Enter Rosalind, Silvius, cnd Phebe.

Ros. Patience once more, whiles our compact is urg'd:

You say, if I bring in your Rosalind,

To the Duke.
Yon will bestow her on Orlando here?
Duke S. That would 1, had 1 kingdoms to
give with her.

Ros. And you say, you will have her, when
I bring her ?
To Orlando.
Orl. That would 1, were I of all kingdoms
king.

Ros. You say, you'll marry me, if I be wil-
ling 7
To Phebe.
Phe. That will 1, should I die the hour after.
Ros. But if you do refuse to marry me,
You'll give yourself to this most faithful shep
herd ?

Phe. So is the bargain.

Ros. You say, that you'll have Phebe, if she
will?
[To Silvius.
Sil. Though to have her and death were both
one thing.

Ros. I have promis'd to make all this matter

even.

Keep you your word, O duke, to give your
daughter;-

You yours, Orlando, to receive his daughter :-
Keep your word, Phebe, that you'll marry me;
Or else, refusing me, to wed this shepherd :-
Keep your word, Silvius, that yo'il marry her,
If she refuse me and from hence I go,
To make these doubts all even.

Exeunt Rosalind and Celia.
Duke S. I do remember in this shepherd-boy
Some lively touches of my daughter's favour.
Orl My lord, the first time that I ever saw him,
Methought he was a brother to your daughter;
But, my good lord, this boy is forest-born;
And hath been tutor'd in the rudiments
Of many desperate studies by his uncle,
Whom he reports to be a great magician,
Obscured in the circle of this forest.

Enter Touchstone and Audrey.
Jaq. There is, sure, another flood toward, and
these comples are coming to the ark! Here
comes a pair of very strange beasts, which in
all tongues are called fools.

Touch. Salutation and greeting to you all! Jay Good my lord, bid him welcome: This is the motley-minded gentleman, that I have so often met in the forest: he hath been a courtier, he swears.

Touch. If any man doubt that, let him put me to my purgation. I have trod a measure; I have flattered a lady, I have been politick with my friend, smooth with mine enemy; t have undone three tailors; I have had four quarrels, and like to have fought one.

Jan. And how was that ta'en up?
Touch. 'Faith, we met, and found the quarrel
was upon the seventh cause.

Jan How seventh cause ?-Good my lord,
like this fellow.

Duke S. I like him very well.

Touch. Upon a lie seven times removed:Bear your body more seeming, Audrey: -as thus, sir, I did dislike the cut of a certain cour tier's heard; he sent me word, if I said his beard was not cut well, he was in the mind it was: This is called the Retort courteous If I sent him word again, it was not well cut, he would send me word, he ent it to please himself: This is called the Quip modest. If again, it was not well cut, he disabled my jud ment: This is called the Reply churlish. If again, it was not well cut, he would answer, I spake not true: This is call'd the Reproof valiant. W again, it was not well cut, he would say, I lie: This is called the Countercheck quarrelsome: and so to the Lie circumstantial, and the Lie direct. Jay. And how oft did you say, his beard was not well cut?

Touch. I durst go no further than the Lie circumstantial, nor he durst not give me the Lie direct; and so we measured swords, and parted. Ja7. Can you nominate in order now the degrees of the lie?

Touch. O, sir, we quarrel in print, by the book; as you have books for good manners: I will name you the degrees. The first, the Retort courteous; the second, the nip modest; the third, the Reply churlish; the fourth, the Reproof valiant; the fifth, the Countercheck quarrelsome; the sixth, the Lie with circunstance; the seventh, the Lie direct. All these you may avoid, but the lie direct; and you nay avoid that too, with an If. I knew when seven jns.ices could not take up a quarrel; but when the parties were met themselves, one of them thought but of an If, as If you said so, then I said so; and they shook hands, and swore brothers. Your If is the only peacemaker; much virtue in I

Jaq. Is not this a rare fellow, my lord 7 he's as good at any thing, and yet a fool.

Duke S. He uses his folly like a stalkinghorse, and under the presentation of that, he shoots his wit.

his

Whose heart within her bosom is.

Ros. To you I give myself, for I ain yours:-
[To Duke S.
To you I give myself, for I am yours.
[To Orlando
Duke S. If there be truth in sight, you are my
daughter.

Orl. If there be truth in sight you are my
Rosalind.

Phe. If sight and shape be true,
Why then, my love, adieu!

Ros. I'll have no father, if you be not he:-
To Duke S.

Touch God'ild you, sir; I desire you of the like. I press in here, sir, amongst the rest of the country copulatives, to swear, and to forswear; according as marriage binds, and blood breaks:-A poor virgin, sir, an ill-favoured thing, sir, but mine own; a poor humour of I'll have no husband, if you be not he:mine, sir, to take that that no man else will: Rich honesty dwells like a miser, sir, in a poor-Nor ne'er wed woman, if you be not she:house; as your pearl, in your foul oyster.

[To Orlando.

Duke S. By my faith, he is very swift and Hym. Peace, ho! I bar confusion:

sententious.

Touch. According to the fool's bolt, sir, and

such dulcet diseases.

Jaq. But, for the seventh cause; how did you find the quarrel on the seventh cause?

[To Phebo

'T'is I must make conclusion
Of these most strange events:
Here's eight that must take hands,
To join in Hymen's bands,

If truth holds true contents.

ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL.

King of France.

Duke of Florence.

PERSONS REPRESENTED.

BERTRAM, Count of Rousillon.
LAFEU, an old Lord.

PAROLLES, a follower of Bertram.
Several young French Lords, that serve with
Bertram in the Florentine war.
Steward, Servants to the Countess of Rou-
Clown, S sillon.
A Page.

Countess of Rousillon, Mother to Bertram.
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, attending on the King; Officers, Soldiers,
&c. French and Florentine.

SCENE-partly in France, and partly in Tuscany.

ACT 1.

SCENE I. Rousillon

A Room in the Countess's Palace.
Enter Bertram, the Countess of Rousillon,
Helena, and Lafeu, in mourning.
Count In delivering my son from me, I bury
a second husband.

Ber. And, 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.

Laf. You shall find of the king a husband, madam-you, 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.

Count. What hope is there of his majesty's

amendment?

Count. This young gentlewoman had a father (0, that had! how sad a passage 'tis!) 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.

Laf. How called you the man you speak of, madam?

Count. He was famous, sir, in his profession, and it was his great right to be so: Gerard de Narbon.

Laf. He was excellent, indeed, madam; the king very lately spoke of hiin, admiringly, and mourningly: he was skilful enough to have lived still, if knowledge could be set 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.

Hel. I do affect a sorrow, indeed, but I have it too.

Laf. Moderate lamentation is the right of the dead, excessive grief the enemy to the living. Count. If the living be enemy to the grief, the excess makes it soon mortal.

Ber. Madam, I desire your holy wishes.
Laf. How understand we that?

Count. 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 birth-right! 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,
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,
'Tis an unseason'd courtier; good my lord
Advise him.
Laf.
He cannot want the best
That shall attend his love.
Count. Heaven bless him!-Farewell, Ber.
[Exit Countess.
Ber. The best wishes, that can be forged in
your thoughts [To Helena.] be servants to you!
Be comfortable to my mother, your mistress,
and make much of her.

tram.

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

[Exeunt Bertram and Lafen. Hel. O, were that all !-I think not on my fa

ther;

And these great tears grace his remembrance

more

Laf. I would, it were not notorious.-Was Than those I shed for him. What was he like? this gentlewoman the daughter of Gerard de have forgot him my imagination Narbon. Carries no favour in it but Bertram's. Count. His sole child, my lord; and bequeath- I am undone; there is no living, none, ed to my overlooking. I have those hopes of her If Bertram be away. It were all one, good, that her education promises: her disposi- That I should love a bright particular star, tions she inherits, which make fair gifts fairer; And think to wed it, he is so above me: for where an unclean mind carries virtuous quali- In his bright radiance and collateral light ties, there commendations go with pity, they are virtues and traitors too; in her they are the better for their simpleness; she derives her honesty, and achieves her goodness.

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. 'Twas pretty, though a plague

To see him every hour; to sit and draw
His arched brows, his hawking eye, his curls,
In our heart's table; heart, too capable
Of every line and trick of his sweet favour;
But now he's gone, and my idola:rous fancy
Must sanctify his relicks. Who comes here?
Enter Parolles.

One that goes with him: I love him for his sake;
And yet 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 in the cold wind: withal full oft we see
Cold wisdom waiting on superfluous folly,
Par. Save you, fair queen.
Hel. And you, monarch.
Par. No.

Par. Keep him out.

Hel. But he assails; and our virginity, though valiant in the defence, yet is weak: unfold to us some warlike resistance.

Par. There is none; man, sitting down before you, will undermine you, and blow you up. Hel. Bless our poor virginity from underminers, and blowers up!-Is there no military policy, how virgins might blow up men? Par. Virginity, being blown down, man will quicklier Le blown up: marry, in blowing him down again, with the breach yourselves made, you lose your city. It is not politick in the commonwealth of nature, to preserve virginity. Loss, of virginity is rational increase; and there was never virgin got, till virginity was first lost. That, you were made of, is metal to make virgins. Virginity, by being once lost, may be ten times found: by being ever kept, it is ever lost: 'tis too cold a companion; away with it.

A guide, a goddess, and a sovereign,
A counsellor, a traitress, and a dear;
His humble ambition, proud humility,
His jarring concord, and his discord dulcet,
His faith, his sweet disaster: with a world
Of pretty, fond, adoptious christendoms,
That blinking Cupid gossips. Now shall he-
I know not what he shall:-God send him
well!-

The court's a learning-place ;-and he is one→→
Par. What one, i' faith?

Hel. That I wish well.-Tis pity-
Par. What's pity?

Hel. 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

Par. Under Mars, I.

Hel. I especially think, under Mars.
Par. Why under Mars?

Hel. The wars have so kept you under, that
you must needs be born under Mars.
Par. When he was predominant.
Hel. When he was retrograde, I think, rather.
Par. Why think you so
Hel. You go so much backward, when you
fight.

Par. That's for advantage.

Hel. So is running away, when fear proposes the safety; But the composition, that your valour and fear makes in you, is a virtue of a good wing, and I like the wear well.

Par. I am so full of business, I cannot anHel. I will stand for't a little, though there-swer thee acutely: I will return perfect cour fore I die a virgin.

tier; in the which, my instruction shall serve Par. There's little can be said in't; 'tis against to naturalize thee, so thou wilt be capable of a the rule of nature. To speak on the part of vir courtier's counsel, and understand what advice ginity, is to accuse your mothers; which is most shall thrust upon thee; else thoa diest in thine Infallible disobedience. He that hangs himself unthankfulness, and thine ignorance makes thee is a virgin: virginity murders itself; and should away: farewell. When thou hast leisure, say be buried in highways, out of all sanctified limit, thy prayers; when thou hast none, remember as a desperate offendress against nature. Virgi-thy friends: get thee a good husband, and use nity breeds mites, much like a cheese; consumes itself to the very paring, and so dies with feeding his own stomach. Besides, virginity is pee vish, proud, idle, made of self-love, which is the most inhibited sin in the canon. Keep it not: you cannot choose but lose by't: Ont with't; within ten years it will make itself en, which is a goodly increase, and the principal itself not much the worse: Away with't.

Hel. How might one do, sir, to lose it to her own liking 7

him as he uses thee: so farewell.
[Exit.
Hel Car remedies oft in ourselves do lie,
Which we ascribe to heaven: the fated sky
Gives us free scope; only, doth backward pull
Our slow designs, when we ourselves are dull.
What power is it which mounts my love so high;
That makes me see, and cannot feed mine eye
'The mightiest space in fortune nature brings
To join like likes, and kiss like native things.
Impossible be strange attempts, to those
That weigh their pains in sense; and do suppose,
What hath been cannot be: Who ever strove
To show her merit, that did miss her love?
The king's disease-my project may deceive me,
But my intents are fix'd, and will not leave me.

Erit.

Par. Let me see: Marry, ill, to like him that ne'er it likes. "Tis a commodity will lose the gloss with lying; the longer kept, the less worth: off with't, while 'tis vendible: answer the time of request. Virginity, like an old courtier, wears her cap out of fashion; richly suited, but unruitable; just like the brooch and toothpick, SCENE II. Paris. A Room in the King's which wear not now: Your date is better in your pie and your porridge, than in your cheek: And your virginity, your old virginity, is like one of our French wither'd pears; it looks ill, it eats dryly marry, 'tis a 'wi her'd pear; it was formerly better; marry, yet, 'tis a wither'd pear: Will you any thing with it?

Hel. Not my virginity yet.

Palace.

Flourish of Cornets. Enter the King of France, with Letters; Lords and others attending. King. The Florentine and Senoys are by the

ears:

Have fought with equal fortune, and continue
A braving war.

There shall your master have a thousand loves, 1 Lord.
A mother, and a mistress, and a friend,

A phoenix, captain, and an enemy,

So 'tis reported, sir. King. Nay, 'tis most credible; we here re ceive it

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 may well serve

A nursery to our gentry, who are sick
For breathing and exploit.
King.

What's he comes here?

Enter Bertram, Lafeu, and Parolles.

1 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,

SCENE 111 Rousillon.

A Room in the Countess's Palace.
Enter Countess, Steward, and Clown.
Count. I will now hear: what say you of this
gentlewoman 7

Stew. Madam, the care I have had to even your content, I wish might be found in the calendar of my past endeavours; for then we wound our modesty, and make foul the clear

Hath well compos'd thee. Thy father's moralness of our deservings, when of ourselves we parts

May'st thou inherit too! Welcome to Paris.
Ber. 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
Fast tried our soldiership! He did look far
Into the service of the time, and was
Discipled of the bravest: he lasted long;
But on us both did haggish age steal on,
And wore us out of act. It much repairs me
To talk of your good father: In his youth
He had the wit, which I can well observe
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,
His tongue obey'd his hand who were below

him

His good remembrance, sir,
Lies richer in your thoughts, than on his tomb;
So in approof lives not his epitaph,
As in your royal speech.
King. 'Would, I were with him! He would
always say,

(Methinks I hear him now; his plausive words
He scatter'd not in ears, but grafted them,

publish them.

Count. What does this knave here? Get you gone, sirrah: The complaints I have heard of you, I do not all believe; 'tis my slowness, that I do not: for I know, you lack not folly to commit them, and have ability enough to make such knaveries yours.

Clo. 'Tis not unknown to you, madam, I am a poor fellow.

Count. Well, sir.

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

as we may.

Count. Wilt thou needs be a beggar ?

Clo. I do beg your good will in this case.
Count. In what case?

Clo. In Isbel's case, and mine own. Service is no heritage: and, I think, I shall never have the blessing of God, till I have issue of my body; for, they say, bearns are blessings.

Count. Tell me thy reason why thou wilt marry. Co. My poor body, madam, requires it: I am driven on by the flesh; and he must needs go, that the devil drives.

Count. Is this all your worship's reason? Clo. Faith, madam, I have other holy reasons, such as they are.

Count. May the world know them?

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

Count. Thy marriage, sooner than thy wickedness.

Clo. I am out of friends, madam, and I hope to have friends for my wife's sake.

Count. Such friends are thine enemies, knave.
Clo. You are shallow, madam; e'en great

To grow there and to bear)-Let me not live,-friends for the knaves come to do that for me,

Thus his good melancholy oft began,
On the catastrophe and heel of pastime,
When it was out,-let me not live, quoth he,
After my fame lacks oil, to be the snuff
Of younger spirits, whose apprehensive senses
All but new things disdain; whose judgments

which I am aweary of. He, that ears my land, spares my team, and gives me leave to inn the crop: if I be his cuckold, he's my drudge: He, that comforts my wife, is the cherisher of my flesh and blood; he, that cherishes my flesh and blood, loves my flesh and blood; he, that loves my flesh and blood is my friend: ergo, he that Mere fathers of their garments; whose con-kisses my wife, is my friend. If men could be

are

stancies

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,
1 quickly were dissolved from my hive,
To give some labourers room.
2 Lord.

You are lov'd, sir; They, that least lend it you, shall lack you first.

contented to be what they are, there were no fear in marriage: for young Charbon the puritan, and old Poysam the papist, howsoe'er their hearts are severed in religion, their heads are both one, they may joll horns together, like any deer i' the herd.

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

Clo. A prophet I, madam; and I speak the truth the next way.