sir, with such volubility that you would
think truth were a fool: drunkenness is his best virtue, for he will be
swine-drunk, and in his sleep he does little harm, save to his bedclothes about
him; but they know his conditions and lay him in straw. I have but little more
to say, sir, of his honesty; he has everything that an honest man should not
have; what an honest man should have, he has nothing.
FIRST LORD.
I begin to love him for this.
BERTRAM.
For this description of thine honesty? A pox upon him for me, he’s more
and more a cat.
FIRST SOLDIER.
What say you to his expertness in war?
PAROLLES.
Faith, sir, has led the drum before the English tragedians,—to belie him
I will not,—and more of his soldiership I know not, except in that
country he had the honour to be the officer at a place there called Mile-end,
to instruct for the doubling of files. I would do the man what honour I can,
but of this I am not certain.
FIRST LORD.
He hath out-villain’d villainy so far that the rarity redeems him.
BERTRAM.
A pox on him! He’s a cat still.
FIRST SOLDIER.
His qualities being at this poor price, I need not to ask you if gold will
corrupt him to revolt.
PAROLLES.
Sir, for a quart d’ecu he will sell the fee-simple of his salvation, the
inheritance of it, and cut the entail from all remainders, and a perpetual
succession for it perpetually.
FIRST SOLDIER.
What’s his brother, the other Captain Dumaine?
SECOND LORD.
Why does he ask him of me?
FIRST SOLDIER.
What’s he?
PAROLLES.
E’en a crow o’ the same nest; not altogether so great as the first
in goodness, but greater a great deal in evil. He excels his brother for a
coward, yet his brother is reputed one of the best that is. In a retreat he
outruns any lackey; marry, in coming on he has the cramp.
FIRST SOLDIER.
If your life be saved, will you undertake to betray the Florentine?
PAROLLES.
Ay, and the captain of his horse, Count Rossillon.
FIRST SOLDIER.
I’ll whisper with the general, and know his pleasure.
PAROLLES.
[Aside.] I’ll no more drumming; a plague of all drums! Only to
seem to deserve well, and to beguile the supposition of that lascivious young
boy the count, have I run into this danger: yet who would have suspected an
ambush where I was taken?
FIRST SOLDIER.
There is no remedy, sir, but you must die. The general says you that have so
traitorously discovered the secrets of your army, and made such pestiferous
reports of men very nobly held, can serve the world for no honest use;
therefore you must die.
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.
SECOND LORD.
God bless you, Captain Parolles.
FIRST LORD.

SECOND LORD.
Captain, what greeting will you to my Lord Lafew? I am for France.
FIRST LORD.
Good Captain, will you give me a copy of the sonnet you writ to Diana in behalf
of the Count Rossillon? And I were not a very coward I’d compel it of
you; but fare you well.
[Exeunt Bertram, Lords &c.]
FIRST SOLDIER.
You are undone, captain: all but your scarf; that has a knot on’t yet.
PAROLLES.
Who cannot be crushed 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.
[Exeunt.]
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.
Rust, sword; cool, blushes; and, Parolles live
Safest in shame; being fool’d, by foolery thrive.
There’s place and means for every man alive.
I’ll after them.
[Exit.]
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.

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.]
Enter Clown, Countess and Lafew.
LAFEW.
No, no, no, your son was misled with a snipt-taffeta fellow there, whose
villanous saffron would have made all the unbak’d and doughy youth of a
nation in his colour.
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.
LAFEW.
’Twas a good lady, ’twas a good lady. We may pick a thousand salads
ere we light on such another herb.
CLOWN.
Indeed, sir, she was the sweet marjoram of the salad, or, rather, the herb of
grace.
LAFEW.
They are not herbs, you knave; they are nose-herbs.
CLOWN.
I am no great Nebuchadnezzar, sir; I have not much skill in grass.
LAFEW.
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.
LAFEW.
Your distinction?
CLOWN.
I would cozen the man of his wife, and do his service.
LAFEW.
So you were a knave at his service indeed.
CLOWN.
And I would give his wife my bauble, sir, to do her service.
LAFEW.

CLOWN.
At your service.
LAFEW.
No, no, no.
CLOWN.
Why, sir, if I cannot serve you, I can serve as great a prince as you are.
LAFEW.
Who’s that? a Frenchman?
CLOWN.
Faith, sir, ’a has an English name; but his phisnomy is more hotter in
France than there.
LAFEW.
What prince is that?
CLOWN.
The black prince, sir; alias the prince of darkness; alias the devil.
LAFEW.
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.
LAFEW.
Go thy ways, I begin to be a-weary 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.]
LAFEW.
A shrewd knave, and an unhappy.
COUNTESS.
So he 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.
LAFEW.
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.
LAFEW.
His highness comes post from Marseilles, of as able body as when he
number’d thirty; he will be here tomorrow, or I am deceived 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 tonight. I shall beseech your lordship to remain with me till
they meet together.
LAFEW.
Madam, I was thinking with what manners I might safely be admitted.
COUNTESS.
You need but plead your honourable privilege.
LAFEW.
Lady, of that I have made a bold charter; but, I thank my God, it holds yet.
Enter Clown.
CLOWN.
 His left cheek is a cheek of two pile and
a half, but his right cheek is worn bare.
LAFEW.
A scar nobly got, or a noble scar, is a good livery of honour; so belike is
that.
CLOWN.
But it is your carbonado’d face.
LAFEW.
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.]
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.
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;
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.

GENTLEMAN.
Marry, as I take it, to Rossillon;
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.]
Enter Clown and Parolles.
PAROLLES.
Good Monsieur Lavache, give my Lord Lafew 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
buttering. Pr’ythee, 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. Pr’ythee, get thee further.
PAROLLES.
Pray you, sir, deliver me this paper.
CLOWN.
Foh, pr’ythee stand away. A paper from Fortune’s close-stool to
give to a nobleman! Look here he comes himself.
Enter Lafew.
Here is a pur 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 scratch’d.
LAFEW.
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.
LAFEW.
You beg a single penny more. Come, you shall ha’t; save your word.
PAROLLES.
My name, my good lord, is Parolles.
LAFEW.
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.
LAFEW.
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.
LAFEW.
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.  Go to; follow.
PAROLLES.
I praise God for you.
[Exeunt.]
Flourish. Enter King, Countess, Lafew, Lords, Gentlemen, Guards &c.
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.
LAFEW.
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?
LAFEW.
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.
LAFEW.
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 stolen,
Extended or contracted all proportions
To a most hideous object. Thence it came
That she whom all men prais’d, and whom myself,
Since I have lost, have lov’d, was in mine eye
The dust that did offend it.
KING.
Well excus’d:
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 shameful hate 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!
LAFEW.

[Bertram gives a ring to Lafew.]

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 it.
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.
LAFEW.
I am sure I saw her wear it.
BERTRAM.
You are deceiv’d, 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 engag’d; but when I had subscrib’d
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 ceas’d,
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 mak’st 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 she yet 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 Rossillon 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.
LAFEW.
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, Lafew,
To bring forth this discovery. Seek these suitors.

[Exeunt Gentleman and some Attendants.]
I am afeard the life of Helen, lady,
Was foully snatch’d.
COUNTESS.
Now, justice on the doers!
Enter Bertram, guarded.
KING.
 What woman’s that?
Enter Widow and Diana.
DIANA.

WIDOW.
I am her mother, sir, whose age and honour
Both suffer under this complaint we bring,
And both shall cease, without your remedy.
KING.
Come hither, count; do you know these women?
BERTRAM.
My lord, I neither can nor will deny
But that I know them. Do they charge me further?
DIANA.
Why do you look so strange upon your wife?
BERTRAM.
She’s none of mine, my lord.
DIANA.
If you shall marry,
You give away this hand, and that is mine,
You give away heaven’s vows, and those are mine,
You give away myself, which is known mine;
For I by vow am so embodied yours
That she which marries you must marry me,
Either both or none.
LAFEW.
[To Bertram] Your reputation comes too short for
my daughter; you are no husband for her.
BERTRAM.
My lord, this is a fond and desperate creature
Whom sometime I have laugh’d with. Let your highness
Lay a more noble thought upon mine honour
Than for to think that I would sink it here.
KING.
Sir, for my thoughts, you have them ill to friend
Till your deeds gain them; fairer prove your honour
Than in my thought it lies!
DIANA.
Good my lord,
Ask him upon his oath, if he does think
He had not my virginity.
KING.
What say’st thou to her?
BERTRAM.
She’s impudent, my lord,
And was a common gamester to the camp.
DIANA.
He does me wrong, my lord; if I were so
He might have bought me at a common price.
Do not believe him. O, behold this ring,
Whose high respect and rich validity
Did lack a parallel; yet for all that
He gave it to a commoner o’ the camp,
If I be one.
COUNTESS.
He blushes, and ’tis it.
Of six preceding ancestors, that gem
Conferr’d by testament to th’ sequent issue,
Hath it been owed and worn. This is his wife;
That ring’s a thousand proofs.
KING.
Methought you said
You saw one here in court could witness it.
DIANA.
I did, my lord, but loath am to produce
So bad an instrument; his name’s Parolles.
LAFEW.
I saw the man today, if man he be.
KING.
Find him, and bring him hither.
[Exit an Attendant.]
BERTRAM.
What of him?
He’s quoted for a most perfidious slave,
With all the spots o’ the world tax’d and debauch’d:
Whose nature sickens but to speak a truth.
Am I or that or this for what he’ll utter,
That will speak anything?
KING.
She hath that ring of yours.
BERTRAM.
I think she has. Certain it is I lik’d her
And boarded her i’ the wanton way of youth.
She knew her distance, and did angle for me,
Madding my eagerness with her restraint,
As all impediments in fancy’s course
Are motives of more fancy; and in fine,
Her infinite cunning with her modern grace,
Subdu’d me to her rate; she got the ring,
And I had that which any inferior might
At market-price have bought.
DIANA.
I must be patient.
You that have turn’d off a first so noble wife
May justly diet me. I pray you yet,—
Since you lack virtue, I will lose a husband—
Send for your ring, I will return it home,
And give me mine again.
BERTRAM.
I have it not.
KING.
What ring was yours, I pray you?
DIANA.
Sir, much like
The same upon your finger.
KING.
Know you this ring? This ring was his of late.
DIANA.
And this was it I gave him, being abed.
KING.
The story then goes false you threw it him
Out of a casement.
DIANA.
I have spoke the truth.
Enter Attendant with Parolles.
BERTRAM.
My lord, I do confess the ring was hers.
KING.
You boggle shrewdly; every feather starts you.
Is this the man you speak of?
DIANA.
Ay, my lord.
KING.
Tell me, sirrah, but tell me true I charge you,
Not fearing the displeasure of your master,
Which on your just proceeding, I’ll keep off,—
By him and by this woman here what know you?
PAROLLES.
So please your majesty, my master hath been an honourable
gentleman. Tricks he hath had in him, which gentlemen have.
KING.
Come, come, to the purpose. Did he love this woman?
PAROLLES.
Faith, sir, he did love her; but how?
KING.
How, I pray you?
PAROLLES.
He did love her, sir, as a gentleman loves a woman.
KING.
How is that?
PAROLLES.
He lov’d her, sir, and lov’d her not.
KING.
As thou art a knave and no knave.
What an equivocal companion is this!
PAROLLES.
I am a poor man, and at your majesty’s command.
LAFEW.
He’s a good drum, my lord, but a naughty orator.
DIANA.
Do you know he promised me marriage?
PAROLLES.
Faith, I know more than I’ll speak.
KING.
But wilt thou not speak all thou know’st?
PAROLLES.
Yes, so please your majesty. I did go between them as I
said; but more than that, he loved her, for indeed he was mad
for her, and talked of Satan, and of Limbo, and of furies, and I
know not what: yet I was in that credit with them at that time
that I knew of their going to bed; and of other motions, as
promising her marriage, and things which would derive me ill will
to speak of; therefore I will not speak what I know.
KING.
Thou hast spoken all already, unless thou canst say they are
married; but thou art too fine in thy evidence; therefore stand
aside. This ring, you say, was yours?
DIANA.
Ay, my good lord.
KING.
Where did you buy it? Or who gave it you?
DIANA.
It was not given me, nor I did not buy it.
KING.
Who lent it you?
DIANA.
It was not lent me neither.
KING.
Where did you find it then?
DIANA.
I found it not.
KING.
If it were yours by none of all these ways,
How could you give it him?
DIANA.
I never gave it him.
LAFEW.
This woman’s an easy glove, my lord; she goes off and on at
pleasure.
KING.
This ring was mine, I gave it his first wife.
DIANA.
It might be yours or hers for ought I know.
KING.
Take her away, I do not like her now.
To prison with her. And away with him.
Unless thou tell’st me where thou hadst this ring,
Thou diest within this hour.
DIANA.
I’ll never tell you.
KING.
Take her away.
DIANA.
I’ll put in bail, my liege.
KING.
I think thee now some common customer.
DIANA.
By Jove, if ever I knew man, ’twas you.
KING.
Wherefore hast thou accus’d him all this while?
DIANA.
Because he’s guilty, and he is not guilty.
He knows I am no maid, and he’ll swear to’t:
I’ll swear I am a maid, and he knows not.
Great King, I am no strumpet, by my life;
I am either maid, or else this old man’s wife.
[Pointing to Lafew.]
KING.
She does abuse our ears; to prison with her.
DIANA.
Good mother, fetch my bail. Stay, royal sir;
[Exit Widow.]
The jeweller that owes the ring is sent for,
And he shall surety me. But for this lord
Who hath abus’d me as he knows himself,
Though yet he never harm’d me, here I quit him.
He knows himself my bed he hath defil’d;
And at that time he got his wife with child.
Dead though she be, she feels her young one kick;
So there’s my riddle: one that’s dead is quick,
And now behold the meaning.
Enter Widow with Helena.
KING.
Is there no exorcist
Beguiles the truer office of mine eyes?
Is’t real that I see?
HELENA.
No, my good lord;
’Tis but the shadow of a wife you see,
The name, and not the thing.
BERTRAM.
Both, both. O, pardon!
HELENA.
O, my good lord, when I was like this maid;
I found you wondrous kind.  This it says,
‘When from my finger you can get this ring,
And is by me with child, &c.’ This is done;
Will you be mine now you are doubly won?
BERTRAM.
If she, my liege, can make me know this clearly,
I’ll love her dearly, ever, ever dearly.
HELENA.
If it appear not plain, and prove untrue,
Deadly divorce step between me and you!
O my dear mother, do I see you living?
LAFEW.
Mine eyes smell onions; I shall weep anon.
[to Parolles] Good Tom Drum, lend me a handkercher.
So, I thank thee. Wait on me home, I’ll make sport with thee.
Let thy courtesies alone, they are scurvy ones.
KING.
Let us from point to point this story know,
To make the even truth in pleasure flow.
[To Diana.] If thou beest yet a fresh uncropped flower,
Choose thou thy husband, and I’ll pay thy dower;
For I can guess that by thy honest aid,
Thou kept’st a wife herself, thyself a maid.
Of that and all the progress more and less,
Resolvedly more leisure shall express.
All yet seems well, and if it end so meet,
The bitter past, more welcome is the sweet.
[Flourish.]
The king’s a beggar, now the play is done;
All is well ended if this suit be won,
That you express content; which we will pay
With strife to please you, day exceeding day.

[Exeunt omnes.]
 Nay, but this dotage of our general's
O'erflows the measure. Those his goodly eyes,
That o'er the files and musters of the war
Have glow'd like plated Mars, now bend, now turn,
The office and devotion of their view
Upon a tawny front. His captain's heart,
Which in the scuffles of great fights hath burst
The buckles on his breast, reneges all temper,
And is become the bellows and the fan
To cool a gipsy's lust.
Flourish. Enter ANTONY, CLEOPATRA, her LADIES, the train,
with eunuchs fanning her
Look where they come!
 Behold and see.
CLEOPATRA. If it be love indeed, tell me how much.
ANTONY. There's beggary in the love that can be reckon'd.
CLEOPATRA. I'll set a bourn how far to be belov'd.
ANTONY. Then must thou needs find out new heaven, new earth.
Enter a MESSENGER
MESSENGER. News, my good lord, from Rome.
ANTONY. Grates me the sum.
CLEOPATRA. Nay, hear them, Antony.

ANTONY. How, my love?
CLEOPATRA. Perchance? Nay, and most like,
You must not stay here longer; your dismission
Is come from Caesar; therefore hear it, Antony.
Where's Fulvia's process? Caesar's I would say? Both?
Call in the messengers. As I am Egypt's Queen,
Thou blushest, Antony, and that blood of thine
Is Caesar's homager. Else so thy cheek pays shame
When shrill-tongu'd Fulvia scolds. The messengers!
ANTONY. Let Rome in Tiber melt, and the wide arch
Of the rang'd empire fall! Here is my space.
Kingdoms are clay; our dungy earth alike
Feeds beast as man. The nobleness of life
Is to do thus [emhracing], when such a mutual pair
And such a twain can do't, in which I bind,
On pain of punishment, the world to weet
We stand up peerless.
CLEOPATRA. Excellent falsehood!
Why did he marry Fulvia, and not love her?
I'll seem the fool I am not. Antony
Will be himself.
ANTONY. But stirr'd by Cleopatra.
Now for the love of Love and her soft hours,
Let's not confound the time with conference harsh;
There's not a minute of our lives should stretch
Without some pleasure now. What sport to-night?
CLEOPATRA. Hear the ambassadors.
ANTONY. Fie, wrangling queen!
Whom everything becomes- to chide, to laugh,
To weep; whose every passion fully strives
To make itself in thee fair and admir'd.
No messenger but thine, and all alone
To-night we'll wander through the streets and note
The qualities of people. Come, my queen;
Last night you did desire it. Speak not to us.
Exeunt ANTONY and CLEOPATRA, with the train
DEMETRIUS. Is Caesar with Antonius priz'd so slight?
PHILO. Sir, sometimes when he is not Antony,
He comes too short of that great property
Which still should go with Antony.
DEMETRIUS. I am full sorry
That he approves the common liar, who
Thus speaks of him at Rome; but I will hope
Of better deeds to-morrow. Rest you happy! Exeunt
Enter CHARMIAN, IRAS, ALEXAS, and a SOOTHSAYER
CHARMIAN. Lord Alexas, sweet Alexas, most anything Alexas, almost
most absolute Alexas, where's the soothsayer that you prais'd so
to th' Queen? O that I knew this husband, which you say must
charge his horns with garlands!
ALEXAS. Soothsayer!
SOOTHSAYER. Your will?
CHARMIAN. Is this the man? Is't you, sir, that know things?
SOOTHSAYER. In nature's infinite book of secrecy
A little I can read.
ALEXAS. Show him your hand.
Enter ENOBARBUS
ENOBARBUS. Bring in the banquet quickly; wine enough
Cleopatra's health to drink.
CHARMIAN. Good, sir, give me good fortune.
SOOTHSAYER. I make not, but foresee.
CHARMIAN. Pray, then, foresee me one.
SOOTHSAYER. You shall be yet far fairer than you are.
CHARMIAN. He means in flesh.
IRAS. No, you shall paint when you are old.
CHARMIAN. Wrinkles forbid!
ALEXAS. Vex not his prescience; be attentive.
CHARMIAN. Hush!
SOOTHSAYER. You shall be more beloving than beloved.
CHARMIAN. I had rather heat my liver with drinking.
ALEXAS. Nay, hear him.
CHARMIAN. Good now, some excellent fortune! Let me be married to
three kings in a forenoon, and widow them all. Let me have a
child at fifty, to whom Herod of Jewry may do homage. Find me to
marry me with Octavius Caesar, and companion me with my mistress.
SOOTHSAYER.
CHARMIAN. O, excellent! I love long life better than figs.
SOOTHSAYER. You have seen and prov'd a fairer former fortune
Than that which is to approach.
CHARMIAN. Then belike my children shall have no names.
Prithee, how many boys and wenches must I have?
SOOTHSAYER. If every of your wishes had a womb,
And fertile every wish, a million.
CHARMIAN. Out, fool! I forgive thee for a witch.
ALEXAS. You think none but your sheets are privy to your wishes.
CHARMIAN. Nay, come, tell Iras hers.
ALEXAS. We'll know all our fortunes.
ENOBARBUS. Mine, and most of our fortunes, to-night, shall be-
drunk to bed.
IRAS. There's a palm presages chastity, if nothing else.
CHARMIAN. E'en as the o'erflowing Nilus presageth famine.
IRAS. Go, you wild bedfellow, you cannot soothsay.
CHARMIAN. Nay, if an oily palm be not a fruitful prognostication, I
cannot scratch mine ear. Prithee, tell her but worky-day fortune.
SOOTHSAYER.
IRAS. But how, but how? Give me particulars.
SOOTHSAYER. I have said.
IRAS. Am I not an inch of fortune better than she?
CHARMIAN. Well, if you were but an inch of fortune better than I,
where would you choose it?
IRAS. Not in my husband's nose.
CHARMIAN. Our worser thoughts heavens mend! Alexas- come, his
fortune, his fortune! O, let him marry a woman that cannot go,
sweet Isis, I beseech thee!   Good Isis, hear
me this prayer, though thou deny me a matter of more weight; good
Isis, I beseech thee!
IRAS. Amen. Dear goddess, hear that prayer of the people! For, as
it is a heartbreaking to see a handsome man loose-wiv'd, so it is
a deadly sorrow to behold a foul knave uncuckolded. Therefore,
dear Isis, keep decorum, and fortune him accordingly!
CHARMIAN. Amen.
ALEXAS. Lo now, if it lay in their hands to make me a cuckold, they
would make themselves whores but they'ld do't!
Enter CLEOPATRA
ENOBARBUS. Hush! Here comes Antony.
CHARMIAN. Not he; the Queen.
CLEOPATRA. Saw you my lord?
ENOBARBUS. No, lady.
CLEOPATRA. Was he not here?
CHARMIAN. No, madam.
CLEOPATRA. He was dispos'd to mirth; but on the sudden
A Roman thought hath struck him. Enobarbus!
ENOBARBUS. Madam?
CLEOPATRA. Seek him, and bring him hither. Where's Alexas?
ALEXAS. Here, at your service. My lord approaches.
Enter ANTONY, with a MESSENGER and attendants
CLEOPATRA. We will not look upon him. Go with us.
Exeunt CLEOPATRA, ENOBARBUS, and the rest
MESSENGER. Fulvia thy wife first came into the field.
ANTONY. Against my brother Lucius?
MESSENGER. Ay.
But soon that war had end, and the time's state
Made friends of them, jointing their force 'gainst Caesar,
Whose better issue in the war from Italy
Upon the first encounter drave them.
ANTONY. Well, what worst?
MESSENGER. The nature of bad news infects the teller.
ANTONY. When it concerns the fool or coward. On!
Things that are past are done with me. 'Tis thus:
Who tells me true, though in his tale lie death,
I hear him as he flatter'd.
MESSENGER. Labienus-
This is stiff news- hath with his Parthian force
Extended Asia from Euphrates,
His conquering banner shook from Syria
To Lydia and to Ionia,
Whilst-
ANTONY. Antony, thou wouldst say.
MESSENGER. O, my lord!
ANTONY. Speak to me home; mince not the general tongue;
Name Cleopatra as she is call'd in Rome.
Rail thou in Fulvia's phrase, and taunt my faults
With such full licence as both truth and malice
Have power to utter. O, then we bring forth weeds
When our quick minds lie still, and our ills told us
Is as our earing. Fare thee well awhile.
MESSENGER. At your noble pleasure. Exit
ANTONY. From Sicyon, ho, the news! Speak there!
FIRST ATTENDANT. The man from Sicyon- is there such an one?
SECOND ATTENDANT. He stays upon your will.
ANTONY. Let him appear.
These strong Egyptian fetters I must break,
Or lose myself in dotage.
Enter another MESSENGER with a letter
What are you?
SECOND MESSENGER. Fulvia thy wife is dead.
ANTONY. Where died she?
SECOND MESSENGER. In Sicyon.
Her length of sickness, with what else more serious
Importeth thee to know, this bears. [Gives the letter]
ANTONY. Forbear me. Exit MESSENGER
There's a great spirit gone! Thus did I desire it.
What our contempts doth often hurl from us
We wish it ours again; the present pleasure,
By revolution low'ring, does become
The opposite of itself. She's good, being gone;
The hand could pluck her back that shov'd her on.
I must from this enchanting queen break off.
Ten thousand harms, more than the ills I know,
My idleness doth hatch. How now, Enobarbus!
Re-enter ENOBARBUS
ENOBARBUS. What's your pleasure, sir?
ANTONY. I must with haste from hence.
ENOBARBUS.  We see how mortal an
unkindness is to them; if they suffer our departure, death's the
word.
ANTONY. I must be gone.
ENOBARBUS.  It were pity
to cast them away for nothing, though between them and a great
cause they should be esteemed nothing. Cleopatra, catching but
the least noise of this, dies instantly; I have seen her die
twenty times upon far poorer moment. I do think there is mettle
in death, which commits some loving act upon her, she hath such a
celerity in dying.
ANTONY. She is cunning past man's thought.
ENOBARBUS. Alack, sir, no! Her passions are made of nothing but the
finest part of pure love. We cannot call her winds and waters
sighs and tears; they are greater storms and tempests than
almanacs can report. This cannot be cunning in her; if it be, she
makes a show'r of rain as well as Jove.
ANTONY. Would I had never seen her!
ENOBARBUS. O Sir, you had then left unseen a wonderful piece of
work, which not to have been blest withal would have discredited
your travel.
ANTONY. Fulvia is dead.
ENOBARBUS. Sir?
ANTONY. Fulvia is dead.
ENOBARBUS. Fulvia?
ANTONY. Dead.
ENOBARBUS. Why, sir, give the gods a thankful sacrifice. When it
pleaseth their deities to take the wife of a man from him, it
shows to man the tailors of the earth; comforting therein that
when old robes are worn out there are members to make new. If
there were no more women but Fulvia, then had you indeed a cut,
and the case to be lamented. This grief is crown'd with
consolation: your old smock brings forth a new petticoat; and
indeed the tears live in an onion that should water this sorrow.
ANTONY. The business she hath broached in the state
Cannot endure my absence.
ENOBARBUS. And the business you have broach'd here cannot be
without you; especially that of Cleopatra's, which wholly depends
on your abode.
ANTONY. No more light answers. Let our officers
Have notice what we purpose. I shall break
The cause of our expedience to the Queen,
And get her leave to part. For not alone
The death of Fulvia, with more urgent touches,
Do strongly speak to us; but the letters to
Of many our contriving friends in Rome
Petition us at home. Sextus Pompeius
Hath given the dare to Caesar, and commands
The empire of the sea; our slippery people,
Whose love is never link'd to the deserver
Till his deserts are past, begin to throw
Pompey the Great and all his dignities
Upon his son; who, high in name and power,
Higher than both in blood and life, stands up
For the main soldier; whose quality, going on,
The sides o' th' world may danger. Much is breeding
Which, like the courser's hair, hath yet but life
And not a serpent's poison. Say our pleasure,
To such whose place is under us, requires
Our quick remove from hence.
ENOBARBUS. I shall do't. Exeunt
Enter CLEOPATRA, CHARMIAN, IRAS, and ALEXAS
CLEOPATRA. Where is he?
CHARMIAN. I did not see him since.
CLEOPATRA. See where he is, who's with him, what he does.
I did not send you. If you find him sad,
Say I am dancing; if in mirth, report
That I am sudden sick. Quick, and return. Exit ALEXAS
CHARMIAN. Madam, methinks, if you did love him dearly,
You do not hold the method to enforce
The like from him.
CLEOPATRA. What should I do I do not?
CHARMIAN. In each thing give him way; cross him in nothing.
CLEOPATRA. Thou teachest like a fool- the way to lose him.
CHARMIAN. Tempt him not so too far; I wish, forbear;
In time we hate that which we often fear.
Enter ANTONY
But here comes Antony.
CLEOPATRA. I am sick and sullen.
ANTONY. I am sorry to give breathing to my purpose-
CLEOPATRA. Help me away, dear Charmian; I shall fall.
It cannot be thus long; the sides of nature
Will not sustain it.
ANTONY. Now, my dearest queen-
CLEOPATRA. Pray you, stand farther from me.
ANTONY. What's the matter?
CLEOPATRA. I know by that same eye there's some good news.
What says the married woman? You may go.
Would she had never given you leave to come!

ANTONY. The gods best know-
CLEOPATRA. O, never was there queen
So mightily betray'd! Yet at the first
I saw the treasons planted.
ANTONY. Cleopatra-
CLEOPATRA. Why should I think you can be mine and true,
Though you in swearing shake the throned gods,
Who have been false to Fulvia? Riotous madness,
To be entangled with those mouth-made vows,
Which break themselves in swearing!
ANTONY. Most sweet queen-
CLEOPATRA. Nay, pray you seek no colour for your going,
But bid farewell, and go. When you sued staying,
Then was the time for words. No going then!
Eternity was in our lips and eyes,
Bliss in our brows' bent, none our parts so poor
But was a race of heaven. They are so still,
Or thou, the greatest soldier of the world,
Art turn'd the greatest liar.
ANTONY. How now, lady!
CLEOPATRA. I would I had thy inches. Thou shouldst know
There were a heart in Egypt.
ANTONY. Hear me, queen:
The strong necessity of time commands
Our services awhile; but my full heart
Remains in use with you. Our Italy
Shines o'er with civil swords: Sextus Pompeius
Makes his approaches to the port of Rome;
Equality of two domestic powers
Breed scrupulous faction; the hated, grown to strength,
Are newly grown to love. The condemn'd Pompey,
Rich in his father's honour, creeps apace
Into the hearts of such as have not thrived
Upon the present state, whose numbers threaten;
And quietness, grown sick of rest, would purge
By any desperate change. My more particular,
And that which most with you should safe my going,
Is Fulvia's death.
CLEOPATRA. Though age from folly could not give me freedom,
It does from childishness. Can Fulvia die?
ANTONY. She's dead, my Queen.
Look here, and at thy sovereign leisure read
The garboils she awak'd. At the last, best.
See when and where she died.
CLEOPATRA. O most false love!
Where be the sacred vials thou shouldst fill
With sorrowful water? Now I see, I see,
In Fulvia's death how mine receiv'd shall be.
ANTONY. Quarrel no more, but be prepar'd to know
The purposes I bear; which are, or cease,
As you shall give th' advice. By the fire
That quickens Nilus' slime, I go from hence
Thy soldier, servant, making peace or war
As thou affects.
CLEOPATRA. Cut my lace, Charmian, come!
But let it be; I am quickly ill and well-
So Antony loves.
ANTONY. My precious queen, forbear,
And give true evidence to his love, which stands
An honourable trial.
CLEOPATRA. So Fulvia told me.
I prithee turn aside and weep for her;
Then bid adieu to me, and say the tears
Belong to Egypt. Good now, play one scene
Of excellent dissembling, and let it look
Like perfect honour.
ANTONY. You'll heat my blood; no more.
CLEOPATRA. You can do better yet; but this is meetly.
ANTONY. Now, by my sword-
CLEOPATRA. And target. Still he mends;
But this is not the best. Look, prithee, Charmian,
How this Herculean Roman does become
The carriage of his chafe.
ANTONY. I'll leave you, lady.
CLEOPATRA. Courteous lord, one word.
Sir, you and I must part- but that's not it.
Sir, you and I have lov'd- but there's not it.
That you know well. Something it is I would-
O, my oblivion is a very Antony,
And I am all forgotten!
ANTONY. But that your royalty
Holds idleness your subject, I should take you
For idleness itself.
CLEOPATRA. 'Tis sweating labour
To bear such idleness so near the heart
As Cleopatra this. But, sir, forgive me;
Since my becomings kill me when they do not
Eye well to you.  Upon your sword
Sit laurel victory, and smooth success
Be strew'd before your feet!
ANTONY. Let us go. Come.
Our separation so abides and flies
That thou, residing here, goes yet with me,
And I, hence fleeting, here remain with thee.
Away! Exeunt
Enter OCTAVIUS CAESAR, reading a letter; LEPIDUS, and their train
CAESAR. You may see, Lepidus, and henceforth know,
It is not Caesar's natural vice to hate
Our great competitor. From Alexandria
This is the news: he fishes, drinks, and wastes
The lamps of night in revel; is not more manlike
Than Cleopatra, nor the queen of Ptolemy
More womanly than he; hardly gave audience, or
Vouchsaf'd to think he had partners. You shall find there
A man who is the abstract of all faults
That all men follow.
LEPIDUS. I must not think there are
Evils enow to darken all his goodness.
His faults, in him, seem as the spots of heaven,
More fiery by night's blackness; hereditary
Rather than purchas'd; what he cannot change
Than what he chooses.
CAESAR.  Let's grant it is not
Amiss to tumble on the bed of Ptolemy,
To give a kingdom for a mirth, to sit
And keep the turn of tippling with a slave,
To reel the streets at noon, and stand the buffet
With knaves that smell of sweat. Say this becomes him-
As his composure must be rare indeed
Whom these things cannot blemish- yet must Antony
No way excuse his foils when we do bear
So great weight in his lightness. If he fill'd
His vacancy with his voluptuousness,
Full surfeits and the dryness of his bones
Call on him for't! But to confound such time
That drums him from his sport and speaks as loud
As his own state and ours- 'tis to be chid
As we rate boys who, being mature in knowledge,
Pawn their experience to their present pleasure,
And so rebel to judgment.
Enter a MESSENGER
LEPIDUS. Here's more news.
MESSENGER. Thy biddings have been done; and every hour,
Most noble Caesar, shalt thou have report
How 'tis abroad. Pompey is strong at sea,
And it appears he is belov'd of those
That only have fear'd Caesar. To the ports
The discontents repair, and men's reports
Give him much wrong'd.
CAESAR. I should have known no less.
It hath been taught us from the primal state
That he which is was wish'd until he were;
And the ebb'd man, ne'er lov'd till ne'er worth love,
Comes dear'd by being lack'd. This common body,
Like to a vagabond flag upon the stream,
Goes to and back, lackeying the varying tide,
To rot itself with motion.
MESSENGER. Caesar, I bring thee word
Menecrates and Menas, famous pirates,
Make the sea serve them, which they ear and wound
With keels of every kind. Many hot inroads
They make in Italy; the borders maritime
Lack blood to think on't, and flush youth revolt.
No vessel can peep forth but 'tis as soon
Taken as seen; for Pompey's name strikes more
Than could his war resisted.
CAESAR. Antony,
Leave thy lascivious wassails. When thou once
Was beaten from Modena, where thou slew'st
Hirtius and Pansa, consuls, at thy heel
Did famine follow; whom thou fought'st against,
Though daintily brought up, with patience more
Than savages could suffer. Thou didst drink
The stale of horses and the gilded puddle
Which beasts would cough at. Thy palate then did deign
The roughest berry on the rudest hedge;
Yea, like the stag when snow the pasture sheets,
The barks of trees thou brows'd. On the Alps
It is reported thou didst eat strange flesh,
Which some did die to look on. And all this-
It wounds thine honour that I speak it now-
Was borne so like a soldier that thy cheek
So much as lank'd not.
LEPIDUS. 'Tis pity of him.
CAESAR. Let his shames quickly
Drive him to Rome. 'Tis time we twain
Did show ourselves i' th' field; and to that end
Assemble we immediate council. Pompey
Thrives in our idleness.
LEPIDUS. To-morrow, Caesar,
I shall be furnish'd to inform you rightly
Both what by sea and land I can be able
To front this present time.
CAESAR. Till which encounter
It is my business too. Farewell.
LEPIDUS. Farewell, my lord. What you shall know meantime
Of stirs abroad, I shall beseech you, sir,
To let me be partaker.
CAESAR. Doubt not, sir;
I knew it for my bond. Exeunt
Enter CLEOPATRA, CHARMIAN, IRAS, and MARDIAN
CLEOPATRA. Charmian!
CHARMIAN. Madam?
CLEOPATRA. Ha, ha!
Give me to drink mandragora.
CHARMIAN. Why, madam?
CLEOPATRA. That I might sleep out this great gap of time
My Antony is away.
CHARMIAN. You think of him too much.
CLEOPATRA. O, 'tis treason!
CHARMIAN. Madam, I trust, not so.
CLEOPATRA. Thou, eunuch Mardian!
MARDIAN. What's your Highness' pleasure?
CLEOPATRA. Not now to hear thee sing; I take no pleasure
In aught an eunuch has. 'Tis well for thee
That, being unseminar'd, thy freer thoughts
May not fly forth of Egypt. Hast thou affections?
MARDIAN. Yes, gracious madam.
CLEOPATRA. Indeed?
MARDIAN. Not in deed, madam; for I can do nothing
But what indeed is honest to be done.
Yet have I fierce affections, and think
What Venus did with Mars.
CLEOPATRA. O Charmian,
Where think'st thou he is now? Stands he or sits he?
Or does he walk? or is he on his horse?
O happy horse, to bear the weight of Antony!
Do bravely, horse; for wot'st thou whom thou mov'st?
The demi-Atlas of this earth, the arm
And burgonet of men. He's speaking now,
Or murmuring 'Where's my serpent of old Nile?'
For so he calls me. Now I feed myself
With most delicious poison. Think on me,
That am with Phoebus' amorous pinches black,
And wrinkled deep in time? Broad-fronted Caesar,
When thou wast here above the ground, I was
A morsel for a monarch; and great Pompey
Would stand and make his eyes grow in my brow;
There would he anchor his aspect and die
With looking on his life.
Enter ALEXAS
ALEXAS. Sovereign of Egypt, hail!
CLEOPATRA. How much unlike art thou Mark Antony!
Yet, coming from him, that great med'cine hath
With his tinct gilded thee.
How goes it with my brave Mark Antony?
ALEXAS. Last thing he did, dear Queen,
He kiss'd- the last of many doubled kisses-
This orient pearl. His speech sticks in my heart.
CLEOPATRA. Mine ear must pluck it thence.
ALEXAS. 'Good friend,' quoth he
'Say the firm Roman to great Egypt sends
This treasure of an oyster; at whose foot,
To mend the petty present, I will piece
Her opulent throne with kingdoms. All the East,
Say thou, shall call her mistress.' So he nodded,
And soberly did mount an arm-gaunt steed,
Who neigh'd so high that what I would have spoke
Was beastly dumb'd by him.
CLEOPATRA. What, was he sad or merry?
ALEXAS. Like to the time o' th' year between the extremes
Of hot and cold; he was nor sad nor merry.
CLEOPATRA. O well-divided disposition! Note him,
Note him, good Charmian; 'tis the man; but note him!
He was not sad, for he would shine on those
That make their looks by his; he was not merry,
Which seem'd to tell them his remembrance lay
In Egypt with his joy; but between both.
O heavenly mingle! Be'st thou sad or merry,
The violence of either thee becomes,
So does it no man else. Met'st thou my posts?
ALEXAS. Ay, madam, twenty several messengers.
Why do you send so thick?
CLEOPATRA. Who's born that day
When I forget to send to Antony
Shall die a beggar. Ink and paper, Charmian.
Welcome, my good Alexas. Did I, Charmian,
Ever love Caesar so?
CHARMIAN. O that brave Caesar!
CLEOPATRA. Be chok'd with such another emphasis!
Say 'the brave Antony.'
CHARMIAN. The valiant Caesar!
CLEOPATRA.
CHARMIAN. By your most gracious pardon,
I sing but after you.
CLEOPATRA. My salad days,
When I was green in judgment, cold in blood,
To say as I said then. But come, away!
Get me ink and paper.
He shall have every day a several greeting,
Or I'll unpeople Egypt. Exeunt
Enter POMPEY, MENECRATES, and MENAS, in warlike manner
POMPEY. If the great gods be just, they shall assist
The deeds of justest men.
MENECRATES. Know, worthy Pompey,
That what they do delay they not deny.
POMPEY. Whiles we are suitors to their throne, decays
The thing we sue for.
MENECRATES. We, ignorant of ourselves,
Beg often our own harms, which the wise pow'rs
Deny us for our good; so find we profit
By losing of our prayers.
POMPEY. I shall do well.
The people love me, and the sea is mine;
My powers are crescent, and my auguring hope
Says it will come to th' full. Mark Antony
In Egypt sits at dinner, and will make
No wars without doors. Caesar gets money where
He loses hearts. Lepidus flatters both,
Of both is flatter'd; but he neither loves,
Nor either cares for him.
MENAS. Caesar and Lepidus
Are in the field. A mighty strength they carry.
POMPEY. Where have you this? 'Tis false.
MENAS. From Silvius, sir.
POMPEY. He dreams. I know they are in Rome together,
Looking for Antony. But all the charms of love,
Salt Cleopatra, soften thy wan'd lip!
Let witchcraft join with beauty, lust with both;
Tie up the libertine in a field of feasts,
Keep his brain fuming. Epicurean cooks
Sharpen with cloyless sauce his appetite,
That sleep and feeding may prorogue his honour
Even till a Lethe'd dullness-
Enter VARRIUS
How now, Varrius!
VARRIUS. This is most certain that I shall deliver:
Mark Antony is every hour in Rome
Expected. Since he went from Egypt 'tis
A space for farther travel.
POMPEY. I could have given less matter
A better ear. Menas, I did not think
This amorous surfeiter would have donn'd his helm
For such a petty war; his soldiership
Is twice the other twain. But let us rear
The higher our opinion, that our stirring
Can from the lap of Egypt's widow pluck
The ne'er-lust-wearied Antony.
MENAS. I cannot hope
Caesar and Antony shall well greet together.
His wife that's dead did trespasses to Caesar;
His brother warr'd upon him; although, I think,
Not mov'd by Antony.
POMPEY. I know not, Menas,
How lesser enmities may give way to greater.
Were't not that we stand up against them all,
'Twere pregnant they should square between themselves;
For they have entertained cause enough
To draw their swords. But how the fear of us
May cement their divisions, and bind up
The petty difference we yet not know.
Be't as our gods will have't! It only stands
Our lives upon to use our strongest hands.
Come, Menas. Exeunt
Enter ENOBARBUS and LEPIDUS
LEPIDUS. Good Enobarbus, 'tis a worthy deed,
And shall become you well, to entreat your captain
To soft and gentle speech.
ENOBARBUS. I shall entreat him
To answer like himself. If Caesar move him,
Let Antony look over Caesar's head
And speak as loud as Mars. By Jupiter,
Were I the wearer of Antonius' beard,
I would not shave't to-day.
LEPIDUS. 'Tis not a time
For private stomaching.
ENOBARBUS. Every time
Serves for the matter that is then born in't.
LEPIDUS. But small to greater matters must give way.
ENOBARBUS. Not if the small come first.
LEPIDUS.  Here comes
The noble Antony.
Enter ANTONY and VENTIDIUS
ENOBARBUS. And yonder, Caesar.
Enter CAESAR, MAECENAS, and AGRIPPA
ANTONY. If we compose well here, to Parthia.
Hark, Ventidius.
CAESAR. I do not know, Maecenas. Ask Agrippa.
LEPIDUS. Noble friends,
That which combin'd us was most great, and let not
A leaner action rend us. What's amiss,
May it be gently heard. When we debate
Our trivial difference loud, we do commit
Murder in healing wounds. Then, noble partners,
The rather for I earnestly beseech,
Touch you the sourest points with sweetest terms,
Nor curstness grow to th' matter.
ANTONY. 'Tis spoken well.
Were we before our arinies, and to fight,
I should do thus. [Flourish]
CAESAR. Welcome to Rome.
ANTONY. Thank you.
CAESAR. Sit.
ANTONY. Sit, sir.
CAESAR. Nay, then. [They sit]
ANTONY. I learn you take things ill which are not so,
Or being, concern you not.
CAESAR. I must be laugh'd at
If, or for nothing or a little,
Should say myself offended, and with you
Chiefly i' the world; more laugh'd at that I should
Once name you derogately when to sound your name
It not concern'd me.
ANTONY. My being in Egypt, Caesar,
What was't to you?
CAESAR. No more than my residing here at Rome
Might be to you in Egypt. Yet, if you there
Did practise on my state, your being in Egypt
Might be my question.
ANTONY. How intend you- practis'd?
CAESAR. You may be pleas'd to catch at mine intent
By what did here befall me.
ANTONY. You do mistake your business; my brother never
Did urge me in his act. I did inquire it,
And have my learning from some true reports
That drew their swords with you. Did he not rather
Discredit my authority with yours,
And make the wars alike against my stomach,
Having alike your cause? Of this my letters
Before did satisfy you. If you'll patch a quarrel,
As matter whole you have not to make it with,
It must not be with this.
CAESAR. You praise yourself
By laying defects of judgment to me; but
You patch'd up your excuses.
ANTONY. Not so, not so;
I know you could not lack, I am certain on't,
Very necessity of this thought, that I,
Your partner in the cause 'gainst which he fought,
Could not with graceful eyes attend those wars
Which fronted mine own peace. As for my wife,
I would you had her spirit in such another!
The third o' th' world is yours, which with a snaffle
You may pace easy, but not such a wife.
ENOBARBUS. Would we had all such wives, that the men might go to
wars with the women!
ANTONY. So much uncurbable, her garboils, Caesar,
Made out of her impatience- which not wanted
Shrewdness of policy too- I grieving grant
Did you too much disquiet. For that you must
But say I could not help it.
CAESAR. I wrote to you
When rioting in Alexandria; you
Did pocket up my letters, and with taunts
Did gibe my missive out of audience.
ANTONY. Sir,
He fell upon me ere admitted. Then
Three kings I had newly feasted, and did want
Of what I was i' th' morning; but next day
I told him of myself, which was as much
As to have ask'd him pardon. Let this fellow
Be nothing of our strife; if we contend,
Out of our question wipe him.
CAESAR. You have broken
The article of your oath, which you shall never
Have tongue to charge me with.
LEPIDUS. Soft, Caesar!
ANTONY. No;
Lepidus, let him speak.
The honour is sacred which he talks on now,
Supposing that I lack'd it. But on, Caesar:
The article of my oath-
CAESAR. To lend me arms and aid when I requir'd them,
The which you both denied.
ANTONY. Neglected, rather;
And then when poisoned hours had bound me up
From mine own knowledge. As nearly as I may,
I'll play the penitent to you; but mine honesty
Shall not make poor my greatness, nor my power
Work without it. Truth is, that Fulvia,
To have me out of Egypt, made wars here;
For which myself, the ignorant motive, do
So far ask pardon as befits mine honour
To stoop in such a case.
LEPIDUS. 'Tis noble spoken.
MAECENAS. If it might please you to enforce no further
The griefs between ye- to forget them quite
Were to remember that the present need
Speaks to atone you.
LEPIDUS. Worthily spoken, Maecenas.
ENOBARBUS. Or, if you borrow one another's love for the instant,
you may, when you hear no more words of Pompey, return it again.
You shall have time to wrangle in when you have nothing else to
do.
ANTONY. Thou art a soldier only. Speak no more.
ENOBARBUS. That truth should be silent I had almost forgot.
ANTONY. You wrong this presence; therefore speak no more.
ENOBARBUS. Go to, then- your considerate stone!
CAESAR. I do not much dislike the matter, but
The manner of his speech; for't cannot be
We shall remain in friendship, our conditions
So diff'ring in their acts. Yet if I knew
What hoop should hold us stanch, from edge to edge
O' th' world, I would pursue it.
AGRIPPA. Give me leave, Caesar.
CAESAR. Speak, Agrippa.
AGRIPPA. Thou hast a sister by the mother's side,
Admir'd Octavia. Great Mark Antony
Is now a widower.
CAESAR. Say not so, Agrippa.
If Cleopatra heard you, your reproof
Were well deserv'd of rashness.
ANTONY. I am not married, Caesar. Let me hear
Agrippa further speak.
AGRIPPA. To hold you in perpetual amity,
To make you brothers, and to knit your hearts
With an unslipping knot, take Antony
Octavia to his wife; whose beauty claims
No worse a husband than the best of men;
Whose virtue and whose general graces speak
That which none else can utter. By this marriage
All little jealousies, which now seem great,
And all great fears, which now import their dangers,
Would then be nothing. Truths would be tales,
Where now half tales be truths. Her love to both
Would each to other, and all loves to both,
Draw after her. Pardon what I have spoke;
For 'tis a studied, not a present thought,
By duty ruminated.
ANTONY. Will Caesar speak?
CAESAR. Not till he hears how Antony is touch'd
With what is spoke already.
ANTONY. What power is in Agrippa,
If I would say 'Agrippa, be it so,'
To make this good?
CAESAR. The power of Caesar, and
His power unto Octavia.
ANTONY. May I never
To this good purpose, that so fairly shows,
Dream of impediment! Let me have thy hand.
Further this act of grace; and from this hour
The heart of brothers govern in our loves
And sway our great designs!
CAESAR. There is my hand.
A sister I bequeath you, whom no brother
Did ever love so dearly. Let her live
To join our kingdoms and our hearts; and never
Fly off our loves again!
LEPIDUS. Happily, amen!
ANTONY. I did not think to draw my sword 'gainst Pompey;
For he hath laid strange courtesies and great
Of late upon me. I must thank him only,
Lest my remembrance suffer ill report;
At heel of that, defy him.
LEPIDUS. Time calls upon's.
Of us must Pompey presently be sought,
Or else he seeks out us.
ANTONY. Where lies he?
CAESAR. About the Mount Misenum.
ANTONY. What is his strength by land?
CAESAR. Great and increasing; but by sea
He is an absolute master.
ANTONY. So is the fame.
Would we had spoke together! Haste we for it.
Yet, ere we put ourselves in arms, dispatch we
The business we have talk'd of.
CAESAR. With most gladness;
And do invite you to my sister's view,
Whither straight I'll lead you.
ANTONY. Let us, Lepidus,
Not lack your company.
LEPIDUS. Noble Antony,
Not sickness should detain me. [Flourish]
Exeunt all but ENOBARBUS, AGRIPPA, MAECENAS
MAECENAS. Welcome from Egypt, sir.
ENOBARBUS. Half the heart of Caesar, worthy Maecenas! My honourable
friend, Agrippa!
AGRIPPA. Good Enobarbus!
MAECENAS. We have cause to be glad that matters are so well
digested. You stay'd well by't in Egypt.
ENOBARBUS. Ay, sir; we did sleep day out of countenance and made
the night light with drinking.
MAECENAS. Eight wild boars roasted whole at a breakfast, and but
twelve persons there. Is this true?
ENOBARBUS. This was but as a fly by an eagle. We had much more
monstrous matter of feast, which worthily deserved noting.
MAECENAS. She's a most triumphant lady, if report be square to her.
ENOBARBUS. When she first met Mark Antony she purs'd up his heart,
upon the river of Cydnus.
AGRIPPA. There she appear'd indeed! Or my reporter devis'd well for
her.
ENOBARBUS. I will tell you.
The barge she sat in, like a burnish'd throne,
Burn'd on the water. The poop was beaten gold;
Purple the sails, and so perfumed that
The winds were love-sick with them; the oars were silver,
Which to the tune of flutes kept stroke, and made
The water which they beat to follow faster,
As amorous of their strokes. For her own person,
It beggar'd all description. She did lie
In her pavilion, cloth-of-gold, of tissue,
O'erpicturing that Venus where we see
The fancy out-work nature. On each side her
Stood pretty dimpled boys, like smiling Cupids,
With divers-colour'd fans, whose wind did seem
To glow the delicate cheeks which they did cool,
And what they undid did.
AGRIPPA. O, rare for Antony!
ENOBARBUS. Her gentlewomen, like the Nereides,
So many mermaids, tended her i' th' eyes,
And made their bends adornings. At the helm
A seeming mermaid steers. The silken tackle
Swell with the touches of those flower-soft hands
That yarely frame the office. From the barge
A strange invisible perfume hits the sense
Of the adjacent wharfs. The city cast
Her people out upon her; and Antony,
Enthron'd i' th' market-place, did sit alone,
Whistling to th' air; which, but for vacancy,
Had gone to gaze on Cleopatra too,
And made a gap in nature.
AGRIPPA. Rare Egyptian!
ENOBARBUS. Upon her landing, Antony sent to her,
Invited her to supper. She replied
It should be better he became her guest;
Which she entreated. Our courteous Antony,
Whom ne'er the word of 'No' woman heard speak,
Being barber'd ten times o'er, goes to the feast,
And for his ordinary pays his heart
For what his eyes eat only.
AGRIPPA. Royal wench!
She made great Caesar lay his sword to bed.
He ploughed her, and she cropp'd.
ENOBARBUS. I saw her once
Hop forty paces through the public street;
And, having lost her breath, she spoke, and panted,
That she did make defect perfection,
And, breathless, pow'r breathe forth.
MAECENAS. Now Antony must leave her utterly.
ENOBARBUS. Never! He will not.
Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale
Her infinite variety. Other women cloy
The appetites they feed, but she makes hungry
Where most she satisfies; for vilest things
Become themselves in her, that the holy priests
Bless her when she is riggish.
MAECENAS. If beauty, wisdom, modesty, can settle
The heart of Antony, Octavia is
A blessed lottery to him.
AGRIPPA. Let us go.
Good Enobarbus, make yourself my guest
Whilst you abide here.
ENOBARBUS. Humbly, sir, I thank you. Exeunt
Enter ANTONY, CAESAR, OCTAVIA between them
ANTONY. The world and my great office will sometimes
Divide me from your bosom.
OCTAVIA. All which time
Before the gods my knee shall bow my prayers
To them for you.
ANTONY. Good night, sir. My Octavia,
Read not my blemishes in the world's report.
I have not kept my square; but that to come
Shall all be done by th' rule. Good night, dear lady.
OCTAVIA. Good night, sir.
CAESAR. Good night. Exeunt CAESAR and OCTAVIA
Enter SOOTHSAYER
ANTONY. Now, sirrah, you do wish yourself in Egypt?
SOOTHSAYER. Would I had never come from thence, nor you thither!
ANTONY. If you can- your reason.
SOOTHSAYER. I see it in my motion, have it not in my tongue; but
yet hie you to Egypt again.
ANTONY. Say to me,
Whose fortunes shall rise higher, Caesar's or mine?
SOOTHSAYER. Caesar's.
Therefore, O Antony, stay not by his side.
Thy daemon, that thy spirit which keeps thee, is
Noble, courageous, high, unmatchable,
Where Caesar's is not; but near him thy angel
Becomes a fear, as being o'erpow'r'd. Therefore
Make space enough between you.
ANTONY. Speak this no more.
SOOTHSAYER. To none but thee; no more but when to thee.
If thou dost play with him at any game,
Thou art sure to lose; and of that natural luck
He beats thee 'gainst the odds. Thy lustre thickens
When he shines by. I say again, thy spirit
Is all afraid to govern thee near him;
But, he away, 'tis noble.
ANTONY. Get thee gone.
Say to Ventidius I would speak with him.
Exit SOOTHSAYER
He shall to Parthia.- Be it art or hap,
He hath spoken true. The very dice obey him;
And in our sports my better cunning faints
Under his chance. If we draw lots, he speeds;
His cocks do win the battle still of mine,
When it is all to nought, and his quails ever
Beat mine, inhoop'd, at odds. I will to Egypt;
And though I make this marriage for my peace,
I' th' East my pleasure lies.
Enter VENTIDIUS
O, come, Ventidius,
You must to Parthia. Your commission's ready;
Follow me and receive't. Exeunt
Enter LEPIDUS, MAECENAS, and AGRIPPA
LEPIDUS. Trouble yourselves no further. Pray you hasten
Your generals after.
AGRIPPA. Sir, Mark Antony
Will e'en but kiss Octavia, and we'll follow.
LEPIDUS. Till I shall see you in your soldier's dress,
Which will become you both, farewell.
MAECENAS. We shall,
As I conceive the journey, be at th' Mount
Before you, Lepidus.
LEPIDUS. Your way is shorter;
My purposes do draw me much about.
You'll win two days upon me.
BOTH. Sir, good success!
LEPIDUS. Farewell. Exeunt
Enter CLEOPATRA, CHARMIAN, IRAS, and ALEXAS
CLEOPATRA. Give me some music- music, moody food
Of us that trade in love.
ALL. The music, ho!
Enter MARDIAN the eunuch
CLEOPATRA. Let it alone! Let's to billiards. Come, Charmian.
CHARMIAN. My arm is sore; best play with Mardian.
CLEOPATRA. As well a woman with an eunuch play'd
As with a woman. Come, you'll play with me, sir?
MARDIAN. As well as I can, madam.
CLEOPATRA. And when good will is show'd, though't come too short,
The actor may plead pardon. I'll none now.
Give me mine angle- we'll to th' river. There,
My music playing far off, I will betray
Tawny-finn'd fishes; my bended hook shall pierce
Their slimy jaws; and as I draw them up
I'll think them every one an Antony,
And say 'Ah ha! Y'are caught.'
CHARMIAN. 'Twas merry when
You wager'd on your angling; when your diver
Did hang a salt fish on his hook, which he
With fervency drew up.
CLEOPATRA. That time?
Enter a MESSENGER
O! from Italy?
Ram thou thy fruitful tidings in mine ears,
That long time have been barren.
MESSENGER. Madam, madam-
CLEOPATRA. Antony's dead! If thou say so, villain,
Thou kill'st thy mistress; but well and free,
If thou so yield him, there is gold, and here
My bluest veins to kiss- a hand that kings
Have lipp'd, and trembled kissing.
MESSENGER. First, madam, he is well.
CLEOPATRA. Why, there's more gold.
But, sirrah, mark, we use
To say the dead are well. Bring it to that,
The gold I give thee will I melt and pour
Down thy ill-uttering throat.
MESSENGER. Good madam, hear me.
CLEOPATRA. Well, go to, I will.
But there's no goodness in thy face. If Antony
Be free and healthful- why so tart a favour
To trumpet such good tidings? If not well,
Thou shouldst come like a Fury crown'd with snakes,
Not like a formal man.
MESSENGER. Will't please you hear me?
CLEOPATRA. I have a mind to strike thee ere thou speak'st.
Yet, if thou say Antony lives, is well,
Or friends with Caesar, or not captive to him,
I'll set thee in a shower of gold, and hail
Rich pearls upon thee.
MESSENGER. Madam, he's well.
CLEOPATRA. Well said.
MESSENGER. And friends with Caesar.
CLEOPATRA. Th'art an honest man.
MESSENGER. Caesar and he are greater friends than ever.
CLEOPATRA. Make thee a fortune from me.
MESSENGER. But yet, madam-
CLEOPATRA. I do not like 'but yet.' It does allay
The good precedence; fie upon 'but yet'!
'But yet' is as a gaoler to bring forth
Some monstrous malefactor. Prithee, friend,
Pour out the pack of matter to mine ear,
The good and bad together. He's friends with Caesar;
In state of health, thou say'st; and, thou say'st, free.
MESSENGER. Free, madam! No; I made no such report.
He's bound unto Octavia.
CLEOPATRA. For what good turn?
MESSENGER. For the best turn i' th' bed.
CLEOPATRA. I am pale, Charmian.
MESSENGER. Madam, he's married to Octavia.
CLEOPATRA. The most infectious pestilence upon thee!
[Strikes him down]
MESSENGER. Good madam, patience.
CLEOPATRA. What say you?
MESSENGER. Gracious madam,
I that do bring the news made not the match.
CLEOPATRA. Say 'tis not so, a province I will give thee,
And make thy fortunes proud. The blow thou hadst
Shall make thy peace for moving me to rage;
And I will boot thee with what gift beside
Thy modesty can beg.
MESSENGER. He's married, madam.
CLEOPATRA. Rogue, thou hast liv'd too long. [Draws a knife]
MESSENGER. Nay, then I'll run.
What mean you, madam? I have made no fault. Exit
CHARMIAN. Good madam, keep yourself within yourself:
The man is innocent.
CLEOPATRA. Some innocents scape not the thunderbolt.
Melt Egypt into Nile! and kindly creatures
Turn all to serpents! Call the slave again.
Though I am mad, I will not bite him. Call!
CHARMIAN. He is afear'd to come.
CLEOPATRA. I will not hurt him.
These hands do lack nobility, that they strike
A meaner than myself; since I myself
Have given myself the cause.
Enter the MESSENGER again
Come hither, sir.
Though it be honest, it is never good
To bring bad news. Give to a gracious message
An host of tongues; but let ill tidings tell
Themselves when they be felt.
MESSENGER. I have done my duty.
CLEOPATRA. Is he married?
I cannot hate thee worser than I do
If thou again say 'Yes.'
MESSENGER. He's married, madam.
CLEOPATRA. The gods confound thee! Dost thou hold there still?
MESSENGER. Should I lie, madam?
CLEOPATRA. O, I would thou didst,
So half my Egypt were submerg'd and made
A cistern for scal'd snakes! Go, get thee hence.
Hadst thou Narcissus in thy face, to me
Thou wouldst appear most ugly. He is married?