All's Well That Ends Well Part 7

Re-enter CLOWN

CLOWN. O madam, yonder is heavy news within between two soldiers and my young lady.

COUNTESS. What is the -matter?

CLOWN. Nay, there is some comfort in the news, some comfort; your son will not be kill'd so soon as I thought he would.

COUNTESS. Why should he be kill'd?

CLOWN. So say I, madam, if he run away, as I hear he does the danger is in standing to 't; that's the loss of men, though it be the getting of children. Here they come will tell you more.

For my part, I only hear your son was run away. Exit

Enter HELENA and the two FRENCH GENTLEMEN

SECOND GENTLEMAN. Save you, good madam.

HELENA. Madam, my lord is gone, for ever gone.

FIRST GENTLEMAN. Do not say so.

COUNTESS. 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 unto 't. Where is my son, I pray you?

FIRST GENTLEMAN. Madam, he's gone to serve the Duke of Florence.

We met him thitherward; for thence we came, And, after some dispatch in hand at court, Thither we bend again.

HELENA. Look on this letter, madam; here's my pa.s.sport.

[Reads] '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."

This is a dreadful sentence.

COUNTESS. Brought you this letter, gentlemen?

FIRST GENTLEMAN. Ay, madam; And for the contents' sake are sorry for our pains.

COUNTESS. I prithee, lady, have a better cheer; If thou engrossest all the griefs are thine, Thou robb'st me of a moiety. He was my son; But I do wash his name out of my blood, And thou art all my child. Towards Florence is he?

FIRST GENTLEMAN. Ay, madam.

COUNTESS. And to be a soldier?

FIRST GENTLEMAN. Such is his n.o.ble purpose; and, believe 't, The Duke will lay upon him all the honour That good convenience claims.

COUNTESS. Return you thither?

SECOND GENTLEMAN. Ay, madam, with the swiftest wing of speed.

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

'Tis bitter.

COUNTESS. Find you that there?

HELENA. Ay, madam.

SECOND GENTLEMAN. 'Tis but the boldness of his hand haply, which his heart was not consenting to.

COUNTESS. Nothing in France until he have no wife!

There's nothing here that is too good for him But only she; and she deserves a lord That twenty such rude boys might tend upon, And call her hourly mistress. Who was with him?

SECOND GENTLEMAN. A servant only, and a gentleman Which I have sometime known.

COUNTESS. Parolles, was it not?

SECOND GENTLEMAN. Ay, my good lady, he.

COUNTESS. A very tainted fellow, and full of wickedness.

My son corrupts a well-derived nature With his inducement.

SECOND GENTLEMAN. Indeed, good lady, The fellow has a deal of that too much Which holds him much to have.

COUNTESS. Y'are welcome, gentlemen.

I will entreat you, when you see my son, To tell him that his sword can never win The honour that he loses. More I'll entreat you Written to bear along.

FIRST GENTLEMAN. We serve you, madam, In that and all your worthiest affairs.

COUNTESS. Not so, but as we change our courtesies.

Will you draw near? Exeunt COUNTESS and GENTLEMEN HELENA. '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! is't I That chase thee from thy country, and expose Those tender limbs of thine to the event Of the non-sparing war? And is it I 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-piecing air, That sings with piercing; do not touch my lord.

Whoever shoots at him, I set him there; Whoever charges on his forward breast, I am the caitiff that do hold him to't; And though I kill him not, I am the cause His death was so effected. Better 'twere I met the ravin lion when he roar'd With sharp constraint of hunger; better 'twere That all the miseries which nature owes Were mine at once. No; come thou home, Rousillon, Whence honour but of danger wins a scar, As oft it loses all. I will be gone.

My being here it is that holds thee hence.

Shall I stay here to do 't? No, no, although The air of paradise did fan the house, And angels offic'd all. I will be gone, That pitiful rumour may report my flight To consolate thine ear. Come, night; end, day.

For with the dark, poor thief, I'll steal away. Exit

ACT III. SCENE 3.

Florence. Before the DUKE's palace

Flourish. Enter the DUKE OF FLORENCE, BERTRAM, PAROLLES, SOLDIERS, drum and trumpets

DUKE. The General of our Horse thou art; and we, Great in our hope, lay our best love and credence Upon thy promising fortune.

BERTRAM. Sir, it is A charge too heavy for my strength; but yet We'll strive to bear it for your worthy sake To th' extreme edge of hazard.

DUKE. Then go thou forth; And Fortune play upon thy prosperous helm, As thy auspicious mistress!

BERTRAM. This very day, Great Mars, I put myself into thy file; Make me but like my thoughts, and I shall prove A lover of thy drum, hater of love. Exeunt

ACT III. SCENE 4.

Rousillon. The COUNT'S palace

Enter COUNTESS and STEWARD

COUNTESS. Alas! and would you take the letter of her?

Might you not know she would do as she has done By sending me a letter? Read it again.

STEWARD. [Reads] 'I am Saint Jaques' pilgrim, thither gone.

Ambitious love hath so in me offended That barefoot plod I the cold ground upon, With sainted vow my faults to have amended.

Write, write, that from the b.l.o.o.d.y course of war My dearest master, your dear son, may hie.

Bless him at home in peace, whilst I from far His name with zealous fervour sanctify.

His taken labours bid him me forgive; I, his despiteful Juno, sent him forth 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; Whom I myself embrace to set him free.'

COUNTESS. Ah, what sharp stings are in her mildest words!

Rinaldo, you did never lack advice so much As letting her pa.s.s so; had I spoke with her, I could have well diverted her intents, Which thus she hath prevented.

STEWARD. Pardon me, madam; If I had given you this at over-night, She might have been o'er ta'en; and yet she writes Pursuit would be but vain.

COUNTESS. What angel shall 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, To this unworthy husband of his wife; Let every word weigh heavy of her worth That he does weigh too light. My greatest grief, Though little he do feel it, set down sharply.

Dispatch the most convenient messenger.

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.

My heart is heavy, and mine age is weak; Grief would have tears, and sorrow bids me speak. Exeunt

ACT III. SCENE 5.

Without the walls of Florence A tucket afar off. Enter an old WIDOW OF FLORENCE, her daughter DIANA, VIOLENTA, and MARIANA, with other CITIZENS

WIDOW. Nay, come; for if they do approach the city we shall lose all the sight.

DIANA. They say the French count has done most honourable service.

WIDOW. It is reported that he has taken their great'st commander; and that with his own hand he slew the Duke's brother.