LAVATCH The Black Prince, sir, alias the prince of darkness, alias the devil.
LAFEU Hold thee, there’s my purse. I give thee not this to suggest thee from thy master thou talk’st of; serve him still.
LAVATCH I am a woodland fellow, sir, that always loved a great fire, and the master I speak of ever keeps a good fire. But since he is the prince of the world, let the nobility remain in’s 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 they’ll be for the flow’ry way that leads to the broad gate and the great fire.
LAFEU 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 looked to, without any tricks.
LAVATCH If I put any tricks upon ’em, sir, they shall be jades’ tricks, which are their own right by the law of nature. Exit
LAFEU A shrewd knave and an unhappy.
COUNTESS So a is. My lord that’s 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.
LAFEU I like him well, ’tis not amiss. And I was about to tell you, since I heard of the good lady’s 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 matter. How does your ladyship like it?
COUNTESS With very much content, my lord, and I wish it happily effected.
LAFEU His highness comes post from Marseilles, of as able body as when he numbered thirty. A will be here tomorrow, or I am deceived by him that in such intelligence hath seldom failed.
COUNTESS It rejoices me that I hope I shall see him ere I die. I have letters that my son will be here tonight. I shall beseech your lordship to remain with me till they meet together.
LAFEU Madam, I was thinking with what manners I might safely be admitted.
COUNTESS You need but plead your honourable privilege.
LAFEU Lady, of that I have made a bold charter, but, I thank my God, it holds yet.
Enter Lavatch
LAVATCH O madam, yonder’s my lord your son with a patch of velvet on’s face. Whether there be a scar under’t or no, the velvet knows; but ’tis a goodly patch of velvet. His left cheek is a cheek of two pile and a half, but his right cheek is worn bare.
LAFEU A scar nobly got, or a noble scar, is a good liv’ry of honour. So belike is that.
LAVATCH But it is your carbonadoed face.
LAFEU (to the Countess) Let us go see your son, I pray you. I long to talk with the young noble soldier.
LAVATCH Faith, there’s a dozen of ’em, with delicate fine hats, and most courteous feathers, which bow the head and nod at every man.
Exeunt
5.1 Enter Helen, the Widow, and Diana, with two attendants
HELEN
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,
Be bold you do so grow in my requital
As nothing can unroot you.
Enter a Gentleman Austringer
In happy time!
This man may help me to his majesty’s ear,
If he would spend his power.—God save you, sir.
GENTLEMAN And you.
HELEN
Sir, I have seen you in the court of France.
GENTLEMAN I have been sometimes there.
HELEN
I do presume, sir, that you are not fall’n
From the report that goes upon your goodness,
And therefore, goaded with most sharp occasions
Which lay nice manners by, I put you to
The use of your own virtues, for the which
I shall continue thankful.
GENTLEMAN
What’s your will?
HELEN That it will please you
To give this poor petition to the King,
And aid me with that store of power you have
To come into his presence.
GENTLEMAN The King’s not here.
HELEN Not here, sir?
GENTLEMAN
Not indeed.
He hence removed last night, and with more haste
Than is his use.
WIDOW Lord, how we lose our pains.
HELEN All’s well that ends well yet,
Though time seem so adverse, and means unfit.—
I do beseech you, whither is he gone?
GENTLEMAN
Marry, as I take it, to Roussillon,
Whither I am going.
HELEN I do beseech you, sir,
Since you are like to see the King before me,
Commend the paper to his gracious hand,
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
Our means will make us means.
GENTLEMAN (taking the paper) This I’ll do for you.
HELEN
And you shall find yourself to be well thanked,
Whate’er falls more. We must to horse again.—
Go, go, provide.
Exeunt severally
5.2 Enter Lavatch and Paroles, with a letter
PAROLES Good Master Lavatch, 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 Fortune’s mood, and smell somewhat strong of her strong displeasure.
LAVATCH Truly, Fortune’s displeasure is but sluttish if it smell so strongly as thou speakest of. I will henceforth eat no fish of Fortune’s butt’ring. Prithee allow the wind.
PAROLES Nay, you need not to stop your nose, sir, I spake but by a metaphor. 11
LAVATCH Indeed, sir, if your metaphor stink I will stop my nose, or against any man’s metaphor. Prithee get thee further.
PAROLES Pray you, sir, deliver me this paper.
LAVATCH Foh, prithee stand away. A paper from Fortune’s close-stool to give to a nobleman! Look, here he comes himself.
Enter Lafeu
Here is a pur of Fortune’s, sir, or of Fortune’s cat—but not a musk-cat—that has fallen into the unclean fish-pond 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 your lordship. Exit
PAROLES My lord, I am a man whom Fortune hath cruelly scratched.
LAFEU 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? There’s a quart d’ecu for you. Let the justices make you and Fortune friends; I am for other business.
PAROLES I beseech your honour to hear me one single word—
LAFEU You beg a single penny more. Come, you shall ha’t. Save your word.
PAROLES My name, my good lord, is Paroles.
LAFEU You beg more than one word then. Cox my passion! Give me your hand. How does your drum?
PAROLES O my good lord, you were the first that found me.
LAFEU Was I, in sooth? And I was the first that lost thee.
PAROLES It lies in you, my lord, to bring me in some grace, for you did bring me out.
LAFEU 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.
Trumpets sound
The King’s comi
ng; I know by his trumpets. Sirrah, enquire further after me. I had talk of you last night. Though you are a fool and a knave, you shall eat. Go to, follow.
PAROLES I praise God for you. ⌈Exeunt⌉
5.3 Flourish of trumpets. Enter the King, the old Countess, Lafeu, and attendants
KING
We lost a jewel of her, and our esteem
Was made much poorer by it. But your son,
As mad in folly, lacked the sense to know
Her estimation home.
COUNTESS
‘Tis past, my liege, And I beseech your majesty to make it
Natural rebellion done i’th’ blade of youth,
When oil and fire, too strong for reason’s force,
O’erbears it and burns on.
KING
My honoured lady,
I have forgiven and forgotten all,
Though my revenges were high bent upon him 10
And watched the time to shoot.
LAFEU
This I must say-
But first I beg my pardon—the young lord
Did to his majesty, his mother, and his lady
Offence of mighty note, but to himself
The greatest wrong of all. He lost a wife 15
Whose beauty did astonish the survey
Of richest eyes, whose words all ears took captive,
Whose dear perfection hearts that scorned to serve
Humbly called mistress.
KING
Praising what is lost
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,
And deeper than oblivion we do bury
Th‘incensing relics of it. Let him approach
A stranger, no offender; and inform him
So ’tis our will he should.
ATTENDANT
I shall, my liege. Exit
KING (to Lafeu)
What says he to your daughter? Have you spoke?
LAFEU
All that he is hath reference to your highness.
KING
Then shall we have a match. I have letters sent me
That sets him high in fame.
Enter Bertram with a patch of velvet on his left cheek, and kneels⌉
LAFEU He looks well on’t.
KING (to Bertram) I am not a day of season,
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.
The time is fair again.
BERTRAM
My high-repented blames,
Dear sovereign, pardon to me.
KING
All is whole.
Not one word more of the consumed time.
Let’s take the instant by the forward top,
For we are old, and on our quick‘st decrees
Th’inaudible and noiseless foot of time
Steals ere we can effect them. You remember
The daughter of this lord?
BERTRAM
Admiringly, my liege. At first 45
I stuck my choice upon her, ere my heart
Durst make too bold a herald of my tongue;
Where, the impression of mine eye enfixing,
Contempt his scornful perspective did lend me,
Which warped the line of every other favour,
Stained a fair colour or expressed it stolen,
Extended or contracted all proportions
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 55
The dust that did offend it.
KING
Well excused.
That thou didst love her strikes some scores away
From the great count. But love that comes too late,
Like a remorseful pardon slowly carried,
To the grace-sender turns a sour offence, 60
Crying, ‘That’s good that’s 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. 65
Our own love waking cries to see what’s done,
While shameful hate sleeps out the afternoon.
Be this sweet Helen’s knell, and now forget her.
Send forth your amorous token for fair Maudlin.
The main consents are had, and here we’ll stay
To see our widower’s second marriage day.
⌈COUNTESS⌉
Which better than the first, O dear heaven, bless!
Or ere they meet, in me, O nature, cease.
LAFEU (to Bertram)
Come on, my son, in whom my house’s name
Must be digested, give a favour from you
To sparkle in the spirits of my daughter,
That she may quickly come.
Bertram gives Lafeu a ring
By my old beard
And ev’ry hair that’s on’t, Helen that’s dead
Was a sweet creature. Such a ring as this,
The last that ere I took her leave at court,
I saw upon her finger.
BERTRAM
Hers it was not.
KING
Now pray you let me see it; for mine eye,
While I was speaking, oft was fastened to’t.
Lafeu gives him the ring
This ring was mine, and when I gave it Helen
I bade her, if her fortunes ever stood
Necessitied to help, that by this token
I would relieve her. Had you that craft to reave her
Of what should stead her most?
BERTRAM
My gracious sovereign,
Howe’er it pleases you to take it so,
The ring was never hers.
COUNTESS
Son, on my life
I have seen her wear it, and she reckoned it
At her life’s rate.
LAFEU
I am sure I saw her wear it.
BERTRAM
You are deceived, my lord, she never saw it.
In Florence was it from a casement thrown me,
Wrapped in a paper which contained the name
Of her that threw it. Noble she was, and thought
I stood ingaged. But when I had subscribed
To mine own fortune, and informed her fully
I could not answer in that course of honour
As she had made the overture, she ceased
In heavy satisfaction, and would never
Receive the ring again.
KING
Plutus himself,
That knows the tinct and multiplying med‘cine,
Hath not in nature’s mystery more science
Than I have in this ring. ’Twas mine, ’twas Helen’s,
Whoever gave it you. Then if you know
That you are well acquainted with yourself,
Confess ’twas hers, and by what rough enforcement
You got it from her. She called the saints to surety
That she would never put it from her finger
Unless she gave it to yourself in bed,
Where you have never come, or sent it us
Upon her great disaster.
BERTRAM
She never saw it.
KING
Thou speak‘st it falsely, as I love mine honour,
And mak’st 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
More than to see this ring.—Take him away.
My fore-past proofs, howe’er the matter fall,
Shall tax my fears of little vanity,
Having vainly feared too little. Away with him.
We’ll sift this matter further.
BERTRAM
If you shall prove
This ring was ever hers, you shall as easy
Prove that I husbanded her bed in Florence,
Where yet she never was. Exit guarded
Enter the Gentleman Austringer with a paper
KING I am wrapped in dismal thinkings.
GENTLEMAN Gracious sovereign,
Whether I have been to blame or no, I know not.
Here’s a petition from a Florentine
Who hath for four or five removes come short
To tender it herself. I undertook it,
Vanquished 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
In a sweet verbal brief it did concern
Your highness with herself.
⌈KING⌉ (reads a letter) ’Upon his many protestations to marry me when his wife was dead, I blush to say it, he won me. Now is the Count Roussillon a widower, his vows are forfeited to me, and my honour’s 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 flourishes and a poor maid is undone.
Diana Capilet.’
LAFEU I will buy me a son-in-law in a fair, and toll for this. I’ll none of him.
KING
The heavens have thought well on thee, Lafeu,
To bring forth this discov’ry.—Seek these suitors.
Go speedily and bring again the Count.
Exit one or more
I am afeard the life of Helen, lady,
Was foully snatched.
⌈Enter Bertram guarded⌉
COUNTESS Now justice on the doers!
KING (to Bertram)
I wonder, sir, since wives are monsters to you,
And that you fly them as you swear them lordship,
Yet you desire to marry.
Enter the Widow and Diana
The Oxford Shakespeare: The Complete Works Page 339
