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tongue into a butter-woman's mouth, and to buy another of Ba. jazet's mule. His soliloquy about the recovery of the drum, and the various lies that he proposes ; such as the drowning of his clothes, the baring of his beard, and leaping thirty fathoms from the window of a citadel, are quite as good as Falstaff's hacking his sword, and tickling Bardolph's nose with spear-grass to make it bleed. His opening dialogue with Helena might have been spared ; its grossness however is more to be imputed to the lady, who to her quick questions could expect nothing less than merry answers. Falstaff, with all his waggery, scarcely excites more laughter than Paroles.
The Clown chants certain fragments of ancient ballads, which give a still keener edge to our antiquarian research on their recovery. He lets no occasion slip of satirizing the Puritans for their superstitious abhorrence to a Surplice, “because they say 'tis made of the same thing that your villanous sin is committed in, of your profane Holland," (Cupid's Whirligig 1616.) He also makes an allusion to “the flowery way that leads to the broad gato,” for which we could have him whipped. It is certain that Shakspeare is never so dullas when he has recourse to profaneness.
There can be no doubt that the original title of “ All's Well that Ends Well," was “ Love's Labour Won," and was intended by Shakspeare as a counter-title to “ Love's Labour Lost.” For Meres particularly notices a Drama under this title. Mr. Malone conjectures that the alteration was suggested in consequence of the adage being found in the body of the play. The name indeed occurs trice-viz. in Act 4th, Scene 4th, and in Act 5th, Scene 1st : in the two speeches of Helena. The story belongs to Boccace, but Painter's Gilletta of Narbon, in the first volume of The Palace of Pleasure, 4, 1598, is source whence Shakspeare immediately derived nis plot. But if for the serious portion he is partly indebted to the Novel, the Comic is entirely original.
The Conductors of this work print no Plays but those which they have seen acted. The Stage Directions are given from their own personal observations, during the most recent performances.
EXITS and ENTRANCES. R. means Rihgt; L. Left; D. F. Door in Flat ; R. D. Right Door; L. D. Left Door ; S. E. Second Entrance; U. E. Upper Entrance ; M. D. Middle Door.
KING OF FRANCE.-First dress-Black Velvet dress, and shoes. Second dress-Purple velvet dress, robe, and crown.
BERTRAM.-White shoes, buff waistcoat and pantaloons, scarlet ily, military sash, sword and hat, yellow boots.
LEFEU.-Crimson velvet dress and cloak, white stockings, black velvet shoes, and hat.
DUMAIN.-Buff waistcoat and pantaloons, green fiy, military sash, sword, hat, and boots.
LEWIS.-Buff waistcoat, &c. the same as Bertram's.
BIRON.-Light blue dress, cloak, and pantaloons, boots, sword, and hat.
JAQUES.- The same as Biron's.
TOURVILLE.-Light blue dress, crimson puffs, blue pantaloops, sword, and white sash.
PAROLES.- First dress-White dress, blue puffs, white sash, scarlet fly, blue pantaloons, sword, boots, and bat. Second dress An old blue and black dress, and stockings.
STEWARD.-Grey worsted dress, brown puffs, brown pantaloons, and sword.
CLOWN.-Blue, orange, white, and scarlet dress, one yellow and one red stocking, hat the same, shoes, and sword.
FIRST SOLDIER. | Jackets and short breeches, scarlet SECOND SOLDIER.- } stockings, boots, and hats. COUNTESS -White dress, scarlet robe. HELENA,-First dress-White, neatly trimmed and spangled. Second dress-A pilgrim's gown, &c. WIDOW.-Plainly trimmed peasant-dress. DIANA.MARIANA.
- } Peasant dresses.
Cast of the Characters, as performed at the Theatre Royal
Covent Garden, 1811.
Mr. C. Kemble.
Miss S. Booth.
.. Miss Bolton.
SCENE,---Partly in France, and partly in Tuscany.
ACT I. SCENE I.-Rousillon, in France.—The Hall of the
Countess of Rousillon's House. Enter (L.) LEFEU, the Countess of Rousillon. BERTRAM, HELENÁ, Dumain, and Lewis, (who cross behind to R.)
Count. In delivering my son from me, I bury a second 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 subjection.
Count. What hope is there of his majesty's amendment?
Lef. He hath abandon'd 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.
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 stretch'd so far, it would have made nature immortal. 'Would, for the king's sake, he were living !
Lef. How call'd 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.
Lef. He was excellent, indeed, madam; the king very lately spoke of him, admiringly, and mourningly.
-Was this gentlewoman the daughter of Gerard de Narbon ?
Count. His sole child, my lord; and bequeath'd to my overlooking. I have those hopes of her good, that her education promises : her dispositions she inherits, which make fair gifts fairer; for where an unclean mind carries virtuous qualities, there commendations go with pity, they are virtues and traitors too; in ber they are the better for their simpleness ; she derives her honesty, and achieves her goodness.
Lef. 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 sorrows takes all livelihood from her cheek.- No more of this, [Crosses
to Hel.] Helena, go to, no more ; lest it be rather thought you affect a sorrow, than to have.
Hel. I do affect á sorrow, indeed; but I have it too.
Count. Your time calls on you. 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! What heaven more wilt, That thee may furnish, and my prayers pluck down, Fall on thy head! Farewell, Embracing him.] My lord, 'Tis an unseason'd courtier; good my lord, Advise him.
Lef. He cannot want the best That shall attend his love.
Ber. The best wishes, that can be forg'd in your thoughts, be servants to you, Helen!
Lef. Farewell, pretty lady: you must hold the credit of your father.
Ber. Farewell, dear mother!
Count. Heaven bless thee !-Farewell, Bertram.I'll see you on your way. [Exeunt all, but Helena, R.
Hel. Oh, were that all! I think not on my father ; And these my tears grace Bertram's absence more Than those I shed for him. What was he like ? I have forgot him : my imagination Carries no favour in it, but Bertram's.
Par. [Without.] Halloa ! where are these knaves ?
Hel. Who comes here?
Enter PAROLES, L. Par. What, is the Count gone ?-Little Helen, farewell : if I can remember thee, I will think of thee at court.
[Crosses, R. Hel. Monsieur Paroles, you were born under a charitable star.
Par. Under Mars, I,
Hel. When he was retrograde, I think, rather.
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 businesses, I cannot answer thee acutely. Farewell. When thou hast leisure, say thy prayers; when thou hast none, remember thy friends: get thee a good busband, and use him as he uses thee : so, farewell.
[Exit Paroles, R. Hel. I am undone ; there is no living, none, If Bertram be away. It 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. '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 idolatrous fancy Must sanctify his relics.
[Exit, L. SCENE II.—The Countess of Rousillon's Garden.
Enter COUNTESS and STEWARD, R. Count. He's gone; and 'tis weakness to mourn over his departure..I will now hear : What say you of this gentlewoman?
(Clown sings without. What does this knave here?
Enter CLOWN, L. Get you gone, sirrah !
Clown. Tis not unknown to you, madam, that I am a Count. Well, sir,
Clown. No, madam, 'tis not so well, that I am poor ; though many of the rich are damn'd: 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?