William Shakespeare - The Complete Works of William Shakespeare

FIRST LORD.

I begin to love him for this.

BERTRAM. For this description of thine honesty? A pox upon him for me; he’s more and more a cat.

FIRST SOLDIER.

What say you to his expertness in war?

PAROLLES. Faith, sir, 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 this I am not certain.

FIRST LORD. He hath out-villanied villainy so far that the rarity redeems him.

BERTRAM.

A pox on him! he’s a cat still.

FIRST SOLDIER. His qualities being at this poor price, I need not to ask you if gold will corrupt him to revolt.

PAROLLES. Sir, for a quart d’ecu he will sell the fee-simple of his salvation, the inheritance of it; and cut the entail from all remainders and a perpetual succession for it perpetually.

FIRST SOLDIER.

What’s his brother, the other Captain Dumain?

SECOND LORD.

Why does he ask him of me?

FIRST SOLDIER.

What’s he?

PAROLLES. E’en 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 on he has the cramp.

FIRST SOLDIER.

If your life be saved, will you undertake to betray the

Florentine?

PAROLLES.

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

FIRST SOLDIER.

I’ll whisper with the general, and know his pleasure.

PAROLLES. [Aside.] I’ll 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?

FIRST SOLDIER. 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.

PAROLLES.

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

FIRST SOLDIER.

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

[Unmuffling him.]

So look about you; know you any here?

BERTRAM.

Good morrow, noble captain.

SECOND LORD.

God bless you, Captain Parolles.

FIRST LORD.

God save you, noble captain.

SECOND LORD.

Captain, what greeting will you to my Lord Lafeu? I am for

France.

FIRST LORD.

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 I’d compel it of you; but fare you well.

[Exeunt BERTRAM, Lords, &c.]

FIRST SOLDIER. You are undone, captain: all but your scarf; that has a knot on’t yet.

PAROLLES.

Who cannot be crushed with a plot?

FIRST SOLDIER. 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 too: we shall speak of you there.

[Exit.]

PAROLLES.

Yet am I thankful: if my heart were great,

‘Twould burst at this. Captain I’ll be no more;

But I will eat, and drink, and sleep as soft

As captain shall: simply the thing I am

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 fool’d, by foolery thrive.

There’s place and means for every man alive.

I’ll after them.

[Exit.]

SCENE 4. Florence. A room in the Widow’s house.

[Enter HELENA, Widow, and DIANA.]

HELENA.

That you may well perceive I have not wrong’d 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:

Time was I did him a desired office,

Dear almost as his life; which gratitude

Through flinty Tartar’s bosom would peep forth,

And answer, thanks: I duly am informed

His grace is at Marseilles; to which place

We have convenient convoy. You must know

I am supposed dead: the army breaking,

My husband hies him home; where, heaven aiding,

And by the leave of my good lord the king,

We’ll be before our welcome.

WIDOW.

Gentle madam,

You never had a servant to whose trust

Your business was more welcome.

HELENA.

Nor you, mistress,

Ever a friend whose thoughts more truly labour

To recompense your love: doubt not but heaven

Hath brought me up to be your daughter’s dower,

As it hath fated her to be my motive

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

That can such sweet use make of what they hate,

When saucy trusting of the cozen’d thoughts

Defiles the pitchy night! so lust doth play

With what it loathes, for that which is away:

But more of this hereafter.—You, Diana,

Under my poor instructions yet must suffer

Something in my behalf.

DIANA.

Let death and honesty

Go with your impositions, I am yours

Upon your will to suffer.

HELENA.

Yet, I pray you:

But with the word the time will bring on summer,

When briers shall have leaves as well as thorns,

And be as sweet as sharp. We must away;

Our waggon is prepar’d, and time revives us:

All’s well that ends well: still the fine’s the crown;

Whate’er the course, the end is the renown.

[Exeunt.]

SCENE 5. Rousillon. A room in the COUNTESS’S palace.

[Enter COUNTESS, LAFEU, and CLOWN.]

LAFEU. No, no, no, 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-tail’d humble-bee I speak of.

COUNTESS. 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.

LAFEU. ‘Twas a good lady, ‘twas a good lady: we may pick a thousand salads ere we light on such another herb.

CLOWN. Indeed, sir, she was the sweet marjoram of the salad, or, rather, the herb of grace.

LAFEU.

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

CLOWN. I am no great Nebuchadnezzar, sir; I have not much skill in grass.

LAFEU.

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

CLOWN.

A fool, sir, at a woman’s service, and a knave at a man’s.

LAFEU.

Your distinction?

CLOWN.

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

LAFEU.

So you were a knave at his service, indeed.

CLOWN.

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

LAFEU.

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

CLOWN.

At your service.

LAFEU.

No, no, no.

CLOWN. Why, sir, if I cannot serve you, I can serve as great a prince as you are.

LAFEU.

Who’s that? a Frenchman?

CLOWN. Faith, sir, ‘a has an English name; but his phisnomy is more hotter in France than there.

LAFEU.

What prince is that?

CLOWN. The black prince, sir; alias, the prince of darkness; alias, the devil.