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