DRAMATIS PERSONÆ. KING of France. DUKE of Florence. BERTRAM, Count of Roufillon. LAFEU, an old Lord. : PAROLLES, a parafitical follower of Bertram; a coward, but wain, and a great pretender to valour. Tawo young French LORDS, that ferve with Bertram in the Florentine war. STEWARD, 2 CLOWN, Servants to the Countess of Roufillon. COUNTESS of Roufillon, Mother to Bertram. HELENA, Daughter to Gerard de Narbon, a famous Phy fician, some time finçe dead. An old WIDOw of Florence. DIANA, Daughter to the Widow. VIOLENTA, r MARIANA, S Neighbours and friends to the Widow. Lords attending on the King, Officers, Soldiers, &c. SCENE lyes partly in France, and partly in Tuscany. The plot taken from Boccace, Decam. 3. Nov. 9. ALL'S ALL'S well that ENDS well. : ACT I. SCENE Ι. Roufillon in France. Enter Bertram, the Countess of Rousillon, Helena, and Count. I N delivering up my fon from me, I bury a se cond husband. Ber. And in going, Madam, I 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. a Laf. You shall find of the King 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 flack it where there is such abundance. Count. What hope is there of his Majesty's amendment ? Laf. He hath abandon'd his physicians, Madam, under whose practices he hath profecuted time with 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 bad! how fad a preface 'tis!) whose skill was almost as great as his honesty; had it stretch'd so far, it would have made nature immortal, and death should have had play 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? اگر Counfa 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 fiftula, 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 she 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, the derives her honesty, and atchieves her goodness. Laf. Your commendations, Madam, get tears from her. *Count. 'Tis the best brine a maiden can feason her praife 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, Helena, go to, no more, left you be rather thought to affect a forrow, than to have. Hel. I do affect a forrow indeed, but I have it too. * Laf. Moderate lamentation is the right of the dead, exceilive grief the enemy of the living. Count. If the living be not enemy to the grief, the excefs makes it foon mortal, Ber. Madam, I defire your holy wishes. Count. Be thou blest, Bertram, and fucceed thy father By virtuous qualities here are not meant those of a moral kind, but such as are acquired by crudition and good-breeding. Under Under thy own life's key: be check'd for filence, Laf. He cannot want the best that shall attend Count. May heaven bless him! Farewel, Bertram. ر [Exit Count. Ber. [To Hel.] The best wishes that can be forg'd in your thoughts be servants to you! be comfortable to my mother, your mistress, and make much of her. Laf. Farewel, pretty lady, you must hold the credit of your father. Exeunt Ber. and Laf. SCENE II. Hel. Oh were that all! - I think not on my father, And thefe great tears grace his remembrance more Than they are 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 I should love a bright partic'lar star, And think to wed it; he is so above me s In his bright radiance and collateral light Must I be comforted, not in his sphere. Th' ambition in my love thus plagues it self; The hind that would be mated by the lion, Muft die for love. 'Twas pretty, tho' a plague, To see 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 sanctifie his relics. Who comes here? Enter Parolles. One that goes with him: I love him for his fake, That |