Hel. Mine honourable mistress.
Count.
Nay, a mother;
Why not a mother? When I said, a mother,
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: "Tis 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,
That this distemper'd messenger of wet,
The many-colour'd Iris, rounds thine eye?
Why?- -that you are my daughter?
Hel.
That I am not.
Count. I say, I am your mother.
Hel.
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 dear lord, he is; and I
His servant live, and will his vassal die :
He must not be my brother.
Count.
Nor I your mother?
Hel. You are my mother, madam; 'Would you
(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?
Count. 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
The mystery of your loneliness, and find
Your salt tears' head. Now to all sense 'tis 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, 'tis so:-for, look, thy cheeks
Confess it, one to the 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,
That truth should be suspected: Speak, is't so?
If it be so, you have wound a goodly clue;
If it be not, forswear't: howe'er, I charge thee,
As heaven shall work in me for thine avail,
To tell me truly.
Count. Do you love my son? Flel.
Your pardon, noble mistress!
Count. Love you my son? Hel.
Do not you love him, madam?
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 intenable 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 dearest 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 scarch implies,
But, riddle-like, lives sweetly where she dies.
Count. Had you not lately an intent, speak truly,
To go to Paris?
Hel. Count. Wherefore? tell true. Hel. 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'd me In heedfullest reservation to bestow them, As notes, whose faculties inclusive were, More than they were in note: amongst the rest, There is a remedy, approv'd, set down, To cure the desperate languishes, whereof The king is render'd lost.
For Paris, was it? speak.
Hel. 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.
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, Embowell'd of their doctrine, have left off The danger to itself?
Hel.
There's something hints,
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
Count. Go not about; my love hath in't a But give me leave to try success, I'd venture bond, The well-lost life of mine on his grace's cure, Whereof the world takes note: come, come, dis-By such a day, and hour. ̧
The state of your affection; for your passions
Have to the full appeach'd.'
Hel.
Then, I confess,
Here on my knee, before high heaven and you,
That before you, and next unto high heaven,
(1) i. e. I care as much for: I wish it equally. (2) Contend.
3) The source, the cause of your grief. (4) According to their nature.
(5) i. e. Whose respectable conduct in age proves
Count.
Dost thou believe't?
Hel. Ay, madam, knowingly.
Count. Why, Helen, thou shalt have my leave,
Means, and attendants, and my loving greetings To those of mine in court; I'll stay at home,
that you were no less virtuous when young. (6) i. e. Venus.
(7) Receipts in which greater virtues were en closed than appeared.
(8) Exhausted of their skill.
King. Farewell, young lord, these warlike principles,
Do not throw from you:-and you, my lord, fare-
well:-
Share the advice betwixt you; if both gain all,
The gift doth stretch itself as 'tis receiv'd,
And is enough for both.
It is our hope, sir,
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;
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 questant2 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,
If they demand: beware of being captives,
Before you serve.
Both.
Our hearts receive your warnings.
King. Farewell.-Come hither to me.
[The King retires to a couch.
1 Lord. O my sweet lord, that you will stay
behind us.
Par. 'Tis not his fault; the spark—
2 Lord.
O, 'tis brave wars!
Par. Most admirable: I have seen those wars.
Ber. I am commanded here, and kept a coil with;
Too young, and the next year, and 'tis too early.
Par. An thy mind stand to it, boy, steal away
bravely.
Ber. I shall stay here the forehorse to a smock,
Creaking my shoes on the plain masonry,
Till honour be bought up, and no sword worn,
But one to dance with! By heaven, I'll steal away.
1 Lord. There's honour in the theft.
Par.
Commit it, count.
2 Lord. I am your accessary; and so farewell.
Ber. I grow to you, and our parting is a tortured
body.
1 Lord. Farewell, captain.
2 Lord. Sweet monsieur Parolles !
Par. 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 cicatrice, an emblem of war, here on his sinister check; it was this very
(1) i. e. Those excepted who possess modern Italy, the remains of the Roman empire. (2) Secker, inquirer.
(3) Be not captives before you are soldiers. With a noise, bustle.
(5) In Shakspeare's time it was usual for gentlemen to dance with swords on.
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Par. Use a more spacious ceremony to the noble of too cold an adieu: be more expressive to them; lords; you have restrained yourself within the list for they wear themselves in the cap of 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 dilated farewell. Ber. And I will do so.
Par. Worthy fellows; and like to prove most sinewy sword-men. [Exe. Bertram and Parolles. Enter Lafeu.
Laf. Pardon, my lord, [Kneeling.] for me and
for my tidings.
King. I'll fee thee to stand up.
Laf.
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 mercy for't.
Laf.
Good faith, across.
But, my good lord, 'tis thus; Will you be cur'd
Of your infirmity?
King.
Laf.
O, will you cat
No grapes, my royal fox? yes, but you will,
My noble grapes, an if my royal fox
Could reach them: I have seen a medicine,1o
That's able to breathe life into a stone;
Quicken a rock, and make you dance canary,"
With sprightly fire and motion; whose simple touch
Is powerful to araise king Pepin, nay,
To give great Charlemain a pen in his hand,
And write to her a love-line."
King.
What her is this?
Laf. Why, doctor she: My lord, there's one
arriv'd,
If you will see her,-now, by my faith and honour,
If seriously I may convey my thoughts
In this my light deliverance, I have spoke
With one, that, in her sex, her years, profession,12
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 wond'ring how thou took'st it.
Laf.
Nay, I'll fit you,
And not be all day neither.
[Exit Lafeu.
King. Thus he his special nothing ever prologues
Re-enter Lafcu, with Helena.
Laf. Nay, come your ways.
King.
This haste hath wings indeed
Laf. Nay, come your ways;
This is his majesty, say your mind to him:
(6) They are the foremost in the fashion.
(7) Have the true military step. (S) The dance.
(9) Unskilfully; a phrase taken from the exer
cise at a quintaine.
(10) A female physician. (11) A kind of dance. (12) By profession is meant her declaration of the object of her coming.
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. [Ex.
King. Now, fair one, does your business follow us?
Hel. Ay, my good lord. Gerard de Narbon was
My father; in what he did profess, well found.
King. I knew him.
Hel. The rather will I spare my praises towards
him;
Knowing him, is enough. On his 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,3
Safer than mine own two, more dear: I have so:
And, hearing your high majesty is touch'd
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 inaidable estate,-I say we must not
So stain our judgment, or corrupt our hope,
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.
Hel. 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.
King. I cannot give thee less, to be call'd grateful;
Thou thought'st to help me; and such thanks I give,
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.
Hel. 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,
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 sits.
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.
Hel. Inspired merit so by breath is barr'd:
It is not so with him that all things knows,
As 'tis with us that square our guess by shows:
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;"
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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?
Пel.
The greatest grace lending grace,
Ere twice the horses of the sun shall bring
Their fiery torcher his diurnal ring:
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?"
Hel.
Tax of impudence,-
A strumpet's boldness, a divulged shame,-
Traduc'd by odious ballads; iny maiden's name
Sear'd otherwise; no worse 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;?
Youth, beauty, wisdom, courage, virtue, all
That happiness and prime1o 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.
Hel. 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?
King. Make thy demand.
Hel.
But will you make it even?
King. Ay, by my sceptre, and my hopes of
Hel. Then shalt thou give me, with thy kingly hand,
What husband in thy power I will command:
Exempted be from me the arrogance
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, whoin I know
Is free for me to ask, thee to bestow.
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
Unquestion'd welcome, and undoubted blest.— Give me some help here, ho!-If thou proceed As high as word, my deed shall match thy deed. [Flourish. Exeunt. SCENE II.-Rousillon. A room in the Countess's Palace. Enter Countess and Clown. Count. Come on, sir; I shall now put you to the height of your breeding.
(7) i. e. Pretend to greater things than befits the mediocrity of my condition. (8) The evening star.
(9) i. e. May be counted among the gifts enjoyed by thee. (10) The spring or morning of life.
Clo. I will show myself highly fed, and lowly Count. Haste you again. [Exeunt severally. taught: I know my business is but to the court. Count. To the court! why, what place make you SCENE III.-Paris. A room in the King's Paspecial, when you put off that with such contempt ? lace. Enter Bertram, Lafeu, and Parolles. But to the court! Laf. They say, miracles are past; and we have Clo. Truly, madam, if God have lent a man any our philosophical persons, to make modern2 and manners, he may easily put it off at court: he that familiar things, supernatural and causeless. Hence cannot make a leg, put off's cap, kiss his hand, and is it, that we make trifles of terrors; ensconcing say nothing, has neither leg, hands, lip, nor cap; ourselves into seeming knowledge, when we should and, indeed, such a fellow, to say precisely, were submit ourselves to an unknown fear. not for the court; but, for me, I have an answer will serve all men.
Count. Marry, that's a bountiful answer, that fits all questions.
Clo. It is like a barber's chair, that fits all buttocks; the pin-buttock, the quatch-buttock, the brawn-buttock, or any buttock.
Count. Will your answer serve to fit all questions?
Clo. As fit as ten groats is for the hand of an attorney, as your French crown for your taffata punk, as Tib's rush for Tom's fore-finger, 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.
Count. Have you, I say, an answer of such fitness for all questions?
Clo. From below your duke, to beneath your constable, it will fit any question.
Count. It must be an answer of most monstrous size, that must fit all demands.
Par. Why, 'tis the rarest argument of wonder,
that hath shot out in our latter times.
Ber. And so 'tis.
Laf. To be relinquished of the artists,-
Par. So I say; both of Galen and Paracelsus.
Laf. Of all the learned and authentic fellows,-
Par. Right, so I say.
Laf. That gave him out incurable,-
Par. Why, there 'tis; so say I too.
Laf. Not to be helped,-
Par. Right: as 'twere, a man assured of an-
Laf. Uncertain life, and sure death.
Par. Just, you say well; so would I have said. Laf. I may truly say, it is a novelty to the world. Par. It is, indeed: if you will have it in showing, you shall read it in,—What do you call there?
Laf. A showing of a heavenly effect in an earthly actor.
Par. That's it I would have said: the very same. Laf. Why, your dolphin is not lustier: 'fore me speak in respect-
Par. Nay, 'tis strange, 'tis very strange, that is Clo. But a trifle neither, in good faith, if the the brief and the tedious of it; and he is of a most learned should speak truth of it: "here it is, and all facinorous' spirit, that will not acknowledge it to that belongs to't: Ask me, if I am a courtier; it shall do you no harm to learn.
Laf. Very hand of heaven.
Par. Ay, so I say.
Laf. In a most weak
Par. And debile minister, great power, great
Count. 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? Clo. O Lord, sir,-There's a simple putting off;-transcendence: which should, indeed, give us 3 more, more, a hundred of them. further use to be made, than alone the recovery of the king, as to be
Count. Sir, I am a poor friend of yours, that loves you.
Clo. O Lord, sir,-Thick, thick, spare not me. Count. I think, sir, you can eat none of this homely meat.
Clo. O Lord, sir,-Nay, put me to't, I warrant you.
Count. You were lately whipped, sir, as I think.
Clo. O Lord, sir,-Spare not me.
Count. 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 hound to't.
Enter King, Helena, and attendants. Par. I would have said it; you say well: Here comes the king.
Laf. Lustick, as the Dutchman says: I'll like a maid the better, whilst I have a tooth in my head. Why, he's able to lead her a coranto.
Par. Mort du Vinaigre! Is not this Helen?
Laf. 'Fore God, I think so.
King. Go, call before me all the lords in court.-
[Exit an attendant.
Clo. I ne'er had worse luck in my life, in my-Sit, my preserver, by thy patient's side; O Lord, sir: I see, things may serve long, but not 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.
Count. I play the noble housewife with the time,
to entertain it so merrily with a fool.
Clo. O Lord, sir,-Why, there't serves well again.
Count. An end, sir, to your business:
And urge her to a present answer back:
Commend me to my kinsmen, and my son;
This is not much.
Clo. Not much commendation to them. Count. Not much employment for you: You understand me?
Clo. Most fruitfully, I am there before my legs.
Laf. I'd give bay Curtal,' and his furniture,
My mouth no more were broken than these boys',
And writ as little beard.
Peruse them well: Not one of those, but had a noble father. Hel. Gentlemen,
Heaven hath, through me, restor❜d the king to
health.
All. We understand it, and thank heaven for you.
Hel. 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 should'st choose; but,
refus'd,
Let the white death sit on thy cheek for ever;
We'll ne'er come there again.
King.
Make choice; and, see,
Who shuns thy love, shuns all his love in me.
Hel. 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?
1 Lord. And grant it.
Hel.
Thanks, sir; all the rest is mute.
Laf. I had rather be in this choice, than throw
ames-ace3 for my life.
Hel. The honour, sir, that flames in your fair eyes,
Before I speak, too threateningly replies:
Love make your fortunes twenty times above
Her that so wishes, and her humble love!
2 Lord. No better, if you please.
Hel.
My wish receive,
Which great love grant! and so I take my leave.
Laf. 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 cunuchs of.
Hel. Be not afraid [To a Lord.] that I your hand
should take;
I'll never do you wrong for your own sake:
Blessing upon your vows! and in your bed
Find fairer fortune, if you ever wed!
Laf. These boys are boys of ice, they'll none have her: sure, they are bastards to the English; the French ne'er got them.
Hel. 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.
Laf. There's one grape yet,-I am sure, thy father drank wine.-But if thou be'st not an ass, I am a youth of fourteen; I have known thee already.
Hel. I dare not say I take you; [To Bertram.]
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.
Ber. My wife, my liege? I shall beseech your
highness,
In such a business give me leave to use
The help of mine own eyes.
King.
Know'st thou not, Bertram,
What she has done for me?
Ber.
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.
Ber. But follows it, my lord, to bring me down, Must answer for your raising? I knew her well; She had her breeding at my father's charge:
(1) A docked horse.
(2) i. e. I have no more to say to you. (3) The lowest chance of the dice,
A poor physician's daughter my wife!-Disdain
Rather corrupt me ever!
King. 'Tis only title thou disdain'st in her, the
which
I can build up. Strange is it, that our bloods,
Of colour, weight, and heat, pour'd all together,
Would quite confound distinction, yet stand off
In differences so mighty: if she be
All that is virtuous, (save what thou dislik'st,
A poor physician's daughter,) thou dislik'st
Of virtue for the name: but do not so:
From lowest place when virtuous things proceed,
The place is dignified by the doer's deed:
Where great additions swell, and virtue none,
It is a dropsied honour: good alone
Is good, without a name; vileness is so :
The property by what it is should go,
Not by the title. She is young, wise, fair;
In these to nature she's immediate heir;
And these breed honour: that is honour's scorn,
Which challenges itself as honour's born,
And is not like the sire: Honours best thrive,
When rather from our acts we them derive
Than our fore-goers: the mere word's a slave,
Debauch'd on every tomb; on every grave,
A lying trophy, and as oft is dumb,
Where dust, and damned oblivion, is the tomb
Of honour'd bones indeed. What should be said?
If thou canst like this creature as a maid,
I can create the rest: virtue and she,
Is her own dower; honour, and wealth, from me.
Ber. I cannot love her, nor will strive to do't.
King. Thou wrong'st thyself, if thou should'st
strive to choose.
Hel. That you are well restor'd, my lord, I am
glad;
Let the rest go.
King. My honour's at the stake; which to defeat,
I must produce my power: Here, take her hand,
Proud scornful boy, unworthy this good gift;
That does in vile misprision shackle up
My love, and her desert; that canst not dream,
We, poising us in her defective scale,
Shall weigh thee to the beam: that wilt not know,
It is in us to plant thine honour, where
We please to have it grow: Check thy contempt:
Obey our will, which travails in thy good :
Believe not thy disdain, but presently
Do thine own fortunes that obedient right,
Which both thy duty owes, and our power claims;
Or I will throw thee from my care for ever,
Into the staggers, and the careless lapse
Of youth and ignorance; both my revenge and hate,
Loosing upon thee in the name of justice,
Without all terms of pity: Speak; thine answer.
Ber. Pardon, my gracious lord; for I submit
My fancy to your eyes: When I consider,
What great creation, and what dole of honour,
Flies where you bid it, I find that she, which late
Was in my nobler thoughts most base, is now
The praised of the king; who, so ennobled,
Is, as 'twere, born so.
King.
Take her by the hand,
And tell her, she is thine: to whom I promise
A counterpoise; if not to thy estate,
A balance more replete.
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,
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