3925

1771

2

ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL*.

DRAMATIS PERSONA.

KING of France.
Duke of Florence.
Bertram, Count of Roufillon.

Lafeu, an old Lord.
Parolles, a parasitical

Countess of Roufillon, mother

to Bertram. Helena, daughter

to

Gerard

de Narbon, a famous phy

fol-fician, sometime fince dead. An old widow of Florence. Diana, daughter to the widow.

lower of Bertram; a coward, but vain, and a great pretender to valour.

Several young French Lords, that ferve with Bertram

in the Florentine war.

Steward, Sfervants to the
Clown, Countess of Rou-

fillon.

SCENE, lies partly in France, and partly in Tuscany.

The Countess of Roufillon's house in France.

Enter Bertram, the Countess of Rousillon, Helena, and Lafeu, all in mourning.

Countess.

N difssevering my so nfrom me, I bury a fecond husband.

Ber. 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 fubjection.

Laf. You shall find of the King a husband, Madam; you, Sir, a father. He that fo generally is at all times good, must of necessity hold his virtue to you; whose worthiness would ftir it up where it wanted, rather than flack it where there is such abundance.

Count. What hope is there of his Majesty's amend

ment?

* The plot taken from Boccace, Decam. 3. Nov. 9.

A 2

Laf.

Laf. He hath abandon'd his physicians, Madam, under whose practices he hath perfecuted time witht hope; and finds no other advantage in the process, but only the lofing of hope by time.

Count. This young gentlewoman had a father, (O that had! how fad a presage 'tis !), whose skill was almost as great as his honesty; had it stretch'd fo far, it would have made nature immortal, and death should have play'd for lack of work. 'Would, for the King's fake, he were living! I think it would be the death of the King's disease.

Laf. How call'd you the man you speak of, Madam? Count. He was famous, Sir, in his profeffion, and it was his great right to be so: Gerard de Narbon.

Laf. He was excellent indeed, Madam; the King very lately spoke of him admiringly, and mourningly: he was skilful enough to have liv'd still, if knowledge could be fet up against mortality.

Ber. What is it, my good Lord, the King languishes of?

Laf. A fistula, my Lord.
Ber. I heard not of it before.

Laf. I would it were not notorious. Was this gentlewoman the daughter of Gerard de Narbon?

Count. His fole child, my Lord, and bequeathed to my overlooking. I have those hopes of her good, that her education promises her: difpofition the inherits, which makes fair gifts fairer; for where an unclean mind carries virtuous qualities *, there commendations go with pity; they are virtues and traitors too: in her they are the better for her fimpleness; she derives her honesty, and atchieves her goodness.

Laf. Your commendations, Madam, get from her

tears.

Count. 'Tis the best brine a maiden can season her praise in. The remembrance of her father never approaches her heart, but the tyranny of her forrows takes all livelihood from her cheek. No more of this.

* By virtuous qualities here are not meant those of a moral kind, but fuch as are acquired by erudition and good breeding..

Helena;

!

Helena, go to, no more; left it be rather thought you affect a forrow, than to have it.

Hel. I do affect a forrow, indeed, but I have it

too.

Laf. Moderate lamentation, is the right of the dead, excessive grief the enemy to the living.

Gount. If the living be not enemy to the grief, the excess makes it foon mortal.

Ber. Madam, I defire your holy withes.
Laf. How understand we that?

Ber. Be thou bless'd, Bertram, and fucceed 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 filence,
But never tax'd for speech. What heav'n more will,
That thee may furnish, and my pray'rs pluck down,
Fall on thy head; farewel, my Lord;
'Tis an unseason'd courtier, good my Lord,
Advise him.

Laf. He cannot want the best,
That shall attend his love.

Count. Heav'n bless him! Farewel, Bertram.

[Exit Countess. Ber. [To Hel.] The best wishes that can be forge'd in your thoughts, be fervants to you? Be comfortable to my mother your mistress, and make much of her.

Laf. Farewell, pretty Lady, you must hold the credit of your father. [Exeunt Bertram and Lafeu.

Hel. Oh, were that all !-I think not on my fa

ther;

And these great tears grace his remembrance more
Than those I shed for him. What was he like?

I have forgot him. My imagination
Carries no favour in it, but my Bertram's.
I am undone, there is no living, none,
If Bertram be away. It were all one,

That

1

That I should love a bright partic'lar star,
And think to wed it; he is so above me:
In his bright radiance and collateral light
Muft I be comforted, not in his sphere.
Th ambition in my love thus plagues itfelf;
The hind that would be mated by the lion,
Must die for love. 'Twas pretty, though a plague,
To fee him every hour; to fit, and draw
His arched brows, his hawking eye, his curls,
In our heart's table; heart too capable
Of every line and trick of his sweet favour !
But now he's gone, and my idolatrous fancy
Must sanctify his relics. Who comes here?

Enter Parolles.

One that goes with him: I love him for his fake, And yet I know him a notorious lyar;

"Think him a great way fool, folely a coward; " Yet these fix'd evils fit so fit in him,

"That they take place, when virtue's steely bones

Look bleak in the cold wind;" full oft we fee

Cold * Wifdom waiting on superfluous Folly.

SCENE III.

Par. Save you, fair Queen.

Hel. And you, Monarch.

Par. No.

Hel. And no,

Par. Are you meditating on virginity?

Hel. Ay; you have fome stain + of foldier in you; let me afk you a question. Man is enemy to virginity, how may we barricado it against him?

Par. Keep him out.

Hel. But he affails; and our virginity, though valiant, in the defence yet is weak: unfold to us fome warlike refiftance.

Par. There is none; man, fetting down. before you, will undermine you, and blow you up.

Hel. Bless our poor virginity from underminers, and

T