ACT I SCENE III

All’s Well That Ends Well

ACT I SCENE III	Rousillon. The COUNT’s palace.
[Enter COUNTESS, Steward, and Clown]
COUNTESS	I will now hear; what say you of this gentlewoman?
Steward	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 clearness of our deservings, when of	5
	ourselves we publish them.
COUNTESS	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	10
	enough to make such knaveries yours.
Clown	‘Tis not unknown to you, madam, I am a poor fellow.
COUNTESS	Well, sir.
Clown	No, madam, ’tis not so well that I am poor, though
	many of the rich are damned: but, if I may have	15
	your ladyship’s good will to go to the world, Isbel
	the woman and I will do as we may.
COUNTESS	Wilt thou needs be a beggar?
Clown	I do beg your good will in this case.
COUNTESS	In what case?	20
Clown	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 o’ my body; for
	they say barnes are blessings.
COUNTESS	Tell me thy reason why thou wilt marry.	25
Clown	My poor body, madam, requires it: I am driven on
	by the flesh; and he must needs go that the devil drives.
COUNTESS	Is this all your worship’s reason?
Clown	Faith, madam, I have other holy reasons such as they
	are.	30
COUNTESS	May the world know them?
Clown	I have been, madam, a wicked creature, as you and
	all flesh and blood are; and, indeed, I do marry
	that I may repent.
COUNTESS	Thy marriage, sooner than thy wickedness.	35
Clown	I am out o’ friends, madam; and I hope to have
	friends for my wife’s sake.
COUNTESS	Such friends are thine enemies, knave.
Clown	You’re shallow, madam, in great friends; for the
	knaves come to do that for me which I am aweary of.	40
	He that ears my land spares my team and gives me
	leave to in 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	45
	flesh and blood is my friend: ergo, he that kisses
	my wife is my friend. If men could be contented to
	be what they are, there were no fear in marriage;
	for young Charbon the Puritan and old Poysam the
	Papist, howsome’er their hearts are severed in	50
	religion, their heads are both one; they may jowl
	horns together, like any deer i’ the herd.
COUNTESS	Wilt thou ever be a foul-mouthed and calumnious knave?
Clown	A prophet I, madam; and I speak the truth the next
	way:	55
	For I the ballad will repeat,
	Which men full true shall find;
	Your marriage comes by destiny,
	Your cuckoo sings by kind.
COUNTESS	Get you gone, sir; I’ll talk with you more anon.	60
Steward	May it please you, madam, that he bid Helen come to
	you: of her I am to speak.
COUNTESS	Sirrah, tell my gentlewoman I would speak with her;
	Helen, I mean.
Clown	Was this fair face the cause, quoth she,	65
	Why the Grecians sacked Troy?
	Fond done, done fond,
	Was this King Priam’s joy?
	With that she sighed as she stood,
	With that she sighed as she stood,	70
	And gave this sentence then;
	Among nine bad if one be good,
	Among nine bad if one be good,
	There’s yet one good in ten.
COUNTESS	What, one good in ten? you corrupt the song, sirrah.	75
Clown	One good woman in ten, madam; which is a purifying
	o’ the song: would God would serve the world so all
	the year! we’ld find no fault with the tithe-woman,
	if I were the parson. One in ten, quoth a’! An we
	might have a good woman born but one every blazing	80
	star, or at an earthquake, ‘twould mend the lottery
	well: a man may draw his heart out, ere a’ pluck
	one.
COUNTESS	You’ll be gone, sir knave, and do as I command you.
Clown	That man should be at woman’s command, and yet no	85
	hurt done! Though honesty be no puritan, yet it
	will do no hurt; it will wear the surplice of
	humility over the black gown of a big heart. I am
	going, forsooth: the business is for Helen to come hither.
[Exit]
COUNTESS	Well, now.	90
Steward	I know, madam, you love your gentlewoman entirely.
COUNTESS	Faith, I do: her father bequeathed her to me; and
	she herself, without other advantage, may lawfully
	make title to as much love as she finds: there is
	more owing her than is paid; and more shall be paid	95
	her than she’ll demand.
Steward	Madam, I was very late more near her than I think
	she wished me: alone she was, and did communicate
	to herself her own words to her own ears; she
	thought, I dare vow for her, they touched not any	100
	stranger sense. Her matter was, she loved your son:
	Fortune, she said, was no goddess, that had put
	such difference betwixt their two estates; Love no
	god, that would not extend his might, only where
	qualities were level; Dian no queen of virgins, that	105
	would suffer her poor knight surprised, without
	rescue in the first assault or ransom afterward.
	This she delivered in the most bitter touch of
	sorrow that e’er I heard virgin exclaim in: which I
	held my duty speedily to acquaint you withal;	110
	sithence, in the loss that may happen, it concerns
	you something to know it.
COUNTESS	You have discharged this honestly; keep it to
	yourself: many likelihoods informed me of this
	before, which hung so tottering in the balance that	115
	I could neither believe nor misdoubt. Pray you,
	leave me: stall this in your bosom; and I thank you
	for your honest care: I will speak with you further anon.
[Exit Steward]
[Enter HELENA]
	Even so it was with me when I was young:
	If ever we are nature’s, these are ours; this thorn	120
	Doth to our rose of youth rightly belong;
	Our blood to us, this to our blood is born;
	It is the show and seal of nature’s truth,
	Where love’s strong passion is impress’d in youth:
	By our remembrances of days foregone,	125
	Such were our faults, or then we thought them none.
	Her eye is sick on’t: I observe her now.
HELENA	What is your pleasure, madam?
COUNTESS	You know, Helen,
	I am a mother to you.	130
HELENA	Mine honourable mistress.
COUNTESS	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;	135
	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,	140
	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?	145
	Why? that you are my daughter?
HELENA	That I am not.
COUNTESS	I say, I am your mother.
HELENA	Pardon, madam;
	The Count Rousillon cannot be my brother:	150
	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.	155
COUNTESS	Nor I your mother?
HELENA	You are my mother, madam; would you were,–
	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,	160
	So I were not his sister. Can’t no other,
	But, I your daughter, he must be my brother?
COUNTESS	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?	165
	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 ashamed,
	Against the proclamation of thy passion,	170
	To say thou dost not: therefore tell me true;
	But tell me then, ’tis so; for, look thy cheeks
	Confess it, th’ one to th’ other; and thine eyes
	See it so grossly shown in thy behaviors
	That in their kind they speak it: only sin	175
	And hellish obstinacy tie thy tongue,
	That truth should be suspected. Speak, is’t so?
	If it be so, you have wound a goodly clew;
	If it be not, forswear’t: howe’er, I charge thee,
	As heaven shall work in me for thine avail,	180
	Tell me truly.
HELENA	Good madam, pardon me!
COUNTESS	Do you love my son?
HELENA	Your pardon, noble mistress!
COUNTESS	Love you my son?	185
HELENA	Do not you love him, madam?
COUNTESS	Go not about; my love hath in’t a bond,
	Whereof the world takes note: come, come, disclose
	The state of your affection; for your passions
	Have to the full appeach’d.	190
HELENA	Then, I confess,
	Here on my knee, before high heaven and you,
	That before you, and next unto high heaven,
	I love your son.
	My friends were poor, but honest; so’s my love:	195
	Be not offended; for it hurts not him
	That he is loved 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.	200
	I know I love in vain, strive against hope;
	Yet in this captious and intenible 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	205
	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,	210
	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;	215
	That seeks not to find that her search implies,
	But riddle-like lives sweetly where she dies!
COUNTESS	Had you not lately an intent,–speak truly,–
	To go to Paris?
HELENA	Madam, I had.	220
COUNTESS	Wherefore? tell true.
HELENA	I will tell truth; by grace itself I swear.
	You know my father left me some prescriptions
	Of rare and proved effects, such as his reading
	And manifest experience had collected	225
	For general sovereignty; and that he will’d me
	In heedfull’st reservation to bestow them,
	As notes whose faculties inclusive were
	More than they were in note: amongst the rest,
	There is a remedy, approved, set down,	230
	To cure the desperate languishings whereof
	The king is render’d lost.
COUNTESS	This was your motive
	For Paris, was it? speak.
HELENA	My lord your son made me to think of this;	235
	Else Paris and the medicine and the king
	Had from the conversation of my thoughts
	Haply been absent then.
COUNTESS	But think you, Helen,
	If you should tender your supposed aid,	240
	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	245
	The danger to itself?
HELENA	There’s something in’t,
	More than my father’s skill, which was the greatest
	Of his profession, that his good receipt
	Shall for my legacy be sanctified	250
	By the luckiest stars in heaven: and, would your honour
	But give me leave to try success, I’ld venture
	The well-lost life of mine on his grace’s cure
	By such a day and hour.
COUNTESS	Dost thou believe’t?	255
HELENA	Ay, madam, knowingly.
COUNTESS	Why, Helen, thou shalt have my leave and love,
	Means and attendants and my loving greetings
	To those of mine in court: I’ll stay at home
	And pray God’s blessing into thy attempt:	260
	Be gone to-morrow; and be sure of this,
	What I can help thee to thou shalt not miss.
[Exeunt]

Next: All’s Well That Ends Well, Act 2, Scene 1