Shakespeare, William l's Well That Ends Well

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.God save you, sir.GentlemanAnd you.HELENASir, I have seen you in the court of France.GentlemanI have been sometimes there.HELENAI do presume, sir, that you are not fallenFrom the report that goes upon your goodness;An therefore, goaded with most sharp occasions,Which lay nice manners by, I put you toThe use of your own virtues, for the whichI shall continue thankful.GentlemanWhat's your will?HELENAThat it will please youTo give this poor petition to the king,And aid me with that store of power you haveTo come into his presence.GentlemanThe king's not here.HELENANot here, sir!GentlemanNot, indeed:He hence removed last night and with more hasteThan is his use.WidowLord, how we lose our pains!HELENAALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL yet,Though time seem so adverse and means unfit.I do beseech you, whither is he gone?GentlemanMarry, as I take it, to Rousillon;Whither I am going.HELENAI 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 blameBut rather make you thank your pains for it.I will come after you with what good speedOur means will make us means.GentlemanThis I'll do for you.HELENAAnd you shall find yourself to be well thank'd,Whate'er falls more.We must to horse again.Go, go, provide.[Exeunt]--------------------------------------"scene" 2Scene 2[Rousillon.Before the COUNT's palace.][Enter Clown, and PAROLLES, following]PAROLLESGood Monsieur Lavache, give my Lord Lafeu thisletter: I have ere now, sir, been better known toyou, when I have held familiarity with fresherclothes; but I am now, sir, muddied in fortune'smood, and smell somewhat strong of her strongdispleasure.ClownTruly, fortune's displeasure is but sluttish, if itsmell so strongly as thou speakest of: I willhenceforth eat no fish of fortune's buttering.Prithee, allow the wind.PAROLLESNay, you need not to stop your nose, sir; I spakebut by a metaphor.ClownIndeed, sir, if your metaphor stink, I will stop mynose; or against any man's metaphor.Prithee, getthee further.PAROLLESPray you, sir, deliver me this paper.ClownFoh! prithee, stand away: a paper from fortune'sclose-stool to give to a nobleman! Look, here hecomes himself.[Enter LAFEU]Here is a purr of fortune's, sir, or of fortune'scat, -- but not a musk-cat, -- that has fallen into theunclean fishpond of her displeasure, and, as hesays, is muddied withal: pray you, sir, use thecarp as you may; for he looks like a poor, decayed,ingenious, foolish, rascally knave.I do pity hisdistress in my similes of comfort and leave him toyour lordship.[Exit]PAROLLESMy lord, I am a man whom fortune hath cruellyscratched.LAFEUAnd what would you have me to do? 'Tis too late topare her nails now.Wherein have you played theknave with fortune, that she should scratch you, whoof herself is a good lady and would not have knavesthrive long under her? There's a quart d'ecu foryou: let the justices make you and fortune friends:I am for other business.PAROLLESI beseech your honour to hear me one single word.LAFEUYou beg a single penny more: come, you shall ha't;save your word.PAROLLESMy name, my good lord, is Parolles.LAFEUYou beg more than 'word,' then.Cox my passion!give me your hand.How does your drum?PAROLLESO my good lord, you were the first that found me!LAFEUWas I, in sooth? and I was the first that lost thee.PAROLLESIt lies in you, my lord, to bring me in some grace,for you did bring me out.LAFEUOut upon thee, knave! dost thou put upon me at onceboth the office of God and the devil? One bringsthee in grace and the other brings thee out.[Trumpets sound]The king's coming; I know by his trumpets.Sirrah,inquire further after me; I had talk of you lastnight: though you are a fool and a knave, you shalleat; go to, follow.PAROLLESI praise God for you.[Exeunt]--------------------------------------"scene" 3Scene 3[Rousillon.The COUNT's palace.][Flourish.Enter KING, COUNTESS, LAFEU, the two French Lords, withAttendants]KINGWe lost a jewel of her; and our esteemWas made much poorer by it: but your son,As mad in folly, lack'd the sense to knowHer estimation home.COUNTESS'Tis past, my liege;And I beseech your majesty to make itNatural rebellion, done i' the blaze of youth;When oil and fire, too strong for reason's force,O'erbears it and burns on.KINGMy honour'd lady,I have forgiven and forgotten all;Though my revenges were high bent upon him,And watch'd the time to shoot.LAFEUThis I must say,But first I beg my pardon, the young lordDid to his majesty, his mother and his ladyOffence of mighty note; but to himselfThe greatest wrong of all.He lost a wifeWhose beauty did astonish the surveyOf richest eyes, whose words all ears took captive,Whose dear perfection hearts that scorn'd to serveHumbly call'd mistress.KINGPraising what is lostMakes the remembrance dear.Well, call him hither;We are reconciled, and the first view shall killAll repetition: let him not ask our pardon;The nature of his great offence is dead,And deeper than oblivion we do buryThe incensing relics of it: let him approach,A stranger, no offender; and inform himSo 'tis our will he should.GentlemanI shall, my liege.[Exit]KINGWhat says he to your daughter? have you spoke?LAFEUAll that he is hath reference to your highness.KINGThen shall we have a match.I have letters sent meThat set him high in fame.[Enter BERTRAM]LAFEUHe looks well on't.KINGI am not a day of season,For thou mayst see a sunshine and a hailIn me at once: but to the brightest beamsDistracted clouds give way; so stand thou forth;The time is fair again.BERTRAMMy high-repented blames,Dear sovereign, pardon to me.KINGAll 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 decreesThe inaudible and noiseless foot of TimeSteals ere we can effect them.You rememberThe daughter of this lord?BERTRAMAdmiringly, my liege, at firstI stuck my choice upon her, ere my heartDurst make too bold a herald of my tongueWhere the impression of mine eye infixing,Contempt his scornful perspective did lend me,Which warp'd the line of every other favour;Scorn'd a fair colour, or express'd it stolen;Extended or contracted all proportionsTo a most hideous object: thence it cameThat she whom all men praised and whom myself,Since I have lost, have loved, was in mine eyeThe dust that did offend it.KINGWell excused:That thou didst love her, strikes some scores awayFrom the great compt: but love that comes too late,Like a remorseful pardon slowly carried,To the great sender turns a sour offence,Crying, 'That's good that's gone [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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