The Bodleian First Folio

Make thy demand.

But will you make it euen?

I by my Scepter, and my hopes of helpe.

Come on sir, I shall now put you to the height

of your breeding.

I will shew my selfe highly fed, and lowly

taught, I know my businesse is but to the Court.

To the Court, why what place make you spe­

ciall, when you put off that with such contempt, but to

the Court?

Truly Madam, if God haue lent a man any man­

ners, hee may easilie put it off at Court: hee that cannot

make a legge, put off's cap, kisse his hand, and say no­

thing, has neither legge, hands, lippe, nor cap; and in­

deed such a fellow, to say precisely, were not for the

Court, but for me, I haue an answere will serue all men.

Marry that's a bountifull answere that fits all

questions.

It is like a Barbers chaire that fits all buttockes,

the pin buttocke, the quatch‑buttocke, the brawn but­

tocke, or any buttocke.

Will your answere serue fit to all questions?

As fit as ten groats is for the hand of an Attu­

rney, as your French Crowne for your taffety punke, as

Tibs rush for Toms fore‑finger, as a pancake for Shroue‑

tuesday, a Morris for May‑day, as the naile to his hole,

the Cuckold to his horne, as a scolding queane to a

wrangling knaue, as the Nuns lip to the Friers mouth,

nay as the pudding to his skin.

Haue you, I say, an answere of such fitnesse for

all questions?

From below your Duke, to beneath your Con­

stable, it will fit any question.

It must be an answere of most monstrous size,

that must fit all demands.

But a triflle neither in good faith, if the learned

should speake truth of it: heere it is, and all that belongs

to't. Aske mee if I am a Courtier, it shall doe you no

harme to learne.

To be young againe if we could: I will bee a

foole in question, hoping to bee the wiser by you're an­

swer.

I pray you sir, are you a Courtier?

O Lord sir theres a simple putting off: more,

more, a hundred of them.

Sir I am a poore freind of yours, that loues you.

O Lord sir, thicke, thicke, spare not me.

I thinke sir, you can eate none of this homely

meate.

O Lord sir; nay put me too't, I warrant you.

You were lately whipt sir as I thinke.

O Lord sir, spare not me.

Doe you crie O Lord sir at your whipping, and

spare not me? Indeed your O Lord sir, is very sequent

to your whipping: you would answere very well to a

whipping if you were but bound too't.

I nere had worse lucke in my life in my O Lord

sir: I see things may serue long, but not serue euer.

I play the noble huswife with the time, to enter­

taine it so merrily with a foole.

O Lord sir, why there't serues well agen.

Not much commendation to them.

Most fruitfully, I am there, before my legegs legges .

Hast you agen.

They say miracles are past, and we haue our

Philosophicall persons, to make moderne and familiar

things supernaturall and causelesse. Hence is it, that we

make trifles of terrours, ensconcing our selues into see­

ming knowledge, when we should submit our selues to

an vnknowne feare.

Why 'tis the rarest argument of wonder, that

hath shot out in our latter times.

And so 'tis.

To be relinquisht of the Artists.

So I say both of Galen and Paracelsus.

Of all the learned and authenticke fellowes.

Right so I say.

That gaue him out incureable.

Why there 'tis, so say I too.

Not to be help'd.

Right, as 'twere a man assur'd of a⸺

Vncertaine life, and sure death.

Iust, you say well: so would I haue said.

I may truly say, it is a noueltie to the world.

It is indeede if you will haue it in shewing, you

shall reade it in what do ye call there.

A shewing of a heauenly effect in an earth­

ly Actor.

That's it, I would haue said, the verie same.

Why your Dolphin is not lustier: fore mee

I speake in respect⸺

Nay 'tis strange, 'tis very straunge, that is the

breefe and the tedious of it, and he's of a most facineri­

ous spirit, that will not acknowledge it to be the⸺

Very hand of heauen.

I, so I say.

In a most weake⸺

And debile minister great power, great tran­

cendence, which should indeede giue vs a further vse to

be made, then alone the recou'ry of the king, as to bee

Generally thankfull.

I would haue said it, you say well: heere comes

the King.

Lustique, as the Dutchman saies: Ile like a

maide the Better whil'st I haue a tooth in my head: why

he's able to leade her a Carranto.

Mor du vinager, is not this Helen?

Fore God I thinke so.

Gentlemen, heauen hath through me, restor'd

the king to health.

We vnderstand it, and thanke heauen for you.

And grant it.

Thankes sir, all the rest is mute.

No better if you please.

Do all they denie her? And they were sons

of mine, I'de haue them whip'd, or I would send them

to'th Turke to make Eunuches of.

These boyes are boyes of Ice, they'le none haue All's Well that Ends Well.

haue heere: sure they are bastards to the English, the

French nere got em.

Faire one, I thinke not so.

There's one grape yet, I am sure thy father

drunke wine. But if thou be'st not an asse, I am a youth

of fourteene: I haue knowne thee already.

Why then young Bertram take her shee's thy

wife.

Know'st thou not Bertram what shee ha's

done for mee?

Yes my good Lord, but neuer hope to know

why I should marrie her.

Thou know'st shee ha's rais'd me from my sick­

ly bed.

I cannot loue her, nor will striue to doo't.

Thou wrong'st thy selfe, if thou shold'st striue

to choose.

I take her hand.

Do you heare Monsieur? A word with you.

Your pleasure sir.

Your Lord and Master did well to make his re­

cantation.

Recantation? My Lord? my Master?

I: Is it not a Language I speake?

A most harsh one, and not to bee vnderstoode

without bloudie succeeding My Master?

Are you Companion to the Count Rosillion?

Par. To any Count, to all Counts: to what is man.

To what is Counts man: Counts maister is of

another stile.

You are too old sir: Let it satisfie you, you are

too old.

I must tell thee sirrah, I write Man: to which

title age cannot bring thee.

What I dare too well do, I dare not do.

I did thinke thee for two ordinaries: to bee a

prettie wise fellow, thou didst make tollerable vent of

thy trauell, it might passe: yet the scarffes and the ban­

nerets about thee, did manifoldlie disswade me from be­

leeuing thee a vessell of too great a burthen. I haue now

found thee, when I loose thee againe, I care not: yet art

thou good for nothing but taking vp, and that th'ourt

scarce worth.

Hadst thou not the priuiledge of Antiquity vp­

on thee.

Do not plundge thy selfe to farre in anger, least

thou hasten thy triall: which if, Lord haue mercie on

thee for a hen, so my good window of Lettice fare thee

well, thy casement I neede not open, for I look through

thee. Giue me thy hand.

My Lord, you giue me most egregious indignity.

I with all my heart, and thou art worthy of it.

I haue not my Lord deseru'd it.

Yes good faith, eu'ry dramme of it, and I will

not b te thee a scruple.

Well, I shall be wiser.

Eu'n as soone as thou can'st, for thou hast to pull

at a smacke a'th contrarie. If euer thou bee'st bound

in thy skarfe and beaten, thou shall finde what it is to be

proud of thy bondage, I haue a desire to holde my ac­

quaintance with thee, or rather my knowledge, that I

may say in the default, he is a man I know.

My Lord you do me most insupportable vexati­

on.

I would it were hell paines for thy sake, and my

poore doing eternall: for doing I am past, as I will by

thee, in what motion age will giue me leaue.

Well, thou hast a sonne shall take this disgrace

off me; scuruy, old, filthy, scuruy Lord: Well, I must

be patient, there is no fettering of authority. Ile beate

him (by my life) if I can meete him with any conueni­

ence, and he were double and double a Lord. Ile haue

no more pittie of his age then I would haue of⸺ Ile

beate him, and if I could but meet him agen.

Sirra, your Lord and masters married, there's

newes for you: you haue a new Mistris.

I most vnfainedly beseech your Lordshippe to

make some reseruation of your wrongs. He is my good

Lord, whom I serue aboue is my master.

Who? God.

I sir.

The deuill it is, that's thy master. Why dooest

thou garter vp thy armes a this fashion? Dost make hose

of thy sleeues? Do other seruants so? Thou wert best set

thy lower part where thy nose stands. By mine Honor,

if I were but two houres yonger, I'de beate thee: mee­

think'st thou art a generall offence, and euery man shold

beate thee: I thinke thou wast created for men to breath

themselues vpon thee.

This is hard and vndeserued measure my Lord.

Go too sir, you were beaten in Italy for picking

a kernell out of a Pomgranat, you are a vagabond, and

no true traueller: you are more sawcie with Lordes and

honourable personages, then the Commission of your

birth and vertue giues you Heraldry. You are not worth

another word, else I'de call you knaue. I leaue you.

Good, very good, it is so then: good, very

good, let it be conceal'd awhile.

Vndone, and forfeited to cares for euer.

What's the matter sweet‑heart?

Although before the solemne Priest I haue

sworne, I will not bed her.

What? what sweet heart?

There's letters from my mother: What th' im­

port is, I know not yet.

Will this Caprichio hold in thee, art sure?

My mother greets me kindly, is she well?

She is not well, but yet she has her health, she's

very merrie, but yet she is not well: but thankes be gi­

uen she's very well, and wants nothing i'th world: but

yet she is not well.

If she be verie wel, what do's she ayle, that she's

not verie well?

Truly she's very well indeed, but for two things

What two things?

One, that she's not in heauen, whether God send

her quickly: the other, that she's in earth, from whence

God send her quickly.

Blesse you my fortunate Ladie

I hope sir I haue your good will to haue mine

owne good fortune.

You had my prayers to leade them on, and to

keepe them on, haue them still. O my knaue, how do's

my old Ladie?

Why I say nothing.

Marry you are the wiser man: for many a mans

tongue shakes out his masters vndoing: to say nothing,

to do nothing, to know nothing, and to haue nothing,

is to be a great part of your title, which is within a verie

little of nothing.

Away, th'art a knaue.

You should haue said sir before a knaue, th'art a

knaue, that's before me th'art a knaue: this had beene

truth sir.

Go too, thou art a wittie foole, I haue found

thee.

Did you finde me in your selfe sir, or were you

taught to finde me?

The search sir was profitable, and much Foole

may you find in you, euen to the worlds pleasure, and the

encrease of laughter.

What's his will else?

What more commands hee?

In euery thing I waite vpon his will.

I shall report it so.

I pray you come sirrah.

But I hope your Lordshippe thinkes not him a

souldier.

Yes my Lord and of verie valiant approofe.

You haue it from his owne deliuerance.

And by other warranted testimonie.

Then my Diall goes not true, I tooke this Larke

for a bunting.

I do assure you my Lord he is very great in know­

ledge, and accordinglie valiant.

I haue then sinn'd against his experience, and

transgrest against his valour, and my state that way is

dangerous, since I cannot yet find in my heart to repent:

Heere he comes, I pray you make vs freinds, I will pur­

sue the amitie.

These things shall be done sir.

Pray you sir whose his Tailor?

Sir?

O I know him well, I sir, hee sirs a good worke­

man, a verie good Tailor.

Is shee gone to the king?

Shee is.

Will shee away to night?

As you'le haue her.

A good Trauailer is something at the latter end

of a dinner, but on that lies three thirds, and vses a

known truth to passe a thousand nothings with, should

bee once hard, and thrice beaten. God saue you Cap­

taine.

Is there any vnkindnes betweene my Lord and

u Monsieur?

I know not how I haue deserued to run into my

ords displeasure.

You haue made shift to run into't, bootes and

spurres and all: like him that leapt into the Custard, and

out of it you'le runne againe, rather then suffer question

for your residence.

It may bee you haue mistaken him my Lord.

And shall doe so euer, though I tooke him at's

prayers. Fare you well my Lord, and beleeue this of me, there can be no kernell in this light Nut: the soule

of this man is his cloathes: Trust him not in matter of

heauie consequence: I haue kept of them tame, & know

their natures. Farewell Monsieur, I haue spoken better

of you, then you haue or will to deserue at my hand, but

we must do good against euill.

An idle Lord, I sweare.

I thinke so.

Why do you not know him?

Sir, I can nothing say, But that I am your most obedient seruant.

Come, come, no more of that.

Pray sir your pardon.

Well, what would you say?

What would you haue?

I pray you stay not, but in hast to horse.

Brauely, Coragio.

Be it his pleasure.

It hath happen'd all, as I would haue had it, saue

that he comes not along with her.

By my troth I take my young Lord to be a ve­

rie melancholly man.

By what obseruance I pray you.

Why he will looke vppon his boote, and sing:

mend the Ruffe and sing, aske questions and sing, picke

his teeth, and sing: I know a man that had this tricke of

melancholy hold a goodly Mannor for a song.

Let me see what he writes, and when he meanes

to come.

I haue no minde to Isbell since I was at Court.

Our old Lings, and our Isbels a'th Country, are nothing

like your old Ling and your Isbels a'th Court: the brains

of my Cupid's knock'd out, and I beginne to loue, as an

old man loues money, with no stomacke.

What haue we heere?

In that you haue there.

A Letter.

I haue sent you a daughter‑in‑Law, shee hath recouered the

King, and vndone me: I haue wedded her, not bedded her,

and sworne to make the not eternall. You shall heare I am

runne away, know it before the report come. If there bee

bredth enough in the world, I will hold a long distance.

My duty to you.

Your vnfortunate sonne,

Bertram.

O Madam, yonder is heauie newes within be­

tweene two souldiers, and my yong Ladie.

What is the matter.

Nay there is some comfort in the newes, some

comfort, your sonne will not be kild so soone as I thoght

he would.

Why should he be kill'd?

So say I Madame, if he runne away, as I heare he

does, the danger is in standing too't, that's the losse of

men, though it be the getting of children. Heere they

come will tell you more. For my part I onely heare your

sonne was run away.

Saue you good Madam.

Madam, my Lord is gone, for euer gone.

Do not say so.

Looke on his Letter Madam, here's my Pasport.

When thou canst get the Ring vpon my finger, which neuer

shall come off, and shew mee a childe begotten of thy bodie,

that I am father too, then call me husband: but in such a (then)

I write a Neuer.

This is a dreadfull sentence.

Brought you this Letter Gentlemen?

I Madam, and for the Contents sake are sorrie

for our paines.

I Madam

And to be a souldier.

Returne you thither.

I Madam, with the swiftest wing of speed.

Finde you that there?

I Madame.

'Tis but the boldnesse of his hand haply, which

his heart was not consenting too.

A seruant onely, and a Gentleman: whlch which I

haue sometime knowne.

Parolles was it not?

I my good Ladie, hee.

Indeed good Ladie the fellow has a deale of

that, too much, which holds him much to haue.

Y'are welcome Gentlemen, I will intreate you

when you see my sonne, to tell him that his sword can

neuer winne the honor that he looses: more Ile intreate X you All's Well that Ends Well. you written to beare along.

We serue you Madam in that and all your

worthiest affaires.

Letter.

I know that knaue, hang him, one Parolles,

a filthy Officer he is in those suggestions for the young

Earle, beware of them Diana; their promises, entise­

ments, oathes, tokens, and all these engines of lust, are

not the things they go vnder: many a maide hath beene

seduced by them, and the miserie is example, that so

terrible shewes in the wracke of maidenߛhood, cannot

for all that disswade succession, but that they are limed

with the twigges that threatens them. I hope I neede

not to aduise you further, but I hope your owne grace

will keepe you where you are, though there were no

further danger knowne, but the modestie which is so

lost.

You shall not neede to feare me.

I hope so: looke here comes a pilgrim, I know

she will lye at my house, thither they send one another,

Ile question her. God saue you pilgrim, whether are

bound?

At the S. Francis heere beside the Port.

Is this the way?

Is it your selfe?

If you shall please so Pilgrime.

I thanke you, and will stay vpon your leisure.

you came I thinke from France?

I did so.

His name I pray you?

The Count Rossillion: know you such a one?

I surely meere the truth, I know his Lady.

What's his name?

Monsieur Parrolles.

The goddes forbid else.

Which is the Frenchman?

I like him well.

Which is he?

That Iacke an‑apes with scarfes. Why is hee

melancholly?

Perchance he's hurt i'th battaile.

Loose our drum? Well.

He's shrewdly vext at something. Looke he

has spyed vs.

Marrie hang you.

And your curtesie, for a ring‑carrier.

The troope is past: Come pilgrim, I wil bring

you, Where you shall host: Of inioyn'd penitents

There's foure or fiue, to great S. Iaques bound,

Alreadie at my house.

Wee'l take your offer kindly.

Nay good my Lord put him too't: let him

haue his way.

If your Lordshippe finde him not a Hilding,

hold me no more in your respect.

On my life my Lord a bubble.

Do you thinke I am so farre

Deceiued in him.

Beleeue it my Lord, in mine owne direct

knowledge, without any malice, but to speake of him

as my kinsman, hee's a most notable Coward, an infi­

nite and endlesse Lyar, an hourely promise‑breaker, the

owner of no one good qualitie, worthy your Lordships

entertainment.

It were fit you knew him, least reposing too

farre in his vertue which he hath not, he might at some

great and trustie businesse, in a maine daunger, fayle

you.

I would I knew in what particular action to try

him.

None better then to let him fetch off his

drumme, which you heare him so confidently vnder­

take to do.

I with a troop of Florentines wil sodainly sur­

X2 prize All's Well that Ends Well. prize him; such I will haue whom I am sure he knowes

not from the enemie: wee will binde and hoodwinke

him so, that he shall suppose no other but that he is car­

ried into the Leager of the aduersaries, when we bring

him to our owne tents: be but your Lordship present

at his examination, if he do not for the promise of his

life, and in the highest compulsion of base feare, offer to

betray you, and deliuer all the intelligence in his power

against you, and that with the diuine forfeite of his

soule vpon oath, neuer trust my iudgement in anie

thing.

O for the loue of laughter, let him fetch his

drumme, he sayes he has a stratagem for't: when your

Lordship sees the bottome of this successe in't, and to

what mettle this counterfeyt lump of ours will be mel­

ted if you giue him not Iohn drummes entertainement,

your inclining cannot be remoued. Heere he comes.

O for the loue of laughter hinder not the ho­

nor of his designe, let him fetch off his drumme in any

hand.

How now Monsieur? This drumme sticks sore­

ly in your disposition.

A pox on't, let it go, 'tis but a drumme.

But a drumme: Ist but a drumme? A drum so

lost. There was excellent command, to charge in with

our horse vpon our owne wings, and to rend our owne

souldiers.

That was not to be blam'd in the command

of the seruice: it was a disaster of warre that Cæsar him

selfe could not haue preuented, if he had beene there to

command.

Well, wee cannot greatly condemne our suc­

cesse: some dishonor wee had in the losse of that drum,

but it is not to be recouered.

It might haue beene recouered.

It might, but it is not now.

It is to be recouered, but that the merit of ser­

uice is sildome attributed to the true and exact perfor­

mer, I would haue that drumme or another, or hic ia­ cet .

Why if you haue a stomacke, too't Monsieur: if

you thinke your mysterie in stratagem, can bring this

instrument of honour againe into his natiue quarter, be

magnanimious in the enterprize and go on, I wil grace

the attempt for a worthy exploit: if you speede well in

it, the Duke shall both speake of it, and extend to you

what further becomes his greatnesse, euen to the vtmost

syllable of your worthinesse.

By the hand of a souldier I will vndertake it.

But you must not now slumber in it.

Ile about it this euening, and I will presently

pen downe my dilemma's, encourage my selfe in my

certaintie, put my selfe into my mortall preparation:

and by midnight looke to heare further from me.

May I bee bold to acquaint his grace you are

gone about it.

I know not what the successe wil be my Lord,

but the attempt I vow.

I loue not many words.

No more then a fish loues water. Is not this a strange fellow my Lord, that so confidently seemes to

vndertake this businesse, which he knowes is not to be

done, damnes himselfe to do, & dares better be damnd

then to doo't.

You do not know him my Lord as we doe,

certaine it is that he will steale himselfe into a mans fa­

uour, and for a weeke escape a great deale of discoue­

ries, but when you finde him out, you haue him euer af­

ter

Why do you thinke he will make no deede at

all of this that so seriouslie hee dooes addresse himself

vnto?

None in the world, but returne with an in­

uention, and clap vpon you two or three probable lies:

but we haue almost imbost him, you shall see his fall to

night; for indeede he is not for your Lordshippes re­

spect.

Weele make you some sport with the Foxe

ere we case him. He was first smoak'd by the old Lord

Lafew, when his disguise and he is parted, tell me what

a sprat you shall finde him, which you shall see this ve­

rie night.

Your brother he shall go along with me.

As't please your Lordship, Ile leaue you.

But you say she's honest.

With all my heart my Lord.

Now I see the bottome of your purpose.

He can come no other way but by this hedge

corner: when you sallie vpon him, speake what terrible

Language you will: though you vnderstand it not your

selues, no matter: for we must not seeme to vnderstand

him, vnlesse some one among vs, whom wee must pro­

duce for an Interpreter.

Good Captaine, let me be th' Interpreter.

Art not acquainted with him? knowes he not

thy voice?

No sir I warrant you.

But what linsie wolsy hast thou to speake to vs

againe.

E'n such as you speake to me.

He must thinke vs some band of strangers, i'th

aduersaries entertainment. Now he hath a smacke of all

neighbouring Languages: therefore we must euery one

be a man of his owne fancie, not to know what we speak

one to another: so we seeme to know, is to know straight

our purpose: Choughs language, gabble enough, and

good enough. As for you interpreter, you must seeme

very politicke. But couch hoa, heere hee comes, to be­

guile two houres in a sleepe, and then to returne & swear

the lies he forges.

Ten a clocke: Within these three houres 'twill

be time enough to goe home. What shall I say I haue

done? It must bee a very plausiue inuention that carries

it. They beginne to smoake mee, and disgraces haue of

late, knock'd too often at my doore: I finde my tongue

is too foole‑hardie, but my heart hath the feare of Mars

before it, and of his creatures, not daring the reports of

my tongue.

This is the first truth that ere thine own tongue

was guiltie of.

What the diuell should moue mee to vndertake

the recouerie of this drumme, being not ignorant of the

impossibility, and knowing I had no such purpose? I

must giue my selfe some hurts, and say I got them in ex­

ploit: yet slight ones will not carrie it. They will say,

came you off with so little? And great ones I dare not

giue, wherefore what's the instance. Tongue, I must put

you into a Butter‑womans mouth, and buy my selfe ano­

ther of Baiazeths Mule, if you prattle mee into these

perilles.

Is it possible he should know what hee is, and

be that he is.

I would the cutting of my garments wold serue

the turne, or the breaking of my Spanish sword.

We cannot affoord you so.

Or the baring of my beard, and to say it was in

stratagem.

'Twould not do.

Or to drowne my cloathes, and say I was stript.

Hardly serue.

Though I swore I leapt from the window of the

Citadell.

How deepe?

Thirty fadome.

Three great oathes would scarse make that be

beleeued.

I would I had any drumme of the enemies, I

would sweare I recouer'd it.

You shall heare one anon.

A drumme now of the enemies.

Throca movousus, cargo, cargo, cargo.

Cargo, cargo, cargo, villianda par corbo, cargo.

Boskos thromuldo boskos.

Boskos vauvado, I vnderstand thee, & can speake

thy tongue: Kerelybonto sir, betake thee to thy faith, for

seuenteene ponyards are at thy bosome.

Oh.

Oh pray, pray, pray,

Manka reuania dulche.

Oscorbidulchos voliuorco.

But wilt thou faithfully?

If I do not, damne me.

Captaine I will.

A will betray vs all vnto our selues,

Informe on that.

So I will sir.

Till then Ile keepe him darke and safely lockt.

They told me that your name was Fontybell.

No my good Lord, Diana.

She then was honest.

So should you be.

How haue I sworne.

Will you not my Lord?

A heauen on earth I haue won by wooing thee.

You haue not giuen him his mothers letter.

I haue deliu'red it an houre since, there is som

thing in't that stings his nature: for on the reading it,

he chang'd almost into another man.

He has much worthy blame laid vpon him,

for shaking off so good a wife, and so sweet a Lady.

Especially, hee hath incurred the euerlasting

displeasure of the King, who had euen tun'd his bounty

to sing happinesse to him. I will tell you a thing, but

you shall let it dwell darkly with you.

When you haue spoken it 'tis dead, and I am

the graue of it.

Hee hath peruerted a young Gentlewoman

heere in Florence, of a most chaste renown, & this night

he fleshes his will in the spoyle of her honour: hee hath

giuen her his monumentall Ring, and thinkes himself

made in the vnchaste composition.

Now God delay our rebellion as we are our

selues, what things are we.

Meerely our owne traitours. And as in the

common course of all treasons, we still see them reueale

themselues, till they attaine to their abhorr'd ends: so

he that in this action contriues against his owne Nobi­

lity in his proper streame, ore‑flowes himselfe.

Is it not meant damnable in vs, to be Trum­

peters of our vnlawfull intents? We shall not then haue

his company to night?

Not till after midnight: for hee is dieted to

his houre.

That approaches apace: I would gladly haue

him see his company anathomiz'd, that hee might take a All's Well that Ends Well. a measure of his owne iudgements, wherein so curiously

he had set this counterfeit.

We will not meddle with him till he come;

for his presence must be the whip of the other.

In the meane time, what heare you of these

Warres?

I heare there is an ouerture of peace.

Nay, I assure you a peace concluded.

What will Count Rossillion do then? Will he

trauaile higher, or returne againe into France?

I perceiue by this demand, you are not alto­

gether of his councell.

Let it be forbid sir, so should I bee a great

deale of his act.

Sir, his wife some two months since fledde

from his house, her pretence is a pilgrimage to Saint Ia­ ques le grand ; which holy vndertaking, with most au­

stere sanctimonie she accomplisht: and there residing,

the tendernesse of her Nature, became as a prey to her

greefe: in fine, made a groane of her last breath, & now

she sings in heauen.

How is this iustified?

The stronger part of it by her owne Letters,

which makes her storie true, euen to the poynt of her

death: her death it selfe, which could not be her office

to say, is come: was faithfully confirm'd by the Rector

of the place.

Hath the Count all this intelligence?

I, and the particular confirmations, point

from point, to the full arming of the veritie.

I am heartily sorrie that hee'l bee gladde of

this.

How mightily sometimes, we make vs com­

forts of our losses.

And how mightily some other times, wee

drowne our gaine in teares, the great dignitie that his

valour hath here acquir'd for him, shall at home be en­

countred with a shame as ample.

The webbe of our life, is of a mingled yarne,

good and ill together: our vertues would bee proud, if

our faults whipt them not, and our crimes would dis­

paire if they were not cherish'd by our vertues.

How now? Where's your master?

He met the Duke in the street sir, of whom hee

hath taken a solemne leaue: his Lordshippe will next

morning for France. The Duke hath offered him Let­

ters of commendations to the King.

They shall bee no more then needfull there,

if they were more then they can commend.

They cannot be too sweete for the Kings tart­

nesse, heere's his Lordship now. How now my Lord,

i'st not after midnight?

I haue to night dispatch'd sixteene businesses, a

moneths length a peece, by an abstract of successe: I

haue congied with the Duke, done my adieu with his

neerest; buried a wife, mourn'd for her, writ to my La­

die mother, I am returning, entertain'd my Conuoy, &

betweene these maine parcels of dispatch, affected ma­

ny nicer needs: the last was the greatest, but that I haue

not ended yet.

If the businesse bee of any difficulty, and this

morning your departure hence, it requires hast of your

Lordship.

I meane the businesse is not ended, as fearing

to heare of it hereafter: but shall we haue this dialogue

betweene the Foole and the Soldiour. Come, bring

forth this counterfet module, ha's deceiu'd mee, like a

double‑meaning Prophesier.

Bring him forth, ha's sate i'th stockes all night

poore gallant knaue.

No matter, his heeles haue deseru'd it, in vsur­

ping his spurres so long. How does he carry himselfe?

I haue told your Lordship alreadie: The

stockes carrie him. But to answer you as you would be

vnderstood, hee weepes like a wench that had shed her

milke, he hath confest himselfe to Morgan, whom hee

supposes to be a Friar, frō from the time of his remembrance

to this very instant disaster of his setting i'th stockes:

and what thinke you he hath confest?

Nothing of me, ha's a?

His confession is taken, and it shall bee read

to his face, if your Lordshippe be in't, as I beleeue you

are, you must haue the patience to heare it.

A plague vpon him, muffeld; he can say nothing

of me: hush, hush.

Hoodman comes: Portotartarossa.

He calles for the tortures, what will you say

without em.

Bosko Chimurcho.

Boblibindo chicurmurco.

You are a mercifull Generall: Our Generall

bids you answer to what I shall aske you out of a Note.

And truly, as I hope to lieu.

First demand of him, how many horse the Duke

is strong. What say you to that?

Fiue or sixe thousand, but very weake and vn­

seruiceable: the troopes are all scattered, and the Com­

manders verie poore rogues, vpon my reputation and

credit, and as I hope to liue.

Shall I set downe your answer so?

Do, Ile take the Sacrament on't, how & which

way you will: all's one to him.

What a past‑sauing slaue is this?

Y'are deceiu'd my Lord, this is Mounsieur

Parrolles the gallant militarist, that was his owne phrase

that had the whole theoricke of warre in the knot of his

scarfe, and the practise in the chape of his dagger.

I will neuer trust a man againe, for keeping

his sword cleane, nor beleeue he can haue euerie thing

in him, by wearing his apparrell neatly.

Well, that's set downe.

Fiue or six thousand horse I sed, I will say true,

or thereabouts set downe, for Ile speake truth.

He's very neere the truth in this.

But I con him no thankes for't in the nature he

deliuers it.

Poore rogues, I pray you say.

Well, that's set downe.

Demaund of him of what strength they are a

foot. What say you to that?

By my troth sir, if I were to liue this present

houre, I will tell true. Let me see, Spurio a hundred & fiftie All's Well, that Ends Well. fiftie, Sebastian so many, Corambus so many, Iaques so

many: Guiltian, Cosmo, Lodowicke, and Gratij, two hun­

dred fiftie each: Mine owne Company, Chitopher, Uau­ mond, Bentij , two hundred fiftie each: so that the muster

file, rotten and sound, vppon my life amounts not to fif­

teene thousand pole, halfe of the which, dare not shake

the snow from off their Cassockes, least they shake them­

selues to peeces.

What shall be done to him?

Nothing, but let him haue thankes. Demand

of him my condition: and what credite I haue with the

Duke.

Well that's set downe: you shall demaund of

him, whether one Captaine Dumaine bee i'th Campe, a

Frenchman: what his reputation is with the Duke, what

his valour, honestie, and expertnesse in warres: or whe­

ther he thinkes it were not possible with well‑weighing

summes of gold to corrupt him to a reuolt. What say you

to this? What do you know of it?

I beseech you let me answer to the particular of

the intergatories. Demand them singly.

Do you know this Captaine Dumaine?

I know him, a was a Botchers Prentize in Paris,

from whence he was whipt for getting the Shrieues fool

with childe, a dumbe innocent that could not say him

nay.

Nay, by your leaue hold your hands, though I

know his braines are forfeite to the next tile that fals.

Well, is this Captaine in the Duke of Florences

campe?

Vpon my knowledge he is, and lowsie.

Nay looke not so vpon me: we shall heare of

your Lord anon.

What is his reputation with the Duke?

The Duke knowes him for no other, but a poore

Officer of mine, and writ to mee this other day, to turne

him out a'th band. I thinke I haue his Letter in my poc­

ket.

Marry we'll search.

In good sadnesse I do not know, either it is there,

or it is vpon a file with the Dukes other Letters, in my

Tent.

Heere 'tis, heere's a paper, shall I reade it to you?

I do not know if it be it or no.

Our Interpreter do's it well.

Excellently.

Dian, the Counts a foole, and full of gold.

That is not the Dukes letter sir: that is an ad­

uertisement to a proper maide in Florence, one Diana, to

take heede of the allurement of one Count Rossillion, a

foolish idle boy: but for all that very ruttish. I pray you

sir put it vp againe.

Nay, Ile reade it first by your fauour.

My meaning in't I protest was very honest in the

behalfe of the maid: for I knew the young Count to be a

dangerous and lasciuious boy, who is a whale to Virgi­

nity, and deuours vp all the fry it finds.

Damnable both‑sides rogue.

Thine as he vow'd to thee in thine eare,

Parolles.

He shall be whipt through the Armie with this

rime in's forehead.

This is your deuoted friend sir, the manifold

Linguist, and the army‑potent souldier.

I could endure any thing before but a Cat, and

now he's a Cat to me.

I perceiue sir by your Generals lookes, wee shall

be faine to hang you.

My life sir in any case: Not that I am afraide to

dye, but that my offences beeing many, I would repent

out the remainder of Nature. Let me liue sir in a dunge­

on, i'th stockes, or any where, so I may liue.

Wee'le see what may bee done, so you confesse

freely: therefore once more to this Captaine Dumaine:

you haue answer'd to his reputation with the Duke, and

to his valour. What is his honestie?

He will steale sir an Egge out of a Cloister: for

rapes and rauishments he paralels Nessus. Hee professes

not keeping of oaths, in breaking em he is stronger then

Hercules. He will lye sir, with such volubilitie, that you

would thinke truth were a foole: drunkennesse is his best

vertue, for he will be swine‑drunke, and in his sleepe he

does little harme, saue to his bed‑cloathes about him:

but they know his conditions, and lay him in straw. I

haue but little more to say sir of his honesty, he ha's eue­

rie thing that an honest man should not haue; what an

honest man should haue, he has nothing.

I begin to loue him for this.

For this description of thine honestie? A pox

vpon him for me, he's more and more a Cat.

What say you to his expertnesse in warre?

Faith sir, ha's led the drumme before the Eng­

lish Tragedians: to belye him I will not, and more of his

souldiership 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 doe the

man what honour I can, but of this I am not certaine.

He hath out‑villain'd villanie so farre, that the

raritie redeemes him.

A pox on him, he's a Cat still.

His qualities being at this poore price, I neede

not to aske you, if Gold will corrupt him to reuolt.

Sir, for a Cardceue he will sell the fee‑simple of

his saluation, the inheritance of it, and cut th'intaile from

all remainders, and a perpetuall succession for it perpe­

tually.

What's his Brother, the other Captain Dumain?

Why do's he aske him of me?

What's he?

E'ne a Crow a'th same nest: not altogether so

great as the first in goodnesse, but greater a great deale in

euill. He excels his Brother for a coward, yet his Brother

is reputed one of the best that is. In a retreate hee out­

runnes any Lackey; marrie in comming on, hee ha's the

Crampe.

If your life be saued, will you vndertake to betray

the Florentine.

I, and the Captaine of his horse, Count Rossillion.

Ile whisper with the Generall, and knowe his

pleasure.

Ile no more drumming, a plague of all drummes,

onely to seeme to deserue well, and to beguile the suppo­ sition All's Well, that Ends Well.

sition of that lasciuious yong boy the Count, haue I run

into this danger: yet who would haue suspected an am­

bush where I was taken?

There is no remedy sir, but you must dye: the

Generall sayes, you that haue so traitorously discouerd

the secrets of your army, and made such pestifferous re­

ports of men very nobly held, can serue the world for

no honest vse: therefore you must dye. Come heades­

man, off with his head.

O Lord sir let me liue, or let me see my death.

That shall you, and take your leaue of all your

friends:

So, looke about you, know you any heere?

Good morrow noble Captaine.

God blesse you Captaine Parolles.

God saue you noble Captaine.

Captain, what greeting will you to my Lord

Lafew? I am for France.

Good Captaine will you giue me a Copy of

the sonnet you writ to Diana in behalfe of the Count

Rossillion, and I were not a verie Coward, I'de compel

it of you, but far you well.

You are vndone Captaine all but your scarfe,

that has a knot on't yet.

Who cannot be crush'd with a plot?

If you could finde out a Countrie where but

women were that had receiued so much shame, you

might begin an impudent Nation. Fare yee well sir, I

am for France too, we shall speake of you there.

No, no, no, your sonne was misled with a snipt

taffata fellow there, whose villanous saffron wold haue

made all the vnbak'd and dowy youth of a nation in his

colour: your daughter‑in‑law had beene aliue at this

houre, and your sonne heere at home, more aduanc'd

by the King, then by that red‑tail'd humble Bee I speak

of.

I would I had not knowne him, it was the death

of the most vertuous gentlewoman, that euer Nature

had praise for creating. If she had pertaken of my flesh

and cost mee the deerest groanes of a mother, I could

not haue owed her a more rooted loue.

Twas a good Lady, 'twas a good Lady. Wee

may picke a thousand sallets ere wee light on such ano­

ther hearbe.

Indeed sir she was the sweete Margerom of the

sallet, or rather the hearbe of grace.

They are not hearbes you knaue, they are nose­

hearbes.

I am no great Nabuchadnezar sir, I haue not

much skill in grace.

Whether doest thou professe thy selfe, a knaue

or a foole?

A foole sir at a womans seruice, and a knaue

at a mans.

Your distinction.

I would cousen the man of his wife, and do his

seruice.

So you were a knaue at his seruice indeed.

And I would giue his wife my bauble sir to doe

her seruice.

I will subscribe for thee, thou art both knaue

and foole.

At your seruice.

No, no, no.

Why sir, if I cannot serue you, I can serue as

great a prince as you are.

Whose that, a Frenchman?

Faith sir a has an English maine, but his fisno­

mie is more hotter in France then there.

What prince is that?

The blacke prince sir, alias the prince of darke­

nesse, alias the diuell.

Hold thee there's my purse, I giue thee not this

to suggest thee from thy master thou talk'st off, serue

him still.

I am a woodland fellow sir, that alwaies loued

a great fire, and the master I speak of euer keeps a good

fire, but sure he is the Prince of the world, let his No­

bilitie remaine in's Court. I am for the house with the

narrow gate, which I take to be too little for pompe to

enter: some that humble themselues may, but the ma­

nie will be too chill and tender, and theyle bee for the

flowrie way that leads to the broad gate, and the great

fire.

Go thy waies, I begin to bee a wearie of thee,

and I tell thee so before, because I would not fall out

with thee. Go thy wayes, let my horses be wel look'd

too, without any trickes.

If I put any trickes vpon em sir, they shall bee

Iades trickes, which are their owne right by the law of

Nature.

A shrewd knaue and an vnhappie.

So a is. My Lord that's gone made himselfe

much sport out of him, by his authoritie hee remaines

heere, which he thinkes is a pattent for his sawcinesse,

and indeede he has no pace, but runnes where he will.

I like him well, 'tis not amisse: and I was about

to tell you, since I heard of the good Ladies death, and

that my Lord your sonne was vpon his returne home. I

moued the King my master to speake in the behalfe of

my daughter, which in the minoritie of them both, his

Maiestie out of a selfe gracious remembrance did first

propose, his Highnesse hath promis'd me to doe it, and

to stoppe vp the displeasure he hath conceiued against

your sonne, there is no fitter matter. How do's your

Ladyship like it?

With verie much content my Lord, and I wish

it happily effected.

His Highnesse comes post from Marcellus, of as

able bodie as when he number'd thirty, a will be heere

to morrow, or I am deceiu'd by him that in such intel­

ligence hath seldome fail'd.

It reioyces me, that I hope I shall see him ere I

die. I haue letters that my sonne will be heere to night:

I shall beseech your Lordship to remaine with mee, till

they meete together.

Madam, I was thinking with what manners I

might safely be admitted.

You neede but pleade your honourable priui­

ledge.

Ladie, of that I haue made a bold charter, but

I thanke my God, it holds yet.

O Madam, yonders my Lord your sonne with

a patch of veluet on's face, whether there bee a scar vn­

der't or no, the Veluet knowes, but 'tis a goodly patch

of Veluet, his left cheeke is a cheeke of two pile and a

halfe, but his right cheeke is worne bare.

But it is your carbinado'd face.

Let vs go see

your sonne I pray you, I long to talke

With the yong noble souldier.

'Faith there's a dozen of em, with delicate

fine hats, and most courteous feathers, which bow the

head, and nod at euerie man.

And you.

Sir, I haue seene you in the Court of France.

I haue beene sometimes there.

What's your will?

The Kings not heere.

Not heere sir?

Lord how we loose our paines.

Marrie as I take it to Rossillion,

Whither I am going.

This Ile do for you.

And you shall finde your selfe to be well thankt

what e're falles more. We must to horse againe, Go, go,

prouide.

Good M r Lauatch giue my Lord Lafew this let­

ter, I haue ere now sir beene better knowne to you, when

I haue held familiaritie with fresher cloathes: but I am

now sir muddied in fortunes mood, and smell somewhat

strong of her strong displeasure.

Truely, Fortunes displeasure is but sluttish if it

smell so strongly as thou speak'st of: I will henceforth

eate no Fish of Fortunes butt'ring. Prethee alow the

winde.

Nay you neede not to stop your nose sir: I spake

but by a Metaphor.

Indeed sir, if your Metaphor stinke, I will stop

my nose, or against any mans Metaphor. Prethe get thee

further.

Pray you sir deliuer me this paper.

Foh, prethee stand away: a paper from fortunes

close‑stoole, to giue to a Nobleman. Looke heere he

comes himselfe.

Heere is a purre of Fortunes sir, or of Fortunes

Cat, but not a Muscat, that ha's falne into the vncleane

fish‑pond of her displeasure, and as he sayes is muddied

withall. Pray you sir, vse the Carpe as you may, for he

ookes like a poore decayed, ingenious, foolish, rascally

naue. I doe pittie his distresse in my smiles of comfort,

nd leaue him to your Lordship.

My Lord I am a man whom fortune hath cruel­

y scratch'd.

And what would you haue me to doe? 'Tis too

ate to paire her nailes now. Wherein haue you played

he knaue with fortune that she should scratch you, who

f her selfe is a good Lady, and would not haue knaues

hriue long vnder? There's a Cardecue for you: Let the

ustices make you and fortune friends; I am for other

usinesse.

I beseech your honour to heare mee one single

word,

you begge a single peny more: Come you shall

ha't, saue your word.

My name my good Lord is Parrolles.

You begge more then word then. Cox my pas­

on, giue me your hand: How does your drumme?

O my good Lord, you were the first that found

ee.

Was I insooth? And I was the first that lost thee.

It lies in you my Lord to bring me in some grace

or you did bring me out.

Out vpon thee knaue, doest thou put vpon mee

t once both the office of God and the diuel: one brings

ee in grace, and the other brings thee out. The Kings

omming I know by his Trumpets. Sirrah, inquire fur­

er after me, I had talke of you last night, though you

re a foole and a knaue, you shall eate, go too, follow.

I praise God for you.

We lost a Iewell of her, and our esteeme

as made much poorer by it: but your sonne,

s mad in folly, lack'd the sence to know

er estimation home.

'Tis past my Liege,

nd I beseech your Maiestie to make it

aturall rebellion, done i'th blade of youth,

hen oyle and fire, too strong for reasons force,

re‑beares it, and burnes on.

I shall my Liege.

All that he is, hath reference to your Highnes.

Then shall we haue a match. I haue letters sent

me, that sets him high in fame.

He lookes well on't.

Hers it was not.

I am sure I saw her weare it.

She neuer saw it.

I am wrap'd in dismall thinkings.

A Letter.

Upon his many protestations to marrie mee when his wife was

dead, I blush to say it, he wonne me. Now is the Count Ros­

sillion a Widdower, his vowes are forfeited to mee, and my

honors payed to him. Hee stole from Florence, taking no

leaue, and I follow him to his Countrey for Iustice: Grant

it me, O King, in you it best lies, otherwise a seducer flou­

rishes, and a poore Maid is vndone.

Diana Capilet.

I will buy me a sonne in Law in a faire, and toule

for this. Ile none of him.

I am a‑feard the life of Hellen (Ladie)

Was fowly snatcht.

Now iustice on the doers.

Come hether Count, do you know these Wo­

men?

Why do you looke so strange vpon your wife?

She's none of mine my Lord.

Your reputation comes too short for my daugh­

ter, you are no husband for her.

What saist thou to her?

I saw the man to day, if man he bee.

Finde him, and bring him hether.

She hath that Ring of yours.

I haue it not.

What Ring was yours I pray you?

Sir much like the same vpon your finger.

Know you this Ring, this Ring was his of late.

And this was it I gaue him being a bed.

The story then goes false, you threw it him

ut of a Casement.

I haue spoke the truth. Enter Parolles.

My Lord, I do confesse the ring was hers.

I, my Lord

So please your Maiesty, my master hath bin an

honourable Gentleman. Trickes hee hath had in him,

which Gentlemen haue.

Come, come, to'th' purpose: Did hee loue this

woman?

Faith sir he did loue her, but how.

How I pray you?

He did loue her sir, as a Gent. loues a Woman.

How is that?

He lou'd her sir, and lou'd her not.

As thou art a knaue and no knaue, what an equi­

uocall Companion is this?

I am a poore man, and at your Maiesties com­

mand.

Hee's a good drumme my Lord, but a naughtie

Orator.

Do you know he promist me marriage?

Faith I know more then Ile speake.

But wilt thou not speake all thou know'st?

Yes so please your Maiesty: I did goe betweene

them as I said, but more then that he loued her, for in­

deede he was madde for her, and talkt of Sathan, and of

Limbo, and of Furies, and I know not what: yet I was in

that credit with them at that time, that I knewe of their

going to bed, and of other motions, as promising her

marriage, and things which would deriue mee ill will to

speake of, therefore I will not speake what I know.

Thou hast spoken all alreadie, vnlesse thou canst

say they are maried, but thou art too fine in thy euidence,

therefore stand aside. This Ring you say was yours.

I my good Lord.

Where did you buy it? Or who gaue it you?

It was not giuen me, nor I did not buy it.

Who lent it you?

It was not lent me neither.

Where did you finde it then?

I found it not.

I neuer gaue it him.

This womans an easie gloue my Lord, she goes

off and on at pleasure.

This Ring was mine, I gaue it his first wife.

It might be yours or hers for ought I know.

Ile neuer tell you.

Take her away.

Ile put in baile my liedge.

I thinke thee now some common Customer.

By Ioue if euer I knew man 'twas you.

Wherefore hast thou accusde him al this while.

She does abuse our eares, to prison with her.

No my good Lord,

Both, both, O pardon.