LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. Shelf AjLRL mi - UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. SHAKESPEARE'S COMEDY OF 7 ALL 'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. Edited, with Notes, WILLIAM J. ROLFE, A.M., FORMERLY HEAD MASTER OF THE HIGH SCHOOL, CAMBRIDGE, MASS. WITH ENGRA VINGS tfil NEW YORK: HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS, FRANKLIN SQUARE. l88l. 7r .Aa7T4 ENGLISH CLASSICS. Edited by WM. J. ROLFE, A.M. Illustrated. 161110, Cloth, 60 cents per volume; Paper, 40 cents per volume. Shakespeare's Plays. Othello. The Winter's Tale. Julius Cassar. King John. The Merchant of Venice. Richard II. A Midsummer-Night's Dream. Henry IV. Part I. Macbeth. Henry IV. Part II. Hamlet. Henry V. Much Ado about Nothing. Richard III. Romeo and Juliet. Henrv VIII. As You Like It. King Lear. The Tempest. The Taming of the Shrew. Twelfth Night. All's Well that Ends Well. Goldsmith's Select Poems. Gray's Select Poems. Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York. §^T* Any of the above works ivill be sent by mail, postage prepaid, to any part 0/ the United States, on receipt of the price. Copyright, 1881, by Harper & Brothers. PREFACE. Mr. Knight, in his introduction to All "s Well, remarks that "there are several examples of corruption in the text ; but, upon the whole, it is very accurately printed, both with regard to the metrical arrangement and to punctuation." One might almost suspect that the editor's manu- script had somehow got mixed up, and that this was part of the preface to some other play. At any rate, the editors generally agree with Staun- ton that " of all the plays of Shakespeare this appears to have suffered most from the negligence of transcribers and compositors." Mr. Grant White says : " The folio is the only source of the text, which appears there in a very unsatisfactory state. Indeed, there is no play of Shake- speare which gives the reader and the editor more fruitless trouble than this. No other is more deformed by the corruption of important pas- sages ; and this corruption is doubtless chiefly due to two reasons : first, the involved, disjointed, and elliptical style in which the author wrote much of the matter which he added at the revision of the play ; and, next, the fact that the play was printed from the very copy in which the author himself had made these alterations and additions, which, there can be little doubt in the mind of any man of letters, or any printer of experience, were in many cases interlined in a manner that, however clear to the poet himself, was obscure enough to a compositor who did not know exactly what his author would be at : — and as to proof-reading, the folio had none of it." Mr. Hudson, in his new "Harvard" edition (published since most of this book was in type), reckons All 'j Well " among the worst-printed plays " in the folio, the text being " in a most unsatisfactory state." He adds : " Of course, in a case of such extreme textual corruption, something more of scope than usual must, in all reason, be allowed to conjectural emendation." For myself, where con- jectural criticism seems entirely at fault, I prefer, with White, to give the original text "in its corrupted form," instead of substituting one of vi PREFACE. half a dozen or more "emendations," all equally plausible, but all mere guesses at what Shakespeare might have written ; "for," as White adds, "only the reasonable certainty that we are restoring the poet's own words justifies a change in that text : and the reader of Shakespeare can better pass by a line as incomprehensible, than accept a compre- hensible line which is not Shakespeare's." That, in my humble opinion, is sound doctrine. It recognizes the value of emendation, but fixes its proper limits. Emendation is often easier than interpretation, and has been the first resort of many editors, when it should always be the last, and in rare cases of hopeless corruption should not be attempted at all. While I am conservative in my text, sticking to the only authority un- less there appear to be good and substantial reasons for deserting it, I intend to give the editors who differ from me a fair field in the Notes. The opinions of all the leading critics are there set forth, and the reader is free to adopt the lection or explanation that commends itself to him, whether it is accepted by me or not. For most of the illustrations in this volume I am indebted, as often before, to Knight's " Pictorial Shakspere." Cambridge, Jan. 15, 1881. CONTENTS. PAGE Introduction to All 's Well That Ends Well 9 I. The History of the Play 9 II. The Sources of the Plot 11 III. Critical Comments on the Play 11 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL , 35 Act 1 37 " II 53 " IH 77 "IV , 93 " V 113 Notes 129 Mil P I 'IS ,,.': " Thus, Indian-like, Religious in mine error, T adore The sun, that looks upon his worshipper, But knows of him no more." . tf- 3- 194-I97-) BOCCACCIO. INTRODUCTION TO ALL 'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. I. THE HISTORY OF THE PLAY. All V Well was first printed in the folio of 1623, where it occupies pages 230-254 in the division of Comedies. There can be little doubt, we think, that the play is a revision of the "Love Labours Wonne" included in Meres's often-quoted list (see our ed. of M. N. D. p. 9), as was first suggested by Farmer in his Essay on the Leamiiig of Shakespeare. If so, it is probable that it was originally a companion play to Love's Labour 's Lost, and written about the same time, or not far from 1592. Knight, Ulrici, and some other critics io ALL 'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. put the date earlier than 1590. The marks of early work are seen in the frequent rhymed passages (some of them in alternate rhymes), the sonnet letter in iii. 4. 4-17, the lyrical, non- dramatic form of certain portions, and some peculiar grammatical constructions.* The date of the revision of the play was probably not ear- lier than 1601, and may have been a year or two later. Fur- nivall makes it 1601-2; Dovvden (who, however, is doubtful whether any part of the play is of early origin), " about 1602 ;" Fleay and Stokes, 1604; Gervinus and Collier, 1605 or 1606. The text presents many difficulties, on account of the pe- culiarities of the style and the corruptions of the folio. Ver- planck remarks : "The language approaches in many places to the style of Measure for Measure, as if much of it had been written in that season of gloom which imparted to the poet's style something of the darkness that hung over his soul. In addition to these inherent difficulties, there are several indications of an imperfect revision, as if words and lines intended to be rejected had been left in the manuscript, * See Stokes, Chronol. Order- of Shakespeare's Plays, p. no, or Fleav, Manual, p. 224. Most of these earlier passages — " boulders from the old strata imbedded in the later deposits," as Fleay calls them — will be easily recognized by the reader. It may be added that, though Fleay sees earlier and later work in the play, he says, in his Introd. to Shahs. Study, p. 25 (he was doubtful on the point when he published the earlier Manual) : " It is not, however, as shown by Mr. Brae, a later version of Love's Labour 's Won. The present title is alluded to in several places in the play itself, which are clearly part of the early work." Admitting this, we do not see that it settles the question. The play may have had a double title originally — Love's La- bour 's Won, or All 's Well, etc. — like Twelfth Night, and some other of the plays (cf. Hen. VLLL. p. 10) ; or the present title may be- a later one suggested by the occurrence of the proverb in the play. Of the German critics, Gervinus and H. von Friesen are of opinion that the play is an early one recast. Tieck had long before noted evi- dences of two distinct styles of composition in it. On the other hand, Delius and Hertzberg deny that any such diversity of styles is to be rec- ognized in any portion of it. INTRODUCTION: II together with those written on the margin or interlined, for the purpose of being substituted for them. We have not the means afforded in several other plays where similar mis prints have been found of correcting them by the collation of the old editions, as there is no other than that in the folio, which is less carefully printed than usual, not being even divided into scenes. From all these concurring causes there are many passages of obscure or doubtful meaning, some of which would perhaps remain so, even if we had them as the author left them ; while others are probably darkened by typographical errors. Some of these difficulties have been perfectly cleared up, by the ingenuity or antiquarian indus- try of the later commentators"; as to others, we must be con- tent with explanations and conjectural* corrections, which are only probable until something more satisfactory can be pre- sented." II. THE SOURCES OF THE PLOT. The story of Helena and Bertram was taken by Shake- speare from Paynter's Palace of Pleas we, 1566, Paynter hav- ing translated it from Boccaccio's Decameron, which was "the great storehouse of romantic and humorous narrative for the poets and dramatists of that and the succeeding age." * The characters of the Countess, Lafeu, Parolles, and the Clown are the poet's own. III. CRITICAL COMMENTS ON THE PLAY. [From Hazlitfs " Characters of Shakespear* s Plays." i] All 's Well that Ends Well is one of the most pleasing of our author's comedies. The interest is, however, more of a serious than of a comic nature. The character of Helena is * For Shakespeare's variations from the original story, see the extract from Mrs. Jameson below. i Characters of Shakespear's Plays, by William Hazlitt, edited by W. Carew Hazlitt (London, 1869), p. 202 fol. ! 2 ALL 'S WELL THA T ENDS WELL. one of great sweetness and delicacy. She is placed in cir- cumstances of the most critical kind, and has to court her husband both as a virgin and a wife ; yet the most scrupu- lous nicety of female modesty is not once violated. There is not one thought or action that ought to bring a blush into her cheeks, or that for a moment lessens her in our esteem. Perhaps the romantic attachment of a beautiful and virtuous girl to one placed above her hopes by the circumstances of birth and fortune was never so exquisitely expressed as in the reflections which she utters (i. i. 73-92) when young Rousillon leaves his mother's house, under whose protection she has been brought up with him, to repair to the French king's court. The interest excited by this beautiful picture of a fond and innocent heart is kept up afterwards by her resolution to fol- low him to France, the success of her experiment in restoring the King's health, her demanding Bertram in marriage as a recompense, his leaving her in disdain, her interview with him afterwards disguised as Diana, a young lady whom he importunes with his secret addresses, and their final recon- ciliation when the consequences of her stratagem and the proofs of her love are fully made known. The persevering gratitude of the French king to his benefactress, who cures him of a languishing distemper by a prescription hereditary in her family, the indulgent kindness of the Countess, whose ' pride of birth yields, almost without a struggle, to her affec- tion for Helena, the honesty and uprightness of the good old lord Lafeu, make very interesting parts of the picture. The wilful stubbornness and youthful petulance of Bertram are also very admirably described. The comic part of the play turns on the folly, boasting, and cowardice of Parolles, a parasite and hanger-on of Bertram's, the detection of whose false pretensions to bravery and honour forms a very amus- ing episode. He is first found out by the old lord Lafeu, who says, " The soul of this man is his clothes ;" and it is INTRODUCTION. 13 proved afterwards that his heart is in his tongue, and that both are false and hollow. The adventure of " the bringing off of his drum " has become proverbial as a satire on all ridiculous and blustering undertakings which the person never means to perform ; nor can any thing be more severe than what one of the bystanders remarks upon what Parolles says of himself — " Is it possible he should know what he is, and be that he is?" Yet Parolles himself gives the best so- lution of the difficulty afterwards when he is thankful to es- cape with his life and the loss of character (iv. 3. 302 fob); for so that he can live on, he is by no means squeamish about the loss of pretensions, to which he had sense enough to know he had no real claim, and which he had assumed only as a means to live. [From SchlegeVs "Dramatic Literature."*} All V Well that Ends Well is the old story of a young maiden whose love looked much higher than her station. She obtains her lover in marriage from the hand of the King as a reward for curing him of a hopeless and lingering dis- ease, by means of a hereditary arcanum of her father, who had been in his lifetime a celebrated physician. The young man despises her virtue and beauty, concludes the marriage only in appearance, and seeks in the dangers of war deliver- ance from a domestic happiness which wounds his pride. By faithful endurance and an innocent fraud, she fulfils the ap- parently impossible conditions on which the Count had prom- ised to acknowledge her as his wife. Love appears here in humble guise : the wooing is on the woman's side : it is striving, unaided by a reciprocal inclination, to overcome the prejudices of birth. But as soon as Helena is united to the Count by a sacred bond, though by him considered an op- pressive chain, her error becomes her virtue; she affects us * Lectures on Dramatic Art and Literature, by A. W. Schlegel ; Black's translation, revised by Morrison (London, 1846), p. 384 fol. 1 4 ALL "S WELL THAT EXDS WELL. by her patient suffering. The moment in which she appears to most advantage is when she accuses herself as the perse- cutor of her inflexible husband, and, under the pretext of a pilgrimage to atone for her error, privately leaves the house of her mother-in-law. Johnson expresses a cordial aversion for Count Bertram, and regrets that he should be allowed to come off at last with no other punishment than a temporary shame, nay, even be rewarded with the unmerited possession of a virtuous wife. But has Shakspeare ever attempted to soften the impression made by his unfeeling pride and light- hearted perversity? He has but given him the good quali- ties of a soldier. And does not the poet paint the true way of the world, which never makes much of man's injustice to woman, if so-called family honour is preserved? Bertram's sole justification is, that by the exercise of arbitrary power the King thought proper to constrain him in a matter of such delicacy and private right as the choice of a wife. Besides, this story, as well as that of Grissel and many similar ones, is intended to prove that woman's truth and patience will at last triumph over man's abuse of his superior power, while other novels and fabliaux are, on the other hand, true satires on woman's inconsistency and cunning. In this piece old age is painted with rare favour : the plain honesty of the King, the good-natured impetuosity of old Lafcu, the mater- nal indulgence of the Countess to Helena's passion for her son, seem all as it were to vie with each other in endeavours to overcome the arrogance of the young Count. The style of the whole is more sententious than imaginative; the glow- ing colours of fancy could not with propriety have been em- ployed on such a subject. In the passages where the humil- iating rejection of the poor Helena is most painfully affect- ing, the cowardly Parolles steps in to the relief of the spec- tator. The mystification by which his pretended valour and his shameless slanders are unmasked must be ranked among the most comic scenes that ever were invented; they contain INTRODUCTION. *5 matter enough for an excellent comedy, if Shakspeare were not always rich even to profusion. Falstaff has thrown Pa- rolles into the shade, otherwise among the poet's comic char- acters he would have been still more famous. [From Airs. Jamesons "Characteristics of Women?' '*] Helena, as a woman, is more passionate than imaginative; and, as a character, she bears the same relation to Juliet that Isabel bears to Portia. There is equal unity of purpose and effect, with much less of the glow of imagery and the ex- ternal colouring of poetry in the sentiments, language, and details. It is passion developed under its most profound and serious aspect; as in Isabella, we have the serious and the thoughtful, not the brilliant side of intellect. Both Helena and Isabel are distinguished by high mental powers, tinged with a melancholy sweetness; but in Isabella the serious and energetic part of the character is founded in religious princi- ple, in Helena it is founded in deep passion. There never was, perhaps, a more beautiful picture of a woman's love, cherished in secret, not self-consuming in si- lent languishment — not pining in thought — not passive and "desponding over its idol" — but patient and hopeful, strong in its own intensity, and sustained by its own fond faith. The passion here reposes upon itself for all its interest ; it de- rives nothing from art or ornament or circumstance; it has nothing of the picturesque charm or glowing romance of Juliet; nothing of the poetical splendour of Portia, or the vestal grandeur of Isabel. The situation of Helena is the most painful and degrading in which a woman can be placed. She is poor and lowly ; she loves a man who is far her supe- rior in rank, who repays her love with indifference, and re- jects her hand with scorn. She marries him against his will; lie leaves her with contumely on the day of their marriage, and makes his return to her arms depend on conditions ap- * American ed. (Boston, 1857), p. 154 fol. 1 6 ALL 'S WELL THAT EX DS WELL. parently impossible. All the circumstances and details with which Helena is surrounded are shocking to our feelings and wounding to our delicacy, and yet the beauty of the character is made to triumph over all ; and Shakspeare, resting, for all his effect on its internal resources and its genuine truth and sweetness, has not even availed himself of some extraneous advantages with which Helen is represented in the original story. She is the Giletta di Narbonna of Boc- caccio. In the Italian tale, Giletta is the daughter of a cele- brated physician attached to the court of Roussillon ; she is represented as a rich heiress, who rejects many suitors of worth and rank, in consequence of her secret attachment to the young Bertram de Roussillon. She cures the King of France of a grievous distemper, by one of her father's pre- scriptions ; and she asks and receives as her reward the young Count of Roussillon as her wedded husband. He for- sakes her on their wedding-day, and she retires, by his order, to his territory of Roussillon. There she is received with honour, takes state upon her, in her husband's absence, as the "lady of the land," administers justice, and rules her lord's dominions so wisely and so well that she is universally loved and reverenced by his subjects. In the mean time, the Count, instead of rejoining her, flies to Tuscany, and the rest of the story is closely followed in the drama. The beauty, wisdom, and royal demeanour of Giletta are charmingly de- scribed, as well as her fervent love for Bertram. But Hel- ena, in the play, derives no dignity or interest from place or circumstance, and rests for all our sympathy and respect solely upon the truth and intensity of her affections. She is, indeed, represented to us as one " Whose beauty did astonish the survey Of richest eyes, whose words all ears took captive, Whose clear perfection hearts that scorn'd to serve Humbly called mistress." As her dignity is derived from mental power, without any INTRODUCTION. l 7 alloy of pride, so her humility has a peculiar grace. If she feels and repines over her lowly birth, it is merely as an ob- stacle which separates her from the man she loves. She is more sensible to his greatness than her own littleness; she is continually looking from herself up to him, not from him down to herself. She has been bred up under the same roof with him ; she has adored him from infancy. Her love is not " th' infection taken in at the eyes," nor kindled by youth- ful romance; it appears to have taken root in her being, to have grown with her years, and to have gradually absorbed all her thoughts and faculties, until her fancy "carries no fa- vour in it but Bertram's," and "there is no living, none, if Bertram be away." It may be said that Bertram, arrogant, wayward, and heart- less, does not justify this ardent and deep devotion. But Helena does not behold him with our eyes, but as he is "sanctified in her idolatrous fancy." Dr. Johnson says he cannot reconcile himself to a man who marries Helena like a coward, and leaves her like a profligate. Thjs is much too severe ; in the first place, there is no necessity that we should reconcile ourselves to him. In this consists a part of the wonderful beauty of the character of Helena — a part of its womanly truth, which Johnson, who accuses Bertram, and those who so plausibly defend him, did not understand. If it never happened in real life that a woman, richly endued with heaven's best gifts, loved with all her heart, and soul, and strength, a man unequal to or unworthy of her, and to whose faults herself alone was blind — I would give up the point; but if it be in nature, why should it not be in Shak- speare ? We are not to look into Bertram's character for the spring and source of Helena's love for him, but into her own. She loves Bertram — because she loves him ! — a woman's reason, but here, and sometimes elsewhere, all-suf- ficient. And although Helena tells herself that she loves in vain, a B !S all 'S well that ends well. conviction stronger than reason tells her that she does not : her love is like a religion, pure, holy, and deep; the blessed- ness to which she has lifted her thoughts is forever before her ; to despair would be a crime — it would be to cast her- self away and die. The faith of her affection, combining with the natural energy of her character, believing all things possible, makes them so. It could say to the mountain of pride which stands between her and her hopes, " Be thou re- moved !" and it is removed. This is the solution of her be- haviour in the marriage scene, where Bertram, with obvious reluctance and disdain, accepts her hand, which the King, his feudal lord and guardian, forces on him. Her maidenly feel- ing is at first shocked, and she shrinks back — " That you are well restor'd, my lord, I am glad : Let the rest go." But shall she weakly relinquish the golden opportunity, and dash the cup from her lips at the moment it is presented ? Shall she cast away the treasure for which she has ventured both life and Jionour, when it is just within her grasp ? Shall she, after compromising her feminine delicacy by the public disclosure of her preference, be thrust back into shame, " to blush out the remainder of her life," and die a poor, lost, scorned thing? This would be very pretty and interesting and characteristic in Viola or Ophelia, but not at all consist- ent with that high determined spirit, that moral energy, with which Helena is portrayed. Pride is the only obstacle op- posed to her. She is not despised and rejected as a woman, but as a poor physician's daughter; and this, to an under- standing so clear, so strong, so just as Helena's, is not felt as an unpardonable insult. The mere pride of rank and birth is a prejudice of which she cannot comprehend the force, be- cause her mind towers so immeasurably above it; and, com- pared to the infinite love which swells within her own bosom, it sinks into nothing. She cannot conceive that he to whom she has devoted her heart and truth, her soul, her life, her INTRODUCTION. 19 service, must not one day love her in return ; and, once her own beyond the reach of fate, that her cares, her caresses, her unwearied patient tenderness, will not at last "win her lord to look upon her" — . . . " For time will bring on summer, When briars shall have leaves as well as thorns, And be as sweet as sharp." It is this fond faith which, hoping all things, enables her to endure all things; which hallows and dignifies the surren- der of her woman's pride, making it a sacrifice on which vir- tue and love throw a mingled incense. The scene in which the Countess extorts from Helen the confession of her love [i. 3] is perhaps the finest in the whole play, and brings out all the striking points of Helen's char- acter, to which I have already alluded. We must not fail to remark that though the acknowledgment is wrung from her with an agony which seems to convulse her whole being, yet when once she has given it solemn utterance, she recovers her presence of mind, and asserts her native dignity. In her justification of her feelings and her conduct, there is neither sophistry nor self-deception nor presumption, but a noble simplicity, combined with the most impassioned earnestness; while the language naturally rises in its eloquent beauty, as the tide of feeling, now first let loose from the bursting heart, comes pouring forth in words. The whole scene is wonder- fully beautiful. This old Countess of Roussillon is a charming sketch. She is like one of Titian's old women, who still, amid their wrinkles, remind us of that soul of beauty and sensibility which must have animated them when young. She is a fine contrast to Lady Capulet — benign, cheerful, and affectionate; she has a benevolent enthusiasm, which neither age nor sor- row nor pride can wear away. Thus, when she is brought to believe that Helen nourishes a secret attachment for nel- son, she observes — 2 o ALL 'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. " Even so it was with me when I was young ! This thorn Doth to our rose of youth rightly belong; It is the show and seal of nature's truth, When love's strong passion is impress'd in youth." Her fond, maternal love for Helena, whom she has brought up, her pride in her good qualities, overpowering all her own prejudices of rank and birth, are most natural in such a mind ; and her indignation against her son, however strongly ex- pressed, never forgets the mother. " 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. Which of them both Is dearest to me — I have no skill in sense To make distinction." This is very skilfully, as well as delicately, conceived. In rejecting those poetical and accidental advantages which Gi- letta possesses in the original story, Shakspeare has substi- tuted the beautiful character of the Countess; and he has contrived that, as the character of Helena should rest for its internal charm on the depth of her own affections, so it should depend for its external interest on the affection she inspires. The enthusiastic tenderness of the old Countess, the admira- tion and respect of the King, Lafeu, and all who are brought in connection with her, make amends for the humiliating neg- lect of Bertram, and cast round Helen that collateral light which Giletta in the story owes to other circumstances, strik- ing indeed, and well imagined, but not (I think) so finely harmonizing with the character. It is also very .natural that Helen, with the intuitive dis- cernment of a pure and upright mind, and the penetration of a quick-witted woman, should be the first to detect the false- hood and cowardice of the boaster Parolles, who imposes on every one else. intr on uc TION. 2 1 It has been remarked that there is less of poetical imagery in this play than in many of the others. A certain solidity in Helen's character takes place of the ideal power; and, with consistent truth of keeping, the same predominance of feeling over fancy, of the reflective over the imaginative faculty, is maintained through the whole dialogue. Yet the finest passages in the serious scenes are those appropriated to her; they are familiar ard celebrated as quotations, but, fully to understand their beauty and truth, they should be considered relatively to her character and situation : thus, when, in speaking of Bertram, she says "that he is one to whom she wishes well," the consciousness of the dispropor- tion between her words and her feelings draws from her this beautiful and affecting observation, so just in itself, and so true to her situation, and to the sentiment which fills her whole heart : " 'T is pity That wishing well had not a body in 't, Which might be felt; that we, the poorer born, Whose baser stars do shut us up in wishes, Might with effects of them follow our friends, And show what we alone must think, which never Returns us thanks." Though I cannot go the length of those who have defend- ed Bertram on almost every point, still I think the censure which Johnson has' passed on the character is much too se- vere. Bertram is certainly not a pattern hero of romance, but full of faults such as we meet with every day in men of his age and class. He is a bold, ardent, self-willed youth, just dismissed into the world from domestic indulgence, with an excess of aristocratic and military pride, but not without some sense of true honour and generosity. I have lately read a defence of Bertram's character, written with much elegance and plausibility. " The young Count," says this critic, " comes before us possessed of a good heart, and of no mean capacity, 22 ALL 'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. but with a haughtiness which threatens to dull the kinder passions, and to cloud the intellect. This is the inevitable consequence of an illustrious education. The glare of his birthright has dazzled his young faculties. Perhaps the first words he could distinguish were from the important nurse, giving elaborate directions about his lordship's pap. As soon as he could walk, a crowd of submissive vassals doffed their caps, and hailed his first appearance on his legs. His spelling-book had the arms of the family emblazoned on the cover. He had been accustomed to hear himself called the great, the mighty son of Roussillon, ever since he was a helpless child. A succession of complacent tutors would by no means destroy the illusion ; and it is from their hands that Shakspeare receives him, while yet in his minority. An over- weening pride of birth is Bertram's great foible. To cure him of this, Shakspeare sends him to the wars, that he may win fame for himself, and thus exchange a shadow for a re- ality. There the great dignity that his valour acquired for him places him on an equality with anyone of his ancestors, and he is no longer beholden to them alone for the world's observance. Thus in his own person he discovers there is something better than mere hereditary honours; and his heart is prepared to acknowledge that the entire devotion of a Helen's love is of more worth than the court-bred smiles of a princess."* It is not extraordinary that, in the first instance, his spirit should revolt at the idea of marrying his mother's "waiting- gentlewoman," or that he should refuse her; yet when the king, his feudal lord, whose despotic authority was in this case legal and indisputable, threatens him with the extremity of his wrath and vengeance, that he should submit himself to a hard necessity was too consistent with the manners of the time to be called cowardice. Such forced marriages were not uncommon even in our own country, when the right of * New Monthly Magazine^ vol. iv. INTRODUCTION. 2 g I conceive, that Chaucer took from the same Italian source — tho' through Petrarch's Latin version of it — the Clerk's story of Griselda, to show what woman's love, what wifely duty, would do and suffer for the man on whom they hung. The tale of woman's suffering, of woman's sacrifice for love, was no new tale to Shakspere. His Adrian a of the Errors, Hermia and Helena of Midsummer- Nighfs Dream, Sylvia and Julia of The Two Gentlemen of Verona, Juliet of Romeo and Juliet, Hotspur's widow of 2 Henry IV, Hero of Much Ado, Rosalind of As You Like It, Viola of Twelfth Night, had brought home to him, as they have to us, the depth and height of women's love : " Not fearing death, nor shrinking for distress, But always resolute in most extremes," willing to face rebuke, repulse, the unsexing of themselves, base service, exile, nay, the grave, so that thereby the loved one might be won or served. And when Shakspere saw Giglietta's story, he recognized in it the same true woman's love undergoing a more repulsive trial, that of unwomanli- ness, than he had yet put any of his heroines to; and he" re- solved that his countrymen should know through what ap- parent dirt pure love would pass, and could, unspotted and unsmirched. Apparent dirt, I say, because I can't see that what would be right, or justifiable, in a man when in love to secure his sweetheart or wife, can be wrong or unjustifiable in a woman. Equality in choice and proposal should be al- lowed, as Thackeray says. Another lesson Shakspere had, too, to teach to pride of birth in England; a lesson that, be- fore him, his father Chaucer had taught in many a line, re- peated none so oft (see his Gentleness, Wife's Tale, etc.), and a lesson not yet learned here; one that never will be learned, I fear: " Trust me, Clara Vere de Vere, From yon blue heavens above us bent, The grand old gardener and his wife Smile at the claims of long descent ; 3 o ALL 'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. Howe'er it be, it seems to me, 'T is only noble to be good ; Kind hearts are more than coronets, •And simple faith than Norman blood." All 's Well is, I doubt not, Love's Labours Won recast. Both* have the name Dumaine in common, in both is the Labour of Love; that which is the growth of a life is won here, that which is the growth of a day being lost in the ear- lier play. Moreover, no intelligent person can read the play without being struck by the contrast of early and late work in it. The stiff formality of the rhymed talk between Hel- ena and the king is due, not to etiquette, but to Shakspere's early time ; so also the end of the play. For the backward and forward reach of the play, as in the other Second-Period comedies, let us note that Helena in Midsummer-Night's Dream, with her desire to force herself on Demetrius, is the prototype of Helena of All ~s Well. We have the parallel expression in All 's Well, " the hind that would be mated by the lion must die for love;" in Midsum- mer-Nighfs Dream, " the mild hind makes speed to catch the tiger." But note the wondrous difference in depth and beauty of character of the two Helenas, also the absence here of the youthful Midsummer-Night 's Dream face-scratch- ings, long legs, and funny conceit of the moon tumbling through the earth. . . . Romeo and Juliet, in Lady Capulet's speech about Tybalt, iii. 5. 71, gives us the parallel of La- feu's "moderate lamentation" and " excessive grief," i. 1. 48, and Diana Capulet's name. The Merchant of Venice gives us the ring parallel, and the contrast of Portia being chosen, and its happy result, with Helena's choosing, and its un- happy outcome for a time. Pistol in 2 Henry LV. and main- ly Henry V. is the prototype of Parolles, who is but Pistol re- fined and developed, with a touch of Falstaff added, while Parolles's echoing of Lafeu (ii. 3) is clearly recollected from * That is, All 's Well and Love's Labours Lost.— Ed. INTR OD UC TION. 3 Y Sir Andrew Aguecheek's echoing of Sir Toby Belch in Twelfth Night. Parolles's proposal to give himself " some hurts, and say I got them in exploit" (iv. 1) is a remembrance of FalstafFs proposal and its carrying out in 1 Henry IK, after Prince Hal and Poins have robbed the merry old rascal, etc. Also Parolles's exposure by his comrades is suggested by that of Falstaff by Prince Hal and Poins. 2 Henry IV. gives us, *too, FalstafFs explanation of his abuse of Prince Hal to Doll Tearsheet, as the original of Parolles's excuse for his letter to Diana Capulet abusing Bertram. As to the forward reach of the play, the link with the Sonnets is of the strongest. Think of Shakspere, the higher nature, but the lower in birth and position, during his separation from his Will, so handsome, high-born, hating marriage, mis- led by unworthy rivals, also selfish and sensual, and compare him with the poor, lowly-born Helena, richer and higher in noble qualities, longing for, dwelling in mind on, her hand- some Bertram, high-born, hating marriage, misled by Parolles, selfish and sensual too. So far Shakspere and Helena are one, and Will is Bertram. Hamlet gives us, in Polonius's ad- vice to Laertes, the development of the countess's counsel to Bertram, "love all, trust a few," etc. In Measure for Meas- ure, the All V Well substitution of the woman who ought to be a man's bed-mate for the one who ought not so to be, but whom he desired to have, is used again, with the very same precautions against discovery, not to stay too long or to speak, etc. The name Escalus used here is also that of the Governor in Measure for Measure; and for our Corambus here we get a Corambis in the first quarto of Hamlet. For the parallel to the sunshine and the hail in the king at once here we go to Lear for the sunshine and rain at once in Cor- delia, whose smiles and tears were like a better clay. For our clown's "flowery way that leads to the broad gate and the great fire "we turn to the Macbeth porter's "primrose way to the everlasting bonfire." For our 3 2 ALL \S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. "Time will bring on summer, When briers shall have leaves as well as thorns, And be as sweet as sharp," we turn to Cymbeline with its " Leaf of eglantine, whom not to slander Outsweeten'd not thy breath." To Belarius in the same play we go for Touchstone's and the clown's contrast of court and country here, and for Imo- gen to match the despised, neglected Helena, willing to give up her native land and life for the husband who had so wronged her. Helena, though condemned by many women and some men, has yet had justice done her by Coleridge, who calls her Shakspere's " loveliest character" — and he wrote Genevieve — and Mrs. Jameson, who says, " There never was perhaps a more beautiful picture of a woman's love cher- ished in secret, not self-consuming in silent languishment, not desponding over its idol, but patient and hopeful, strong in its own intensity, and sustained by its own fond faith." She is the opposite of Hamlet, as she says : " Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie Which we ascribe to heaven ; the fated sky Gives us free scope, only doth backward pull Our slow designs when we ourselves are dull." And she believes that great maxim so often forgotten even now — " Y\ hoever strove To show her merit that did miss her love." We can judge her best by the impression that she made on others ; and if we compare the praises of her by Lafeu, the king, the clown, and the countess, who knew her from her childhood, and who at least five times sings her praise, we see that Bertram's words of her are justified : Helena is " she who all men praised." Quick as she is to see through Parolles, she cannot see through Bertram. Love blinds her eyes. How beautiful is her confession of her love for him to his mother, INTRODUCTION. 33 and how pretty is old Lafeu's enthusiasm for her! Let those, too, who blame her, notice her drawing back for the • time on Bertram's declaring he can't love her and won't try to (ii. 3. 144). Thenceforward she is passive in the king's hands. It is he for his honour's sake who bids Bertram take her; and after the young noble's seemingly willing consent, she must have been more than woman to refuse to marry the man whom she knew her love alone could lift from the mire in which he was willingly wallowing. They are wedded; and the foolish husband takes counsel of his fool and leaves his wife; and then, without the kiss she asks so prettily for, he sends her home. What she has thenceforth to do she tells us: " Like timorous thief most fain would steal What law does vouch mine own." How little like a triumph, and possession of her love ! Her husband's brutal letter does but bring into higher relief her noble unselfishness and love for him. Her only desire is to save him. She knows the urgence of his " important blood," and takes advantage of it to work a lawful meaning in a lawful act, and so without disgrace fulfils the condition that his baseness has made precedent to his reunion with her. For Bertram, the question one is obliged to ask is, How came the son of such a father and such a mother to be what he was? Seeing him even with Helena's eyes, what has he to recommend him but his good looks? What other good qualify of him comes out in the play? Physical cour- age alone. Of moral courage he has none. Headstrong he is, a fool, unable to judge men, lustful, a liar, and a sneak. One thing he has to pride himself in, his noble birth, and that does not save him from being a very snob. He lies like Parolles himself, and even more basely, when he wants to get out of a scrape. I cannot doubt that it was one of Shakspere's objects in this play to show the utter worthless- ness of pride of birth, as he had done in Love's Labours Lost C 34 ALL \S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. of wit, unless beneath the noble name was a noble soul. As Berowne had to be emptied of the worthless wit he prided himself upon, so had Bertram of his silly aristocraticness, his all, before he could be filled with the love of the lower-born lady of God's own make, which should lift him to his true height. With a word for the countess who, as Mrs. Jameson says, "is like one of Titian's old ladies, reminding us still amid their wrinkles of that soul of beauty and sensibility which must have animated them when young;" with a kind- ly glance at the shrewd, warm-hearted, true, and generous old Lafeu, we take our leave of the last play of Shakspere's de- lightful Second Period, whose sunshine has gradually cloud- ed to prepare us for the coming storm. -i h ALL 'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. servants to the Countess of Rousillon. DRAMA TIS PERSONS. King of France. Duke of Florence. Bertram, Count of Rousillon. Lafeu, an old lord. Parolles, a follower of Bertram. Steward, Clown, A Page, Countess of Rousillon, mother to Ber- tram. Helena, a gentlewoman protected by the Countess. An old Widow of Florence. Diana, daughter to the Widow. Violenta, ) neighbours and friends to the Mariana, ) Widow. Lords, Officers, Soldiers, etc., French and Florentine. Florence ; INTERIOR OF PALACE IN ROUSILLON. ACT I. Scene I. Rousillon. The Countess's Palace. Enter Bertram, the Countess of Rousillon, Helena, and Lafeu, all in black. Countess. In delivering my son from me, I bury a second husband. Bertram. And I in going, madam, weep o'er my father's death anew ; but I must attend his majesty's command, to whom I am now in ward, evermore in subjection. Lafeu. You shall find of the king a husband, madam; you, 33 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. sir, a father. He that so generally is at all times good must of necessity hold his virtue to you ; whose worthiness would stir it up where it wanted rather than lack it where there is such abundance. 10 Countess. What hope is there of his majesty's amendment? Lafeu. He hath abandoned his physicians, madam ; under whose practices he hath persecuted time with hope, and finds no other advantage in the process but only the losing of hope by time. Countess. This young gentlewoman had a father, — O, that ' had !' how sad a passage 't is ! — whose skill was almost as great as his honesty ; had it stretched so far, would have made nature immortal, and death should have play for lack of work. Would, for the king's sake, he were living ! I think it would be the death of the king's disease. 21 Lafeu. How called you the man you speak of, madam ? Countess. He was famous, sir, in his profession, and it was his great right to be so, — Gerard de Narbon. Lafeu. He was excellent indeed, madam ■ the king very lately spoke of him admiringly and mourningly. He was skilful enough to have lived still, if knowledge could be set up against mortality. Bertram. What is it, my good lord, the king languishes of? Lafeu. A fistula, my lord. 30 Bertram. I heard not of it before. Lafeu. I would it were not notorious. Was this gentle- woman the daughter of Gerard de Narbon ? Countess. His sole child, my lord, and bequeathed to my overlooking. I have those hopes of her good that her edu- cation promises. Her dispositions she inherits, which makes fair gifts fairer ; for where an unclean mind carries virtuous qualities, their commendations go with pity; they are virtues and traitors too : in her they are the better for their simple- ness ; she derives her honesty and achieves her goodness. 4° Lafeu. Your commendations, madam, get from her tears. ACT I. SCENE I. 39 Countess. T is the best brine a maiden can season her praise in. The remembrance of her father never approaches her heart but the tyranny of her sorrows takes all livelihood from her cheek.— No more of this, Helena; go to, no more; lest it be rather thought you affect a sorrow than to have. Helena. I do affect a sorrow indeed, but I have it too. Lafeu. Moderate lamentation is the right of the dead, ex- cessive grief the enemy to the living. Countess. If the living be enemy to the grief, the excess makes it soon mortal. 51 Bertram. Madam, I desire your holy wishes. Lafeu. How understand we that? Countess. Be thou blest, Bertram, and succeed thy father In manners, as in shape ! thy blood and virtue Contend for empire in thee, and thy goodness Share with thy birthright ! Love all, trust a few, Do wrong to none ; be able for thine enemy Rather in power than use, and keep thy friend Under thy own life's key ; be check'd for silence, 60 But never tax'd for speech. What heaven more will, That thee may furnish and my prayers pluck down, Fall on thy head !— Farewell, my lord : 'T is an unseason'd courtier ; good my lord, Advise him. Lafeu. He cannot want the best That shall attend his love. Countess. Heaven bless him !— Farewell, Bertram. [Exit. Bertram. [To Helefia] The best wishes that can be forged in your thoughts be servants to you ! Be comfortable to my mother, your mistress, and make much of her. 7° Lafeu. Farewell, pretty lady ; you must hold the credit of your father. [Exeunt Bertram a?id Lafeu. Helena. O, were that all ! I think not on my father; And these great tears grace his remembrance more Than those I shed for him. What was he like ? 4 o ALL 'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. I have forgot him ; my imagination Carries no favour in 't but Bertram's. I am undone; there is no living, none, If Bertram be away. 'T were all one That I should love a bright particular star &> And think to wed it, he is so above me ; In his bright radiance and collateral light Must I be comforted, not in his sphere. The ambition in my love thus plagues itself; The hind that would be mated by the lion Must die for love. 'T was pretty, though a plague, To see him every hour ; to sit and draw His arched brows, his hawking eye, his curls, In our heart's table, — heart too capable Of every line and trick of his sweet favour : 90 But now he 's gone, and my idolatrous fancy Must sanctify his reliques. Who comes here ? Enter Parolles. [Aside] One that goes with him : I love him for his sake; And yet I know him a notorious liar, Think him a great way fool, solely a coward ; Yet these fix'd evils sit so fit in him, That they take place, when virtue's steely bones Look bleak i' the cold wind : withal, full oft we see Cold wisdom waiting on superfluous folly. Parolles. Save you, fair queen ! 100 Helena. And you, monarch ! Parolles. No. Helena. And no. Parolles. Are you meditating on virginity? will you any thing with it ? Helena. Not my virginity yet. There shall your master have a thousand loves : A mother, and a mistress, and a friend, ACT I. SCENE I. 4 i A phoenix, captain, and an enemy, A guide, a goddess, and a sovereign, no A counsellor, a traitress, and a clear ; His humble ambition, proud humility, His jarring concord, and his discord dulcet, His faith, his sweet disaster; with a world Of pretty, fond, adoptious Christendoms, That blinking Cupid gossips. Now shall he — I know not what he shall. God send him well ! The court 's a learning place, and he is one — Parolks. What one, i' faith ? Helena. That I wish well. 'T is pity — 120 Parolles. What 's pity ? Helena. That wishing well had not a body in 't, Which might be felt ; that we, the poorer born, Whose baser stars do shut us up in wishes, Might with effects of them follow our friends, And show what we alone must think, which never Returns us thanks. Enter Page. Page. Monsieur Parolles, my lord calls for you. [Exit. Parolles. Little Helen, farewell ; if I can remember thee, I will think of thee at court. 130 Helena. Monsieur Parolles, you were born under a char- itable star. Parolles. Under Mars, I. Helena. I especially think, under Mars. Parolles. Why under Mars ? Helena. The wars have so kept you under that you must needs be born under Mars. Parolles. W T hen he was predominant. Helena. When he was retrograde, I think, rather. Parolles. Why think you so ? 140 Helena. You go so much backward when you fight. Parolles. That 's for advantage. 4 2 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL,. Helena. So is running away, when fear proposes the safe- ty ; but the composition that your valour and fear makes in you is a virtue of a good wing, and I like the wear well. 145 Parolles. I am so full of businesses, I cannot answer thee acutely. I will return perfect courtier; in the which, my in- struction shall serve to naturalize thee, so thou wilt be ca- pable of a courtier's counsel and understand what advice shall thrust upon thee ; else thou diest in thine unthankful- ness, and thine ignorance makes thee away. Farewell. When thou hast leisure, say thy prayers ; when thou hast none, remember thy friends: get thee a good husband, and use him as he uses thee. So, farewell. [Exit. Helena. Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie, Which we ascribe to heaven : the fated sky Gives us free scope, only doth backward pull Our slow designs when we ourselves are dull. What power is it which mounts my love so high, That makes me see, and cannot feed mine eye ? iSo The mightiest space in fortune nature brings To join like likes and kiss like native things. Impossible be strange attempts to those That weigh their pains in sense, and do suppose What hath been cannot be ; who ever strove To show her merit, that did miss her love ? The king's disease — my project may deceive me, But my intents are fix'd and will not leave me. [Exit. Scene II. Paris. The Kings Palace. Flourish of cornets. E?iter the King of France, with letters, and divers Attendants. King. The Florentines and Senoys are by the ears ; Have fought with equal fortune and continue A braving war. 1 Lord. So 't is reported, sir. ACT I. SCENE IT. 43 King. Nay, 't is most credible ; we here receive it A certainty, vouch'd from our cousin Austria, With caution that the Florentine will move us For speedy aid : wherein our dearest friend Prejudicates the business, and would seem To have us make denial. i Lord. His love and wisdom, Approv'd so to your majesty, may plead 10 For amplest credence. King. He hath arm'd our answer, And Florence is denied before he comes; Yet, for our gentlemen that mean to see The Tuscan service, freely have they leave To stand on either part. 2 Lord. It well may serve A nursery to our gentry, who are sick For breathing and exploit. King. What 's he comes here ? Enter Bertram, Lafeu, and Parolles. i Lord. It is the Count Rousillon, my good lord, Young Bertram. King. Youth, thou bear'st thy father's face ; Frank nature, rather curious than in haste, 20 Hath well compos'd thee. Thy father's moral parts Mayst thou inherit too ! Welcome to Paris. Bertra?n. My thanks and duty are your majesty's. King. I would I had that corporal soundness now, As when thy father and myself in friendship First tried our soldiership ! He did look far Into the service of the time and was Discipled of the bravest : he lasted long; But on us both did haggish age steal on And wore us out of act. It much repairs me 30 To talk of your good father. In his youth 44 ALL 'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. He had the wit which I can well observe To-day in our young lords; but they may jest Till their own scorn return to them unnoted Ere they can hide their levity in honour, So like a courtier. Contempt nor bitterness Were "in his pride or sharpness; if they were, His equal had awak'd them, and his honour, Clock to itself, knew the true minute when Exception bid him speak, and at this time 40 His tongue obey'd his hand. Who were below him He us'd as creatures of another place, And bow'd his eminent top to their low ranks, Making them proud of his humility, In their poor praise he humbled. Such a man Might be a copy to these younger times ; Which, follow'd well, would demonstrate them now But goers backward. Bertram. His good remembrance, sir, Lies richer in your thoughts than on his tomb ; So in approof lives not his epitaph 50 As in your royal speech. King. Would I were with him i He would always say - Methinks I hear him now; his plausive words He scatter'd not in ears, but grafted them, To grow there and to bear, — ' Let me not live,' — ■ This his good melancholy oft began, On the catastrophe and heel of pastime, When it was out, — ' Let me not live,' quoth he, 'After my flame lacks oil, to be the snuff Of younger spirits, whose apprehensive senses 60 All but new things disdain, whose judgments are Mere fathers of their garments, whose constancies Expire before their fashions.' This he wish'd ; I after him do after him wish too, Since I nor wax nor honey can bring home, ACT I. SCENE III. 45 I quickly were dissolved from my hive, To give some labourers room. 2 Lord. You 're loved, sir ; They that least lend it you shall lack you first. King. I fill a place, I know 't. How long is 't, count, Since the physician at your father's died ? 70 He was much fam'd. Bertram. Some six months since, my lord. King. If he were living, I would try him yet. — Lend me an arm. — The rest have worn me out With several applications; nature and sickness Debate it at their leisure. Welcome, count; My son 's no dearer. Bertram. Thank your majesty. \Exeunt. Flourish. Scene III. Rousillon. The Countess's Palace. Enter Countess, Steward, and Clown. Countess. I will now hear; what say you of this gentle- woman? Stezvard. Madam, the care I have had to even your con- tent, I wish might be found in the calendar of my past en- deavours; for then we wound our modesty, and make foul the clearness of our deservings, when of ourselves we publish them. Countess. What does this knave here? — Get you gone, sir- rah! The complaints I have heard of you I do not all be- lieve : 't is my slowness that I do not ; for I know you lack not folly to commit them, and have ability enough to make such knaveries yours. 12 h Clown. 'T is not unknown to you, madam, I am a poor fellow. Countess. Well, sir. Clown. No, madam, 't is not so well that I am poor, though 4 6 ALL 'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. many of the rich are damned ; but, if I may have your lady- ship's good will to go to the world, Isbel the woman and I will do as we may. Countess. Wilt thou needs be a beggar? 20 Clown. I do beg your good will in this case. Countess. In what case? Clown. In IsbeFs case and mine own. Service is no her- itage: and I think I shall never have the blessing of God till I have issue o' my body; for they say barnes are blessings. Countess. Tell me thy reason why thou wilt marry. Clown. My poor body, madam, requires it: I am driven on by the flesh; and he must needs go that the devil drives. Countess. Is this all your worship's reason ? Clown. Faith, madam, I have other holy reasons, such as they are. 31 Countess. May the world know them ? Clown. I have been, madam, a wicked creature, as you and all flesh and blood are; and, indeed, I do marry that I may repent. Countess. Thy marriage, sooner than thy wickedness. Clown. I am out o' friends, madam; and I hope to have friends for my wife's sake. Countess. Such friends are thine enemies, knave. 39 Clown. You 're shallow, madam, in great friends; for the knaves come to do that for me which I am aweary of. He that ears my land spares my team and gives me leave to in the crop ; if I be his cuckold, he 's my drudge : he that com- forts my wife is the cherisher of my flesh and blood ; he that cherishes my flesh and blood loves my flesh and blood ; he that loves my flesh and blood is my friend: ergo, he that kisses my wife is my friend. If men could be contented to be what they are, there were no fear in marriage; for young Charbon the puritan and old Poysam the papist, howsome'er their hearts are severed in religion, their heads are both one; they may jowl horns together, like any deer i' the herd. ACT I. SCENE III. 47 Countess. Wilt thou ever be a foul-mouthed and calumnious knave? 53 Clown. A prophet I, madam ; and I speak the truth the next way: For I the ballad will repeat, Which men full true shall find; Your marriage comes by destiny, Your cuckoo sings by kind. Countess. Get you gone, sir; I '11 talk with you more anon. Steward. May it please you, madam, that he bid Helen come to you ; of her I am to speak. 62 Countess. Sirrah, tell my gentlewoman I would speak with her; Helen, I mean. Clown. Was this fair face the cause, quoth she, Why the Grecians sacked Troy? Fond done, clone fond, Was this King Priam's joy? With that she sighed as she stood, With that she sighed as she stood, 70 And gave this sentence then : Among nine bad if one be good, Among nine bad if one be good, There 's yet one good in ten. Countess. What, one good in ten ? you corrupt the song, sirrah. Clown. One good woman in ten, madam; which is a puri- fying o' the song: would God would serve the world so all the year! we 'd find no fault with the tithe-woman, if I were the parson. One in ten, quoth a' ! An we might have a good woman born but for every blazing star, or at an earth- quake, 't would mend the lottery well; a man may draw 7 his heart out, ere a' pluck one. 83 Countess. You '11 be gone, sir knave, and do as I command you. Clown. That man should be at woman's command, and 4 8 ALL 'S WELL THA T ENDS WELL. yet no hurt done! Though honesty be no puritan, yet it will do no hurt; it will wear the surplice of humility over the black gown of a big heart. I am going, forsooth; the busi- ness is for Helen to come hither. [Exit. Countess. Well, now. 91 Steward, I know, madam, you love your gentlewoman en- tirely. Countess. Faith, I do: her father bequeathed her to me; and she herself, without other advantage, may lawfully make title to as much love as she finds. There is more owing her than is paid; and more shall be paid her than she '11 demand. Steward. Madam, I was very late more near her than I think she wished me : alone she was, and did communicate to herself her own words to her own ears; she thought, I dare vow for her, they touched not any stranger sense. Her matter was, she loved your son. Fortune, she said, was no goddess, that had put such difference betwixt their two es- tates; Love no god, that would not extend his might, only where qualities were level; Dian no queen of virgins, that would suffer her poor knight surprised, without rescue in the first assault or ransom afterward. This she delivered in the most bitter touch of sorrow that e'er I heard virgin exclaim in: which I held my duty speedily to acquaint you withal; sithence, in the loss that may happen, it concerns you some- thing to know it. hi Countess. You have discharged this honestly; keep it to yourself: many likelihoods informed me of this before, which hung so tottering in the balance that I could neither believe nor misdoubt. Pray you, leave me. Stall this in your bosom ; and I thank you for your honest care. I will speak with you further anon. — [Exit Steward. Enter Helena. Even so it was with me when I was young. If ever we are nature's, these are ours ; this thorn Doth to our rose of youth rightly belong; 120 Our blood to us, this to our blood is born. ACT I. SCENE III. 49 It is the show and seal of nature's truth, Where love's strong passion is impress'd in youth; By our remembrances of days foregone, Such were our faults, or then we thought them none. Her eye is sick on 't; I observe her now. Helena. What is your pleasure, madam? Countess. You know, Helen, I am a mother to you. Helena. Mine honourable mistress. Countess. Nay, a mother; Why not a mother? When I said a mother, 130 Methought you saw a serpent; what 's in mother, That you start at it? I say, I am your mother, And put you in the catalogue of those That were enwombed mine; 't is often seen Adoption strives with nature, and choice breeds A native slip to us from foreign seeds. You ne'er oppress'd me with a mother's groan, Yet I express to you a mother's care. God's mercy, maiden! does it curd thy blood To say I am thy mother? What 's the matter, 140 That this distemper'd messenger of wet, The many-colour'd Iris, rounds thine eye? Why? that you are my daughter? Helena. That I am not. Countess. I say, I am your mother. Helena. Pardon, madam; The Count Rousillon cannot be my brother. I am from humble, he from honour'd name; No note upon my parents, his all noble. My master, my clear lord he is; and I His servant live, and will his vassal die: He must not be my brother. Countess. Nor I your mother? 150 Helena. You are my mother, madam; would you were — ■ D 5 o ALL \S" WELL THAT ENDS WELL. So that my lord your son were not my brother — Indeed my mother! or were you both our mothers, I care no more for than I do for heaven, So I were not his sister. Can't no other, But, I your daughter, he must be my brother? Countess. Yes, Helen, you might be my daughter-in-law. God shield you mean it not! daughter and mother So strive upon your pulse. What, pale again? My fear hath catch'd your fondness ; now I see 160 The mystery of your loneliness, and find Your salt tears' head; now to all sense 't is gross You love my son ; invention is asham'd, Against the proclamation of thy passion, To say thou dost not : therefore tell me true; But tell me then, 't is so; for, look, thy cheeks Confess it, th' one to th' other; and thine eyes See it so grossly shown in thy behaviours That in their kind they speak it: only sin And hellish obstinacy tie thy tongue, 170 That truth should be suspected. Speak, is 't so? If it be so, you have wound a goodly clew; If it be not, forswear 't: howe'er, I charge thee, As heaven shall work in me for thine avail, To tell me truly. Helena. Good madam, pardon me! Countess. Do you love my son ? Helena. Your pardon, noble mistress! Countess. Love you my son ? Helena. Do not you love him, madam? Countess. Go not about; my love hath in 't a bond, Whereof the world takes note: come, come, disclose The state of your affection, for your passions 180 Have to the full appeach'd. Helena. Then, I confess, Here on my knee, before high heaven and you, ACT I. SCENE III. That before you, and next unto high heaven, I love your son. My friends were poor, but honest; so 's my love: Be not offended ; for it hurts not him That he is lov'd of me. I follow him not By any token of presumptuous suit; Nor would I have him till I do deserve him; Yet never know how that desert should be. I know I love in vain, strive against hope; Yet in this captious and intenible sieve I still pour in the waters of my love And lack not to lose still: thus, Indian-like, Religious in mine error, I adore The sun, that looks upon his worshipper, But knows of him no more. My clearest madam, Let not your hate encounter with my love For loving where you do : but if yourself, Whose aged honour cites a virtuous youth, Did ever in so true a flame of liking Wish chastely and love dearly, that your Dian Was both herself and love, O, then give pity To her whose state is such that cannot choose But lend and give where she is sure to lose ; That seeks not to find that her search implies, But riddle-like lives sweetly where she dies! Countess. Had you not lately an intent — speak truly— To go to Paris? Helejia. Madam, I had. Countess. Wherefore ? tell true. Helena. I will tell truth ; by grace itself I swear. You know my father left me some prescriptions Of rare and prov'd effects, such as his reading And manifest experience had collected For general sovereignty; and that he will'cl me In heedfull'st reservation to bestow them, 5' 5- ALL 'S WELL THAT EXES WELL. As notes whose faculties inclusive were More than they were in note : amongst the rest There is a remedy, approv'd, set clown, To cure the desperate languishings whereof The king is render'd lost. Countess. This was your motive 220 For Paris, was it? speak. Helena. My lord your son made me to think of this; Else Paris and the medicine and the king Had from the conversation of my thoughts Haply been absent then. Countess. But think you, Helen, If you should tender your supposed aid, He would receive it? He and his physicians Are of a mind : he, that they cannot help him ; They, that they cannot help. How shall they credit A poor unlearned virgin, when the schools, 230 Embowell'd of their doctrine, have left off The danger to itself? Helena. There 's something in 't, More than my father's skill, which was the greatest Of his profession, that his good receipt Shall for my legacy be sanctified By the luckiest stars in heaven; and, would your honour But give me leave to try success, I 'd venture The well-lost life of mine on his grace's cure By such a clay and hour. Countess. Dost thou believe 't ? Helena. Ay, madam, knowingly. 240 Countess. Why, Helen, thou shalt have my leave and love, Means and attendants, and my loving greetings To those of mine in court; I '11 stay at home And pray God's blessing into thy attempt. Be gone to-morrow ; and be sure of this, What I can help thee to thou shalt not mi-ss. [Exeunt. INTERIOR OF THE LOUVRE. ACT II. Scene I. Paris. The King's Palace. Flourish of comets. Enter the King, attended with divers young Lords taking leave for the Florentine war; Bertram, and Parolles. King. Farewell, young lords ; these warlike principles Do not throw from you : — and you, my lords, farewell. — Share the advice betwixt you ; if both gain, all The gift doth stretch itself as 't is receiv'd, And is enough for both. i Lord. 'T is our hope, sir, CA " ALL 'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. After well enter'd soldiers, to return And find your grace in health. King. No, no, it cannot be ; and yet my heart Will not confess he owes the malady That doth my life besiege. Farewell, young lords; 10 Whether I live or die, be you the sons Of worthy Frenchmen. Let higher Italy — Those bated that inherit but the fall Of the last monarchy — see that you come Not to woo honour, but to wed it ; when The bravest questant shrinks, find what you seek, That fame may cry you loud. I say, farewell. 2 Lord. Health, at your bidding, serve your majesty! King. Those girls of Italy, take heed of them ! They say, our French lack language to deny, 20 If they demand] beware of being captives, Before you serve. Both. Our hearts receive your warnings. King. Farewell. — Come hither to me. [Exit, attended. 1 Lord. O my sweet lord, that you will stay behind us ! Parolles. 'T is not his fault, the spark. 2 Lord. O, 't is brave wars ! Parolles. Most admirable ; I have seen those wars. Bertram. I am commanded here, and kept a coil with, — 6 Too young ' and ' the next year ' and ' 't is too early.' JO * -J Parolles. An thy mind stand to 't, boy, steal away bravely. Bertram. I shall stay here the forehorse to a smock, 30 Creaking my shoes on the plain masonry, Till honour be bought up, and no sword worn But one to dance with ! By heaven, I '11 steal away. 1 Lord. There 's honour in the theft. Parolles. Commit it, count. 2 Lord. I am your accessary ;' and so, farewell. Bertram. I grow to you, and our parting is a tortured body. 1 Lord. Farewell, captain. ACT II. SCENE I. 55 2 Lord. Sweet Monsieur Parolles ! Parolles. Noble heroes, my sword and yours are kin. Good sparks and lustrous, a word, good metals : you shall find in the regiment of the Spinii one Captain Spurio, with his cica- trice, an emblem of war, here on his sinister cheek ; it was this very sword entrenched it. Say to him, I live ; and ob- serve his reports for me. i Lord. We shall, noble captain. [Exeunt Lords. Parolles. Mars dote on you for his novices ! what will ye do? Bertram. Stay; the king! 4 s Re-enter the King. Bertram and Parolles retire. Parolles. [To Bertram] Use a more spacious ceremony to the noble lords ; you have restrained yourself within the list of too cold an adieu. Be more expressive to them : for they wear themselves in the cap of the time, there do muster true gait, eat, speak, and move under the influence of the most received star ; and though the devil lead the measure, such are to be followed. After them, and take a more di- lated farewell. Bertram. And I will do so. Parolles. Worthy fellows ; and like to prove most sinewy sword-men. [Exeunt Bertram and Parolles. Enter Lafeu. Lafeu. [Kneeling.] Pardon, my lord, for me and for my tidings. 60 King. I '11 fee thee to stand up. Lafeu. Then here 's a man stands, that has brought his pardon. I would you had kneel'd, my lord, to ask me mercy, And that at my bidding you could so stand up. King. I would I had ; so I had broke thy pate, And ask'd thee me rev for 't. 56 ALL 'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. Lafeu. Good faith, across ; but, my good lord, 't is thus : Will you be cur'd of your infirmity? King. No. Lafeu. O, will you eat no grapes, my royal fox? 70 Yes, but you will my noble grapes, an if My royal fox could reach them. I have seen a medicine That 's able to breathe life into a stone, Quicken a rock, and make you dance canary With spritely fire and motion ; whose simple touch Is powerful to araise King Pepin, nay, To give great Charlemain a pen in 's hand And write to her a love-line. King. What her is this? Lafeu. Why, Doctor She; my lord, there 's one arriv'd, If you will see her. Now, by my faith and honour, 80 If seriously I may convey my thoughts In this my light deliverance, I have spoke With one that, in her sex, her years, profession, Wisdom, and constancy, hath amaz'd me more Than I dare blame my weakness. Will you see her, For that is her demand, and know her business ? That done, laugh well at me. King. Now, good Lafeu, Bring in the admiration ; that we with thee May spend our wonder too, or take off thine By wondering how thou took'st it. Lafeu. Nay, I '11 fit you, 90 And not be all day neither. m [Exit. King. Thus he his special nothing ever prologues. Re-enter Lafeu, with Helena. L,afeu. Nay, come your ways. King. This haste hath wings indeed. Lafeu. Nay, come your ways. This is his majesty ; say your mind to him. ACT II. SCENE I. 57 A traitor you do look like ; but such traitors His majesty seldom fears. I am Cressid's uncle, That dare leave two together ; fare you well. \Exit, King. Now, fair one, does your business follow us ? Helena. Ay, my good lord. ioo Gerard de Narbon was my father ; In what he did profess, well found. King. I knew him. Helena. The rather will I spare my praises towards him ; Knowing him is enough. On 's bed of death Many receipts he gave me ; chiefly one, Which, as the dearest issue of his practice, And of his old experience the only darling, He bade me store up, as a triple eye, Safer than mine own two, more dear. I have so ; And, hearing your high majesty is touch'd no With that malignant cause wherein the honour Of my dear father's gift stands chief in power, I come to tender it and my appliance With all bound humbleness. King. We thank you, maiden ; But may not be so credulous of cure, When our most learned doctors leave us, and The congregated college have concluded That labouring art can never ransom nature From her inaidible estate : I say we must not So stain our judgment, or corrupt our hope, 120 To prostitute our past-cure malady To empirics, or to dissever so Our great self and our credit, to esteem A senseless help when help past sense we deem. Helena. My duty then shall pay me for my pains. I will no more enforce mine office on you ; Humbly entreating from your royal thoughts A modest one, to bear me back again. 5 8 ALL "S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. King. I cannot give thee less, to be call'd grateful. Thou thought'st to help me ; and such thanks I give 130 As one near death to those that wish him live : But what at full I know, thou know'st no part, I knowing all my peril, thou no art. Helena. What I can do can do no hurt to try, Since you set up your rest 'gainst remedy. He that of greatest works is finisher Oft does them by the weakest minister : So holy writ in babes hath judgment shown, When judges have been babes ; great floods have flown From simple sources, and great seas have dried 140 When miracles have by the greatest been denied. Oft expectation fails, and most oft there Where most it promises ; and oft it hits Where hope is coldest, and despair most fits. King. I must not hear thee ; fare thee well, kind maid, Thy pains not us'd must by thyself be paid : Proffers not took reap thanks for their reward. Helena. Inspired merit so by breath is barr'd : It is not so with Him that all things knows As 't is with us that square our guess by shows; 150 But most it is presumption in us when The help of heaven we count the act of men. Dear sir, to my endeavours give consent; Of heaven, not me, make an experiment. I am not an impostor that proclaim Myself against the level of mine aim ; But know I think, and think I know most sure, My art is not past power nor you past cure. King. Art thou so confident? within what space Hop'st thou my cure ? Helena. The great'st grace lending grace, Ere twice the horses of the sun shall bring 161 Their fiery torcher his diurnal ring, ACT II. SCEXE I 59 Ere twice in murk and occidental damp Moist Hesperus hath quench'd his sleepy lamp, Or four and twenty times the pilot's glass Hath told the thievish minutes how they pass, What is infirm from your sound parts shall fly, Health shall live free and sickness freely die. King. Upon thy certainty and confidence What dar'st thou venture ? Helena. Tax of impudence, 170 A strumpet's boldness, a divulged shame Traduc'd by odious ballads: my maiden's name Sear'd otherwise; nay, worst of worst extended, With vilest torture let my life be ended. King. Methinks in thee some blessed spirit doth speak His powerful sound within an organ weak; And what impossibility would slay In common sense, sense saves another way. Thy life is dear; for all that life can rate Worth name of life in thee hath estimate, — 180 Youth, beauty, wisdom, courage, all That happiness and prime can happy call: Thou this to hazard needs must intimate Skill infinite or monstrous desperate. Sweet practiser, thy physic I will try, That ministers thine own death if I die. Helena. If I break time, or flinch in property Of what I spoke, unpitied let me die, And well deserv'd : not helping, death's my fee; But, if I help, what do you promise me ? 190 King. Make thy demand. Helena. But will you make it even ? King. Ay, by my sceptre and my hopes of heaven. Helena. Then shalt thou give me with thy kingly hand What husband in thy power I will command. Exempted be from me the arrogance 6o ALL 'S WELL THAT EXDS WELL. To choose from forth the royal blood of France, My low and humble name to propagate With any branch or image of thy state; But such a one, thy vassal, whom I know Is free for me to ask, thee to bestow. 200 King. Here is my hand; the premises observ'd, Thy will by my performance shall be serv'd. So make the choice of thy own time, for I, Thy resolv'd patient, on thee still rely. More should I question thee, and more I must, — Though more to know could not be more to trust, — ■ From whence thou cam'st, how tended on ; but rest Unquestioned welcome and undoubted blest. — Give me some help here, ho ! — If thou proceed As high as word, my deed shall match thy meed. 210 [Flourish. Exeunt. Scene II. Rous'dlon. The Coun 'ess's Palace. Enter Countess and Clown. Countess. Come on, sir; I shall now put you to the height of your breeding. Clown. I will show myself highly fed and lowly taught; I know my business is but to the court. Countess. To the court ! why, what place make you special, when you put off that with such contempt ? But to the court ! Clown. Truly, madam, if God have lent a man any man- ners, he may easily put it off at court. He that cannot make a leg, put off 's cap, kiss his hand, and say nothing, has nei- ther leg, hands, lip, nor cap; and indeed such a fellow, to say precisely, were not for the court ; but for me, I have an answer will serve all men. 12 Countess. Many, that 's a bountiful answer that fits all questions. Clown. It is like a barber's chair that fits all buttocks, the ACT II. SCENE II ■ 6 1 pin-buttock, the quatch-buttock, the brawn buttock, or any buttock. Countess. Will your answer serve fit to all questions? Clown. As fit as ten groats is for the hand of an attorney, as your French crown for your taffeta punk, as Tib's rush for Tom's forefinger, as a pancake for Shrove Tuesday, a morris for May-day, as the nail to his hole, the cuckold to his horn, as a scolding quean to a wrangling knave, as the nun's lip to the friar's mouth, nay, as the pudding to his skin. 24 Countess. Have you, I say, an answer of such fitness for all questions ? Clown. From below your duke to beneath your constable, it will fit any question. Countess. It must be an answer of most monstrous size that must fit all demands. 30 Clown. But a trifle neither, in good faith, if the learned should speak truth of it; here it is, and all that belongs to 't. Ask me if I am a courtier ; it shall do you no harm to learn. Countess. To be young again, if we could, I will be a fool in question, hoping to be the wiser by your answer. I pray you, sir, are you a courtier ? Clown. O Lord, sir ! — There 's a simple putting off. — More, more, a hundred of them. Countess. Sir, I am a poor friend of yours, that loves you. Clown. O Lord, sir ! — Thick, thick, spare not me. 4 o Countess. I think, sir, you can eat none of this homely meat. Clown. O Lord, sir ! — Nay, put me to 't, I warrant you. Countess. You were lately whipped, sir, as I think. Clown. O Lord, sir ! — Spare not me. Countess. Do you cry, ' O Lord, sir !' at your whipping, and 'spare not me ?' Indeed your 'O Lord, sir !' is very sequent to your whipping; you would answer very well to a whipping, if you were but bound to 't. Clown. I ne'er had worse luck in my life in my ' O Lord, sir!' I see things may serve long, but not serve ever. 50 6 2 ALL 'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. Countess. I play the noble huswife with the time, To entertain 't so merrily with a fool. Clown. O Lord, sir ! — Why, there 't serves well again. Countess. An end, sir; to your business. Give Helen this, And urge her to a present answer back; Commend me to my kinsmen and my son. This is not much. Clown. Not much commendation to them. Countess. Not much employment for you ; you understand me ? 60 Clown. Most fruitfully ; I am there before my legs. Countess. Haste you again. \_Exeunt severally. Scene III. Paris. The King's Palace. Enter Lafeu and Parolles. Lafeu. They say miracles are past; and we have our phil- osophical persons, to make modern and familiar, things su- pernatural and causeless. Hence is it that we make trifles of terrors, ensconcing ourselves into seeming knowledge, when we should submit ourselves to an unknown fear. Why, 't is the rarest argument of wonder that hath shot out in our latter times. Parolles. And so 't is. Lafeu. To be relinquished of the artists, — Parolles. So I say. 10 Lafeu. Both of Galen and Paracelsus, — Parolles. So I say. Lafeu. Of all the learned and authentic fellows, — ■ Parolles. Right; so I say. Lafeu. That gave him out incurable, — Parolles. Why, there 't is; so say I too. Lafeu. Not to be helped, — Parolles. Right; as 't were, a man assured of a— Lafeu. Uncertain life, and sure death. ACT II. SCENE III 63 Parolles. Just, you say well ; so would I have said. 20 Lafeu. I may truly say, it is a novelty to the world. Parolles. It is, indeed; if you will have it in showing, you shall read it in — what do ye call there ? Lafeu. A showing of a heavenly effect in an earthly actor. Parolles. That 's it; I would have said the very same. Lafeu. Why, your dolphin is not lustier; fore me, I speak in respect — Parolles. Nay, 't is strange, 't is very strange, that is the brief and the tedious of it; and he 's of a most facinerious spirit that will not acknowledge it to be the — 30 Lafeu. Very hand of heaven. Parolles. Ay, so I say. Lafeu. In a most weak — Parolles. And debile minister, great power, great tran- scendence; which should, indeed, give us a further use to be made than alone the recovery of the king, as to be — Lafeu. Generally thankful. Parolles. I would have said it; you say well. Here comes the king. 39 Enter King, Helena, and Attendants. Lafeu and Pa- rolles retire. Lafeu. Lustig, as the Dutchman says ! I '11 like a maid the better, whilst I have a tooth in my head; why, he 's able to lead her a coranto. Parolles. Mort du vinaigre ! is not this Helen ? Lafeu. Fore God, I think so. King. Go, call before me all the lords in court. — [Exit an Attendant. Sit, my preserver, by thy patient's side ; And with this healthful hand, whose banish'd sense Thou hast repeal'd, a second time receive The confirmation of my promis'd gift, Which but attends thy naming. 50 64 ALL 'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. Ejiter several Lords and Bertram. Fair maid, send forth thine eye: this youthful parcel Of noble bachelors stand at my bestowing, O'er whom both sovereign power and father's voice I have to use. Thy frank election make; Thou hast power to choose, and they none to forsake. Helena. To each of you one fair and virtuous mistress Fail, when Love please ! marry, to each but one ! Lafeu. I 'd give bay Curtal and his furniture, My mouth no more were broken than these boys', And writ as little beard. King. Peruse them well; 60 Not one of those but had a noble father. Helena. Gentlemen, Heaven hath through me restor'd the king to health. All. We understand it, and thank heaven for you. Helena. I am a simple maid, and therein wealthiest, That I protest I simply am a maid. — Please it your majesty, I have done already: The blushes in my cheeks thus whisper me, 'We blush that thou shouldst choose; but, be refus'd, Let the white death sit on thy cheek for ever; 7 o We '11 ne'er come there again.' King. Make choice; and, see, Who shuns thy love shuns all his love in me. Helena. Now, Dian, from thy altar do I fly, And to imperial Love, that god most high, Do my sighs stream. — Sir, will you hear my suit? i Lord. And grant it. Helena. Thanks, sir; all the rest is mute. Lafeu. I had rather be in this choice than throw ames-ace for my life. Helena. The honour, sir, that flames in your fair eyes, ' Before I speak, too threateningly replies; so ACT II. SCENE III. 65 Love make your fortunes twenty times above Her that so wishes and her humble love ! 2 Lord. No better, if you please. Helena. My wish receive, Which great Love grant ! and so, I take my leave. Lafeu. Do all they deny her? An they were sons of mine, I 'd have them whipped; or I would send them to the Turk, to make eunuchs of. Helena. Be not afraid that I your hand should take; I '11 never do you wrong for your own sake. Blessing upon your vows ! and in your bed 9° Find fairer fortune, if you ever wed ! Lafeu. These boys are boys of ice, they '11 none have her : sure, they are bastards to the English; the French ne'er got 'em. Helena. You are too young, too happy, and too good, To make yourself a son out of my blood. 4 Lord. Fair one, I think not so. Lafeu. There 's one grape yet; I am sure thy father drunk wine : but if thou be'st not an ass, I am a youth of fourteen ; I have known thee already. 100 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 high- ness, 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. E 66 ALL "S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. Bertram. But follows it, my lord, to bring me down m 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. 'T is 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 stand off In differences so mighty. If she be 120 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; 130 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 foregoers; the mere word 's a slave Debosh'd on every tomb, on every grave A lying trophy, and as oft is dumb Where dust and damn'd oblivion is the tomb Of honour'd bones indeed. What should be said? 140 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, ifthoushouldststrive to choose. ACT II. SCENE III. 67 Helena. That you are well restor'd, my lord, I 'm 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, 150 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; 160 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 170 The praised of the king; who, so ennobled, Is as 't were 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. I take her hand. King. Good fortune and the favour of the king Smile upon this contract; whose ceremony Shall seem expedient on the now-born brief, 68 ALL >S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. And be perform 'd to-night: the solemn feast Shall more attend upon the coming space, iSo Expecting absent friends. As thou lov'st her, Thy love 's to me religious ; else, does err. [Exeunt all but Lafcu and Parolles. Lafeu. [Advancing.] Do you hear, monsieur? a word with you. Parolles. Your pleasure, sir? Lafeu. Your lord and master did well to make his recan- tation. Parolles. Recantation! My lord! my master! Lafeu. Ay; is it not a language I speak? Parolles. A most harsh one, and not to be understood without bloody succeeding. My master! 191 Lafeu. Are you companion to the Count Rousillon? Parolles. To any count, to all counts, to what is man. Lafeu. To what is count's man; count's master is of an- other style. Parolles. You are too old, sir; let it satisfy you, you are too old. Lafeu. 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. 200 Lafeu. 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 burthen. 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 'rt scarce worth. Parolles. Hadst thou not the privilege of antiquity upon thee, — 209 Lafeu. 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 ACT II. SCENE III. 69 casement I need not open, for I look through thee. Give me thy hand. Parolles. My lord, you give me most egregious indignity. Lafeu. Ay, with all my heart ; and thou art worthy of it. Parolles. I have not, my lord, deserved it. Lafeu. Yes, good faith, every dram of it ; and I will not bate thee a scruple. Parolles. Well, I shall be wiser. 220 Lafeu. Even as soon as thou canst, for thou hast to pull at a smack o' the contrary. If ever thou be'st 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 vexa- tion. 228 Lafeu. 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 '11 beat him, by my life, if I can meet him with any convenience, an he were double and double a lord. I '11 have no more pity of his age than I would have of — I '11 beat him, an if I could but meet him again. Re-enter Lafeu. Lafeu. Sirrah, your lord and master 's married; there 's news for you : you have a new mistress. 24 o Parolles. I most unfeigned ly beseech your lordship to make some reservation of your wrongs. He is my good lord ; whom I serve above is my master. Lafeu. Who? God? Parolles. Ay, sir. Lafeu. The devil it is that 's thy master. Why dost thou 7° ALL "S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 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; methinks, thou art a gen- eral offence, and every man should beat thee. I think thou wast created for men to breathe themselves upon thee. 252 Parolles. This is hard and undeserved measure, my lord. La/en. Go to, sir; you were beaten in Italy for picking a kernel out of a pomegranate. You are a vagabond and no true traveller; you are more saucy with lords and honourable personages than the commission of your birth and virtue gives you heraldry. You are not worth another word, else I 'd call you knave. I leave you. [Exit Parolles. Good, very good ; it is so then : good, very good; let it be-concealed awhile. 261 Re-enter Bertram. Bertram. Undone, and forfeited to cares for ever! Parolles. What 's the matter, sweet-heart? Bertram. Although before the solemn priest I have sworn, I will not bed her. Parolles. What, what, sweet-heart? Bertram. O my Parolles, they have married me! I '11 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! 270 Bertram. There 's letters from my mother; what the im- port is, I know not yet. Parolles. Ay, that would be known. To the wars, my boy, to the 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 ACT II. SCENE IV. 71 Of Mars's fiery steed. To other regions France is a stable, we that dwell in 't jades; Therefore, to the war! 280 Bertram. It shall be so. I '11 send her to my house, Acquaint my mother with my hate to her, And wherefore I am fled ; write to the king That which I durst not speak: 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 capriccio hold in thee? art sure? Bertram. Go with me to my chamber, and advise me. I '11 send her straight away; to-morrow 290 I '11 to the wars, she to her single sorrow. Parolles. Why, these balls bound ; there 's noise in it. — 'T is 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! 't is so. [Exeunt. Scene IV. Paris. The King's Palace. 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! 12 7 2 ALL 'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. Enter Parolles. Parolles. Bless you, my fortunate lady! Helena. I hope, sir, I have your good will to have mine own good fortunes. 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. 20 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 noth- ing. Parolles. Away! thou 'rt a knave. Clown. You should have said, sir, before a knave thou 'rt a knave; that 's, before me thou 'rt a knave: this had been truth, sir. 30 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 to-night; A very serious business calls on him. The great prerogative and rite of love, Which, as your clue, time claims, he does acknowledge, 4 o 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. ACT II. SCENE V. 73 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 5 o Attend his further pleasure. Helena. In every thing I wait upon his will. Parolles. I shall report it so. Helena. I pray you.— {Exit Parolles.] Come, sirrah. {Exeunt. Scene V. Paris. The King's Palace. Enter Lafeu and Bertram. Lafeu. But I hope your lordship thinks not him a soldier. Bertram. Yes, my lord, and of very valiant approof. Lafeu. You have it from his own deliverance. Bertram. And by other warranted testimony. Lafeu. 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. Lafeu. 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. 13 Enter Parolles. Parolles. [To Bertram] These things shall be done, sir. Lafeu. Pray you, sir, who 's his tailor ? Parolles. Sir? Lafeu. O, I know him well, I, sir; he, sir, 's a good work- man, a very good tailor. 74 ALL >S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. Bertram. [Aside to Par olles] Is she gone to the king? Parolles. She is. 20 Bertram. Will she away to-night ? Parolles. As you '11 have her. Bertram. I have writ my letters, casketed my treasure, Given order for our horses ; and to-night, When I should take possession of the bride, End ere I do begin. Lafeic. 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. — God save you, captain. 30 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. Lafeu. You have made shift to run into 't, boots and spurs and all, like him that leaped into the custard ; and out of it you '11 run again, rather than suffer question for your resi- dence. Bertram. It may be you have mistaken him, my lord. 39 Lafeu. And shall do so ever, though I took him at 's prayers. Fare you well, my lord; and believe this of me, there can be no kernel 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 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. 51 ACT II. SCENE V. 75 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. Prepar'd I was not For such a business; therefore am I found 60 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. 'T will 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. 70 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 't is mine, and yet it is; 7 6 ALL >S WELL THA T ENDS WELL. 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, in- deed. 81 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. Bertram. Where are my other men, monsieur ? — Farewell. \Exit Helena. 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. COURT OF THE DUKES PALACE, FLORENCE. ACT III. Scene I. Florence. The Duke's Palace. Flourish. Enter the Duke of Florence, attended ; the two Frenchmen, with a troop of 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. i Lord. Holy seems the quarrel Upon your grace's part; black and fearful On the opposer. 7 8 ALL 'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL,. Duke. Therefore we marvel much our cousin France Would in so just a business shut his bosom Against our borrowing prayers. 2 Lord. Good my lord, The reasons of our state I cannot yield to 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. i 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 20 Shall on them settle. You know your places well ; When better fall, for your avails they fell : To-morrow to the field. {Flourish. Exeunt. Scene II. Rousillon. The Countess's Palace. Enter Countess and Clown. Countess. It hath happened all as I would have had it, save that he comes not along with her. Clow?i. 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 knew a man that had this trick of melancholy hold a goodly manor for a song. 9 Countess. Let me see what he writes, and when he means to come. [ Opening a letter. ACT III. SCENE II. 79 Clown. I have no mind to Isbel since I was at court : our old ling and our Isbels o' the country are nothing like your old ling and your Isbels o' the court; the brains of my Cupid 's knocked out, and I begin to love, as an old man loves money, with no stomach. Countess. What have we here ? i 7 Clown. E'en that you have there. [Exit. Countess. [Reads] / 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 misprising of a maid too virtuous For the contempt of empire. Re-enter Clown. Clown. O madam, yonder is heavy news within between two soldiers and my young lady ! 3 i Countess. What is the matter ? Clown. Nay, there is some comfort in the news, some com- fort; your son will not be killed so soon as I thought he would. Countess. Why should he be killed? Clozvn. So say I, madam, if he run away, as I hear he does ; the danger is in standing to 't. Here they come will tell you more; for my part, I only hear your son was run away. [Exit. Enter Helena and two Gentlemen. i Gentleman. Save you, good madam. 4 o Helena. Madam, my lord is gone, for ever gone. 2 Gentleman. Do not say so. 8o ALL 'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 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? 2 Gentleman. Madam, he 's gone to serve the duke of Florence. We met him thitherward; for thence we came, And, after some dispatch in hand at court, Thither we bend again. 5° Helena. Look on his letter, madam ; here 's my passport. [Reads] When thou canst get the ring upon my finger which ?iever 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 i then* I write a ' never. .' This is a dreadful sentence. Countess. Brought you this letter, gentlemen ? 1 Gentleman. Ay, madam, And for the contents' sake are sorry for our pains. Countess. I prithee, lady, have a better cheer; If thou engrossest all the griefs are thine, 60 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? 2 Gentleman. Ay, madam. Countess. And to be a soldier ? 2 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? 1 Gentleman. Ay, madam, with the swiftest wing of speed. Helena. [Reads] Till I have no wife, I have nothing in France. i° 'T is bitter. Countess. Find you that there ? Helena. Ay, madam. ACT III. SCENE II. 8 1 i Gentleman. 'T is but the boldness of his hand, which, haply, His heart was not consenting to. Countess. Nothing in France, until he have no wife! There 's nothing here that is too good for him But only she ; and she deserves a lord That twenty such rude boys might tend upon And call her hourly mistress. — Who was with him ? .1 Gentleman. A servant only, and a gentleman So Which I have sometime known. Countess. Parolles, was it not ? i 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. i Gentleman. Indeed, good lady, The fellow has a deal of that too much, Which holds him much to have. Countess. You 're welcome, gentlemen. I will entreat you, when you see my son, To tell him that his sword can never win 9 o The honour that he loses ; more I '11 entreat you Written to bear along. 2 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, Rousillon, none in France; Then hast thou all again. Poor lord ! is 't I That chase thee from thy country, and expose ioo 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 F 8 2 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. Wast shot at with fair eyes, to be the mark Of smoky muskets ? you leaden messengers, That ride upon the violent speed of fire, Fly with false aim ; move the still-piecing air, That sings with piercing; do not touch my lord! Whoever shoots at him, I set him there ; Whoever charges on his forward breast, »» I am the caitiff that do hold him to 't ; And, though I kill him not, I am the cause His death was so effected. Better 't were I met the ravin lion when he roar'd With sharp constraint of hunger ; better 't were That all the miseries which nature owes Were mine at once. No, come thou home, Rousillon, 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. 120 Shall I stay here to do 't? 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 '11 steal away. [Exit. Scene III. Florence. Before the Duke's Palace. Flourish. Enter the Duke of Florence, Bertram, Lords, Soldiers, Drum, and Trumpets. 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 '11 strive to bear it for your worthy sake To the extreme edge of hazard. ACT III. SCENE IV. 83 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 10 A lover of thy drum, hater of love. \Exeunt. Scene IV. Rousillon. The Countess's Palace. 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] / am Saint Jaaues' 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. Write, write, that from the bloody course of war My dcai'est master, your dear son, may hie ; Bless him at home in peace, whilst I from far ia His name with zealous fervour sanctify. His taken labours bid him me forgive ; I, his despiteful Juno, sent him forth From courtly friends, with campmgfoes to live, Where death and danger dogs 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 ! Rinaldo, you did never lack advice so much, As letting her pass so ; had I spoke with her, 20 I could have well diverted her intents, Which thus she hath prevented. Steward. Pardon me, madam. 8 4 ALL \S" WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 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, Rinaldo, To this unworthy husband of his wife ; 3 o 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. — ■ 4 o My heart is heavy and mine age is weak ; Grief would have tears, and sorrow bids me speak. [Exeunt Scene V. Florence. Without the walls. A tucket afar off. Enter an old Widow of Florence, Diana, Violenta, and Mariana, with 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 hon- ourable service. Widow. It is reported that he has taken their greatest commander, and that with his own hand he slew the duke's brother. [Tucket.] We have lost our labour, they are gone a contrary way ; hark ! you may know by their trumpets. 8 Mariana. Come, let 's return again, and suffice ourselves ACT III. SCENE V. 85 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 so- licited 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. 25 Diana. You shall not need to fear me. Widow. I hope so. — Enter Helena, disguised like a Pilgrim. Look, here comes a pilgrim. I know she will lie at my house ; thither they send one another. I '11 question her. — God save you, pilgrim ! whither are you bound ? 30 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? Widow. Ay, marry, is 't. — [A march afar.] 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? 40 86 ALL 'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 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 Rousillon ; know you such a one? Helena. But by the ear, that hears most nobly of him ; His face I know not. Dia?ia. Whatsome'er he is, He 's bravely taken here. He stole from France, As 't is reported, for the king had married him S o 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! 60 'T is a hard bondage to become the wife Of a detesting lord. Widow. I write, 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 ? May be the amorous count solicits her In the unlawful purpose. Widow. He does indeed, ACT III. SCENE V. 87 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 70 In honestest defence. Mariana. The gods forbid else ! Widow. So, now they come. Drum and Colours. E?iter Bertram, Parolles, and the whole army. That is Antonio, the duke's eldest son ; That, Escalus. Helena. Which is the Frenchman ? Diana. He ; That with the plume : 't is 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. 'T is pity he is not honest. Yond 's that same knave That leads him to these places ; were I his lady, 80 I would poison that vile rascal. Helena. ' Which is he ? Diana. That jack-an-apes with scarfs ; why is he melan- choly ? Helena. Perchance he 's hurt i' the battle. Parolles. Lose our drum ! well. Mariana. He 's shrewdly vexed at something ; look, he has spied us. Widow. Marry, hang you ! Mariana. And your courtesy, for a ring-carrier ! \Exeitnt Bertram, Parolles, and army. Widow. The troop is past. Come, pilgrim, I will bring you Where you shall host ; of enjoin'd penitents 9 r There 's four or five, to great Saint Jaques bound, Already at my house. Helena. I humbly thank you. 88 ALL 'S WELL THA T ENDS WELL. Please it this matron and this gentle maid To eat with us to-night, 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 '11 take your offer kindly. [Exeunt. Scene VI. Camp before Florence. Enter Bertram and the two French Lords. i Lord. Nay, good my lord, put him to 't ; let him have his way. 2 Lord. If your lordship find him not a hilding, hold me no more in your respect. i Lord. On my life, my lord, a bubble. Bertram. Do you think I am so far deceived in him ? i 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. " 2 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 clanger fail you. Bertram. I would I knew in what particular action to try him. 2 Lord. None better than to let him fetch off his drum, which you hear him so confidently undertake to do. i Lord. I, with a troop of Florentines, will suddenly sur- prise 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 com- ACT III. SCENE VI 89 pulsion of base fear, offer to betray you and deliver all the intelligence in his power against you, and that with the di- vine forfeit of his soul upon oath, never trust my judgment in any thing. 2g 2 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 coun- terfeit 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. 1 Lord. [Aside to Bertram.'] O, for the love of laughter, hinder not the humour of his design ! let him fetch off his drum in any hand. Bertram. How now, monsieur! this drum sticks sorely in your disposition. 40 2 Lord. A pox on 't, let it go; 't is 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! 2 Lord. That was not to be blamed 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. 50 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 ser- vice is seldom attributed to the true and exact performer, I would have that drum or another, or hie jacet. Bertram. Why, if you have a stomach, to 't, monsieur. If you think your mystery in stratagem can bring this instru- ment of honour again into his native quarter, be magnani- mous in the enterprise and go on ; I will grace the attempt 9° ALL 'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. for a worthy exploit. If you speed well in it, the cluke shall both speak of it, and extend to you what further becomes his greatness, even to the utmost syllable of your worthiness. 62 Parolles. By the hand of a soldier, I will undertake it. Bertram. But you must not now slumber in it. Parolles. I '11 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? 70 Parolles. I know not what the success will be, my lord; but the attempt I vow. Bertram. I know thou 'rt valiant, and, to the possibility of thy soldiership, will subscribe for thee. Farewell. Parolles. I love not many words. [Exit. 1 Lord. No more than a fish loves water. — Is not this a strange fellow, my lord, that so confidently seems to under- take this business, which he knows is not to be done? damns himself to do, and dares better be damned than to do 't? 79 2 Lord. You do not know him, my lord, as we do. Cer- tain 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 ? 1 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 to-night; for in- deed he is not for your lordship's respect. 89 2 Lord. We '11 make you some sport with the fox ere we case him. He was first smoked by the old lord Lafeu. When his disguise and he is parted, tell me what a sprat you shall find him ; which you shall see this very night. 1 Lord. I must go look my twigs; he shall be caught. ACT III. SCENE VII. 91 Bertram. Your brother he shall go along with me. 1 Lord. As 't please your lordship. I '11 leave you. [Exit. Bertram. Now will I lead you to the house, and show you The lass I spoke of. 2 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, 100 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 ? 2 Lord. With all my heart, my lord. [Exeunt. Scene VII. Florence. The Widow's House. 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 fallen, 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, 10 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 You 're great in fortune. Helena. Take this purse of gold, And let me buy your friendly help thus far, Which I will overpay and pay again 9 2 ALL \S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. When I have found it. The count he wooes your daughter, Lays down his wanton siege before her beauty, Resolved to carry her; let her in fine consent, As we '11 direct her how 't is best to bear it. 20 Now his important blood will nought deny That she '11 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 clear, Howe'er repented after. Widow. Now I see The bottom of your purpose. Helena. You see it lawful, then ; it is no more 30 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 this, To marry her, I '11 add three thousand crowns To what is past 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 music of all sorts and songs compos'd S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. Bertram. What shall be done to him ? i Lord. Nothing, but let him have thanks. Demand of him my condition, and what credit I have with the duke. i 59 i Soldier. Well, that 's set down. [Reads] 'You shall de- mand of him, whether o?ie Captain Duntain be ? the camp, a Frenchman ; what his reputation is with the duke ; what his valour, honesty, and experttiess 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. i Soldier. Do you know this Captain Dumain ? Parolles. I know him : a' was a botcher's prentice in Paris, from whence he was whipped. i 7 i Bertram. Nay, by your leave, hold your hands ; though I know his brains are forfeit to the next tile that falls. i Soldier. Well, is this captain in the Duke of Florence's camp ? Parolles. Upon my knowledge, he is, and lousy. i Lord. Nay, look not so upon me ; we shall hear of your lordship anon. i Soldier. What is his reputation with the duke ? 179 Parolles. The duke knows him for no other but a poor of- ficer 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. 1 Soldier. Marry, we '11 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. 1 Soldier. Here 't is; 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. 190 1 Lord. Excellently. ACT IV. SCENE III 10 $ i Soldier. [Reads] ' Dian, the count 's a fool, and full of gold;— Parolles. That is not the duke's letter, sir ; that is an ad- vertisement to a proper maid in Florence, one Diana, to take heed of the allurement of one Count Rousillon, a foolish idle boy, but for all that very ruttish. I pray you, sir, put it up again. i Soldier. Nay, I '11 read it first, by your favour. i 99 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. Bertram. Damnable both-sides rogue ! i Soldier. [Reads] ' When he swears oaths, bid him drop gold, and take it ; After he scores, he never pays the score : Half iv oil 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 me 11 with, boys are ?wt to kiss : For count of this, the count } s a fool, I know it, 210 Who pays before, but not when he does owe it. Thine, as he vowed to thee 'm thine ear, Parolles.' Bertram. He shall be whipped through the army with this rhyme in 's forehead. 2 Lord. This is your devoted friend, sir, the manifold lin- guist and the armipotent soldier. Bertram. I could endure any thing before but a cat, and now he 's a cat to me. 1 Soldier. I perceive, sir, by the general's looks, we shall be fain to hang you. 220 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 any where, so I may live. 106 ALL 'S WELL TIL AT ENDS WELL. i Soldier. We '11 see what may be done, so you confess freely; therefore, once more to this Captain Dumain. You have answered to his reputation with the duke and to his valour; what is his honesty ? 228 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 'em he is stronger than Her- cules. 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 bed-clothes about him ; but they know his condi- tions and lay him in straw. I have but little more to say, sir, of his honesty : he has every thing that an honest man should not have ; what an honest man should have, he has nothing. 1 Lord. I begin to love him for this. 240 Bertram. For this description of thine honesty? A pox upon him for me, he 's more and more a cat. 1 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 soldier- ship 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. 1 Lord. He hath out-villained villany so far, that the rarity redeems him. 251 Bertram. A pox on him, he 's a cat still. 1 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. 1 Soldier. What 's his brother, the other Captain Dumain ? 2 Lord. Why does he ask him of me ? ACT IV. SCENE III. 107 1 Soldier. What 's he ? 260 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. 1 Soldier. If your life be saved, will you undertake to be- tray the Florentine ? Parolles. Ay, and the captain of his horse, Count Rousillon. 1 Soldier. I '11 whisper with the general, and know his pleasure. 270 Parolles. [Aside] I '11 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 ? 1 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. — Come, headsman, off with his head. 2S1 Parolles. O Lord, sir, let me live, or let me see my death ! 1 Soldier. That shall you, and take your leave of all your friends. [ Unblinding him. So, look about you ; know you any here ? Bertram. Good morrow, noble captain. 2 Lord. God bless you, Captain Parolles. 1 Lord. God save you, noble captain. 2 Lord. Captain, what greeting will you to my Lord La- feu ? I am for France. 290 1 Lord. Good captain, will you give me a copy of the son- net you writ to Diana in behalf of the Count Rousillon? an I were not a very coward, I 'd compel it of you; but fare you well. [Exeunt Bertram and Lords. io 8 ALL "S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. i Soldier. You are undone, captain, all but your scarf; that has a knot on 't yet. Parolles. Who cannot be crushed with a plot? i Soldier. If you could find out a country where but women were that had received so much shame, you might begin an impudent nation. Fare ye well, sir. I am for France too; we shall speak of you there. [Exit, with Soldiers. Parolles. Yet am I thankful; if my heart were great, 302 'T would burst at this. Captain I '11 be no more, But I will eat and drink, and sleep as soft As captain shall ; simply the thing I am Shall make me live. Who knows himself a braggart, Let him fear this, for it will come to pass That every braggart shall be found an ass. Rust, sword ! cool, blushes ! and, Parolles, live Safest in shame ! being fool'd, by foolery thrive ! 310 There 's place and means for every man alive. I '11 after them. [Exit. Scene IV. Florence. The Widow's House. Enter Helena, Widow, and Diana. Helena. That you may well perceive I have not wrong'd you, One of the greatest in the Christian world Shall be my surety; fore whose throne 't is 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, 10 I am supposed dead : the army breaking, My husband hies him home; where, heaven aiding, ACT IV. SCENE V. 109 And by the leave of my good lord the king, We '11 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 20 And helper to a husband. But, O strange men ! That can such sweet use make of what they hate, When saucy trusting of the cozen'd thoughts Defiles the pitchy night; so lust doth play With what it loathes for that which is away. But more of this hereafter. — You, Diana, Under my poor instructions yet must suffer Something in my behalf. Diana. Let death and honesty Go with your impositions, I am yours Upon your will to suffer. Helena. Yet, I pray you ; 30 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 wagon is prepar'd, and time revives us. All 's well that ends well: still the fine 's the crown ; Whate'er the course, the end is the renown. {Exeunt. Scene V. Rousillon. The Countess's Palace. Enter Countess, Lafeu, anal Clown. Lafeu. No, no, no, your son was misled with a snipt-taffeta fellow there, whose villanous saffron would have made all the unbaked and doughy youth of a nation in his colour; IIO ALL y S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. your daughter-in-law had been alive at this hour, and your son here at home, more advanced by the king than by that red-tailed humble-bee I speak of. Countess. I would I had not known him ! it was the death of the most virtuous gentlewoman that ever nature had praise for creating. If she had partaken of my flesh, and cost me the dearest groans of a mother, I could not have owed her a more rooted love. u Lafeu. 'T was a good lady, 't was 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. Lafeu. They are not herbs, you knave ; they are nose-herbs.- Clown. I am no great Nebuchadnezzar, sir ; I have not much skill in grass. Lafeu. Whether dost thou profess thyself, — a knave or a fool ? 20 Clown. A fool, sir, at a woman's service, and a knave at a man's. Lafeu. Your distinction ? Clown. I would cozen the man of his wife and do his service. Lafeu. So you were a knave at his service, indeed. I will subscribe for thee, thou art both knave and fool. Clown. At your service. Lafeu. ' No, no, no. Clown. Why, sir, if I cannot serve you, I can serve as great a prince as you are. 30 Lafeu. Who 's that? a Frenchman? Clown. Faith,. sir, a' has an English name ; but his fisnomy is more hotter in France than there. Lafeu. What prince is that? Clown. The black prince, sir; alias, the prince of darkness ; alias, the devil. Lafeu. Hold thee, there 's my purse. I give thee not this to suggest thee from thy master thou talkest of; serve him still. ACT IV. SCENE V. m 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 re- main in 's qourt. 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 '11 be for the flowery way that leads to the broad gate and the great fire. Lafac. Go thy ways, I begin to be aweary of thee ; and I tell thee so before, because I would not fall out with thee. Go thy ways, let my horses be well looked to, without any tricks. so Clown. If I put any tricks upon 'em, sir, they shall be jades' tricks, which are their own right by the law of nature. [Exit Lafeu. A shrewd knave and an unhappy. Countess. So 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. 57 Lafeu. I like him well ; 't is 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 promised me to do it ; and, to stop up the displeasure he hath con- ceived against your son, there is no fitter matter. How does your ladyship like it? Countess. With very much content, my lord; and I wish it happily effected. Lafeu. His highness comes post from Marseilles, of as able body as when he numbered thirty ; he will be here to- morrow, or I am deceived by him that in such intelligence hath seldom failed. 72 Countess. It rejoices me, that I hope I shall see him ere I H2 ALL'S WELL TLLAT ENDS WELL. die. I have letters that my son will be here to-night; I shall beseech your lordship to remain with me till they meet to- gether. Lafeu. Madam, I was thinking with what manners I might safely be admitted. Countess. You need but plead your honourable privilege. Lafcu. Lady, of that I have made a bold charter ; but I thank my God it holds yet. 8l Re-enter Clown. Clown. O madam, yonder 's my lord your son with a patch of velvet on 's face : whether there be a scar under 't or no, the velvet knows ; but 't is a goodly patch of velvet. His left cheek is a cheek of two pile and a half, but his right cheek is worn bare. Lafeu. A scar nobly got, or a noble scar, is a good livery of honour ; so belike is that. Clown. But it is your carbonadoed face. Lafeu. Let us go see your son, I pray you ; I long to talk with the young noble soldier. 91 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. fe MARSEILLES. ACT V. Scene I. Marseilles. A Street. Enter Helena, Widow, and Diana, with two Attendants. Helena. But this exceeding posting day and night Must wear your spirits low; we cannot help it: But since you have made the days and nights as one, To wear your gentle limbs in my affairs, Be bold you do so grow in my requital As nothing can unroot you. — In happy time! Enter a Gentleman. This man may help me to his majesty's ear, If he would spend his power.— God save you, sir. Gentleman. And you. H ii4 ALL 'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. Helena. Sir, I have seen you in the court of France. 10 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 20 To come into his presence. Gentleman. The king 's not here. Helena. Not here, sir! Gentleman. Not, indeed; He hence remov'd last night and with more haste Than is his use. Widow. Lord, how we lose our pains ! Helena. All 's well that ends well yet, Though time seem so adverse and means unfit. — I do beseech you, whither is he gone? Gentleman. Marry, as I take it, to Rousillon, Whither I am going. Helena. I do beseech you, sir, Since you are like to see the king before me, 30 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 '11 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. [Exeinit. ACT V. SCENE II. 115 Scene II. Rousillon. Before the Countess's Palace. Enter Clown and Parolles. Parolles. Good Monsieur Lavache, give my Lord Lafeu this letter. I have ere now, sir, been better known to you, when I have held familiarity with fresher clothes; but I am now, sir, muddied in fortune's mood, and smell somewhat strong of her strong displeasure. Clown. Truly, fortune's displeasure is but sluttish, if it smell so strongly as thou speakest of; I will henceforth eat no fish of fortune's buttering. Prithee, allow the wind. Parolles. Nay, you need not to stop your nose, sir; I spake but by a metaphor. IO Clown. Indeed, sir, if your metaphor stink, I will stop my nose; or against any man's metaphor. Prithee, get thee further. Parolles. Pray you, sir, deliver me this paper. Clown. Foh! prithee, stand away; a paper from fortune's close-stool to give to a nobleman! Look, here he comes himself. — Enter Lafeu. Here is a purr of fortune's, sir, or of fortune's cat, — but not a musk-cat, — that has fallen into the unclean fishpond of her displeasure, and, as he says, is muddied withal. Pray you, sir, use the carp as you may; for he looks like a poor, de- cayed, ingenious, foolish, rascally knave. I do pity his dis- tress in my similes of comfort and leave him to your lord- ship. [Exit. Parolles. My lord, I am a man whom fortune hath cruelly scratched. 26 Lafeu. And what would you have me to do? 'T is too late to pare her nails now. Wherein have you played the knave with fortune, that she should scratch you, who of her- self is a good lady and would not have knaves thrive long -nC ALL 'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. under her? There 's a quart d'ecu for you. Let the justices make you and fortune friends ; I am for other business. 32 Pai'olles. I beseech your honour to hear me one single word. Lafeu. You beg a single penny more. Come, you shall ha 't ; save your word. Parolles. My name, my good lord, is Parolles. Lafeu. You beg more than a word, then. Cox my pas- sion ! give me your hand. How does your drum ? Pai'olles. O my good lord, you were the first that found me ! Lafeu. Was I, in sooth? and I was the first that lost thee. Parolles. It lies in you, my lord, to bring me in some grace, for you did bring me out. 43 Lafeu. Out upon thee, knave ! dost thou put upon me at once both the office of God and the devil ? One brings thee in grace, and the other brings thee out. \Trumpets souua 7 .] The king 's coming ; I know by his trumpets. Sirrah, in- quire further after me; I had talk of you last night. Though you are a fool and a knave, you shall eat ; go to, follow. Parolles. I praise God for you. [Exeunt. Scene III. Rousillon. The Countess's Palace. Flourish. Enter King, Countess, Lafeu, Lords, Gentlemen, Attendants, etc. 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. T is 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, ACT V. SCENE III. 117 I have forgiven and forgotten all, Though my revenges were high bent upon him, 10 And watch'd the time to shoot. Lafeu. This I must say — But first I beg my pardon — the young lord Did to his majesty, his mother, and his lady Offence of mighty note, but to himself The greatest wrong of all. He lost a wife Whose beauty did astonish the survey Of richest eyes, whose words all ears took captive, Whose dear perfection hearts that scorn'd to serve Humbly call'd mistress. King. Praising what is lost Makes the remembrance dear. Well, call him hither; 20 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 we do bury The incensing relics of it. Let him approach, A stranger, no offender ; and inform him So 't is our will he should. Gentleman. . I shall, my liege. [Exit. King. What says he to your daughter? have you spoke? Lafeu. All that he is hath reference to your highness. King. Then shall we have a match. I have letters sent me 30 That set him high in fame. Enter Bertram. Lafeu. He looks well on 't. King. I am not a day of season, For thou mayst see a sunshine and a hail In me at once: but to the brightest beams Distracted clouds give way; so stand thou forth; The time is fair again. n8 ALL \S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 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 40 The inaudible and noiseless foot of Time Steals ere we can effect them. You remember The daughter of this lord? Bertram. Admiringly, my liege, at first I stuck my choice upon her, ere my heart Durst make too bold a herald of my tongue; Where the impression of mine eye infixing, Contempt his scornful perspective did lend me, Which warp'd the line of every other favour, Scorn'd a fair colour or express'd it stolen, so 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 60 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 : ACT V. SCENE III. 119 The main consents are had; and here we '11 stay To see our widower's second marriage-day. 7° Countess. Which better than the first, O dear heaven, bless! Or, ere they meet, in me, O nature, cesse! La/en. Come on, my son, in whom my house's name Must be digested, give a favour from you To sparkle in the spirits of my daughter, That she may quickly come. {Bertram gives a ring.] By my old beard, And every hair that 's on 't, Helen, that 's dead, Was a sweet creature ; such a ring as this, The last that e'er I took her leave at court, I saw upon her finger. Bertram. Hers it was not. 80 King. Now, pray you, let me see it; for mine eye, While I was speaking, oft was fasten'd to 't. — This ring was mine ; and, when I gave it Helen, I bade her, if her fortunes ever stood Necessitied to help, that by this token I would relieve her. Had you that craft, to reave her Of what should stead her most ? Bertram. My gracious sovereign, Howe'er it pleases you to take it so, The ring was never hers. Countess. Son, on my life, I have seen her wear it; and she reckon'd it 90 At her life's rate. Lafeu. 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 I20 ALL 'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. I could not answer in that course of honour As she had made the overture, she ceas'd In heavy satisfaction and would never no 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; 't was mine, 't was Helen's, Whoever gave it you. Then, if you know That you are well acquainted with yourself, Confess 't was 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 — no 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, — 't will 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. — 120 [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 '11 sift this matter further. Bertram. If you shall prove This ring was ever hers, you shall as easy Prove that I husbanded her bed in Florence, Where yet she never was. [£xit, guarded. King. I am wrapp'd in dismal thinkings. ACT V. SCENE III. I2I Enter a Gentleman. Gentleman. Gracious sovereign, Whether I have been to blame or no, I know not. Here 's a petition from a Florentine, i 3 o Who hath for four or five removes come short To tender it herself. I undertook it, Vanquish'd thereto by the fair grace and speech Of the poor suppliant, who by this I know Is here attending; her business looks in her With an importing visage, and she told me, In a sweet verbal brief, it did concern Your highness with herself. King. [Reads] 'Upon his many protestations to marry me when his wife was dead, I blush to say it, he won me. Now is the Count Rousillon a widower; his vows are forfeited to me, and my honour 7 s paid to him. He stole from Florence, taking no leave, and I follow him to his country for justice. Grant it me, O king! in you it best lies ; otherwise a seducer flourishes, and a poor maid is undone. Diana Capilet.' Lafeu. I will buy me a son-in-law in a fair, and toll for this; I '11 none of him. King. The heavens have thought well on thee, Lafeu, To bring forth this discovery. — Seek these suitors. Go speedily and bring again the count. — i S o I am afeard the life of Helen, lady, Was foully snatclrd. Countess. Now, justice on the doers! Re-enter Bertram, guarded. King. I wonder, sir, sith wives are monsters to you, And that you fly them as you swear them lordship, Yet you desire to marry. — I22 ALL "S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. Enter Widow and Diana. What woman 's that? Diana. I am, my lord, a wretched Florentine, Derived from the ancient Capilet. My suit, as I do understand, you know, And therefore know how far I may be pitied. Widow. I am her mother, sir, whose age and honour 160 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; 170 For I by vow am so embodied yours, That she which marries you must marry me, Either both or none. Lafeu. Your reputation comes too short for my daugh- ter; you are no husband for her. Bertram. My lord, this is a fond and desperate creat- ure, 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 181 Than in my thought it lies! Diana. Good my lord, Ask him upon his oath, if he does think He had not my virginity. ACT V. SCENE III. 12 ^ 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 i 9 o 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 't is it. Of six preceding ancestors, that gem, Conferr'd by testament to the 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. 200 Lafeu. I saw the man to-day, if man he be. King. Find him, and bring him hither. [Exit an Attendant. Bertra?n. What of him? He 's quoted for a most perfidious slave, With all the spots o' the world tax'd and debosh'd, Whose nature sickens but to speak a truth. Am I or that or this for what he '11 utter, That will speak any thing? 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, 210 Madding my eagerness with her restraint, As all impediments in fancy's course Are motives of more fancy; and, in fine, I24 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. Her infinite cunning, with her modern grace, Subdued 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 — 220 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 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. 231 King. Tell me, sirrah, — but tell me true, I charge you, Not fearing the displeasure of your master, Which on your just proceeding I '11 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? 240 King. How, I pray you ? ACT V. SCENE III. I2 $ Parolks. He did love her, sir, as a gentleman loves a woman. King. How is that? Parolks. He loved her, sir, and loved her not. King. As thou art a knave, and no knave. — What an equivocal companion is this! Parolks. I am a poor man, and at your majesty's com- mand. Lafeu. He 's a good drum, my lord, but a naughty or- ator. 251 Diana. Do you know he promised me marriage ? Parolks. Faith, I know more than I '11 speak. King. But wilt thou not speak all thou knowest? Parolks. 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. 262 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. 270 King. If it were yours by none of all these ways, How could you give it him ? Diana. I never save it him. 126 ALL 'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. Lafcu. 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 aught 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 '11 never tell you. 2S0 King. Take her away. Diana. I '11 put in bail, my liege. King. I think thee now some common customer. Diana. By Jove, if ever I knew man, 't was 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 '11 swear to 't; I '11 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. King. She does abuse our ears ; to prison with her. 290 Diana. Good mother, fetch my bail. — Stay, royal sir; [Exit Widoiv. 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. So there 's my riddle : one that 's dead is quick ; And now behold the meaning. Re-enter Widow, with Helena. King. Is there no exorcist Beguiles the truer office of mine eyes? 300 Is 't real that I see ? ACT V. SCENE Iff. I2 j Helena. No, my good lord ; 'T is 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. There is your ring, And, look you, here 's your letter; this it says : ' When from my finger you can get this ring, And are by me with child,' etc. — This is done; Will you be mine, now you are doubly won ? Bertram. If she, my liege, can make me know this clearly, I '11 love her dearly, ever, ever dearly. 3 n Helena. If it appear not plain and prove untrue, Deadly divorce step between me and you ! — my dear mother, do I see you living ? Lafeu. Mine eyes smell onions; I shall weep anon. — [To Barolles] Good Tom Drum, lend me a bandkercher. So, 1 thank thee : wait on me home, I' 11 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. — 320 [To Diana] If thou be'st yet a fresh uncropped flower, Choose thou thy husband, and I '11 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, 33 o That you express content; which we will pay, With strife to please you, day exceeding day. Ours be your patience then, and yours our parts ; Your gentle hands lend us, and take our hearts. [Exeu?it. .-■-. ,::■■. I NOTES ABBREVIATIONS USED IN THE NOTES. Abbott (or Gr.), Abbott's Shakespearian Grammar (third edition). A. S., Anglo-Saxon. A. V., Authorized Version of the Bible (1611). B. and F., Beaumont and Fletcher. B. J., Ben Jonson. Camb. ed., " Cambridge edition" of Shakespeare, edited by Clark and Wright. Cf. (confer), compare. Clarke, " Cassell's Illustrated Shakespeare," edited by Charles and Mary Cowden Clarke (London, n. d.). Coll., Collier (second edition). Coll. MS., Manuscript Corrections of Second Folio, edited by Collier. D., Dyce (second edition). H. x Hudson (first edition). Halliwell, J. O. Halliwell (folio ed. of Shakespeare). Id. (idem), the same. K., Knight (second edition). Nares, Glossary, edited by Halliwell and Wright (London, 1859). Prol., Prologue. S., Shakespeare. Schmidt, A. Schmidt's Shakespeare-Lexicon (Berlin, 1874). Sr., Singer. St., Staunton. Theo., Theobald. W., R. Grant White. Walker, Wm. Sidney Walker's Critical Examination of the Text of Shakespeare (London, i860). Warb., Warburton. Wb., Webster's Dictionary (revised quarto edition of 1879). Wore, Worcester's Dictionary (quarto edition). The abbreviations of the names of Shakespeare's Plays will be readily understood ; as T. N. for Twelfth Night, Cor. for Coriolanus, 3 Hen. VI. for The Third Part of King Henry the Sixth, etc. P. P. refers to The Passionate Pilgrim ; J '. and A . to Venus and Adonis ; L. C. to Lover's Complaint ; and Sonn. to the Sonnets. When the abbreviation of the name of a play is followed by a reference to page, Rolfe's edition of the play is meant. The numbers of the lines (except for the present play) are those of the " Globe " ed. or of the "Acme" reprint of that ed. NOTES. COURT OF COUNTESS'S PALACE — PAKOLLES AND CLOWN (v. 2). ACT I. Dramatis Persons. — Not given in the folio (see Oth. p. 153). As the Clown's name appears in v. 2. 1, we follow the Camb. ed. in giving it here. The spelling in the old eds. is " Lavatch." Violenta's name oc- curs in the stage-direction at the beginning of iii. 5, but she does not say any thing. The Camb. editors suggest that possibly Diana's first speech in that scene should be given to her. 132 NOTES. In the folios Rousillon is generally spelt " Rossillion," and Helena in the stage-directions " Hellen." Scene I. — 5. In ward. " Under his particular care, as my guardian, till I come of age. It is now almost forgotten in England that the heirs of great fortunes were the king's wards. Whether the same practice prevailed in France it is of no great use to inquire, for S. gives to all na- tions the manners of England" (Johnson). According to other authori- ties, the custom did prevail in Normandy, but not in other parts of France. 9. Lack. Changed by Theo. (at the suggestion of Warb.) to "slack." Clarke paraphrases the passage thus: "Your worthiness would stir it (that is, the king's 'virtue,' favour, or kindness) up where it did not exist, rather than be without it where it exists in such abundance." 13. Persecuted. "Not very intelligibly used" (Schmidt); but perhaps = followed up (the original sense). S. has the verb nowhere else. 17. Passage. Any thing that passes, or occurs. Cf. Ham. iv. 7. 113 : "passages of experience," etc. See also T. IV. p. I49. "The Countess's parenthetical exclamation concisely pictures all the calamitous circumstances involved in that one word had — the lost par- ent, the young girl's orphanhood, her own dead husband, her son's past dwelling with her at home, and his imminent departure " (Clarke). 30. A fistula. "A sinuous ulcer" (Schmidt) ; the only instance of the word in S. Paynter's translation of Boccaccio's story (see p. 1 1 above) says : " She heard by report that the French King had a swelling upon his breast, which by reason of ill cure, was growen into a fistula." 35. Overlooking. Supervision, care. S. does not use the word in the modern sense of neglecting. 37. Virtuous qualities. "Qualities of good breeding and erudition (in the same sense that the Italians say qualita virtuoso) and not moral ones. On this account it is, she says, that, in ait ill mind, these virtuous qualities are virtues and traitors too ; that is, the advantages of education enable an ill mind to go further in wickedness than it could have done without them "(Warb.). 39. In her they are the better, etc. " Her virtues are the better for their simpleness ; that is, her excellencies are the better because they are art- less and open, without fraud, without design. The learned commentator [Warb.] has well explained virtues, but has not, I think, reached the force of the word traitors, and therefore has not shown the full extent of Shake- speare's masterly observation. Estimable and useful qualities, joined with an evil disposition, give that disposition power over others, who, by admiring the virtue, are betrayed to the malevolence. The Taller, men- tioning the sharpers of his time, observes that some of them are men of such elegance and knowledge that ' a young man who falls into their way is betrayed as much by his judgment as his passions'" (Johnson). In A. Y. L. ii. 3. 13, as Malone remarks, "virtues are called traitors on a very different ground." Clarke explains the passage thus : " We com- mend such excellencies with regret that they should be so good in them- selves, yet treacherous in their combination and effects ; and then the Countess goes on to say that Helena's merits are the better for their pure ACT I. SCENE I. I33 source, since she derives her integrity of nature from her father, and achieves her excellence herself." 42. Season. For the " culinary " metaphor, as Malone calls it, cf. T. N. lm I# 3° : "All this to season A brother's dead love, which she would keep fresh And lasting in her remembrance ;" and see also Much Ado, p. 155. Pye calls it " a coarse and vulgar meta- phor " (as Blair would probably have done) ; but K. cites, as divine au- thority for it, Matt. v. 13. 44. Livelihood. Liveliness, animation ; the only sense in S. See Rich. III. p. 214. 46. Than to have. "Than have it" (Capell's reading). The folios read " then to haue — ," but it need not be considered an unfinished speech. See Gr. 415, 416. Malone compares Sonn. 58. 1 : "That god forbid that made me first your slave, I should in thought control your times of pleasure, Or at your hand the account of hours to crave." 47. I do affect, etc. " In these, the first words she utters, Helena uses the veiled language which marks her diction throughout this opening scene. She is brooding over her secret thoughts, letting them but so in- distinctly be seen as to be undivined by those around her, and only so far perceived by the reader as to enable him to gather. what the dramatist intends to indicate. The sorrow Helena affects is that for her father's death ; the sorrow she says I have is for the inauspiciousness of her love, and for Bertram's approaching departure " (Clarke). 50. If the living, etc. "If the living be an enemy to grief, the excess soon makes it mortal ; that is, if the living do not indulge grief, grief de- stroys itself by its own excess" (Johnson). Theo. adopts the conjecture of Warb., "be not enemy," making mortal— deadly, fatal. Malone, in support of Johnson's explanation, cites W. T. v. 3. 51 : "Scarce any joy Did ever so long live ; no sorrow But kill'd itself much sooner ;" and R. and J. ii. 6. 9 : "These violent delights have violent ends, And in their triumph die." Tieck (followed by many editors) assigns this speech to Helena ; and it must be admitted that it is in the veiled and enigmatical style she uses here. See on 47 above. But, on the other hand, it seems a natural an- tithetical comment for any one to make on Lafeu's antithetical speech, and therefore may be left to the Countess, as in the folio. We think there is also some force in White's objection that "if this speech be as- signed to Helena, Lafeu's question, excited by its quibbling nature, is not put until after Bertram has turned the attention of the audience by ad- dressing another person, to wit, the Countess, whom he asks for her blessing ; in which case Lafeu's query is presuming and discourteous, and the dramatic effect awkward. But if the Countess be the last speak- er, this is avoided." T 34 NOTES. 57. Love all, etc. Cf. the advice of Polonius to Laertes, in Ham\ 3. 58 fol. See p. 31 above. 58. Be able, etc. " Rather be able to revenge yourself on your enemy in ability, than in the use of that ability ; have it in your power to re- venge, but shew Godlike in not using that power" (Dodd). 60. Checked. Chided, rebuked ; as in J. C. iv. 3. 97 : " Check'd like a bondman," etc. 61. Tax'd. Censured, reproached; as in v. 3. 204 below. See also A. Y. L. p. 142, note on Taxation. 62. That thee may furnish. "That may help thee with more and bet- ter qualifications" (Johnson). On pluck as a favourite word with S., see Rich III. p. 199, or Lear, P- 2 3 8 - 64. Unseasoned. Inexperienced. Elsewhere in S. it is = unseasonable. See 2 Hen. IV. p. 175. 68. The best wishes, etc. " That is, may you be mistress of your wishes, and have power to bring them to effect " (Johnson). 69. Comfortable. In an active sense ; as in Lear, i. 4. 328 : "A daughter, Who, I am sure, is kind and comfortable." See also R. and J. p. 216. Gr. 3. 70. My mother, your mistress. As Clarke notes, this little touch " thoroughly serves to convey the impression Bertram has of Helena, that she is a dependant in his family ; to convey the effect of his indiffer- ence to her himself, and his unconsciousness of her preference for him ; and to convey the smarting additional pang that must needs be struck into the heart of her whom he addresses in these few parting words." 71. Hold. Maintain. Halliwell quotes Baret, Alvearie : "To hold, or staie up, to maintaine, to support." 73. O, were that all I etc. " Would that the attention to maintain the credit of my father (or not to act unbecoming the daughter of such a fa- ther) were my only solicitude ! I think not of him. My cares are all for Bertram " (Alalone). 74. These great tears. Johnson explained this as = "the tears which the King and Countess shed for him ;" but, as Mason remarks, " it does not appear that either of those great persons had shed tears for him, though they spoke of him with regret." She refers to her own big tears, shed for Bertram but supposed by others to be for her father, wherefore they do more honour to his memory than those she really shed for him. Coll. says : " Her meaning seems to be, that the great tears she lets fall grace the memory of Bertram more than those she sheds for her father, her principal grief being for the departure of the former." 77. Favour. Face, look ; as in 90 below. See also v. 3. 49. 79. // were all one, etc. See p. 24 above. 82. In his bright radiance, etc. "I cannot be united with him and move in the same sphere, but must be comforted at a distance by the radi- ance that shoots on all sides from him" (Johnson). For the allusion to the Ptolemaic astronomy, see Ham. p. 254, note on Sphere. For collateral ACT I. SCENE I. I35 = indirect, cf. the only other instance in which S. uses the word, Ham. iv. 5. 206 : " If by direct or by collateral hand," etc. 88. Hawking. Hawk-like, keen. 89. Table. The tablet or other surface on which a picture was painted. Cf. Sonn. 24. 1 : "Mine eye hath played the painter, and hath stell'd Thy beauty's form in table of my heart;" and K. John, ii. I. 503 : " Drawn in the flattering table of her eye." Stee- vens quotes Walpole, Anec. of Painting : " Item, one table with the pict- ure of the Duchess of Milan . . . Item, one table with the pictures of the King's Majesty and Queen Jane," etc. Capable of— ready to take the impression of. Cf. Temp. i. 2. 353 : "Which any print of goodness wilt not take, Being capable of all ill." Cf. 148 below. 90. Trick. Trait, peculiarity. Cf. K. John, i. 1. 85 : " He hath a trick of Cceur-de-lion's face." See also Lear, p. 245. 95. Solely. Altogether (Boswell). Cf. Macb. i. 5. 71 : "solely sover- eign sway," etc. 97. Virtue'' s steely bones. " Steel-boned, unyielding, and uncomplying virtue" (Schmidt). Take place — " take precedence" (Clarke), or gain position. The Globe ed. obelizes the next line as hopelessly corrupt. Perhaps the idea is, that wisdom is " left out in the cold," while folly has more than enough. 101. And yon, monarch! Probably a mere sportive reply, like Portia's in M. of V. ii. 9. 85, and the king's in Rich. II. v. 5. 67 ; but Steevens thought there might be an allusion to "Monarcho, a ridiculous fantasti- cal character of the age of S." Cf. L. L. L. iv. 1. 101. 103. And no. " I am no more a queen than you are a monarch, or Monarcho" (Malone). 104. Are yon meditating on virginity? The dialogue which follows in the folio (see Globe ed.) was very likely an interpolation, to tickle "the ears of the groundlings" {Ham. ii. 2. 12), as Badham {Camb. Essays, 1856, p. 256) regards it. The Camb. editors call it "a blot on the play." We strike it out with less hesitation than in some similar cases. The transi- tion in Helena's reply — Not my virginity yet. There shall, etc. — is ab- rupt, either on account of the clumsy way in which the interpolation was made, or, as W. and others think, because something has been lost be- fore There shall, etc. Hanmer inserted " You 're for the court," which Johnson calls "a fair attempt," though he would be glad to think the whole speech supposititious. Steevens and Henley are satisfied with it as it stands. Taking it as it stands, it has been a question whether There refers to Bertram's love or to the court. W. says : " There can be no doubt that the court was the subject of the speech, not only because she says in the last line, ' The court 's a learning place,' but because in the courtly society of Shakespeare's day it was the fashion for gallants to avow themselves the admirers of some particular lady, and to address her as their phoenix, captain, humble ambition, or proud humility, or by 1 36 NOTES. other 'fond adoptious Christendoms.'" Clarke, on the other hand, be- lieves "Helena's there to signify her own maiden self dedicated in the fulness of affection to him she loves, and consecrated evermore to him, even though he should never accept the gift." We are disposed to think that Helena meant to be understood by Parolles as referring to the court, but with a secret reference in her own thoughts to Bertram. "The speech," as Clarke well puts it, "is an impassioned rhapsody spoken rather to herself than to the bystander ; but veiled from his knowledge by riddle-like language, and given a plausible turn to, by furnishing what may serve as the key to its ostensible object." 109. A phanix, etc. Warb. believed this and the next seven lines to be "the nonsense of some foolish conceited player." He adds: "What put it into his head was Helen's saying, as it should be read for the future : 'There shall your master have a thousand loves, A mother, and a mistress, and a friend, I know not what he shall — God send him well !' w r here the fellow, finding a thousand loves spoken of, and only three reck- oned up, ... he would help out the number by the intermediate non- sense ; and because they were yet too few, he pieces out his loves with enmities, and makes of the whole such finished nonsense as is never heard out of Bedlam." But the "pretty fond adoptious Christendoms," etc. seems thoroughly Shakespearian ; and the only difficulty after all may be that something has been lost at the beginning of the passage. III. Traitress. The critics of the last century disputed on the ques- tion whether this was "a term of endearment" or not. There can be no doubt that epithets equally whimsical are to be found in the love poetry of the time. S. uses the word only here. 115. Adoptious Christendoms. Adopted names. Steevens quotes an Epitaph in Wifs Recreations, 1640 : "As here a name and christendome to obtain, And to his Maker then return again ;" and Malone adds, from Nash, Tour Letters Confuted: "But for an author to renounce his Christendome to write in his owne commendation, to re- fuse the name which his Godfathers and Godmothers gave him in his baptisme," etc. 116. Gossips. Is sponsor for. Cf. the use of the noun (=sponsors) in W. T. ii. 3.41 (see our ed. p. 169), Hen. VIII. v. 5. 13 (see our ed. p. 205), etc. 126. And show what, etc. "And show by realities what we now must only think" (Johnson). See pp. 21, 25 above. 138. Predominant. An astrological term, like retrograde in the next line. See W. T. p. 157, ox~Macb. p. 203 (note on Is V night's predomi- nance, etc.). 145. Of a good wing. A complimentary term as applied to a falcon, and equivalent to "strong in flight;" but here used with a quibbling reference to the other sense of flight. Mason explains the passage thus : " If your valour will suffer you to go backward for advantage, and your ACT I. SCENE II. I37 fear for the same reason will make you run away, the composition that your valour and fear make in you must be a virtue that will fly far and swiftly." Clarke sees also an allusion to wing as a part of dress (a kind of sleeve ornament), or " a fleer at Parolles' flighty and extravagant at- tire ;" but this is doubtful. 146. Businesses. For the plural, cf. iii. 7. 5 and iv. 3. 79 below. See also Lear, p. 200. . 148. Capable of. Able to receive. Cf. 89 above. 156. Fated. Fateful, or invested with the power of controlling destiny. 159. What power is it, etc. " By what influence is my love directed to a person so much above me ? Why am I made to discern excellence, and left to long after it, without the food of hope ?" (Johnson). For mounts=Mts, raises, cf. Hen. VIII. i. 1. 144: "The fire that mounts the liquor till 't run o'er," etc. 161. The mightiest space, etc. "The affections given us by nature often unite persons between whom fortune or accident has placed the greatest distance or disparity, and cause them to join like persons in the same situation or rank in life " (Malone). Cf. T. of A. iv. 3. 388 : "That solder' st close impossibilities, And mak'st them kiss." Mason conjectured " The mighty and base in fortune," and St. " The wid'st apart." Malone's interpretation is confirmed by the steward's re- port of Helena's soliloquy in i. 3. 103 below: "Fortune, she said, was no goddess, that had put such difference betwixt their two estates." 164. That weigh their pains in sense. That estimate their labour by sense (Johnson), or in thought (Schmidt). Clarke makes in sense = "hy the amount of trouble and suffering involved," and also " by reason and common-sense probability of success." 165. What hath been cannot be. That is, that what has once been done cannot be done again. Hanmer reads "hath not been can't be," and Johnson favours Mason's conjecture of " ha'n't been cannot be ;" but no change is called for. Helena has in mind those weak or timid folk who do not believe the maxim, " What man has clone, man may do." 168. Attd will not leave me. Clarke remarks : " The noble mixture of spirited firmness and womanly modesty, fine sense and true humility, clear sagacity and absence of conceit, passionate warmth and sensitive delicacy, generous love and self-diffidence, with which S. has endowed Helena, renders her in our eyes one of the most admirable of his female characters. Charles Lamb, Coleridge, Hazlitt, and Mrs. Jameson have each eloquently contributed to do homage to the beauty of Helena's character — a beauty the more conspicuous from the difficulties of the story : which demanded the combination of the utmost ardour in passion with the utmost purity and delicacy, the utmost moral courage and intel- ligence of mind with the utmost modesty of nature, to complete the con- formation of its heroine." Scene II. — t. Senoys. Sienese, or inhabitants of Siena. Paynter calls them " Senois." I5 8 NOTES. 3. Braving. Defiant ; as in Rich. II. ii. 3. 112 (cf. 143) : " In braving arms." 8. Prejudicates. Used by S. nowhere else. 10. Approved so. So well proved. Cf. i. 3. 218 below : " a remedy ap- prov'd." 16. Sick for breathing. Longing or pining for exercise. See Ham. p. 272 (note on Breathing time), and cf. ii. 3. 252 below. 17. What 's he, etc. Who is he that, etc. Gr. 254 (see also 244). 18. Rousillon. The 1st folio has "Rosignoll" here, the 2d " Rosill- ion." Rousillon, or Ronssillon, was an old province of France, separated from Spain by the Pyrenees. Perpignan was the capital, as it is of the mod- ern department of Pyrenees-Orientales, which occupies nearly the same territory. 20. Frank. Liberal, bountiful ; as in Sonn. 4. 4 : "Nature's bequest gives nothing but doth lend, And being frank she lends to those are free;" Lear, iii. 4. 20 : "Your old kind father, whose frank heart gave all," etc. Curious. Careful, scrupulous. Cf. T. of S. iv. 4. 36 : " For curious I cannot be with you, Signior Baptista, of whom I hear so well." Cf. curiosity in Lear, i. 1. 6, and see our ed. p. 165. 25. As. For as after that, see Gr. 280. 29. On. For the duplication of the preposition, cf. Cor. ii. 1. 18: "In what enormity is Marcius poor in ?" For other examples, see Gr. 407. 30. Act. Action ; as in iv. 3. 43 below. Cf. also 2 Hen. IV. iv. 3. 126: "sets it in act and use," etc. Repairs. Renovates, restores; as in Cymb. i. 1. 132 : "That shouldst repair my youth," etc. 35. Ere they can hide, etc. " Ere they can invest the levity of a joke with the dignity that belongs to a man of high and courtly breeding" (Clarke). The folio has a colon after honour, joining So like a courtier to what follows. The pointing in the text is due to Blackstone. John- son, who retains the old pointing, makes hide their levity in honour— "cover petty faults with great merit." He adds : "This is an excellent observation. Jocose follies and slight offences are only allowed by man- kind in him that overpowers them by great qualities." The next lines he paraphrases thus : " He was so like a courtier that there was in his dignity of manner nothing contemptuous, and in his keenness of wit nothing bitter. If bitterness or contemptuousness ever appeared, they had been awakened by some injury, not of a man below him, but of his equal." 41. His hand. That is, the hand of the clock; his being —its. Gr. 228. 42. He us'd, etc. " He treated as beings of a different social grade " (Clarke). 43. Top. Head ; as in Lear, ii. 4. 165 : " On her ingrateful top," etc. ACT I. SCENE II. I39 B 44. Making them proud, etc. "Making them proud of receiving such marks of condescension and affability from a person in so elevated a sit- uation, and at the same time lowering or humbling himself by stooping to accept of the encomiums of mean persons for that humility" (Ma- lone). " Giving them a better opinion of their own importance, by his condescending manner of behaving to them " (Mason). 50. So in approof etc. " His epitaph receives by nothing such con- firmation and living truth as by your speech" (Schmidt). In ii. 5.2 be- low, "valiant approof "^approved valour. 53. Plausive. Pleasing, plausible (Schmidt); as in Ham. i. 4. 30: "plausive manners." Clarke explains it as "worthy of applause." 54. He scattered not in ears, etc. K. remarks : " Of course from the collect in the Liturgy : ' Grant, we beseech thee, Almighty God, that the words which we have heard this day with our outward ears may through thy grace be so grafted inwardly in our hearts, that they may bring forth the fruit of good living,' etc. " But it is noticeable that Shakspere's reverential mind very seldom adopted the phraseology of Scripture or prayer for the mere sake of or- namenting his diction, as moderns perpetually do. The passage noted is an exception ; but such are very rare. Doubts have been entertained as to Shakspere's religious belief, because few or no notices of it occur in his works. This ought to be attributed to a tender and delicate re- serve about holy things, rather than to inattention or neglect. It is not he who talks most about Scripture, or who most frequently adopts its phraseology, who most deeply feels it." 56. This. The reading of the folio, retained by W., the Camb. editors, and others ; but it is not improbable that S. wrote " Thus," as Pope and others give it. 58. When it was out. That is, when the pastime was over. 59. To be the snuff. That is, to be called a snuff. Cf. Tear, iv. 6. 39 : " My snuff and loathed part of nature should Burn itself out." 60. Apprehensive. Fantastic, fastidious. 61. Whose judgments are, etc. " Who have no other use of their facul- ties than to invent new modes of dress" (Johnson). Tyrwhitt conject- ured "feathers" (or fathers. 62. Constancies. For the plural, see Rich. II. p. 206 (note on Sights), or Alacb. p. 209 (note on loves). 64. I after him, etc. I, living after him, do wish as he did. 66. Dissolved. Separated; as in M. W.v. 5. 237 : "nothing can dis- solve us," etc. Here it may be suggested, as Clarke thinks, by the wax that precedes. 67. Labourers. Changed by Warb. to "labourer." You 're loved. The folio reading ("You 'r loued Sir"), and, as W. notes, to be preferred to the ordinary " You are lov'd," as loved is the emphatic word. 68. Lend it you. That is, give you the love ; it referring to the antece- dent implied in loved. 73. The rest. That is, the other physicians ; antithetical to him. i 4 o NOTES. 74. Several applications. Their separate or various prescriptions. For several, see Ham. p. 267. 75. Debate it. Contend for the mastery. Steevens compares Macb. ii. 2 - 7 '• " That death and nature do contend about them Whether they live or die." Scene III. — 3. To even your content. "To act up to your desires" (Johnson). Cf. Cymb. iii. 4. 184 : " but we '11 even All that good time will give us ;" that is, we '11 profit by any advantage offered. In the only other instance of the verb in S. {Oth. ii. 1. 308 : " Till I am even'd with him," etc.) it is =to be even or equal. In the present passage the Coll. MS. gives " win." 5. We wound our modesty. Clarke remarks : " Shakespeare's delicate monitions on the subject of self-praise are always fine and finely ex- pressed ;" and he refers to M. of V. iii. 4. 1 and 22. Malone misquotes T. and C. i. 3. 241 : " The worthiness of praise distains his worth, If that the prais'd himself bring the praise forth." 8. This knave. " Douce classes the Clown of this comedy amongst the domestic fools. Of this genus the same writer gives us three species : — The mere natural, or idiot ; the silly by nature, yet cunning and sarcasti- cal ; the artificial. Of this latter species, to which it appears to us the Clown before us belongs, Puttenham, in his Art of English Poesie, has defined the characteristics : — 'A buffoon, or counterfeit fool, to hear him speak wisely, which is like himself, it is no sport at all. But for such a counterfeit to talk and look foolishly it maketh us laugh, because it is no part of his natural.' Of the real domestic fools of the artificial class — that is, of the class of clever fellows who were content to be called fools for their hire, Gabriel Harvey has given us some minor distinctions : — ' Scoggin, the jovial fool ; or Skelton, the melancholy fool ; or Elderton, the bibbing fool; or Will Sommer, the choleric fool' {Pierce's Super- erogation, book ii.). Shakspere's fools each united in his own person all the peculiar qualities that must have made the real domestic fool val- uable. He infused into them his wit and his philosophy, without taking them out of the condition of realities. They are the interpreters, to the multitude, of many things that would otherwise ' lie too deep ' for words " (K.). 11. Them. The antecedent is implied in complaints and expressed in knaveries. 18. Go to the world. That is, be married. See A. Y. L. p. 195 (note on To be a woman of the world), or Much Ado, p. 133. The woman. W. reads "your woman," believing that the abbrevia- tion "y r " in the MS. was mistaken for "y e ," which is not improbable. 23. Service is no heritage. " Service is no inheritance " is a proverb in Ray's collection. 25. Barnes. The reading of the 1st folio; the other folios have "beams" or "barns." W., who reads "barns," says that "all other ACT I SCENE III. 141 editions Scotchify it into bairns ;" but V. had already given barnes, with the following note : " Barnes is the word still used in Scotland for chil- dren, with a slight change both of sound and orthography. It is on ac- count of this difference, however slight, as marking the history of lan- guage, that I have retained the old spelling, instead of conforming, with most later editors, to the Scotch." See W. T. p. 180, or Much Ado, p. I 5°- 40. You 're shallow, madam, in great friends. " You are not deeply skilled in the character or office of great friends" (Johnson). Some ed- itors follow Hanmer in reading "shallow, madam ; e'en great," etc. 42. Ears. Ploughs, tills ; as in Rich. II. iii. 2. 212 : " To ear the land," etc. See our ed. p. 192. Cf. Dent. xxi. 4, I Sam. viii. 12, Isa. xxx. 24, etc. W. savs : "the word still survives in composition in arable." The root of the A. S. erian, from which ear comes, is undoubtedly the same as that of the Latin arare, from which we get arable (arabilis). The obsolete earable (of which Nares gives sundry examples) is of course directly from ear. To in=to get in. The folio has "to Inne," and some modern eds. give "to inn." Cf. Bacon, Henry VII : " All was inned at last into the king's barne ;" Holland, Pliny: "and when this is inned and laid up in the barne," etc. 49. Charbou . . . Poysam. Malone says: "I apprehend this should be read 'old Toisson the papist,' alluding to the custom of eating fish on fast-days. ' Charbou the puritan' alludes to the fiery zeal of that sect." The Camb. editors think that " S. may have written Chair-bonne and Poisson, alluding to the respective lenten fare of the Puritan and Papist" — a suggestion made independently by a writer in Notes and Queries (3d series, iv. 106). Clarke thinks that Charbou " may involve reference to the wholesale way in which Puritan preachers menaced evil-doers with what the clown afterwards calls ' the great fire.' " Howsome'er. The 1st and 2d folios have "how somere," the 3d " howsomeere," and the 4th " howsomere." In M. of V. iii. 5. 94, the folio has " how som ere ;" and in Ham. i. 5. 84, the quartos have " how- someuer." 51. fowl. Knock; also spelt Joul, /oil, and j'ole by the editors. See Ham. p. 261. Halliwell cites B. and F., Scornful lady: " Whose head do you carry on your shoulders, that you jole it so against the post ?" 54. A prophet I "It is a supposition that has run through all ages and people that natural fools have something in them of divinity; on which account they were esteemed sacred. Travellers tell us in what es- teem the Turks now hold them ; nor had they less honour paid them heretofore in France, as appears from the old word benet for a natural fool. Hence it was that Pantagruel, in Rabelais, advised Panurge to go and consult the fool Triboulet as an oracle" (Warb.). 55. Next = nearest ; as in W. T iii. 3. 129: "home, home, the next way !" See our ed. p. 181. 59. By kind. By nature. See A. Y. I. p. 190 ; and cf. Much Ado, p. 118 (on Kind) and p. 154 (on Kindly). 65. This fair face, etc. The name of Helen reminds the Clown of this 142 NOTES. old ballad on the fall of Troy. The Coll. MS. transposes the cause and quoth she. 67. Fond done, done fond. Done foolishly and fondly ; fond often meaning foolish, as in v. 3. 176 below. The Coll. MS. adds to the line "good sooth, it was." Capell conjectured "but Paris he," as Paris, not Helen, was Priam's joy. 72. Among nine bad, etc. The Clown's arithmetic has puzzled some of the critics, and Capell suggested "none" for one ; but it is clearly right as it stands. If there are nine bad and one good, it is evident that there is one good in ten. 75. You corrupt the song. That is, misquote it. Warb. supposes that it really read li one be bad amongst nine good, There 's but one bad in ten ;" referring to Paris as the one "black sheep" among the ten sons of Pri- am who, at this period of his reign, were left out of the original fifty. 77. A purifying . 167. 204. For tax'd, cf. 121 and i. 1. 61 above ; and for debosh'd, ii. 3. 137. 209. Boarded. Addressed, wooed. See Muck Ado, p. 130, or Ham. p. 204. 211. Madding. S. does not use madden. Cf. Lear, p. 236. 212. Fancy's. Love's. Cf. i. 1.91 and ii. 3. 165 above. 214. Infinite cunning. The happy emendation of Walker for the "in- suite comming" of the 1st folio, which is followed with slight changes in spelling by the other folios. Hanmer has " in suit coming." Modern=ordmaxy, commonplace. See on ii. 3. 2 above. Johnson was in doubt whether it here means " fashionable " or " meanly pretty." Mr. W. W. Williams conjectures "modest" for modern, and D. is inclined to favour that reading. 215. Subdued me to her rate. Brought me to her price. 219. Diet. If this be what S. wrote, it may be = do scant justice ; the metaphor being taken from the restricted diet of a sick person. Malone explained the passage : " may justly loathe or be weary of me, as people generally are of a regimen or prescribed and scanty diet." Collins and Steevens are perhaps right in making diet me = deny me the rights of a wife. Cf. iv. 3. 28 above. 230. Shrewdly. Vilely. See on iii. 5. 65, 86 above. S. uses boggle no- where else, but we find boggier in A. and C. iii. 13. no. 234. On your just proceeding. That is, if you tell the truth. 235. By him. Of him. Cf. L. L. L. iv. 3. 150 : "I would not have him know so much by me," etc. Gr. 145. 247. Companion. Fellow ; contemptuous, as often. See Temp. p. 131 (note on Your fellow), or M. N. D. p. 125. 250. Naughty. Good-for-nothing. See M. of V. p. 152. 261. Derive me ill will. Cf. Hen. VIII. ii. 4. 32 : " that had to him de- riv'd your anger," etc. 263. Thou hast spoken, etc. As the king elsewhere speaks in verse, Coll.* arranges this prose as three lines (ending with canst, fine, and aside), but they are very lame ones. 264. Too fine. Too full oi finesse, too artful ; like the French tr op fine (Malone). 282. Customer. Harlot. See Oth. p. 197. 283. By Jove, etc. Perhaps, as Walker suggests, addressed to Lafeu. Cf. 289 below, where most editors insert the stage-direction " Pointing to Lafeu." 1 292. Owes. See on 196 above. 293. Surety. For the verb, cf. Cor. iii. 1. 178: " We '11 surety him." 295. Quit. Acquit. See A. Y. L. p. 169. ACT V. SCENE III. 181 298. Quick. Living. See Hen. V. p. 156, or Ham. p. 262. 299. Exorcist. One who raises spirits ; as in J. C. ii. I. 323, the only other instance of the word in S. Cf. exorciser in Cymb. iv. 2. 276, and exorcism in 2 Hen. VI. i. 4. 5. 307. When from my finger. This does not agree with the wording of the letter in iii. 2. 52 fol. As has been noted in other plays, S. is often careless in these little matters. See M. N. D. p. 122, T. N. p. 126 (note on Three days), T.of S. p. 128 (note on This seven), etc. Here, as Clarke suggests, the variation may be intentional : " Helena quotes from her husband's letter ; but, although we feel sure that she knows its every cruel sentence by heart, yet the very inaccuracy of the cited words serves to indicate the quivering of the lip that repeats them, and the shaking of the hand that holds out the paper containing them." 308. Are. The folios have " is ;" corrected by Rowe. 315. Onions. See T. of S. p. 128, note on An onion. 316. Handkercher. The spelling in the early eds., as often. See A. Y. L. p. 190, or K. John, p. 163. 318. Let thy courtesies alone. Cf. M. N. D. iv. 1. 21 : " Pray you, leave your courtesy, good mounsieur." See also Much Ado, p. 159, note on Courtesies. 320. Even. "Full" (Schmidt)'. Cf. ii. 1. 191 above. It may be=plain, freed from difficulties. 325. More and less. The reading of the folio ; ascribed by the Camb. ed. (which has "or" for and) to Theo. 326. Resolvedly. Satisfactorily, all doubts and perplexities being re- solved or removed. Cf. the verb in Temp. v. 1. 248 : "at pick'd leisure, Which shall be shortly, single I '11 resolve you, Which to you shall seem probable, of every These happen'd accidents." 329. The king \r a beggar, etc. Alluding to the old story of " The King and the Beggar," which was the subject of a ballad (to be found in Percy's Keliques) and appears also to have been dramatized. Cf. Rich. II. v. 3. 80 : " Our scene is alter'd from a serious thing, And now chang'd to The Beggar arid the King.'''' The ballad is referred to in L. L. L. i. 2. 1 14 : " Is there not a ballad, boy, of the King and the Beggar?" See also Id. iv. 1. 66, 2 Hen. IV. v. 3. 106, and R. and J. ii. I. 14. Some editors follow Rowe in making the last six lines of the play an " Epilogue." In the folio they are separated from the preceding part of the speech and printed in italics. Capell and others insert the stage- direction " Advancing." 333. Ours be your patience, etc. " Grant us your patient hearing, and accept our zealous efforts ; lend us your hands in applause, and take our hearty thanks" (Clarke). Cf. M. N. D.\. 1.444: "Give me your hands ;" and Temp. epil. 10 : "But release me from my bands With the help of your good hands." 182 NOTES. ADDENDUM. The "Time-Analysis" of the Play.— This is summed up by Mr. P. A. Daniel, in his paper " On the Times or Durations of the Action of Shakspere's Plays" {Trans, of New Skaks. Soc. 1877-79, p. 171), as fol- lows : 11 Time of the Play, eleven days represented on the stage, with intervals. "Day 1. Act I. sc. i. Interval. Bertram's journey to Court. " 2. Act I. sc. ii. and iii. Interval. Helena's journey to Court. " 3. Act II. sc. i. and ii. Interval — two days. Cure of the King's malady. " 4. Act II. sc. iii. iv. and v. Interval. Helena's return to Rousillon. Bertram's jour- ney to Florence. " 5. Act III. sc. i. and ii. " 6. Act III. sc. iii. and iv. Interval — " some two months." " 7. Act III. sc. v. " 8. Act III. sc. vi. and vii. ; Act IV. sc. i. ii. and iii. " 9. Act IV. sc. iv. Interval. Bertram's return to Rousillon. Helena's re- turn to Marseilles. " 10. Act IV. sc. v. ; Act V. sc. i. " 11. Act V. sc. ii.and iii. " Total time, about three months." INDEX OF WORDS AND PHRASES EXPLAINED. abstract of success, 169. accordingly, 156. across, 147. act (=action), 138. additions swell 's, 153. admiration (concrete), 148. adoptious, 136. advertisement, 170. advice, 160. afford you so, 166. after (piay upon), 139. after well -entered soldiers, 145. against ( = in the face of), 144. all 's well that ends well, i73, i75- . all the rest is mute, 152. allow the wind, 175 ames-ace, 152. ample (adverb), 161. antiquity, 154. appeached, 144. apprehensive, 139. approof, 139,156. approved so, 138. approves (=proves\ 164. araise. 147. armipotent, 170. artist, 151. as (omitted), 148. as (that . . . as), 138, 178. as word, 150. astringer, 175. attends (awaits), 152. authentic, 151. avails, 157. Bajazet's mule, 165. band (=bond), 167. barber's chair, like a, 150. barnes, 140. bated, 146. bed (verb), 155. beguile the supposition, 171. behaviours, 144. belike, 174. bestow, 145, i r 2. big (=proud), 142. blood (=passion), 164. boarded, 180. bold (=confident), 175. bond (=duty), 144. both our mothers, 144. braid (=deceitful), 167. braving, 139. brawn-buttock, 150. breaking ( = disbanding ), 172. breathe (=exercise), 155. breathing (=exercise), 138. brief (noun), 154. broken mouth, 152. brokes, 162. bunting, 156. businesses, 137. but (=except), 164. but like (=except as), 157. by ( = of), 180. by kind, 141. canary (a dance), 147. cap of the time, 147. capable of, 135, 137. Capilet, 179. capriccio, 155. captious, 144. carbonadoed, 174. careless, 154. case (=flay), 164. catched, 144. causeless, 151. cesse, 177. challenges itself, 153. champion, 167. change (=exchange), 159. chape, 169. Charbon, 141. charge (^expense), 153. check (=rebuke), 134. cheer, 158. choose, 153. chough's language, 165. Christendoms, 136, cites (—proves), 145. clown (professional), 140. coil (=turmoil), 146. come your ways, 148. comfortable (active), 134. commission, 155. commoner (=harlotJ, 179- companion, 180. company, 168. composition, 168. compt, 177. con him no thanks, 169. condition, 170. congied with, 169. consolate, 160. constancies, 139. content, 174. contract (accent), 154. conversation, 145. coragio! 157. coranto, 152. corrupt the song, 142. count of, 170. county ( = count), 164. cox my passion ! 176. credence, 160. Cressid's uncle, 148. curbed time, 156. curd thy blood, 143. curious (=careful), 138. curiously (--carefully), 168. curtal, 152. customer (=harlot), 180. damnable (adverb), 168. dancing sword, 146. dare blame my weakness, 148. darkly (=rsecretly), 168. day of season, 177. deadly (adverb), 178. debate it, 140. deboshed, 153, 180. delay our rebellion, 168. deliverance. 148. derive me ill will, 180. dial (= watch), 156. diet, 1 80. dieted to his hour, 168. digested, 177. 84 rNDEX OF WORDS AND PHRASES EXPLAINED. dilemmas, 163. dislikest of, 153. dissolved ( = separated), 139. dissuade succession, 161. diurnal ring, 148. dole, 154. dolphin, 151. doubling of files, 171. ears (=ploughs), 141. embossed, 164. embowelled of their doc- trine, 145. engaged, 178. enjoined (accent), 162. entertainment, 162, 165. entrenched, 147. estates (=ranks), 143. esteem (=estimate), 176. even (=full), 181. even your content, 14c. examined, 161. exorcist, 1S1. expedient, 154. expressive, 147. extreme (accent), 160. facinerious, 151. fact, 165. falls (=- befalls), 175. fancy (--love), 154, 180. fated (--fateful), 137. favour (=face), 134 fee-simple, 171. fetch off, 162. filthy officer, 161. fine (=artful), 180. fine (=end), 173. fisnomy, 174. fistula, 132. fits ( = befits), 148. fleshes, 168. fond (=foolish), 179. fond done, done fond, 142, fools (as prophets), 141. for (=because), 161. for to, 179. forehorse to a smock, 146. found ( = found out), 154, 176. frank (=liberal), 138. French crown, 150. from word to word, 164. furnish me to, 155. gamester (=harlot), 179. garter up thy arms, 155. general sovereignty, 145. go about ( = quibble), 144. go to the w r orld, 140. go under, 161. good convenience, 158. (verb), 136. grass (play upon), 174. great (play upon), 171. gross (=palpable), 144. handkercher, 181. hands (=applause), 1S1. have i' the wind. 164. hawking (^hawk-like), 135. heavy satisfaction, 178. herb of grace, 173. herbs, 174. hie jacet, 163. I high bent, 176. ! higher, 168. • higher Italy, 146. ; highly fed, 150. \ high-repented, 177. hilding, 162. i his(=its), 138, 151. hold, 158. j hold colour with, 156. ! hold (^maintain), 134, 159. holding, 166. holds him much to have, 158. home (adverb), 176. honesty (^chastity), 161. hoodman comes, 169. host (verb 1 , 162. howFome'er, 141. hiibwiie. 151. I (repeated), 156. I write man, 154. idle (=silly), 156, 164, 170. image, 150. important, 164. importing, 179. impositions, 172. in any hand, 163. in approof, 139. in good sadness, 170. in happy time, 175. in 's, 148. in most rich choice, 164. in sense, 137. in some grace, 176. in the default, 154. in their kind, 144. in (verb), 141. in ward, 132. inaudible and noiseless, 177. inform on that, 166. inform something, 166. instance ( = proof), 165. intenible, 144. inter' gatories, 170. into (=in), 151. into (=upon), 145. jades (masculine), 155. jades' tricks, 174. Jaques (dissyllable), 160. John Drum's entertainment, 162. jowl, 141. justified, 168. kept a coil with, 146. kicky-wicky, 155. kind (=nature), 141, 144. King and the Beggar, the, 181. knowingly, 145. lack not to lose still, 144. late (=lately), 143. Lavache, 131, 175. leaguer (=camp), 162. leaping into the custard, i 5 6. left off (=given up\ 145. let thy courtesies alone, 181. lie (=lodge), 161. iimed, 161. ling, 158. linsey-woolsey, 165. list ( = boundary). 147. live this present hour^.169. livelihood, 133. longing (=belonging), 167. look (transitive), 164. lordship, 179. lustig, 152. madding, 180. make a leg, 150. make it even, 150. make it probable need, 156. make ropes in such a scarre, 166. manifest, 145. Marseilles (trisyllable), 172. Maudlin, 177. me (expletive), 175. means will make means, 175. meant damnable, 168. measure ( = dance), 147. medicine (=physician), 147. mell, 170. mere the truth, 161. merely our own traitors, 168. methinks 't, 155. Mile-end, 171. militarist, 169. misprising, 158. misprision, 153. modern ( = ordinary), 151, 180. module, 169. moiety, 158. monarch, 135. monstrous (adverb), 150. monumental, 168. mood (=anger), 175. more replete, 154. INDEX OF WORDS AND PHRASES EXPLAINED. I8 5 morns, 151. mort du vinaigre ! 152. mortal ( = deadly), 133. most received star, 147. motion, 157. motive (=agent), 172. mounts (=lifts), 137. murk, 149. muse (=wonder), 157. music, 164. muster true gait, 147. mystery, 163. natural rebellion, 176. nature, 157. naughty, 180. necessitied to help, 178. Nessus, 171. next (=nearest), 141. nice, 175. note, 144. now-born, 154. O Lord, sir! 151. of a good wing, 136. of (=as regards), 153. of (=by), 180. of (=on), 162. of (partitive), 156. officed, 160. officer, 161. on (=of), 143. on (repeated), 138. on 's, 148. on my particular, 156. on your just proceeding, 180. onions, 181. only (=unless\ 143. ordinary (=meal), 154. ore, 162. outward, 157. overlooking, 132. over-night (noun), 160. owe (=own), 146, 157, 159, 180. pace, 174. palmer, 16 r. Parolles (play upon), 176. parting (=departing), 156. passage, 132. passport, 158. perfect (accent), 171. persecuted, 132. persever, 164, 166. perspective, 177. peruse, 152. pilgrim (trisyllable), 161. pilot's glass, 149. pin-buttock, 150. plausive, 139, 165.* please it, 162. pluck, 134. Plutus, 1 78. poising us, 153. port (=gate), 161. Poysam, 141. practiser, 150. predominant, 136. prejudicates, 138. presently, 155. prime (=youth), 150. profession, 148. proper, 167. property, 150, 153. pudding. 151. purr, 176. quart d'ecu, 171, 176. quatch-buttock, 150. questant, 146. quick (=living), 181. quick' st, 177. quit (=acquit), 180. quoted (=noted), 180. ravin, 159. reave, 178. relinquished of, 151. remainder, 171. removes (=stages), 179. repairs, 138. repealed, 152. repetition, 177. resolved (accent), 150. resolvedly, 181. respects (=motives), 157. revives, 172. richest eyes, 176. ring-carrier, 162. Rousillon, 132, 138. ruff (of boot), 157. sacrament, 169. saffron (in pastry), 173. sanctimony, 168. saucy, 172. scarre, 167. season (metaphor), 133. serve (play upon), 146, 166. service is no heritage, 140. set up your rest, 148. several (= separate), 140. shall (=will), 158. shrewd, 162. shrewdly, 162. 180. sick for breathing, 138. similes, 176. sire (dissyllable), 153. sith, 179. sithence, 143. smack, 165. smock, 146. smoked, 164. snipt-taffeta fellow, 173. snuff, 139. solely (=altogether), 135. solemn, 169. Spanish sword, 166. spark, 146. spirit (monosyllable), 149. sprat, 164. Spurio, 147. square our guess by shows, 149. St. Jaques' pilgrim, 160. staggers (noun), 154. stall this, 143. stead, 165, 179. steal an egg out of a cloister, 171. steal (play upon), 160. still-piecing, 159. straight (adverb), 165. strive upon, 144. stomach, 163. stronger part, 169. subdued me to her rate, 1S0. subscribed, 178. success (=issue), 145, 163. suggest (=tempt), 174. suggestions, 161. surety (verb), 180. sweet marjoram, 173. sweet verbal brief, 179. sword to dance with, 146. table (=tablet), 135. taffeta, 150. take order, 167. take place, 135. Tartar's bosom, 172. tax (=censure), 134, 149, 180. that (omitted), 158. theoric, 169. thitherward, 158. though, 170. Tib's rush for Tom's fore- finger, 150. tincture, 178. title (=want of title), 153. to ( = compared with), 155, 161. to friend, 179. to (omitted), 143, 148. to the particular, etc., 170. toll for this, 179. too-much, 159. took (=taken), 149. top (=head), 138. tortured body, 147. traitress, 136. travails in, 153. trick (=trait), 135. triple (=third), 148. tucket, 161. two pile and a half, 174. undone (play upon), 171. i86 INDEX OF WORDS AND PHRASES EXPLAIN D. unhappy, 174. unseasoned, 134. use (=habit), 175. usurping his spurs, 169. valiant approof, 156. validity, 179. vileness is so, 153. villanous saffron, 173. Virtue's steely bones, 135. virtuous qualities, 132. wagon, 173. wanton siege, 164. was run, 158. wear (=weary), 175. weigh (rvalue), 161. well fed, 154. well found, 148. what in time proceeds, 167. whatsome'er, 161. whence, 159. white death, 152- who (=which), 169. whom, 160. window of lattice, 154. with (=by), 173, 175. with his inducement, 158. woman me, 158. woodcock (=fool\ 166. worst of worst, 149. worthy, 167. worthy the note, 162. writ as little beard, 152. write (=declare), 161. yet I pray you, 172. yet (transposedj, 179. yield, 157. "Great Mars, I put myself into thy file" (iii. 3- 9)- SHAKESPEARE. WITH NOTES BY WM. J. ROLFE, A.M. The Merchant of Venice. The Tempest. Julius Caesar. Hamlet. As You Like It. Henry the Fifth. Macbeth. Henry the Eighth. Midsummer-Night's Dream. Richard III. Richard the Second. Much Ado About Nothing*. Romeo and Juliet. Othello. Twelfth Night. The Winter's Tale. King John. Henry IV. Part I. Henry IV. Part II. King Lear. Taming of the Shrew. All's Well That Ends Well. Illustrated. 16mo, Cloth, 60 Cents per Volume; Paper, 40 Cents per Volume. In the preparation of this edition of the English Classics it has been the aim to adapt them for school and home reading, in essentially the same way as Greek and Latin Classics are edited for educational pur- poses. The chief requisites of such a work are a pure text (expurgated, if necessary), and the notes needed for its thorough explanation and il- lustration. Each of Shakespeare's plays is complete in one volume, and is pre- ceded by an Introduction containing the " History of the Play," the "Sources of the Plot," and "Critical Comments on the Play." From Horace Howard Furness, Ph.D., LL.D., Editor of the "New Vario- rum /Shakespeare.'''' In my opinion Mr. Rolfe's series of Shakespeare's Plays is thoroughly admirable. No one can examine these volumes and fail to be impressed with the conscientious accuracy and scholarly completeness with which they are edited. The educational purposes for which the notes are writ- ten Mr. Rolfe never loses sight of, but like " a well-experienced archer hits the mark his eye doth level at." Rolfe's Shakespeare. From F. J. Furnivall, Director of the New Shakspere Society, London. The merit I see in Mr. Rolfe's school editions of Shakspere's Plays over those most widely used in England is that Mr. Rolfe edits the plays as works of a poet, and not only as productions in Tudor English. Some editors think that all they have to do with a play is to state its source and explain its hard words and allusions ; they treat it as they would a charter or a catalogue of household furniture, and then rest satisfied. But Mr. Rolfe, while clearing up all verbal difficulties as carefully as any Dryasdust, always adds the choicest extracts he can find, on the spirit and special "note" of each play, and on the leading characteristics of its chief personages. He does not leave the student without help in getting at Shakspere's chief attributes, his characterization and poetic power. And every practical teacher knows that while every boy can look out hard words in a lexicon for himself, not one in a score can, unhelped, catch points of and realize character, and feel and express the distinctive individuality of each play as a poetic creation. From Prof. Edward Dowden, LL.D., of the University of Dublin, Author of '" Shakspere : His Mind and Art." I incline to think that no edition is likely to be so useful for school and home reading as yours. Your notes contain so much accurate instruc- tion, with so little that is superfluous ; you do not neglect the aesthetic study of the play ; and in externals, paper, type, binding, etc., you make a book " pleasant to the eyes " (as well as " to be desired to make one wise ") — no small matter, I think, with young readers and with old. Froi?i Edwin A. Abbott, M.A., Author of " Shakespearian Grammar" I have not seen any edition that compresses so much necessary infor- mation into so small a space, nor any that so completely avoids the com- mon faults of commentaries on Shakespeare — needless repetition, super- fluous explanation, and unscholar-like ignoring of difficulties. From Hiram Corson, M.A., Professor of Anglo-Saxon and English Literature, Cor?iell University, Lthaca, A r . Y. In the way of annotated editions of separate plays of Shakespeare, for educational purposes, I know of none quite up to Rolfe's. Rolfe's Shakespeare. From Prof. F. J. Child, of Harvard University. I read your " Merchant of Venice" with my class, and found it in every respect an excellent edition. I do not agree with my friend White in the opinion that Shakespeare requires but few notes — that is, if he is to be thoroughly understood. Doubtless he may be enjoyed, and many a hard place slid over. Your notes give all the help a young student requires, and yet the reader for pleasure will easily get at just what he wants. You have indeed been conscientiously concise. Under date of July 25, 1879, Prof. Child adds : Mr. Rolfe's editions of plays of Shakespeare are very valuable and convenient books, whether for a college class or for private study. I have used them with my students, and I welcome every addition- that is made to the series. They show care, research, and good judgment, and are fully up to the time in scholarship. I fully agree with the opinion that experienced teachers have expressed of the excellence of these books. From Rev. A. P. Peabody, D.D., Professor in Harvard University. 1 regard your own work as of the highest merit, while you have turned the labors of others to the best possible account. I want to have the higher classes of our schools introduced to Shakespeare chief of all, and then to other standard English authors ; but this cannot be done to ad- vantage, unless under a teacher of equally rare gifts and abundant leisure, or through editions specially prepared for such use. I trust that you will have the requisite encouragement to proceed with a work so hap- pily begun. From the Examiner and Chronicle, N. Y. We repeat what we have often said, that there is no edition of Shake- speare's which seems to us preferable to Mr. Rolfe's. As mere specimens of the printer's and binder's art they are unexcelled, and their other merits are equally high. Mr. Rolfe, having learned by the practical ex- perience of the class-room what aid the average student really needs in order to read Shakespeare intelligently, has put just that amount of aid into his notes, and no more. Having said what needs to be said, he stops there. It is a rare virtue in the editor of a classic, and we are propor- tionately grateful for it. Rolfe's Shakespeare. From the N. Y. Times. This work has been clone so well that it could hardly have been done better. It shows throughout knowledge, taste, discriminating judgment, and, what is rarer and of yet higher value, a sympathetic appreciation of the poet's moods and purposes. From the Pacific School Jmirnal, San Francisco. This edition of Shakespeare's plays bids fair to be the most valuable aid to the study of English literature yet published. For educational pur- poses it is beyond praise. Each of the plays is printed in large clear type and on excellent paper. Every difficulty of the text is clearly explained by copious notes. It is remarkable how many new beauties one may dis- cern in Shakespeare with the aid of the glossaries attached to these books. . . . Teachers can do no higher, better work than to inculcate a love for the best literature, and such books as these will best aid them in cultivating a pure and refined taste. From the Christian Union, N. Y. Mr. W. J. Rolfe's capital edition of Shakespeare — by far the best edi- tion for school and parlor use. We speak after some practical use of it in a village Shakespeare Club. The notes are brief but useful ; and the necessary expurgations are managed with discriminating skill. From the Academy, London. Mr. Rolfe's excellent series of school-editions of the Plays of Shake- speare. . . . Mr. Rolfe's editions differ from some of the English ones in looking on the plays as something more than word-puzzles. They give the student helps and hints on the characters and meanings of the plays, while the word-notes are also full and posted up to the latest date. . . . Mr. Rolfe also adds to each of his books a most useful " Index of Words and Phrases explained." Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York. t^" A ny of the above works will be sent by mail, postage prepaid, to any part of the United States, on receipt of the price. OLIVER GOLDSMITH. SELECT POEMS OF OLIVER GOLDSMITH. Edited, with Notes, by William J. Rolfe, A.M., formerly Head Master of the High School, Cambridge, Mass. Illus- trated. i6mo, Paper, 40 cents ; Cloth, 60 cents. {Uni- form with Rolfe's Shakespeare.) The carefully arranged editions of " The Merchant of Venice " and other of Shakespeare's plays prepared by Mr. William J. Rolfe for the use of students will be remembered with pleasure by many readers, and they will welcome another volume of a similar character from the same source, in the form of the " Select Poems of Oliver Goldsmith," edited with notes fuller than those of any other known edition, many of them original with the editor. — Boston Transcript. Mr. Rolfe is doing very useful work in the preparation of compact hand-books for study in English literature. His own personal culture, and his long experience as a teacher, give him good knowledge of what is wanted in this way. — The Congregationalist, Boston. Mr. Rolfe has prefixed to the Poems selections illustrative of Gold- smith's character as a man and grade as a poet, from sketches by Ma- caulay, Thackeray, George Colman, Thomas Campbell, John Forster, and Washington Irving. He has also appended, at the end of the volume, a body of scholarly notes explaining and illustrating the poems, and dealing with the times in which they were written, as well as the incidents and circumstances attending their composition. — Christian Intelligencer, N. Y. The notes are just and discriminating in tone, and supply all that is necessary either for understanding the thought of the several poems, or for a critical study of the language. The use of such books in the school- room cannot but contribute largely toward putting the study of English literature upon a sound basis ; and many an adult reader would find in the present volume an excellent opportunity for becoming critically ac- quainted with one of the greatest of last century's poets. — Appletoiis Journal, N. Y. Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York. Hgp^ Sent by mail, postage prepaid, to any part of the United States, on receipt of the price. THOMAS GRAY. SELECT POEMS OF THOMAS GRAY. Edited, with Notes, by William J. Rolfe, A.M., formerly Head Master of the High School, Cambridge, Mass. Illus- trated. Square i6mo, Paper, 40 cents; Cloth, 60 cents. {Uniform with Rolfe s Shakespeare.) Mr. Rolfe has done his work in a manner that comes as near to per- fection as man can approach. He knows his subject so well that he is competent to instruct all in it ; and readers will find an immense amount of knowledge in his elegant volume, all set forth in the most admirable order, and breathing the most liberal and enlightened spirit, he being a warm appreciator of the divinity of genius. — Boston Traveller. The great merit of these books lie in their carefully-edited text, and in the fulness of their explanatory notes. Mr. Rolfe is not satisfied with simply expounding, but he explores the .entire field of English literature, and therefrom gathers a multitude of illustrations that are interesting in themselves and valuable as a commentary on the text. He not only in- structs, but stimulates his readers to fresh exertion ; and it is this stimu- lation that makes his labors so productive in the school-room. — Saturday Evening Gazette, Boston. Mr. William J. Rolfe, to whom English literature is largely indebted for annotated and richly-illustrated editions of several of Shakespeare's Plays, has treated the " Select Poems of Thomas Gray " in the same way — just as he had previously dealt with the best of Goldsmith's poems. — The Press, Phila. Mr. Rolfe's edition of Thomas Gray's select poems is marked by the same discriminating taste as his other classics. — Springfield Republican. Mr. Rolfe's rare abilities as a teacher and his fine scholarly tastes ena- ble him to prepare a classic like this in the best manner for school use. There could be no better exercise for the advanced classes in our schools than the critical study of our best authors, and the volumes that Mr. Rolfe has prepared will hasten the time when the study of mere form will give place to the study of the spirit of our literature. — Louisville Courier- Journal. An elegant and scholarly little volume. — Christian Intelligencer, N. Y. Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York. &T* Sent by mail, postage prepaid, to any part of tJie United States, on receipt of the price and one-sixth additional for postage. Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process. Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide Treatment Date: Feb. 2009 PreservationTechnologies A WORLD LEADER IN COLLECTIONS PRESERVATION 111 Thomson Park Drive Cranberry Township, PA 16066 (724)779-2111 LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 014 066 607 5