virginity murders itself and should be buried in


highways out of all sanctified limit, as a desperate


offendress against nature. Virginity breeds mites,


much like a cheese; consumes itself to the very


paring, and so dies with feeding his own stomach.


Besides, virginity is peevish, proud, idle, made of


self-love, which is the most inhibited sin in the


canon. Keep it not; you cannot choose but loose


byt: out with t! within ten year it will make


itself ten, which is a goodly increase; and the


principal itself not much the worse: away with t!


How might one do, sir, to lose it to her own liking?


Let me see: marry, ill, to like him that neer it


likes. Tis a commodity will lose the gloss with


lying; the longer kept, the less worth: off with t


while tis vendible; answer the time of request.


Virginity, like an old courtier, wears her cap out


of fashion: richly suited, but unsuitable: just


like the brooch and the tooth-pick, which wear not


now. Your date is better in your pie and your


porridge than in your cheek; and your virginity,


your old virginity, is like one of our French


withered pears, it looks ill, it eats drily; marry,


tis a withered pear; it was formerly better;


marry, yet tis a withered pear: will you anything with it?


There shall your master have a thousand loves,


His jarring concord, and his discord dulcet,


His faith, his sweet disaster; with a world


Of pretty, fond, adoptious christendoms,


That blinking Cupid gossips. Now shall he--


I know not what he shall. God send him well!


The courts a learning place, and he is one--


Which might be felt; that we, the poorer born,


Whose baser stars do shut us up in wishes,


Might with effects of them follow our friends,


And show what we alone must think, which never


Monsieur Parolles, my lord calls for you.


Little Helen, farewell; if I can remember thee, I


Monsieur Parolles, you were born under a charitable star.


The wars have so kept you under that you must needs


When he was retrograde, I think, rather.


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.


I am so full of businesses, I cannot answer thee


acutely. I will return perfect courtier; in the


which, my instruction shall serve to naturalize


thee, so thou wilt be capable of a courtiers


counsel and understand what advice shall thrust upon


thee; else thou diest in thine unthankfulness, and


thine ignorance makes thee away: farewell. When


thou hast leisure, say thy prayers; when thou hast


none, remember thy friends; get thee a good husband,


and use him as he uses thee; so, farewell.


Which we ascribe to heaven: the fated sky


Gives us free scope, only doth backward pull


Our slow designs when we ourselves are dull.


What power is it which mounts my love so high,


That makes me see, and cannot feed mine eye?


The mightiest space in fortune nature brings


To join like likes and kiss like native things.


That weigh their pains in sense and do suppose


What hath been cannot be: who ever strove


So show her merit, that did miss her love?


The kings disease--my project may deceive me,


But my intents are fixd and will not leave me.


Flourish of cornets. Enter the KING of France, with letters, and divers Attendants


The Florentines and Senoys are by the ears;


Have fought with equal fortune and continue


Nay, tis most credible; we here received it


A certainty, vouchd from our cousin Austria,


With caution that the Florentine will move us


For speedy aid; wherein our dearest friend


Prejudicates the business and would seem


The Tuscan service, freely have they leave


It is the Count Rousillon, my good lord,


Frank nature, rather curious than in haste,


Hath well composed thee. Thy fathers moral parts


Mayst thou inherit too! Welcome to Paris.


I would I had that corporal soundness now,


As when thy father and myself in friendship


First tried our soldiership! He did look far


Discipled of the bravest: he lasted long;


And wore us out of act. It much repairs me


To talk of your good father. In his youth


To-day in our young lords; but they may jest


Till their own scorn return to them unnoted


Ere they can hide their levity in honour;


So like a courtier, contempt nor bitterness


Were in his pride or sharpness; if they were,


His equal had awaked them, and his honour,


Clock to itself, knew the true minute when


Exception bid him speak, and at this time


His tongue obeyd his hand: who were below him


And bowd his eminent top to their low ranks,


In their poor praise he humbled. Such a man


Which, followd well, would demonstrate them now


Lies richer in your thoughts than on his tomb;


Would I were with him! He would always say--


Methinks I hear him now; his plausive words


He scatterd not in ears, but grafted them,


To grow there and to bear,--Let me not live,--


When it was out,--Let me not live, quoth he,


After my flame lacks oil, to be the snuff


Of younger spirits, whose apprehensive senses


All but new things disdain; whose judgments are


Mere fathers of their garments; whose constancies


Expire before their fashions. This he wishd;


Since I nor wax nor honey can bring home,


They that least lend it you shall lack you first.


I fill a place, I knowt. How long ist, count,


Since the physician at your fathers died?


Lend me an arm; the rest have worn me out


With several applications; nature and sickness


Debate it at their leisure. Welcome, count;


SCENE III. Rousillon. The COUNTs palace.


I will now hear; what say you of this gentlewoman?


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


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


Tis not unknown to you, madam, I am a poor fellow.


No, madam, tis not so well that I am poor, though


many of the rich are damned: but, if I may have


your ladyships good will to go to the world, Isbel


In Isbels 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


My poor body, madam, requires it: I am driven on


by the flesh; and he must needs go that the devil drives.


Faith, madam, I have other holy reasons such as they


I have been, madam, a wicked creature, as you and


all flesh and blood are; and, indeed, I do marry


Thy marriage, sooner than thy wickedness.


I am out o friends, madam; and I hope to have


Youre shallow, madam, in great friends; for the


knaves come to do that for me which I am aweary of.


He that ears my land spares my team and gives me


leave to in the crop; if I be his cuckold, hes 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


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, howsomeer their hearts are severed in


religion, their heads are both one; they may jowl


horns together, like any deer i the herd.


Wilt thou ever be a foul-mouthed and calumnious knave?


A prophet I, madam; and I speak the truth the next


Get you gone, sir; Ill talk with you more anon.


May it please you, madam, that he bid Helen come to


Sirrah, tell my gentlewoman I would speak with her;


Was this fair face the cause, quoth she,


What, one good in ten? you corrupt the song, sirrah.


One good woman in ten, madam; which is a purifying


o the song: would God would serve the world so all


the year! weld 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


star, or at an earthquake, twould mend the lottery


well: a man may draw his heart out, ere a pluck


Youll be gone, sir knave, and do as I command you.


That man should be at womans command, and yet no


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.


I know, madam, you love your gentlewoman entirely.


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


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


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


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 eer I heard virgin exclaim in: which I


held my duty speedily to acquaint you withal;


sithence, in the loss that may happen, it concerns


You have discharged this honestly; keep it to


yourself: many likelihoods informed me of this


before, which hung so tottering in the balance that


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.


Even so it was with me when I was young:


If ever we are natures, these are ours; this thorn


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 natures truth,


Where loves strong passion is impressd in youth:


Such were our faults, or then we thought them none.


Methought you saw a serpent: whats in mother,


That you start at it? I say, I am your mother;


Adoption strives with nature and choice breeds


You neer oppressd me with a mothers groan,


Gods mercy, maiden! does it curd thy blood


To say I am thy mother? Whats the matter,


The many-colourd Iris, rounds thine eye?


The Count Rousillon cannot be my brother:


His servant live, and will his vassal die:


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,


So I were not his sister. Cant no other,


But, I your daughter, he must be my brother?


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 catchd your fondness: now I see


The mystery of your loneliness, and find


Your salt tears head: now to all sense tis gross


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, 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


That truth should be suspected. Speak, ist so?


If it be so, you have wound a goodly clew;


If it be not, forsweart: howeer, I charge thee,


As heaven shall work in me for thine avail,


Whereof the world takes note: come, come, disclose


The state of your affection; for your passions


Here on my knee, before high heaven and you,


That before you, and next unto high heaven,


My friends were poor, but honest; sos my love:


That he is loved of me: I follow him not


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 intenible sieve


And lack not to lose still: thus, Indian-like,


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,


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 search implies,


But riddle-like lives sweetly where she dies!


Had you not lately an intent,--speak truly,--


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


For general sovereignty; and that he willd me


In heedfullst reservation to bestow them,


More than they were in note: amongst the rest,


To cure the desperate languishings whereof


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


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,


Embowelld of their doctrine, have left off


More than my fathers skill, which was the greatest


Of his profession, that his good receipt


By the luckiest stars in heaven: and, would your honour


But give me leave to try success, Ild venture


The well-lost life of mine on his graces cure


Why, Helen, thou shalt have my leave and love,


Means and attendants and my loving greetings


To those of mine in court: Ill stay at home


And pray Gods blessing into thy attempt:


What I can help thee to thou shalt not miss.


Flourish of cornets. Enter the KING, attended  with divers young Lords taking leave for the Florentine war; BERTRAM, and PAROLLES


Farewell, young lords; these warlike principles


Do not throw from you: and you, my lords, farewell:


Share the advice betwixt you; if both gain, all


The gift doth stretch itself as tis received,


That doth my life besiege. Farewell, young lords;


Of worthy Frenchmen: let higher Italy,--


Of the last monarchy,--see that you come


The bravest questant shrinks, find what you seek,


That fame may cry you loud: I say, farewell.


Health, at your bidding, serve your majesty!


Those girls of Italy, take heed of them:


They say, our French lack language to deny,


If they demand: beware of being captives,


O, my sweet lord, that you will stay behind us!


I am commanded here, and kept a coil with


Too young and the next year and tis too early.


An thy mind stand tot, boy, steal away bravely.


I shall stay here the forehorse to a smock,


Till honour be bought up and no sword worn


But one to dance with! By heaven, Ill steal away.


I grow to you, and our parting is a tortured body.


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 cheek; it was this very sword


entrenched it: say to him, I live; and observe his


Mars dote on you for his novices! what will ye do?


Re-enter KING. BERTRAM and PAROLLES retire


[To BERTRAM]  Use a more spacious ceremony to the


noble lords; you have restrained yourself within the


list of too cold an adieu: be more expressive to


them: for they wear themselves in the cap of the


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.


Worthy fellows; and like to prove most sinewy sword-men.


[Kneeling]  Pardon, my lord, for me and for my tidings.


Then heres a man stands, that has brought his pardon.


I would you had kneeld, my lord, to ask me mercy,


And that at my bidding you could so stand up.


Good faith, across: but, my good lord tis thus;


O, will you eat 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


Thats able to breathe life into a stone,


Quicken a rock, and make you dance canary


With spritely fire and motion; whose simple touch,


To give great Charlemain a pen ins hand,


Why, Doctor She: my lord, theres one arrived,


If you will see her: now, by my faith and honour,


In this my light deliverance, I have spoke


With one that, in her sex, her years, profession,


Wisdom and constancy, hath amazed me more


Than I dare blame my weakness: will you see her


For that is her demand, and know her business?


Bring in the admiration; that we with thee


May spend our wonder too, or take off thine


Thus he his special nothing ever prologues.


This is his majesty; say your mind to him:


A traitor you do look like; but such traitors


His majesty seldom fears: I am Cressids uncle,


That dare leave two together; fare you well.


Now, fair one, does your business follow us?


The rather will I spare my praises towards him:


Which, as the dearest issue of his practise,


And of his old experience the oily darling,


Safer than mine own two, more dear; I have so;


With that malignant cause wherein the honour


Of my dear fathers gift stands chief in power,


When our most learned doctors leave us and


That labouring art can never ransom nature


From her inaidible estate; I say we must not


So stain our judgment, or corrupt our hope,


Our great self and our credit, to esteem


A senseless help when help past sense we deem.


I will no more enforce mine office on you.


Humbly entreating from your royal thoughts


I cannot give thee less, to be calld grateful:


Thou thoughtst 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 knowst no part,


Since you set up your rest gainst remedy.


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 hope is coldest and despair most fits.


I must not hear thee; fare thee well, kind maid;


Thy pains not used must by thyself be paid:


Proffers not took reap thanks for their reward.


It is not so with Him that all things knows


As tis with us that square our guess by shows;


The help of heaven we count the act of men.


Dear sir, to my endeavours give consent;


But know I think and think I know most sure


My art is not past power nor you past cure.


Are thou so confident? within what space


Ere twice the horses of the sun shall bring


Moist Hesperus hath quenchd his sleepy lamp,


Or four and twenty times the pilots 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.


Traduced by odious ballads: my maidens name


Seard otherwise; nay, worse--if worse--extended


With vilest torture let my life be ended.


Methinks in thee some blessed spirit doth speak


His powerful sound within an organ weak:


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,


That happiness and prime can happy call:


That ministers thine own death if I die.


And well deserved: not helping, deaths my fee;


Ay, by my sceptre and my hopes of heaven.


Then shalt thou give me with thy kingly hand


What husband in thy power I will command:


To choose from forth the royal blood of France,


Thy will by my performance shall be served:


So make the choice of thy own time, for I,


Thy resolved 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 camest, how tended on: but rest


Unquestiond welcome and undoubted blest.


Give me some help here, ho! If thou proceed


As high as word, my deed shall match thy meed.


Come on, sir; I shall now put you to the height of


I will show myself highly fed and lowly taught: I


To the court! why, what place make you special,


when you put off that with such contempt? But to the court!


Truly, madam, if God have lent a man any manners, he


may easily put it off at court: he that cannot make


a leg, put offs cap, kiss his hand and say nothing,


has neither leg, hands, lip, nor cap; and indeed


such a fellow, to say precisely, were not for the


court; but for me, I have an answer will serve all


Marry, thats a bountiful answer that fits all


It is like a barbers chair that fits all buttocks,


the pin-buttock, the quatch-buttock, the brawn


Will your answer serve fit to all questions?


As fit as ten groats is for the hand of an attorney,


as your French crown for your taffeta punk, as Tibs


rush for Toms forefinger, 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 queen


to a wrangling knave, as the nuns lip to the


friars mouth, nay, as the pudding to his skin.


Have you, I say, an answer of such fitness for all


From below your duke to beneath your constable, it


It must be an answer of most monstrous size that


But a trifle neither, in good faith, if the learned


should speak truth of it: here it is, and all that


belongs tot. Ask me if I am a courtier: it shall


To be young again, if we could: I will be a fool in


question, hoping to be the wiser by your answer. I


O Lord, sir! Theres a simple putting off. More,


Sir, I am a poor friend of yours, that loves you.


O Lord, sir! Thick, thick, spare not me.


I think, sir, you can eat none of this homely meat.


O Lord, sir! Nay, put me tot, I warrant you.


You were lately whipped, sir, as I think.


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 bound tot.


I neer had worse luck in my life in my O Lord,


sir! I see things may serve long, but not serve ever.


I play the noble housewife with the time


O Lord, sir! why, theret serves well again.


An end, sir; to your business. Give Helen this,


Not much employment for you: you understand me?


Most fruitfully: I am there before my legs.


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


Why, tis the rarest argument of wonder that hath


Of all the learned and authentic fellows,--


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


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


It is, indeed: if you will have it in showing, you


shall read it in--what do you call there?


A showing of a heavenly effect in an earthly actor.


Thats it; I would have said the very same.


Why, your dolphin is not lustier: fore me,


Nay, tis strange, tis very strange, that is the


brief and the tedious of it; and hes of a most


facinerious spirit that will not acknowledge it to be the--


transcendence: which should, indeed, give us a


further use to be made than alone the recovery of


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


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


Lustig, as the Dutchman says: Ill like a maid the


better, whilst I have a tooth in my head: why, hes


Go, call before me all the lords in court.


Sit, my preserver, by thy patients side;


And with this healthful hand, whose banishd sense


Thou hast repeald, a second time receive


Fair maid, send forth thine eye: this youthful parcel


Of noble bachelors stand at my bestowing,


Oer whom both sovereign power and fathers voice


Thou hast power to choose, and they none to forsake.


To each of you one fair and virtuous mistress


Fall, when Love please! marry, to each, but one!


My mouth no more were broken than these boys,


Not one of those but had a noble father.


Heaven hath through me restored the king to health.


We understand it, and thank heaven for you.


I am a simple maid, and therein wealthiest,


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;


Who shuns thy love shuns all his love in me.


And to imperial Love, that god most high,


Do my sighs stream. Sir, will you hear my suit?


I had rather be in this choice than throw ames-ace


The honour, sir, that flames in your fair eyes,


Before I speak, too threateningly replies:


Love make your fortunes twenty times above


Which great Love grant! and so, I take my leave.


Do all they deny her? An they were sons of mine,


Id have them whipped; or I would send them to the


Be not afraid that I your hand should take;


Ill never do you wrong for your own sake:


Blessing upon your vows! and in your bed


These boys are boys of ice, theyll none have her:


sure, they are bastards to the English; the French


You are too young, too happy, and too good,


Theres one grape yet; I am sure thy father drunk


wine: but if thou best not an ass, I am a youth


[To BERTRAM]  I dare not say I take you; but I give


Into your guiding power. This is the man.


Why, then, young Bertram, take her; shes thy wife.


My wife, my liege! I shall beseech your highness,


But never hope to know why I should marry her.


Thou knowst she has raised me from my sickly bed.


But follows it, my lord, to bring me down


Must answer for your raising? I know her well:


She had her breeding at my fathers charge.


A poor physicians daughter my wife! Disdain


Tis only title thou disdainst in her, the which


I can build up. Strange is it that our bloods,


Of colour, weight, and heat, pourd all together,


Would quite confound distinction, yet stand off


All that is virtuous, save what thou dislikest,


A poor physicians daughter, thou dislikest


From lowest place when virtuous things proceed,


The place is dignified by the doers deed:


Where great additions swells, and virtue none,


Not by the title. She is young, wise, fair;


And these breed honour: that is honours scorn,


And is not like the sire: honours thrive,


When rather from our acts we them derive


Than our foregoers: the mere words a slave


Where dust and damnd oblivion is the tomb


Of honourd bones indeed. What should be said?


If thou canst like this creature as a maid,


Is her own dower; honour and wealth from me.


I cannot love her, nor will strive to dot.


Thou wrongst thyself, if thou shouldst strive to choose.


That you are well restored, my lord, Im glad:


My honours at the stake; which to defeat,


I must produce my power. Here, take her hand,


Proud scornful boy, unworthy this good gift;


My love and her desert; that canst not dream,


Shall weigh thee to the beam; that wilt not know,


We please to have it grow. Cheque thy contempt:


Obey our will, which travails in thy good:


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.


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,


And tell her she is thine: to whom I promise


Smile upon this contract; whose ceremony


Shall seem expedient on the now-born brief,


And be performd to-night: the solemn feast


Shall more attend upon the coming space,


Expecting absent friends. As thou lovest her,


Thy loves to me religious; else, does err.


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


Your lord and master did well to make his


A most harsh one, and not to be understood without


Are you companion to the Count Rousillon?


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


To what is counts man: counts master is of


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


I must tell thee, sirrah, I write man; to which


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


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


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


My lord, you give me most egregious indignity.


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


Yes, good faith, every dram of it; and I will not


Even as soon as thou canst, for thou hast to pull at


a smack o the contrary. If ever thou best 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.


My lord, you do me most insupportable vexation.


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.


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.


Ill beat him, by my life, if I can meet him with


any convenience, an he were double and double a


lord. Ill have no more pity of his age than I


would of--Ill beat him, an if I could but meet him again.


Sirrah, your lord and masters married; theres news


I most unfeignedly beseech your lordship to make


some reservation of your wrongs: he is my good


The devil it is thats 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, Ild 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.


This is hard and undeserved measure, my lord.


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 Ild call you knave. I leave you.


Good, very good; it is so then: good, very good;


Undone, and forfeited to cares for ever!


Although before the solemn priest I have sworn,


Ill to the Tuscan wars, and never bed her.


France is a dog-hole, and it no more merits


Theres letters from my mother: what the import is,


Ay, that would be known. To the wars, my boy, to the wars!


Which should sustain the bound and high curvet


France is a stable; we that dwell int jades;


It shall be so: Ill send her to my house,


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.


Will this capriccio hold in thee? art sure?


Go with me to my chamber, and advise me.


Ill to the wars, she to her single sorrow.


Why, these balls bound; theres noise in it. Tis hard:


A young man married is a man thats marrd:


Therefore away, and leave her bravely; go:


The king has done you wrong: but, hush, tis so.


My mother greets me kindly; is she well?


She is not well; but yet she has her health: shes


very merry; but yet she is not well: but thanks be


given, shes very well and wants nothing i, the


If she be very well, what does she ail, that shes


Truly, shes very well indeed, but for two things.


One, that shes not in heaven, whither God send her


quickly! the other that shes in earth, from whence


I hope, sir, I have your good will to have mine own


You had my prayers to lead them on; and to keep them


on, have them still. O, my knave, how does my old lady?


So that you had her wrinkles and I her money,


Marry, you are the wiser man; for many a mans


tongue shakes out his masters undoing: to say


nothing, to do nothing, to know nothing, and to have


nothing, is to be a great part of your title; which


You should have said, sir, before a knave thourt a


knave; thats, before me thourt a knave: this had


Go to, thou art a witty fool; I have found thee.


Did you find me in yourself, sir? or were you


taught to find me? The search, sir, was profitable;


and much fool may you find in you, even to the


worlds pleasure and the increase of laughter.


Which, as your due, time claims, he does acknowledge;


But puts it off to a compelld restraint;


Whose want, and whose delay, is strewd with sweets,


Which they distil now in the curbed time,


To make the coming hour oerflow with joy


That you will take your instant leave o the king


And make this haste as your own good proceeding,


That, having this obtaind, you presently


But I hope your lordship thinks not him a soldier.


Yes, my lord, and of very valiant approof.


Then my dial goes not true: I took this lark for a bunting.


I do assure you, my lord, he is very great in


I have then sinned against his experience and


transgressed against his valour; and my state that


way is dangerous, since I cannot yet find in my


heart to repent. Here he comes: I pray you, make


[To BERTRAM]  These things shall be done, sir.


O, I know him well, I, sir; he, sir, s a good


[Aside to PAROLLES]  Is she gone to the king?


I have writ my letters, casketed my treasure,


Given order for our horses; and to-night,


When I should take possession of the bride,


A good traveller is something at the latter end of a


dinner; but one that lies three thirds and uses a


known truth to pass a thousand nothings with, should


be once heard and thrice beaten. God save you, captain.


Is there any unkindness between my lord and you, monsieur?


I know not how I have deserved to run into my lords


You have made shift to run into t, boots and spurs


and all, like him that leaped into the custard; and


out of it youll run again, rather than suffer


It may be you have mistaken him, my lord.


And shall do so ever, though I took him at s


prayers. Fare you well, my lord; and believe this


of me, there can be no kernel in this light nut; the


soul of this man is his clothes. Trust him not in


matter of heavy consequence; I have kept of them


tame, and know their natures. Farewell, monsieur:


I have spoken better of you than you have or will to


deserve at my hand; but we must do good against evil.


Yes, I do know him well, and common speech


Gives him a worthy pass. Here comes my clog.


I have, sir, as I was commanded from you,


Spoke with the king and have procured his leave


You must not marvel, Helen, at my course,


Which holds not colour with the time, nor does


For such a business; therefore am I found


So much unsettled: this drives me to entreat you


That presently you take our way for home;


And rather muse than ask why I entreat you,


For my respects are better than they seem


Greater than shows itself at the first view


To you that know them not. This to my mother:


Twill be two days ere I shall see you, so


But that I am your most obedient servant.


With true observance seek to eke out that


Wherein toward me my homely stars have faild


My haste is very great: farewell; hie home.


But, like a timorous thief, most fain would steal


Something; and scarce so much: nothing, indeed.


I would not tell you what I would, my lord:


Strangers and foes do sunder, and not kiss.


I pray you, stay not, but in haste to horse.


I shall not break your bidding, good my lord.


Where are my other men, monsieur? Farewell.


Go thou toward home; where I will never come


Whilst I can shake my sword or hear the drum.


Flourish. Enter the DUKE of Florence attended; the two Frenchmen, with a troop of soldiers.


So that from point to point now have you heard


Whose great decision hath much blood let forth


Upon your graces part; black and fearful


Therefore we marvel much our cousin France


Would in so just a business shut his bosom


The reasons of our state I cannot yield,


That the great figure of a council frames


By self-unable motion: therefore dare not


Say what I think of it, since I have found


But I am sure the younger of our nature,


That surfeit on their ease, will day by day


And all the honours that can fly from us


Shall on them settle. You know your places well;


When better fall, for your avails they fell:


It hath happened all as I would have had it, save


By my troth, I take my young lord to be a very


Why, he will look upon his boot and sing; mend the


ruff and sing; ask questions and sing; pick his


teeth and sing. I know a man that had this trick of


melancholy sold a goodly manor for a song.


Let me see what he writes, and when he means to come.


I have no mind to Isbel since I was at court: our


old ling and our Isbels o the country are nothing


like your old ling and your Isbels o the court:


the brains of my Cupids knocked out, and I begin to


love, as an old man loves money, with no stomach.


[Reads]  I have sent you a daughter-in-law: she hath


recovered the king, and undone me. I have wedded


her, not bedded her; and sworn to make the not


eternal. You shall hear I am run away: know it


before the report come. If there be breadth enough


in the world, I will hold a long distance. My duty


This is not well, rash and unbridled boy.


By the misprising of a maid too virtuous


O madam, yonder is heavy news within between two


Nay, there is some comfort in the news, some


comfort; your son will not be killed so soon as I


So say I, madam, if he run away, as I hear he does:


the danger is in standing tot; thats the loss of


men, though it be the getting of children. Here


they come will tell you more: for my part, I only


Think upon patience. Pray you, gentlemen,


I have felt so many quirks of joy and grief,


That the first face of neither, on the start,


Can woman me untot: where is my son, I pray you?


Madam, hes gone to serve the duke of Florence:


We met him thitherward; for thence we came,


And, after some dispatch in hand at court,


Look on his letter, madam; heres my passport.


When thou canst get the ring upon my finger which


never shall come off, and show me a child begotten


of thy body that I am father to, then call me


husband: but in such a then I write a never.


And for the contents sake are sorry for our pain.


If thou engrossest all the griefs are thine,


Thou robbst me of a moiety: he was my son;


And thou art all my child. Towards Florence is he?


Such is his noble purpose; and believe t,


The duke will lay upon him all the honour


Ay, madam, with the swiftest wing of speed.


[Reads]  Till I have no wife I have nothing in France.


Tis but the boldness of his hand, haply, which his


Nothing in France, until he have no wife!


Theres nothing here that is too good for him


That twenty such rude boys might tend upon


And call her hourly mistress. Who was with him?


A very tainted fellow, and full of wickedness.


I will entreat you, when you see my son,


To tell him that his sword can never win


The honour that he loses: more Ill entreat you


Not so, but as we change our courtesies.


Till I have no wife, I have nothing in France.


Nothing in France, until he has no wife!


Thou shalt have none, Rousillon, none in France;


Then hast thou all again. Poor lord! ist I


That chase thee from thy country and expose


Those tender limbs of thine to the event


That drive thee from the sportive court, where thou


Wast shot at with fair eyes, to be the mark


Of smoky muskets? O you leaden messengers,


That ride upon the violent speed of fire,


Fly with false aim; move the still-peering air,


That sings with piercing; do not touch my lord.


And, though I kill him not, I am the cause


With sharp constraint of hunger; better twere


Were mine at once. No, come thou home, Rousillon,


Whence honour but of danger wins a scar,


My being here it is that holds thee hence:


Shall I stay here to dot?  no, no, although


That pitiful rumour may report my flight,


To consolate thine ear. Come, night; end, day!


For with the dark, poor thief, Ill steal away.


SCENE III. Florence. Before the DUKEs palace.


Flourish. Enter the DUKE of Florence, BERTRAM, PAROLLES, Soldiers, Drum, and Trumpets


The general of our horse thou art; and we,


Great in our hope, lay our best love and credence


A charge too heavy for my strength, but yet


Well strive to bear it for your worthy sake


And fortune play upon thy prosperous helm,


Make me but like my thoughts, and I shall prove


Alas! and would you take the letter of her?


Might you not know she would do as she has done,


I am Saint Jaques pilgrim, thither gone:


That barefoot plod I the cold ground upon,


With sainted vow my faults to have amended.


Write, write, that from the bloody course of war


My dearest master, your dear son, may hie:


Bless him at home in peace, whilst I from far


From courtly friends, with camping foes to live,


Where death and danger dogs the heels of worth:


He is too good and fair for death and me:


Ah, what sharp stings are in her mildest words!


Rinaldo, you did never lack advice so much,


As letting her pass so: had I spoke with her,


She might have been oertaen; and yet she writes,


Bless this unworthy husband? he cannot thrive,


Unless her prayers, whom heaven delights to hear


And loves to grant, reprieve him from the wrath


Of greatest justice. Write, write, Rinaldo,


That he does weigh too light: my greatest grief.


Though little he do feel it, set down sharply.


When haply he shall hear that she is gone,


He will return; and hope I may that she,


Hearing so much, will speed her foot again,


Led hither by pure love: which of them both


Is dearest to me. I have no skill in sense


To make distinction: provide this messenger:


Grief would have tears, and sorrow bids me speak.


SCENE V. Florence. Without the walls. A tucket afar off.


Enter an old Widow of Florence, DIANA, VIOLENTA, and MARIANA, with other Citizens


Nay, come; for if they do approach the city, we


They say the French count has done most honourable service.


It is reported that he has taken their greatest


commander; and that with his own hand he slew the


We have lost our labour; they are gone a contrary


way: hark! you may know by their trumpets.


Come, lets return again, and suffice ourselves with


the report of it. Well, Diana, take heed of this


French earl: the honour of a maid is her name; and


I have told my neighbour how you have been solicited


I know that knave; hang him! one Parolles: a


filthy officer he is in those suggestions for the


young earl. Beware of them, Diana; their promises,


enticements, oaths, tokens, and all these engines of


lust, are not the things they go under: many a maid


hath been seduced by them; and the misery is,


example, that so terrible shows in the wreck of


maidenhood, cannot for all that dissuade succession,


but that they are limed with the twigs that threaten


them. I hope I need not to advise you further; but


I hope your own grace will keep you where you are,


though there were no further danger known but the


Look, here comes a pilgrim: I know she will lie at


my house; thither they send one another: Ill


question her. God save you, pilgrim! whither are you bound?


Where do the palmers lodge, I do beseech you?


At the Saint Francis here beside the port.


I will conduct you where you shall be lodged;


The rather, for I think I know your hostess


I thank you, and will stay upon your leisure.


Here you shall see a countryman of yours


The Count Rousillon: know you such a one?


But by the ear, that hears most nobly of him:


Hes bravely taken here. He stole from France,


As tis reported, for the king had married him


Ay, surely, mere the truth: I know his lady.


There is a gentleman that serves the count


Of the great count himself, she is too mean


To have her name repeated: all her deserving


I warrant, good creature, wheresoeer she is,


Her heart weighs sadly: this young maid might do her


And brokes with all that can in such a suit


But she is armd for him and keeps her guard


Enter BERTRAM, PAROLLES, and the whole army


That with the plume: tis a most gallant fellow.


I would he loved his wife: if he were honester


He were much goodlier: ist not a handsome gentleman?


Tis pity he is not honest: yonds that same knave


That leads him to these places: were I his lady,


That jack-an-apes with scarfs: why is he melancholy?


Hes shrewdly vexed at something: look, he has spied us.


The troop is past. Come, pilgrim, I will bring you


Where you shall host: of enjoind penitents


Theres four or five, to great Saint Jaques bound,


Please it this matron and this gentle maid


To eat with us to-night, the charge and thanking


Shall be for me; and, to requite you further,


I will bestow some precepts of this virgin


Nay, good my lord, put him tot; let him have his


If your lordship find him not a hilding, hold me no


Do you think I am so far deceived in him?


Believe it, my lord, in mine own direct knowledge,


without any malice, but to speak of him as my


kinsman, hes a most notable coward, an infinite and


endless liar, an hourly promise-breaker, the owner


of no one good quality worthy your lordships


It were fit you knew him; lest, reposing too far in


his virtue, which he hath not, he might at some


great and trusty business in a main danger fail you.


I would I knew in what particular action to try him.


None better than to let him fetch off his drum,


which you hear him so confidently undertake to do.


I, with a troop of Florentines, will suddenly


surprise him; such I will have, whom I am sure he


knows not from the enemy: we will bind and hoodwink


him so, that he shall suppose no other but that he


is carried into the leaguer of the adversaries, when


we bring him to our own tents. Be but your lordship


present at his examination: if he do not, for the


promise of his life and in the highest compulsion of


base fear, offer to betray you and deliver all the


intelligence in his power against you, and that with


the divine forfeit of his soul upon oath, never


O, for the love of laughter, let him fetch his drum;


he says he has a stratagem fort: when your


lordship sees the bottom of his success int, and to


what metal this counterfeit lump of ore will be


entertainment, your inclining cannot be removed.


[Aside to BERTRAM]  O, for the love of laughter,


hinder not the honour of his design: let him fetch


How now, monsieur! this drum sticks sorely in your


But a drum! ist but a drum? A drum so lost!


There was excellent command,--to charge in with our


horse upon our own wings, and to rend our own soldiers!


That was not to be blamed in the command of the


service: it was a disaster of war that Caesar


himself could not have prevented, if he had been


Well, we cannot greatly condemn our success: some


dishonour we had in the loss of that drum; but it is


It is to be recovered: but that the merit of


service is seldom attributed to the true and exact


performer, I would have that drum or another, or


Why, if you have a stomach, tot, monsieur: if you


think your mystery in stratagem can bring this


instrument of honour again into his native quarter,


be magnanimous in the enterprise and go on; I will


grace the attempt for a worthy exploit: if you


speed well in it, the duke shall both speak of it.


and extend to you what further becomes his


greatness, even to the utmost syllable of your


By the hand of a soldier, I will undertake it.


Ill about it this evening: and I will presently


pen down my dilemmas, encourage myself in my


certainty, put myself into my mortal preparation;


and by midnight look to hear further from me.


May I be bold to acquaint his grace you are gone about it?


I know not what the success will be, my lord; but


I know thourt valiant; and, to the possibility of


thy soldiership, will subscribe for thee. Farewell.


No more than a fish loves water. Is not this a


strange fellow, my lord, that so confidently seems


to undertake this business, which he knows is not to


be done; damns himself to do and dares better be


You do not know him, my lord, as we do: certain it


is that he will steal himself into a mans favour and


for a week escape a great deal of discoveries; but


when you find him out, you have him ever after.


Why, do you think he will make no deed at all of


this that so seriously he does address himself unto?


None in the world; but return with an invention and


clap upon you two or three probable lies: but we


have almost embossed him; you shall see his fall


to-night; for indeed he is not for your lordships respect.


Well make you some sport with the fox ere we case


him. He was first smoked by the old lord Lafeu:


when his disguise and he is parted, tell me what a


sprat you shall find him; which you shall see this


I must go look my twigs: he shall be caught.


Ast please your lordship: Ill leave you.


Now will I lead you to the house, and show you


Thats all the fault: I spoke with her but once


And found her wondrous cold; but I sent to her,


By this same coxcomb that we have i the wind,


Tokens and letters which she did re-send;


And this is all I have done. Shes a fair creature:


I know not how I shall assure you further,


But I shall lose the grounds I work upon.


Though my estate be fallen, I was well born,


Nothing acquainted with these businesses;


First, give me trust, the count he is my husband,


And what to your sworn counsel I have spoken


Is so from word to word; and then you cannot,


By the good aid that I of you shall borrow,


For you have showd me that which well approves


And let me buy your friendly help thus far,


When I have found it. The count he wooes your daughter,


Lays down his wanton siege before her beauty,


Resolved to carry her: let her in fine consent,


As well direct her how tis best to bear it.


Now his important blood will nought deny


That shell demand: a ring the county wears,


That downward hath succeeded in his house


From son to son, some four or five descents


Since the first father wore it: this ring he holds


In most rich choice; yet in his idle fire,


To buy his will, it would not seem too dear,


But that your daughter, ere she seems as won,


Desires this ring; appoints him an encounter;


Herself most chastely absent: after this,


To marry her, Ill add three thousand crowns


Instruct my daughter how she shall persever,


That time and place with this deceit so lawful


May prove coherent. Every night he comes


With musics of all sorts and songs composed


To her unworthiness: it nothing steads us


To chide him from our eaves; for he persists


Let us assay our plot; which, if it speed,


Where both not sin, and yet a sinful fact:


Enter Second French Lord, with five or six other Soldiers in ambush


He can come no other way but by this hedge-corner.


When you sally upon him, speak what terrible


language you will: though you understand it not


yourselves, no matter; for we must not seem to


understand him, unless some one among us whom we


Good captain, let me be the interpreter.


Art not acquainted with him? knows he not thy voice?


But what linsey-woolsey hast thou to speak to us again?


He must think us some band of strangers i the


adversarys entertainment. Now he hath a smack of


all neighbouring languages; therefore we must every


one be a man of his own fancy, not to know what we


speak one to another; so we seem to know, is to


know straight our purpose: choughs language,


gabble enough, and good enough. As for you,


interpreter, you must seem very politic. But couch,


ho! here he comes, to beguile two hours in a sleep,


and then to return and swear the lies he forges.


Ten oclock: within these three hours twill be


time enough to go home. What shall I say I have


done? It must be a very plausive invention that


carries it: they begin to smoke me; and disgraces


have of late knocked too often at my door. I find


my tongue is too foolhardy; but my heart hath the


fear of Mars before it and of his creatures, not


This is the first truth that eer thine own tongue


What the devil should move me to undertake the


recovery of this drum, being not ignorant of the


impossibility, and knowing I had no such purpose? I


must give myself some hurts, and say I got them in


exploit: yet slight ones will not carry it; they


will say, Came you off with so little? and great


ones I dare not give. Wherefore, whats the


butter-womans mouth and buy myself another of


Bajazets mule, if you prattle me into these perils.


Is it possible he should know what he is, and be


I would the cutting of my garments would serve the


turn, or the breaking of my Spanish sword.


Or the baring of my beard; and to say it was in


Or to drown my clothes, and say I was stripped.


Though I swore I leaped from the window of the citadel.


Three great oaths would scarce make that be believed.


I would I had any drum of the enemys: I would swear


Cargo, cargo, cargo, villiando par corbo, cargo.


O, ransom, ransom! do not hide mine eyes.


And I shall lose my life for want of language;


If there be here German, or Dane, low Dutch,


Italian, or French, let him speak to me; Ill


Discover that which shall undo the Florentine.


Boskos vauvado: I understand thee, and can speak


thy tongue. Kerely bonto, sir, betake thee to thy


faith, for seventeen poniards are at thy bosom.


O, pray, pray, pray! Manka revania dulche.


The general is content to spare thee yet;


And, hoodwinkd as thou art, will lead thee on


To gather from thee: haply thou mayst inform


And all the secrets of our camp Ill show,


Their force, their purposes; nay, Ill speak that


Exit, with PAROLLES guarded. A short alarum within


Go, tell the Count Rousillon, and my brother,


We have caught the woodcock, and will keep him muffled


Till then Ill keep him dark and safely lockd.


They told me that your name was Fontibell.


And worth it, with addition! But, fair soul,


In your fine frame hath love no quality?


If quick fire of youth light not your mind,


When you are dead, you should be such a one


As you are now, for you are cold and stem;


And now you should be as your mother was


I prithee, do not strive against my vows:


By loves own sweet constraint, and will for ever


Till we serve you; but when you have our roses,


You barely leave our thorns to prick ourselves


Tis not the many oaths that makes the truth,


But the plain single vow that is vowd true.


But take the Highst to witness: then, pray you, tell me,


If I should swear by Gods great attributes,


I loved you dearly, would you believe my oaths,


When I did love you ill? This has no holding,


That I will work against him: therefore your oaths


Are words and poor conditions, but unseald,


That you do charge men with. Stand no more off,


Who then recover: say thou art mine, and ever


I see that men make ropes in such a scarre


That well forsake ourselves. Give me that ring.


Ill lend it thee, my dear; but have no power


Which were the greatest obloquy i the world


In me to lose: thus your own proper wisdom


Brings in the champion Honour on my part,


My house, mine honour, yea, my life, be thine,


When midnight comes, knock at my chamber-window:


Ill order take my mother shall not hear.


Now will I charge you in the band of truth,


When you have conquerd my yet maiden bed,


Remain there but an hour, nor speak to me:


My reasons are most strong; and you shall know them


When back again this ring shall be deliverd:


Another ring, that what in time proceeds


Adieu, till then; then, fail not. You have won


A wife of me, though there my hope be done.


A heaven on earth I have won by wooing thee.


For which live long to thank both heaven and me!


My mother told me just how he would woo,


As if she sat in s heart; she says all men


Have the like oaths: he had sworn to marry me


When his wifes dead; therefore Ill lie with him


When I am buried. Since Frenchmen are so braid,


Enter the two French Lords and some two or three Soldiers


You have not given him his mothers letter?


I have delivered it an hour since: there is


something int that stings his nature; for on the


reading it he changed almost into another man.


He has much worthy blame laid upon him for shaking


Especially he hath incurred the everlasting


displeasure of the king, who had even tuned his


bounty to sing happiness to him. I will tell you a


thing, but you shall let it dwell darkly with you.


When you have spoken it, tis dead, and I am the


He hath perverted a young gentlewoman here in


Florence, of a most chaste renown; and this night he


fleshes his will in the spoil of her honour: he hath


given her his monumental ring, and thinks himself


Now, God delay our rebellion! as we are ourselves,


Merely our own traitors. And as in the common course


of all treasons, we still see them reveal


themselves, till they attain to their abhorred ends,


so he that in this action contrives against his own


nobility, in his proper stream oerflows himself.


Is it not meant damnable in us, to be trumpeters of


our unlawful intents? We shall not then have his


Not till after midnight; for he is dieted to his hour.


That approaches apace; I would gladly have him see


his company anatomized, that he might take a measure


of his own judgments, wherein so curiously he had


We will not meddle with him till he come; for his


In the mean time, what hear you of these wars?


What will Count Rousillon do then? will he travel


I perceive, by this demand, you are not altogether


Let it be forbid, sir; so should I be a great deal


Sir, his wife some two months since fled from his


house: her pretence is a pilgrimage to Saint Jaques


le Grand; which holy undertaking with most austere


sanctimony she accomplished; and, there residing the


tenderness of her nature became as a prey to her


grief; in fine, made a groan of her last breath, and


The stronger part of it by her own letters, which


makes her story true, even to the point of her


death: her death itself, which could not be her


office to say is come, was faithfully confirmed by


Ay, and the particular confirmations, point from


point, so to the full arming of the verity.


I am heartily sorry that hell be glad of this.


How mightily sometimes we make us comforts of our losses!


And how mightily some other times we drown our gain


in tears! The great dignity that his valour hath


here acquired for him shall at home be encountered


The web of our life is of a mingled yarn, good and


ill together: our virtues would be proud, if our


faults whipped them not; and our crimes would


despair, if they were not cherished by our virtues.


He met the duke in the street, sir, of whom he hath


taken a solemn leave: his lordship will next


morning for France. The duke hath offered him


They shall be no more than needful there, if they


They cannot be too sweet for the kings tartness.


How now, my lord! ist not after midnight?


I have to-night dispatched sixteen businesses, a


months length a-piece, by an abstract of success:


I have congied with the duke, done my adieu with his


nearest; buried a wife, mourned for her; writ to my


lady mother I am returning; entertained my convoy;


and between these main parcels of dispatch effected


many nicer needs; the last was the greatest, but


If the business be of any difficulty, and this


morning your departure hence, it requires haste of


I mean, the business is not ended, as fearing to


hear of it hereafter. But shall we have this


dialogue between the fool and the soldier? Come,


bring forth this counterfeit module, he has deceived


Bring him forth: has sat i the stocks all night,


No matter: his heels have deserved it, in usurping


his spurs so long. How does he carry himself?


I have told your lordship already, the stocks carry


him. But to answer you as you would be understood;


he weeps like a wench that had shed her milk: he


hath confessed himself to Morgan, whom he supposes


to be a friar, from the time of his remembrance to


this very instant disaster of his setting i the


stocks: and what think you he hath confessed?


His confession is taken, and it shall be read to his


face: if your lordship be int, as I believe you


are, you must have the patience to hear it.


Enter PAROLLES guarded, and First Soldier


A plague upon him! muffled! he can say nothing of


He calls for the tortures: what will you say


I will confess what I know without constraint: if


ye pinch me like a pasty, I can say no more.


You are a merciful general. Our general bids you


answer to what I shall ask you out of a note.


[Reads]  First demand of him how many horse the


unserviceable: the troops are all scattered, and


the commanders very poor rogues, upon my reputation


Do: Ill take the sacrament ont, how and which way you will.


Alls one to him. What a past-saving slave is this!


Youre deceived, my lord: this is Monsieur


Parolles, the gallant militarist,--that was his own


phrase,--that had the whole theoric of war in the


knot of his scarf, and the practise in the chape of


I will never trust a man again for keeping his sword


clean. nor believe he can have every thing in him


Five or six thousand horse, I said,-- I will say


true,--or thereabouts, set down, for Ill speak truth.


But I con him no thanks fort, in the nature he


I humbly thank you, sir: a truths a truth, the


[Reads]  Demand of him, of what strength they are


By my troth, sir, if I were to live this present


hour, I will tell true. Let me see: Spurio, a


hundred and fifty; Sebastian, so many; Corambus, so


many; Jaques, so many; Guiltian, Cosmo, Lodowick,


and Gratii, two hundred and fifty each; mine own


company, Chitopher, Vaumond, Bentii, two hundred and


fifty each: so that the muster-file, rotten and


sound, upon my life, amounts not to fifteen thousand


poll; half of the which dare not shake snow from off


their cassocks, lest they shake themselves to pieces.


Nothing, but let him have thanks. Demand of him my


condition, and what credit I have with the duke.


You shall demand of him, whether one Captain Dumain


be i the camp, a Frenchman; what his reputation is


with the duke; what his valour, honesty, and


expertness in wars; or whether he thinks it were not


possible, with well-weighing sums of gold, to


corrupt him to revolt. What say you to this? what


I beseech you, let me answer to the particular of


I know him: a was a botchers prentice in Paris,


from whence he was whipped for getting the shrieves


fool with child,--a dumb innocent, that could not


Nay, by your leave, hold your hands; though I know


his brains are forfeit to the next tile that falls.


Well, is this captain in the duke of Florences camp?


Nay look not so upon me; we shall hear of your


The duke knows him for no other but a poor officer


of mine; and writ to me this other day to turn him


out o the band: I think I have his letter in my pocket.


In good sadness, I do not know; either it is there,


or it is upon a file with the dukes other letters


Here tis; heres a paper: shall I read it to you?


[Reads]  Dian, the counts a fool, and full of gold,--


That is not the dukes letter, sir; that is an


advertisement to a proper maid in Florence, one


Diana, to take heed of the allurement of one Count


Rousillon, a foolish idle boy, but for all that very


ruttish: I pray you, sir, put it up again.


My meaning int, I protest, was very honest in the


behalf of the maid; for I knew the young count to be


a dangerous and lascivious boy, who is a whale to


virginity and devours up all the fry it finds.


[Reads]  When he swears oaths, bid him drop gold, and take it;


After he scores, he never pays the score:


Half won is match well made; match, and well make it;


He neer pays after-debts, take it before;


And say a soldier, Dian, told thee this,


Men are to mell with, boys are not to kiss:


For count of this, the counts a fool, I know it,


Who pays before, but not when he does owe it.


Thine, as he vowed to thee in thine ear,


He shall be whipped through the army with this rhyme


This is your devoted friend, sir, the manifold


I could endure any thing before but a cat, and now


I perceive, sir, by the generals looks, we shall be


My life, sir, in any case: not that I am afraid to


die; but that, my offences being many, I would


repent out the remainder of nature: let me live,


sir, in a dungeon, i the stocks, or any where, so I may live.


Well see what may be done, so you confess freely;


therefore, once more to this Captain Dumain: you


have answered to his reputation with the duke and to


He will steal, sir, an egg out of a cloister: for


rapes and ravishments he parallels Nessus: he


professes not keeping of oaths; in breaking em he


is stronger than Hercules: he will lie, sir, with


such volubility, that you would think truth were a


fool: drunkenness is his best virtue, for he will


be swine-drunk; and in his sleep he does little


harm, save to his bed-clothes about him; but they


know his conditions and lay him in straw. I have but


little more to say, sir, of his honesty: he has


every thing that an honest man should not have; what


an honest man should have, he has nothing.


For this description of thine honesty? A pox upon


Faith, sir, he has led the drum before the English


tragedians; to belie him, I will not, and more of


his soldiership I know not; except, in that country


he had the honour to be the officer at a place there


called Mile-end, to instruct for the doubling of


files: I would do the man what honour I can, but of


He hath out-villained villany so far, that the


His qualities being at this poor price, I need not


to ask you if gold will corrupt him to revolt.


Sir, for a quart decu he will sell the fee-simple


of his salvation, the inheritance of it; and cut the


entail from all remainders, and a perpetual


Whats his brother, the other Captain Dumain?


Een a crow o the same nest; not altogether so


great as the first in goodness, but greater a great


deal in evil: he excels his brother for a coward,


yet his brother is reputed one of the best that is:


in a retreat he outruns any lackey; marry, in coming


If your life be saved, will you undertake to betray


Ay, and the captain of his horse, Count Rousillon.


Ill whisper with the general, and know his pleasure.


[Aside]  Ill no more drumming; a plague of all


drums! Only to seem to deserve well, and to


beguile the supposition of that lascivious young boy


the count, have I run into this danger. Yet who


would have suspected an ambush where I was taken?


There is no remedy, sir, but you must die: the


general says, you that have so traitorously


discovered the secrets of your army and made such


pestiferous reports of men very nobly held, can


serve the world for no honest use; therefore you


must die. Come, headsman, off with his head.


O Lord, sir, let me live, or let me see my death!


That shall you, and take your leave of all your friends.


Captain, what greeting will you to my Lord Lafeu?


Good captain, will you give me a copy of the sonnet


you writ to Diana in behalf of the Count Rousillon?


an I were not a very coward, Ild compel it of you:


You are undone, captain, all but your scarf; that


If you could find out a country where but women were


that had received so much shame, you might begin an


impudent nation. Fare ye well, sir; I am for France


Yet am I thankful: if my heart were great,


Twould burst at this. Captain Ill be no more;


But I will eat and drink, and sleep as soft


Shall make me live. Who knows himself a braggart,


Let him fear this, for it will come to pass


that every braggart shall be found an ass.


Rust, sword? cool, blushes! and, Parolles, live


Safest in shame! being foold, by foolery thrive!


Theres place and means for every man alive.


That you may well perceive I have not wrongd you,


One of the greatest in the Christian world


Shall be my surety; fore whose throne tis needful,


Ere I can perfect mine intents, to kneel:


Dear almost as his life; which gratitude


Through flinty Tartars bosom would peep forth,


His grace is at Marseilles; to which place


We have convenient convoy. You must know


My husband hies him home; where, heaven aiding,


And by the leave of my good lord the king,


Ever a friend whose thoughts more truly labour


To recompense your love: doubt not but heaven


Hath brought me up to be your daughters dower,


And helper to a husband. But, O strange men!


That can such sweet use make of what they hate,


When saucy trusting of the cozend thoughts


Defiles the pitchy night: so lust doth play


With what it loathes for that which is away.


Under my poor instructions yet must suffer


But with the word the time will bring on summer,


When briers shall have leaves as well as thorns,


Our wagon is prepared, and time revives us:


Alls well that ends well; still the fines the crown;


Whateer the course, the end is the renown.


No, no, no, your son was misled with a snipt-taffeta


fellow there, whose villanous saffron would have


made all the unbaked and doughy youth of a nation in


his colour: your daughter-in-law had been alive at


this hour, and your son here at home, more advanced


by the king than by that red-tailed humble-bee I speak of.


I would I had not known him; it was the death of the


most virtuous gentlewoman that ever nature had


praise for creating. If she had partaken of my


flesh, and cost me the dearest groans of a mother, I


could not have owed her a more rooted love.


Twas a good lady, twas a good lady: we may pick a


thousand salads ere we light on such another herb.


Indeed, sir, she was the sweet marjoram of the


They are not herbs, you knave; they are nose-herbs.


I am no great Nebuchadnezzar, sir; I have not much


Whether dost thou profess thyself, a knave or a fool?


A fool, sir, at a womans service, and a knave at a mans.


I would cozen the man of his wife and do his service.


So you were a knave at his service, indeed.


And I would give his wife my bauble, sir, to do her service.


I will subscribe for thee, thou art both knave and fool.


Why, sir, if I cannot serve you, I can serve as


Faith, sir, a has an English name; but his fisnomy


The black prince, sir; alias, the prince of


Hold thee, theres my purse: I give thee not this


to suggest thee from thy master thou talkest of;


I am a woodland fellow, sir, that always loved a


great fire; and the master I speak of ever keeps a


good fire. But, sure, he is the prince of the


world; let his nobility remain ins court. I am for


the house with the narrow gate, which I take to be


too little for pomp to enter: some that humble


themselves may; but the many will be too chill and


tender, and theyll be for the flowery way that


leads to the broad gate and the great fire.


Go thy ways, I begin to be aweary of thee; and I


tell thee so before, because I would not fall out


with thee. Go thy ways: let my horses be well


If I put any tricks upon em, sir, they shall be


jades tricks; which are their own right by the law of nature.


So he is. My lord thats gone made himself much


sport out of him: by his authority he remains here,


which he thinks is a patent for his sauciness; and,


indeed, he has no pace, but runs where he will.


I like him well; tis not amiss. And I was about to


tell you, since I heard of the good ladys death and


that my lord your son was upon his return home, I


moved the king my master to speak in the behalf of


my daughter; which, in the minority of them both,


his majesty, out of a self-gracious remembrance, did


first propose: his highness hath promised me to do


it: and, to stop up the displeasure he hath


conceived against your son, there is no fitter


With very much content, my lord; and I wish it


His highness comes post from Marseilles, of as able


body as when he numbered thirty: he will be here


to-morrow, or I am deceived by him that in such


It rejoices me, that I hope I shall see him ere I


die. I have letters that my son will be here


to-night: I shall beseech your lordship to remain


Madam, I was thinking with what manners I might


You need but plead your honourable privilege.


Lady, of that I have made a bold charter; but I


O madam, yonders my lord your son with a patch of


velvet ons face: whether there be a scar undert


or no, the velvet knows; but tis a goodly patch of


velvet: his left cheek is a cheek of two pile and a


A scar nobly got, or a noble scar, is a good livery


Let us go see your son, I pray you: I long to talk


Faith theres a dozen of em, with delicate fine


hats and most courteous feathers, which bow the head


Enter HELENA, Widow, and DIANA, with two Attendants


But this exceeding posting day and night


Must wear your spirits low; we cannot help it:


But since you have made the days and nights as one,


To wear your gentle limbs in my affairs,


As nothing can unroot you. In happy time;


This man may help me to his majestys ear,


If he would spend his power. God save you, sir.


Sir, I have seen you in the court of France.


I do presume, sir, that you are not fallen


From the report that goes upon your goodness;


An therefore, goaded with most sharp occasions,


The use of your own virtues, for the which


And aid me with that store of power you have


He hence removed last night and with more haste


Though time seem so adverse and means unfit.


Since you are like to see the king before me,


Which I presume shall render you no blame


But rather make you thank your pains for it.


I will come after you with what good speed


And you shall find yourself to be well thankd,


Whateer falls more. We must to horse again.


SCENE II. Rousillon. Before the COUNTs palace.


Good Monsieur Lavache, give my Lord Lafeu this


letter: I have ere now, sir, been better known to


you, when I have held familiarity with fresher


clothes; but I am now, sir, muddied in fortunes


mood, and smell somewhat strong of her strong


Truly, fortunes displeasure is but sluttish, if it


smell so strongly as thou speakest of: I will


henceforth eat no fish of fortunes buttering.


Nay, you need not to stop your nose, sir; I spake


Indeed, sir, if your metaphor stink, I will stop my


nose; or against any mans metaphor. Prithee, get


Foh! prithee, stand away: a paper from fortunes


close-stool to give to a nobleman! Look, here he


Here is a purr of fortunes, sir, or of fortunes


cat,--but not a musk-cat,--that has fallen into the


unclean fishpond of her displeasure, and, as he


says, is muddied withal: pray you, sir, use the


carp as you may; for he looks like a poor, decayed,


ingenious, foolish, rascally knave. I do pity his


distress in my similes of comfort and leave him to


My lord, I am a man whom fortune hath cruelly


And what would you have me to do? Tis too late to


pare her nails now. Wherein have you played the


knave with fortune, that she should scratch you, who


of herself is a good lady and would not have knaves


thrive long under her? Theres a quart decu for


you: let the justices make you and fortune friends:


I beseech your honour to hear me one single word.


You beg a single penny more: come, you shall hat;


You beg more than word, then. Cox my passion!


O my good lord, you were the first that found me!


Was I, in sooth? and I was the first that lost thee.


It lies in you, my lord, to bring me in some grace,


Out upon thee, knave! dost thou put upon me at once


both the office of God and the devil? One brings


thee in grace and the other brings thee out.


The kings coming; I know by his trumpets. Sirrah,


inquire further after me; I had talk of you last


night: though you are a fool and a knave, you shall


SCENE III. Rousillon. The COUNTs palace.


Flourish. Enter KING, COUNTESS, LAFEU, the two French Lords, with Attendants


Was made much poorer by it: but your son,


As mad in folly, lackd the sense to know


Natural rebellion, done i the blaze of youth;


When oil and fire, too strong for reasons force,


Though my revenges were high bent upon him,


But first I beg my pardon, the young lord


Did to his majesty, his mother and his lady


The greatest wrong of all. He lost a wife


Of richest eyes, whose words all ears took captive,


Whose dear perfection hearts that scornd to serve


Makes the remembrance dear. Well, call him hither;


We are reconciled, and the first view shall kill


All repetition: let him not ask our pardon;


The nature of his great offence is dead,


The incensing relics of it: let him approach,


What says he to your daughter? have you spoke?


All that he is hath reference to your highness.


Then shall we have a match. I have letters sent me


For thou mayst see a sunshine and a hail


In me at once: but to the brightest beams


Distracted clouds give way; so stand thou forth;


Lets take the instant by the forward top;


For we are old, and on our quickst decrees


The inaudible and noiseless foot of Time


Steals ere we can effect them. You remember


I stuck my choice upon her, ere my heart


Durst make too bold a herald of my tongue


Where the impression of mine eye infixing,


Contempt his scornful perspective did lend me,


Which warpd the line of every other favour;


Scornd a fair colour, or expressd it stolen;


To a most hideous object: thence it came


That she whom all men praised and whom myself,


Since I have lost, have loved, was in mine eye


That thou didst love her, strikes some scores away


From the great compt: but love that comes too late,


Like a remorseful pardon slowly carried,


To the great sender turns a sour offence,


Crying, Thats good thats gone. Our rash faults


Make trivial price of serious things we have,


Not knowing them until we know their grave:


Oft our displeasures, to ourselves unjust,


Destroy our friends and after weep their dust


Our own love waking cries to see whats done,


While shame full late sleeps out the afternoon.


Be this sweet Helens knell, and now forget her.


Send forth your amorous token for fair Maudlin:


The main consents are had; and here well stay


To see our widowers second marriage-day.


Which better than the first, O dear heaven, bless!


Or, ere they meet, in me, O nature, cesse!


Must be digested, give a favour from you


To sparkle in the spirits of my daughter,


And every hair thats ont, Helen, thats dead,


Was a sweet creature: such a ring as this,


Now, pray you, let me see it; for mine eye,


While I was speaking, oft was fastend tot.


This ring was mine; and, when I gave it Helen,


I would relieve her. Had you that craft, to reave


I have seen her wear it; and she reckond it


You are deceived, my lord; she never saw it:


In Florence was it from a casement thrown me,


Wrappd in a paper, which containd the name


Of her that threw it: noble she was, and thought


I stood engaged: but when I had subscribed


To mine own fortune and informd her fully


I could not answer in that course of honour


As she had made the overture, she ceased


That knows the tinct and multiplying medicine,


Hath not in natures mystery more science


Than I have in this ring: twas mine, twas Helens,


That you are well acquainted with yourself,


Confess twas hers, and by what rough enforcement


You got it from her: she calld the saints to surety


That she would never put it from her finger,


Where you have never come, or sent it us


Thou speakst it falsely, as I love mine honour;


And makest conjectural fears to come into me


Which I would fain shut out. If it should prove


That thou art so inhuman,--twill not prove so;--


And yet I know not: thou didst hate her deadly,


And she is dead; which nothing, but to close


Her eyes myself, could win me to believe,


More than to see this ring. Take him away.


My fore-past proofs, howeer the matter fall,


Having vainly feard too little. Away with him!


This ring was ever hers, you shall as easy


Prove that I husbanded her bed in Florence,


Whether I have been to blame or no, I know not:


Who hath for four or five removes come short


Vanquishd thereto by the fair grace and speech


Of the poor suppliant, who by this I know


Is here attending: her business looks in her


With an importing visage; and she told me,


[Reads]  Upon his many protestations to marry me


when his wife was dead, I blush to say it, he won


me. Now is the Count Rousillon a widower: his vows


are forfeited to me, and my honours paid to him. He


stole from Florence, taking no leave, and I follow


him to his country for justice: grant it me, O


king! in you it best lies; otherwise a seducer


I will buy me a son-in-law in a fair, and toll for


The heavens have thought well on thee Lafeu,


To bring forth this discovery. Seek these suitors:


I wonder, sir, sith wives are monsters to you,


And that you fly them as you swear them lordship,


And therefore know how far I may be pitied.


I am her mother, sir, whose age and honour


Both suffer under this complaint we bring,


And both shall cease, without your remedy.


Come hither, count; do you know these women?


But that I know them: do they charge me further?


Why do you look so strange upon your wife?


You give away this hand, and that is mine;


You give away heavens vows, and those are mine;


You give away myself, which is known mine;


That she which marries you must marry me,


Your reputation comes too short for my daughter; you


My lord, this is a fond and desperate creature,


Whom sometime I have laughd with: let your highness


Lay a more noble thought upon mine honour


Than for to think that I would sink it here.


Sir, for my thoughts, you have them ill to friend


Till your deeds gain them: fairer prove your honour


He does me wrong, my lord; if I were so,


He might have bought me at a common price:


Do not believe him. O, behold this ring,


Conferrd by testament to the sequent issue,


Hath it been owed and worn. This is his wife;


You saw one here in court could witness it.


So bad an instrument: his names Parolles.


With all the spots o the world taxd and deboshd;


Whose nature sickens but to speak a truth.


Am I or that or this for what hell utter,


I think she has: certain it is I liked her,


And boarded her i the wanton way of youth:


She knew her distance and did angle for me,


Madding my eagerness with her restraint,


Are motives of more fancy; and, in fine,


Her infinite cunning, with her modern grace,


Subdued me to her rate: she got the ring;


You, that have turnd off a first so noble wife,


Since you lack virtue, I will lose a husband;


Send for your ring, I will return it home,


Know you this ring? this ring was his of late.


The story then goes false, you threw it him


My lord, I do confess the ring was hers.


You boggle shrewdly, every feather stars you.


Tell me, sirrah, but tell me true, I charge you,


Not fearing the displeasure of your master,


Which on your just proceeding Ill keep off,


By him and by this woman here what know you?


So please your majesty, my master hath been an


honourable gentleman: tricks he hath had in him,


Come, come, to the purpose: did he love this woman?


He did love her, sir, as a gentleman loves a woman.


As thou art a knave, and no knave. What an


I am a poor man, and at your majestys command.


Hes a good drum, my lord, but a naughty orator.


But wilt thou not speak all thou knowest?


Yes, so please your majesty. I did go between them,


as I said; but more than that, he loved her: for


indeed he was mad for her, and talked of Satan and


of Limbo and of Furies and I know not what: yet I


was in that credit with them at that time that I


knew of their going to bed, and of other motions,


as promising her marriage, and things which would


derive me ill will to speak of; therefore I will not


Thou hast spoken all already, unless thou canst say


they are married: but thou art too fine in thy


Where did you buy it? or who gave it you?


It was not given me, nor I did not buy it.


If it were yours by none of all these ways,


This womans an easy glove, my lord; she goes off


This ring was mine; I gave it his first wife.


It might be yours or hers, for aught I know.


Unless thou tellst me where thou hadst this ring,


Wherefore hast thou accused him all this while?


Because hes guilty, and he is not guilty:


He knows I am no maid, and hell swear tot;


Ill swear I am a maid, and he knows not.


Great king, I am no strumpet, by my life;


I am either maid, or else this old mans wife.


She does abuse our ears: to prison with her.


Good mother, fetch my bail. Stay, royal sir:


The jeweller that owes the ring is sent for,


And he shall surety me. But for this lord,


Who hath abused me, as he knows himself,


Though yet he never harmd me, here I quit him:


He knows himself my bed he hath defiled;


And at that time he got his wife with child:


Dead though she be, she feels her young one kick:


So theres my riddle: one thats dead is quick:


O my good lord, when I was like this maid,


I found you wondrous kind. There is your ring;


And, look you, heres your letter; this it says:


When from my finger you can get this ring


And are by me with child,  and c. This is done:


Will you be mine, now you are doubly won?


If she, my liege, can make me know this clearly,


If it appear not plain and prove untrue,


Mine eyes smell onions; I shall weep anon:


Good Tom Drum, lend me a handkercher: so,


I thank thee: wait on me home, Ill make sport with thee:


Let thy courtesies alone, they are scurvy ones.


Let us from point to point this story know,


To make the even truth in pleasure flow.


If thou best yet a fresh uncropped flower,


Choose thou thy husband, and Ill pay thy dower;


Thou keepst a wife herself, thyself a maid.


Of that and all the progress, more or less,


All yet seems well; and if it end so meet,


The bitter past, more welcome is the sweet.


The kings a beggar, now the play is done:


That you express content; which we will pay,


With strife to please you, day exceeding day:


Ours be your patience then, and yours our parts;


Your gentle hands lend us, and take our hearts.


As I remember, Adam, it was upon this fashion


bequeathed me by will but poor a thousand crowns,


and, as thou sayest, charged my brother, on his


blessing, to breed me well: and there begins my


sadness. My brother Jaques he keeps at school, and


report speaks goldenly of his profit: for my part,


he keeps me rustically at home, or, to speak more


properly, stays me here at home unkept; for call you


that keeping for a gentleman of my birth, that


differs not from the stalling of an ox? His horses


are bred better; for, besides that they are fair


with their feeding, they are taught their manage,


and to that end riders dearly hired: but I, his


brother, gain nothing under him but growth; for the


which his animals on his dunghills are as much


bound to him as I. Besides this nothing that he so


plentifully gives me, the something that nature gave


me his countenance seems to take from me: he lets


me feed with his hinds, bars me the place of a


brother, and, as much as in him lies, mines my


gentility with my education. This is it, Adam, that


grieves me; and the spirit of my father, which I


think is within me, begins to mutiny against this


servitude: I will no longer endure it, though yet I


Go apart, Adam, and thou shalt hear how he will


Nothing: I am not taught to make any thing.


Marry, sir, I am helping you to mar that which God


made, a poor unworthy brother of yours, with idleness.


Marry, sir, be better employed, and be naught awhile.


Shall I keep your hogs and eat husks with them?


What prodigal portion have I spent, that I should


O, sir, very well; here in your orchard.


Ay, better than him I am before knows me. I know


you are my eldest brother; and, in the gentle


condition of blood, you should so know me. The


courtesy of nations allows you my better, in that


you are the first-born; but the same tradition


takes not away my blood, were there twenty brothers


betwixt us: I have as much of my father in me as


you; albeit, I confess, your coming before me is


Come, come, elder brother, you are too young in this.


I am no villain; I am the youngest son of Sir


Rowland de Boys; he was my father, and he is thrice


a villain that says such a father begot villains.


Wert thou not my brother, I would not take this hand


from thy throat till this other had pulled out thy


tongue for saying so: thou hast railed on thyself.


Sweet masters, be patient: for your fathers


I will not, till I please: you shall hear me. My


father charged you in his will to give me good


education: you have trained me like a peasant,


obscuring and hiding from me all gentleman-like


qualities. The spirit of my father grows strong in


me, and I will no longer endure it: therefore allow


me such exercises as may become a gentleman, or


give me the poor allottery my father left me by


testament; with that I will go buy my fortunes.


And what wilt thou do? beg, when that is spent?


Well, sir, get you in: I will not long be troubled


with you; you shall have some part of your will: I


I will no further offend you than becomes me for my good.


Is old dog my reward? Most true, I have lost my


teeth in your service. God be with my old master!


Is it even so? begin you to grow upon me? I will


physic your rankness, and yet give no thousand


Was not Charles, the dukes wrestler, here to speak with me?


So please you, he is here at the door and importunes


Twill be a good way; and to-morrow the wrestling is.


Good Monsieur Charles, whats the new news at the


Theres no news at the court, sir, but the old news:


that is, the old duke is banished by his younger


brother the new duke; and three or four loving lords


have put themselves into voluntary exile with him,


whose lands and revenues enrich the new duke;


therefore he gives them good leave to wander.


Can you tell if Rosalind, the dukes daughter, be


O, no; for the dukes daughter, her cousin, so loves


her, being ever from their cradles bred together,


that she would have followed her exile, or have died


to stay behind her. She is at the court, and no


less beloved of her uncle than his own daughter; and


They say he is already in the forest of Arden, and


a many merry men with him; and there they live like


the old Robin Hood of England: they say many young


gentlemen flock to him every day, and fleet the time


carelessly, as they did in the golden world.


What, you wrestle to-morrow before the new duke?


Marry, do I, sir; and I came to acquaint you with a


matter. I am given, sir, secretly to understand


that your younger brother Orlando hath a disposition


to come in disguised against me to try a fall.


To-morrow, sir, I wrestle for my credit; and he that


escapes me without some broken limb shall acquit him


well. Your brother is but young and tender; and,


for your love, I would be loath to foil him, as I


must, for my own honour, if he come in: therefore,


out of my love to you, I came hither to acquaint you


withal, that either you might stay him from his


intendment or brook such disgrace well as he shall


run into, in that it is a thing of his own search


Charles, I thank thee for thy love to me, which


thou shalt find I will most kindly requite. I had


myself notice of my brothers purpose herein and


have by underhand means laboured to dissuade him from


it, but he is resolute. Ill tell thee, Charles:


it is the stubbornest young fellow of France, full


of ambition, an envious emulator of every mans


good parts, a secret and villanous contriver against


me his natural brother: therefore use thy


discretion; I had as lief thou didst break his neck


as his finger. And thou wert best look tot; for if


thou dost him any slight disgrace or if he do not


mightily grace himself on thee, he will practise


against thee by poison, entrap thee by some


treacherous device and never leave thee till he


hath taen thy life by some indirect means or other;


for, I assure thee, and almost with tears I speak


it, there is not one so young and so villanous this


day living. I speak but brotherly of him; but


should I anatomize him to thee as he is, I must


blush and weep and thou must look pale and wonder.


I am heartily glad I came hither to you. If he come


to-morrow, Ill give him his payment: if ever he go


alone again, Ill never wrestle for prize more: and


Now will I stir this gamester: I hope I shall see


an end of him; for my soul, yet I know not why,


hates nothing more than he. Yet hes gentle, never


schooled and yet learned, full of noble device, of


all sorts enchantingly beloved, and indeed so much


in the heart of the world, and especially of my own


people, who best know him, that I am altogether


misprised: but it shall not be so long; this


wrestler shall clear all: nothing remains but that


I kindle the boy thither; which now Ill go about.


I pray thee, Rosalind, sweet my coz, be merry.


Dear Celia, I show more mirth than I am mistress of;


and would you yet I were merrier? Unless you could


teach me to forget a banished father, you must not


learn me how to remember any extraordinary pleasure.


Herein I see thou lovest me not with the full weight


that I love thee. If my uncle, thy banished father,


had banished thy uncle, the duke my father, so thou


hadst been still with me, I could have taught my


love to take thy father for mine: so wouldst thou,


if the truth of thy love to me were so righteously


Well, I will forget the condition of my estate, to


You know my father hath no child but I, nor none is


like to have: and, truly, when he dies, thou shalt


be his heir, for what he hath taken away from thy


father perforce, I will render thee again in


affection; by mine honour, I will; and when I break


that oath, let me turn monster: therefore, my


From henceforth I will, coz, and devise sports. Let


me see; what think you of falling in love?


Marry, I prithee, do, to make sport withal: but


love no man in good earnest; nor no further in sport


neither than with safety of a pure blush thou mayst


Let us sit and mock the good housewife Fortune from


her wheel, that her gifts may henceforth be bestowed equally.


I would we could do so, for her benefits are


mightily misplaced, and the bountiful blind woman


doth most mistake in her gifts to women.


Tis true; for those that she makes fair she scarce


makes honest, and those that she makes honest she


Nay, now thou goest from Fortunes office to


Natures: Fortune reigns in gifts of the world,


No? when Nature hath made a fair creature, may she


not by Fortune fall into the fire? Though Nature


hath given us wit to flout at Fortune, hath not


Fortune sent in this fool to cut off the argument?


Indeed, there is Fortune too hard for Nature, when


Fortune makes Natures natural the cutter-off of


Peradventure this is not Fortunes work neither, but


Natures; who perceiveth our natural wits too dull


to reason of such goddesses and hath sent this


natural for our whetstone; for always the dulness of


the fool is the whetstone of the wits. How now,


Mistress, you must come away to your father.


No, by mine honour, but I was bid to come for you.


Of a certain knight that swore by his honour they


were good pancakes and swore by his honour the


mustard was naught: now Ill stand to it, the


pancakes were naught and the mustard was good, and


How prove you that, in the great heap of your


Stand you both forth now: stroke your chins, and


By our beards, if we had them, thou art.


By my knavery, if I had it, then I were; but if you


swear by that that is not, you are not forsworn: no


more was this knight swearing by his honour, for he


never had any; or if he had, he had sworn it away


before ever he saw those pancakes or that mustard.


One that old Frederick, your father, loves.


My fathers love is enough to honour him: enough!


speak no more of him; youll be whipped for taxation


The more pity, that fools may not speak wisely what


By my troth, thou sayest true; for since the little


wit that fools have was silenced, the little foolery


that wise men have makes a great show. Here comes


Which he will put on us, as pigeons feed their young.


All the better; we shall be the more marketable.


Bon jour, Monsieur Le Beau: whats the news?


Fair princess, you have lost much good sport.


What colour, madam! how shall I answer you?


Well said: that was laid on with a trowel.


You amaze me, ladies: I would have told you of good


wrestling, which you have lost the sight of.


You tell us the manner of the wrestling.


I will tell you the beginning; and, if it please


your ladyships, you may see the end; for the best is


yet to do; and here, where you are, they are coming


Well, the beginning, that is dead and buried.


There comes an old man and his three sons,--


I could match this beginning with an old tale.


Three proper young men, of excellent growth and presence.


With bills on their necks, Be it known unto all men


The eldest of the three wrestled with Charles, the


dukes wrestler; which Charles in a moment threw him


and broke three of his ribs, that there is little


hope of life in him: so he served the second, and


so the third. Yonder they lie; the poor old man,


their father, making such pitiful dole over them


that all the beholders take his part with weeping.


But what is the sport, monsieur, that the ladies


Thus men may grow wiser every day: it is the first


time that ever I heard breaking of ribs was sport


But is there any else longs to see this broken music


in his sides? is there yet another dotes upon


rib-breaking? Shall we see this wrestling, cousin?


You must, if you stay here; for here is the place


appointed for the wrestling, and they are ready to