Document:  All > Shakespeare > Comedies > All's Well That Ends Well > Act II, scene III


LAFEU: They say miracles are past; and we have our
	philosophical persons, to make modern and familiar,
	things supernatural and causeless. Hence is it that
	we make trifles of terrors, ensconcing ourselves
	into seeming knowledge, when we should submit
	ourselves to an unknown fear.

PAROLLES: Why, 'tis the rarest argument of wonder that hath
	shot out in our latter times.

BERTRAM: And so 'tis.

LAFEU: To be relinquish'd of the artists,--


LAFEU: Both of Galen and Paracelsus.


LAFEU: Of all the learned and authentic fellows,--

PAROLLES: Right; so I say.

LAFEU: That gave him out incurable,--

PAROLLES: Why, there 'tis; so say I too.

LAFEU: Not to be helped,--

PAROLLES: Right; as 'twere, a man assured of a--

LAFEU: Uncertain life, and sure death.

PAROLLES: Just, you say well; so would I have said.

LAFEU: I may truly say, it is a novelty to the world.

PAROLLES: It is, indeed: if you will have it in showing, you
	shall read it in--what do you call there?

LAFEU: A showing of a heavenly effect in an earthly actor.

PAROLLES: That's it; I would have said the very same.

LAFEU: Why, your dolphin is not lustier: 'fore me,
	I speak in respect--

PAROLLES: Nay, 'tis strange, 'tis very strange, that is the
	brief and the tedious of it; and he's of a most
	facinerious spirit that will not acknowledge it to be the--

LAFEU: Very hand of heaven.

PAROLLES: Ay, so I say.

LAFEU: In a most weak--


	and debile minister, great power, great
	transcendence: which should, indeed, give us a
	further use to be made than alone the recovery of
	the king, as to be--


	generally thankful.

PAROLLES: I would have said it; you say well. Here comes the king.

	[Enter KING, HELENA, and Attendants. LAFEU and
	PAROLLES retire]

LAFEU: Lustig, 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.

PAROLLES: Mort du vinaigre! is not this Helen?

LAFEU: 'Fore God, I think so.

KING: Go, call before me all the lords in court.
	Sit, my preserver, by thy patient's side;
	And with this healthful hand, whose banish'd sense
	Thou hast repeal'd, a second time receive
	The confirmation of my promised gift,
	Which but attends thy naming.

	[Enter three or four Lords]

	Fair maid, send forth thine eye: this youthful parcel
	Of noble bachelors stand at my bestowing,
	O'er whom both sovereign power and father's voice
	I have to use: thy frank election make;
	Thou hast power to choose, and they none to forsake.

HELENA: To each of you one fair and virtuous mistress
	Fall, when Love please! marry, to each, but one!

LAFEU: I'ld give bay Curtal and his furniture,
	My mouth no more were broken than these boys',
	And writ as little beard.

KING: Peruse them well:
	Not one of those but had a noble father.

HELENA: Gentlemen,
	Heaven hath through me restored the king to health.

All: We understand it, and thank heaven for you.

HELENA: 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 shouldst choose; but, be refused,
	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.

HELENA: 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?

First Lord: And grant it.

HELENA:                   Thanks, sir; all the rest is mute.

LAFEU: I had rather be in this choice than throw ames-ace
	for my life.

HELENA: 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!

Second Lord: No better, if you please.

HELENA: My wish receive,
	Which great Love grant! and so, I take my leave.

LAFEU: 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 eunuchs of.

HELENA: Be not afraid 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!

LAFEU: These boys are boys of ice, they'll none have her:
	sure, they are bastards to the English; the French
	ne'er got 'em.

HELENA: You are too young, too happy, and too good,
	To make yourself a son out of my blood.

Fourth Lord: Fair one, I think not so.

LAFEU: There's one grape yet; I am sure thy father drunk
	wine: but if thou be'st not an ass, I am a youth
	of fourteen; I have known thee already.

HELENA: [To BERTRAM]  I dare not say I take you; 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.

BERTRAM: 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?

BERTRAM: Yes, my good lord;
	But never hope to know why I should marry her.

KING: Thou know'st she has raised me from my sickly bed.

BERTRAM: But follows it, my lord, to bring me down
	Must answer for your raising? I know her well:
	She had her breeding at my father's charge.
	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 dislikest,
	A poor physician's daughter, thou dislikest
	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's, 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 thrive,
	When rather from our acts we them derive
	Than our foregoers: the mere word's a slave
	Debosh'd on every tomb, on every grave
	A lying trophy, and as oft is dumb
	Where dust and damn'd 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.

BERTRAM: I cannot love her, nor will strive to do't.

KING: Thou wrong'st thyself, if thou shouldst strive to choose.

HELENA: That you are well restored, my lord, I'm 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 dost 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. Cheque 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.

BERTRAM: 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.

BERTRAM: 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,
	And be perform'd to-night: the solemn feast
	Shall more attend upon the coming space,
	Expecting absent friends. As thou lovest her,
	Thy love's to me religious; else, does err.

	[Exeunt all but LAFEU and PAROLLES]

LAFEU: [Advancing]  Do you hear, monsieur? a word with you.

PAROLLES: Your pleasure, sir?

LAFEU: Your lord and master did well to make his

PAROLLES: Recantation! My lord! my master!

LAFEU: Ay; is it not a language I speak?

PAROLLES: A most harsh one, and not to be understood without
	bloody succeeding. My master!

LAFEU: Are you companion to the Count Rousillon?

PAROLLES: To any count, to all counts, to what is man.

LAFEU: To what is count's man: count's master is of
	another style.

PAROLLES: You are too old, sir; let it satisfy you, you are too old.

LAFEU: I must tell thee, sirrah, I write man; to which
	title age cannot bring thee.

PAROLLES: What I dare too well do, I dare not do.

LAFEU: I did think thee, for two ordinaries, to be a pretty
	wise fellow; thou didst make tolerable vent of thy
	travel; it might pass: yet the scarfs and the
	bannerets about thee did manifoldly dissuade me from
	believing thee a vessel of too great a burthen. I
	have now found thee; when I lose thee again, I care
	not: yet art thou good for nothing but taking up; and
	that thou't scarce worth.

PAROLLES: Hadst thou not the privilege of antiquity upon thee,--

LAFEU: Do not plunge thyself too far in anger, lest thou
	hasten thy trial; which if--Lord have mercy on thee
	for a hen! So, my good window of lattice, fare thee
	well: thy casement I need not open, for I look
	through thee. Give me thy hand.

PAROLLES: My lord, you give me most egregious indignity.

LAFEU: Ay, with all my heart; and thou art worthy of it.

PAROLLES: I have not, my lord, deserved it.

LAFEU: Yes, good faith, every dram of it; and I will not
	bate thee a scruple.

PAROLLES: Well, I shall be wiser.

LAFEU: Even as soon as thou canst, for thou hast to pull at
	a smack o' the contrary. If ever thou be'st bound
	in thy scarf and beaten, thou shalt find what it is
	to be proud of thy bondage. I have a desire to hold
	my acquaintance with thee, or rather my knowledge,
	that I may say in the default, he is a man I know.

PAROLLES: My lord, you do me most insupportable vexation.

LAFEU: I would it were hell-pains for thy sake, and my poor
	doing eternal: for doing I am past: as I will by
	thee, in what motion age will give me leave.


PAROLLES: Well, thou hast a son shall take this disgrace off
	me; scurvy, old, filthy, scurvy lord! Well, I must
	be patient; there is no fettering of authority.
	I'll beat him, by my life, if I can meet him with
	any convenience, an he were double and double a
	lord. I'll have no more pity of his age than I
	would of--I'll beat him, an if I could but meet him again.

	[Re-enter LAFEU]

LAFEU: Sirrah, your lord and master's married; there's news
	for you: you have a new mistress.

PAROLLES: I most unfeignedly beseech your lordship to make
	some reservation of your wrongs: he is my good
	lord: whom I serve above is my master.

LAFEU: Who? God?

PAROLLES: Ay, sir.

LAFEU: The devil it is that's thy master. Why dost thou
	garter up thy arms o' this fashion? dost make hose of
	sleeves? do other servants so? Thou wert best set
	thy lower part where thy nose stands. By mine
	honour, if I were but two hours younger, I'ld beat
	thee: methinks, thou art a general offence, and
	every man should beat thee: I think thou wast
	created for men to breathe themselves upon thee.

PAROLLES: This is hard and undeserved measure, my lord.

LAFEU: Go to, sir; you were beaten in Italy for picking a
	kernel out of a pomegranate; you are a vagabond and
	no true traveller: you are more saucy with lords
	and honourable personages than the commission of your
	birth and virtue gives you heraldry. You are not
	worth another word, else I'ld call you knave. I leave you.


PAROLLES: Good, very good; it is so then: good, very good;
	let it be concealed awhile.

	[Re-enter BERTRAM]

BERTRAM: Undone, and forfeited to cares for ever!

PAROLLES: What's the matter, sweet-heart?

BERTRAM: Although before the solemn priest I have sworn,
	I will not bed her.

PAROLLES: What, what, sweet-heart?

BERTRAM: O my Parolles, they have married me!
	I'll to the Tuscan wars, and never bed her.

PAROLLES: France is a dog-hole, and it no more merits
	The tread of a man's foot: to the wars!

BERTRAM: There's letters from my mother: what the import is,
	I know not yet.

PAROLLES: Ay, that would be known. To the wars, my boy, to the wars!
	He wears his honour in a box unseen,
	That hugs his kicky-wicky here at home,
	Spending his manly marrow in her arms,
	Which should sustain the bound and high curvet
	Of Mars's fiery steed. To other regions
	France is a stable; we that dwell in't jades;
	Therefore, to the war!

BERTRAM: It shall be so: I'll send her to my house,
	Acquaint my mother with my hate to her,
	And wherefore I am fled; write to the king
	That which I durst not speak; his present gift
	Shall furnish me to those Italian fields,
	Where noble fellows strike: war is no strife
	To the dark house and the detested wife.

PAROLLES: Will this capriccio hold in thee? art sure?

BERTRAM: Go with me to my chamber, and advise me.
	I'll send her straight away: to-morrow
	I'll to the wars, she to her single sorrow.

PAROLLES: Why, these balls bound; there's noise in it. 'Tis hard:
	A young man married is a man that's marr'd:
	Therefore away, and leave her bravely; go:
	The king has done you wrong: but, hush, 'tis so.



Search for this word      in all documents   just this document

What do you think? Grade this document:  

(Average grade so far: C+, 12 graders.)

12 grades received so far:

F:  4 users
D-:  0 users
D:  0 users
D+:  1 user
C-:  0 users
C:  1 user
C+:  0 users
B-:  0 users
B:  1 user
B+:  2 users
A-:  0 users
A:  0 users
A+:  3 users

Need writing help? Try RhymeZone's rhyming dictionary and thesaurus features

Help  Advanced  Feedback  iPhone/iPad  Android  API  @RhymeZoneCom  Blog  Privacy

Copyright © 2022 Datamuse