All's Well That Ends Well. William Shakespeare
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Under Mars, I.
HELENA.
I especially think, under Mars.
PAROLLES.
Why under Mars?
HELENA.
The wars hath so kept you under, that you must needs be born under Mars.
PAROLLES.
When he was predominant.
HELENA.
When he was retrograde, I think rather.
PAROLLES.
Why think you so?
HELENA.
You go so much backward when you fight.
PAROLLES.
That’s for advantage.
HELENA.
So is running away, when fear proposes the safety: but the composition that your valour and fear makes in you is a virtue of a good wing, and I like the wear well.
PAROLLES.
I am so full of business I cannot answer thee acutely. I will return perfect courtier; in the which my instruction shall serve to naturalize thee, so thou wilt be capable of a courtier’s counsel, and understand what advice shall thrust upon thee; else thou diest in thine unthankfulness, and thine ignorance makes thee away. Farewell. When thou hast leisure, say thy prayers; when thou hast none, remember thy friends. Get thee a good husband, and use him as he uses thee. So, farewell.
[Exit.]
HELENA.
Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie,
Which we ascribe to heaven: the fated sky
Gives us free scope; only doth backward pull
Our slow designs when we ourselves are dull.
What power is it which mounts my love so high,
That makes me see, and cannot feed mine eye?
The mightiest space in fortune nature brings
To join like likes, and kiss like native things.
Impossible be strange attempts to those
That weigh their pains in sense, and do suppose
What hath been cannot be. Who ever strove
To show her merit that did miss her love?
The king’s disease—my project may deceive me,
But my intents are fix’d, and will not leave me.
[Exit.]
SCENE II. Paris. A room in the King’s palace.
Flourish of cornets. Enter the King of France, with letters; Lords and others attending.
KING.
The Florentines and Senoys are by th’ ears;
Have fought with equal fortune, and continue
A braving war.
FIRST LORD.
So ’tis reported, sir.
KING.
Nay, ’tis most credible, we here receive it,
A certainty, vouch’d from our cousin Austria,
With caution, that the Florentine will move us
For speedy aid; wherein our dearest friend
Prejudicates the business, and would seem
To have us make denial.
FIRST LORD.
His love and wisdom,
Approv’d so to your majesty, may plead
For amplest credence.
KING.
He hath arm’d our answer,
And Florence is denied before he comes:
Yet, for our gentlemen that mean to see
The Tuscan service, freely have they leave
To stand on either part.
SECOND LORD.
It well may serve
A nursery to our gentry, who are sick
For breathing and exploit.
KING.
What’s he comes here?
Enter Bertram, Lafew and Parolles.
FIRST LORD.
It is the Count Rossillon, my good lord,
Young Bertram.
KING.
Youth, thou bear’st thy father’s face;
Frank nature, rather curious than in haste,
Hath well compos’d thee. Thy father’s moral parts
Mayst thou inherit too! Welcome to Paris.
BERTRAM.
My thanks and duty are your majesty’s.
KING.
I would I had that corporal soundness now,
As when thy father and myself in friendship
First tried our soldiership. He did look far
Into the service of the time, and was
Discipled of the bravest. He lasted long,
But on us both did haggish age steal on,
And wore us out of act. It much repairs me
To talk of your good father; in his youth
He had the wit which I can well observe
Today in our young lords; but they may jest
Till their own scorn return to them unnoted
Ere they can hide their levity in honour
So like a courtier, contempt nor bitterness
Were in his pride or sharpness; if they were,
His equal had awak’d them, and his honour,
Clock to itself, knew the true minute when
Exception bid him speak, and at this time
His tongue obey’d his hand. Who were below him
He us’d as creatures of another place,
And bow’d his eminent top to their low ranks,
Making them proud of his humility,
In their poor praise he humbled. Such a man
Might be a copy to these younger times;
Which, followed well, would demonstrate them now
But goers backward.
BERTRAM.
His good remembrance, sir,
Lies richer in your thoughts than on his tomb;
So in approof lives not his epitaph
As in your royal speech.
KING.
Would I were with him! He would always say—
Methinks I hear him now; his plausive words
He scatter’d not in ears, but grafted them
To grow there and to bear—“Let me not live,”
This his good melancholy oft began
On the catastrophe and heel of pastime,
When it was out—“Let me not live” quoth he,
“After my flame lacks oil, to be the snuff