Reference > William Shakespeare > The Oxford Shakespeare > All’s Well that Ends Well
William Shakespeare (1564–1616).  The Oxford Shakespeare.  1914.
All’s Well that Ends Well
Act V. Scene III.
The Same.  A Room in the COUNTESS’S Palace.
Flourish.  Enter KING, COUNTESS, LAFEU, Lords, Gentlemen, Guards, &c.
  King.  We lost a jewel of her, and our esteem
Was made much poorer by it: but your son,
As mad in folly, lack’d the sense to know        5
Her estimation home.
  Count.        ’Tis past, my liege;
And I beseech your majesty to make it
Natural rebellion, done i’ the blaze of youth;
When oil and fire, too strong for reason’s force,        10
O’erbears it and burns on.
  King.        My honour’d lady,
I have forgiven and forgotten all,
Though my revenges were high bent upon him,
And watch’d the time to shoot.        15
  Laf.        This I must say,—
But first I beg my pardon,—the young lord
Did to his majesty, his mother, and his lady,
Offence of mighty note, but to himself
The greatest wrong of all: he lost a wife        20
Whose beauty did astonish the survey
Of richest eyes, whose words all ears took captive,
Whose dear perfection hearts that scorn’d to serve
Humbly call’d mistress.
  King.        Praising what is lost        25
Makes the remembrance dear. Well, call him hither;
We are reconcil’d, and the first view shall kill
All repetition. Let him not ask our pardon:
The nature of his great offence is dead,
And deeper than oblivion we do bury        30
The incensing relics of it: let him approach,
A stranger, no offender; and inform him
So ’tis our will he should.
  Gent.        I shall, my liege.  [Exit.
  King.  What says he to your daughter? have you spoke?        35
  Laf.  All that he is hath reference to your highness.
  King.  Then shall we have a match. I have letters sent me,
That set him high in fame.
  Laf.        He looks well on ’t.        40
  King.  I am not a day of season,
For thou mayst see a sunshine and a hail
In me at once; but to the brightest beams
Distracted clouds give way: so stand thou forth;
The time is fair again.        45
  Ber.        My high-repented blames,
Dear sovereign, pardon to me.
  King.        All is whole;
Not one word more of the consumed time.
Let’s take the instant by the forward top,        50
For we are old, and on our quick’st decrees
The inaudible and noiseless foot of time
Steals ere we can effect them. You remember
The daughter of this lord?
  Ber.  Admiringly, my liege:        55
At first I stuck my choice upon her, ere my heart
Durst make too bold a herald of my tongue,
Where the impression of mine eye infixing,
Contempt his scornful perspective did lend me,
Which warp’d the line of every other favour;        60
Scorn’d a fair colour, or express’d it stolen;
Extended or contracted all proportions
To a most hideous object: thence it came
That she, whom all men prais’d, and whom myself,
Since I have lost, have lov’d, was in mine eye        65
The dust that did offend it.
  King.        Well excus’d:
That thou didst love her, strikes some scores away
From the great compt. But love that comes too late,
Like a remorseful pardon slowly carried,        70
To the great sender turns a sour offence,
Crying, ‘That’s good that’s gone.’ Our rasher faults
Make trivial price of serious things we ave,
Not knowing them until we know their grave:
Oft our displeasures, to ourselves unjust,        75
Destroy our friends and after weep their dust:
Our own love waking cries to see what’s done,
While shameful hate sleeps out the afternoon.
Be this sweet Helen’s knell, and now forget her.
Send forth your amorous token for fair Maudlin:        80
The main consents are had; and here we’ll stay
To see our widower’s second marriage-day.
  Count.  Which better than the first, O dear heaven, bless!
Or, ere they meet, in me, O nature, cesse!
  Laf.  Come on, my son, in whom my house’s name        85
Must be digested, give a favour from you
To sparkle in the spirits of my daughter,
That she may quickly come.  [BERTRAM gives a ring.
        By my old beard,
And every hair that’s on ’t, Helen, that’s dead,
Was a sweet creature; such a ring as this,        90
The last that e’er I took her leave at court,
I saw upon her finger.
  Ber.        Hers it was not.
  King.  Now, pray you, let me see it; for mine eye,
While I was speaking, oft was fasten’d to ’t.—        95
This ring was mine; and, when I gave it Helen,
I bade her, if her fortunes ever stood
Necessitied to help, that by this token
I would relieve her. Had you that craft to reave her
Of what should stead her most?        100
  Ber.        My gracious sovereign,
Howe’er it pleases you to take it so,
The ring was never hers.
  Count.        Son, on my life,
I have seen her wear it; and she reckon’d it        105
At her life’s rate.
  Laf.        I am sure I saw her wear it.
  Ber.  You are deceiv’d, my lord, she never saw it:
In Florence was it from a casement thrown me,
Wrapp’d in a paper, which contain’d the name        110
Of her that threw it. Noble she was, and thought
I stood engag’d: but when I had subscrib’d
To mine own fortune, and inform’d her fully
I could not answer in that course of honour
As she had made the overture, she ceas’d,        115
In heavy satisfaction, and would never
Receive the ring again.
  King.        Plutus himself,
That knows the tinct and multiplying medicine,
Hath not in nature’s mystery more science        120
Than I have in this ring: ’twas mine, ’twas Helen’s,
Whoever gave it you. Then, if you know
That you are well acquainted with yourself,
Confess ’twas hers, and by what rough enforcement
You got it from her. She call’d the saints to surety,        125
That she would never put it from her finger
Unless she gave it to yourself in bed,
Where you have never come, or sent it us
Upon her great disaster.
  Ber.        She never saw it.        130
  King.  Thou speak’st it falsely, as I love mine honour;
And mak’st conjectural fears to come into me
Which I would fain shut out. If it should prove
That thou art so inhuman,—’twill not prove so;—
And yet I know not: thou didst hate her deadly,        135
And she is dead; which nothing, but to close
Her eyes myself, could win me to believe,
More than to see this ring. Take him away.  [Guards seize BERTRAM.
My fore-past proofs, howe’er the matter fall,
Shall tax my fears of little vanity,        140
Having vainly fear’d too little. Away with him!
We’ll sift this matter further.
  Ber.        If you shall prove
This ring was ever hers, you shall as easy
Prove that I husbanded her bed in Florence,        145
Where yet she never was.  [Exit guarded.
  King.  I am wrapp’d in dismal thinkings.
Enter the gentle Astringer.
  Gent.        Gracious sovereign,
Whether I have been to blame or no, I know not:        150
Here’s a petition from a Florentine,
Who hath, for four or five removes come short
To tender it herself. I undertook it,
Vanquish’d thereto by the fair grace and speech
Of the poor suppliant, who by this I know        155
Is here attending: her business looks in her
With an importing visage, and she told me,
In a sweet verbal brief, it did concern
Your highness with herself.
  King.    Upon his many protestations to marry me when his wife was dead, I blush to say it, he won me. Now is the Count Rousillon a widower: his vows are forfeited to me, and my honour’s paid to him. He stole from Florence, taking no leave, and I follow him to his country for justice. Grant it me, O king! in you it best lies; otherwise a seducer flourishes, and a poor maid is undone.
  Laf.  I will buy me a son-in-law in a fair, and toll for this: I’ll none of him.
  King.  The heavens have thought well on thee, Lafeu,
To bring forth this discovery. Seek these suitors:
Go speedily and bring again the count.  [Exeunt the gentle Astringer, and some Attendants.
I am afeard the life of Helen, lady,        165
Was foully snatch’d.
  Count.        Now, justice on the doers!
Re-enter BERTRAM, guarded.
  King.  I wonder, sir, sith wives are monsters to you,
And that you fly them as you swear them lordship,        170
Yet you desire to marry.
Re-enter the gentle Astringer, with Widow and DIANA.
        What woman’s that?
  Dia.  I am, my lord, a wretched Florentine,
Derived from the ancient Capilet:        175
My suit, as I do understand, you know,
And therefore know how far I may be pitied.
  Wid.  I am her mother, sir, whose age and honour
Both suffer under this complaint we bring,
And both shall cease, without your remedy.        180
  King.  Come hither, county; do you know these women?
  Ber.  My lord, I neither can nor will deny
But that I know them: do they charge me further?
  Dia.  Why do you look so strange upon your wife?
  Ber.  She’s none of mine, my lord.        185
  Dia.        If you shall marry,
You give away this hand, and that is mine;
You give away heaven’s vows, and those are mine;
You give away myself, which is known mine;
For I by vow am so embodied yours        190
That she which marries you must marry me;
Either both or none.
  Laf.  [To BERTRAM.]  Your reputation comes too short for my daughter: you are no husband for her.
  Ber.  My lord, this is a fond and desperate creature,
Whom sometime I have laugh’d with: let your highness        195
Lay a more noble thought upon mine honour
Than for to think that I would sink it here.
  King.  Sir, for my thoughts, you have them ill to friend,
Till your deeds gain them: fairer prove your honour,
Than in my thought it lies.        200
  Dia.        Good my lord,
Ask him upon his oath, if he does think
He had not my virginity.
  King.  What sayst thou to her?
  Ber.        She’s impudent, my lord;        205
And was a common gamester to the camp.
  Dia.  He does me wrong, my lord; if I were so,
He might have bought me at a common price:
Do not believe him. O! behold this ring,
Whose high respect and rich validity        210
Did lack a parallel; yet for all that
He gave it to a commoner o’ the camp,
If I be one.
  Count.        He blushes, and ’tis it:
Of six preceding ancestors, that gem        215
Conferr’d by testament to the sequent issue,
Hath it been ow’d and worn. This is his wife:
That ring’s a thousand proofs.
  King.        Methought you said
You saw one here in court could witness it.        220
  Dia.  I did, my lord, but loath am to produce
So bad an instrument: his name’s Parolles.
  Laf.  I saw the man to-day, if man he be.
  King.  Find him, and bring him hither.  [Exit an Attendant.
  Ber.        What of him?        225
He’s quoted for a most perfidious slave,
With all the spots of the world tax’d and debosh’d,
Whose nature sickens but to speak a truth.
Am I or that or this for what he’ll utter,
That will speak anything?        230
  King.        She hath that ring of yours.
  Ber.  I think she has: certain it is I lik’d her,
And boarded her i’ the wanton way of youth.
She knew her distance and did angle for me
Madding my eagerness with her restraint,        235
As all impediments in fancy’s course
Are motives of more fancy; and, in fine,
Her infinite cunning, with her modern grace,
Subdued me to her rate: she got the ring,
And I had that which any inferior might        240
At market-price have bought.
  Dia.        I must be patient;
You, that have turn’d off a first so noble wife,
May justly diet me. I pray you yet,—
Since you lack virtue I will lose a husband,—        245
Send for your ring; I will return it home,
And give me mine again.
  Ber.        I have it not.
  King.  What ring was yours, I pray you?
  Dia.        Sir, much like        250
The same upon your finger.
  King.  Know you this ring? this ring was his of late.
  Dia.  And this was it I gave him, being a-bed.
  King.  The story then goes false you threw it him
Out of a casement.        255
  Dia.        I have spoke the truth.
Re-enter Attendant with PAROLLES.
  Ber.  My lord, I do confess the ring was hers.
  King.  You boggle shrewdly, every feather starts you.
Is this the man you speak of?        260
  Dia.        Ay, my lord.
  King.  Tell me, sirrah, but tell me true, I charge you,
Not fearing the displeasure of your master,—
Which, on your just proceeding I’ll keep off,—
By him and by this woman here what know you?        265
  Par.  So please your majesty, my master hath been an honourable gentleman: tricks he hath had in him, which gentlemen have.
  King.  Come, come, to the purpose: did he love this woman?
  Par.  Faith, sir, he did love her; but how?
  King.  How, I pray you?
  Par.  He did love her, sir, as a gentleman loves a woman.        270
  King.  How is that?
  Par.  He loved her, sir, and loved her not.
  King.  As thou art a knave, and no knave.
What an equivocal companion is this!
  Par.  I am a poor man, and at your majesty’s command.        275
  Laf.  He is a good drum, my lord, but a naughty orator.
  Dia.  Do you know he promised me marriage?
  Par.  Faith, I know more than I’ll speak.
  King.  But wilt thou not speak all thou knowest?
  Par.  Yes, so please your majesty. I did go between them, as I said; but more than that, he loved her, for, indeed, he was mad for her, and talked of Satan, and of limbo, and of Furies, and I know not what: yet I was in that credit with them at that time, that I knew of their going to bed, and of other motions, as promising her marriage, and things which would derive me ill will to speak of: therefore I will not speak what I know.        280
  King.  Thou hast spoken all already, unless thou canst say they are married: but thou art too fine in thy evidence; therefore stand aside. This ring, you say, was yours?
  Dia.  Ay, my good lord.
  King.  Where did you buy it? or who gave it you?
  Dia.  It was not given me, nor I did not buy it.
  King.  Who lent it you?        285
  Dia.        It was not lent me neither.
  King.  Where did you find it, then?
  Dia.        I found it not.
  King.  If it were yours by none of all these ways,
How could you give it him?        290
  Dia.        I never gave it him.
  Laf.  This woman’s an easy glove, my lord: she goes off and on at pleasure.
  King.  This ring was mine: I gave it his first wife.
  Dia.  It might be yours or hers, for aught I know.
  King.  Take her away; I do not like her now.        295
To prison with her; and away with him.
Unless thou tell’st me where thou hadst this ring
Thou diest within this hour.
  Dia.        I’ll never tell you.
  King.  Take her away.        300
  Dia.        I’ll put in bail, my liege.
  King.  I think thee now some common customer.
  Dia.  By Jove, if ever I knew man, ’twas you.
  King.  Wherefore hast thou accus’d him all this while?
  Dia.  Because he’s guilty, and he is not guilty.        305
He knows I am no maid, and he’ll swear to ’t;
I’ll swear I am a maid, and he knows not.
Great king, I am no strumpet, by my life;
I am either maid, or else this old man’s wife.  [Pointing to LAFEU.
  King.  She does abuse our ears: to prison with her!        310
  Dia.  Good mother, fetch my bail.  [Exit Widow.]  Stay, royal sir;
The jeweller that owes the ring is sent for,
And he shall surety me. But for this lord,
Who hath abus’d me, as he knows himself,
Though yet he never harm’d me, here I quit him:        315
He knows himself my bed he hath defil’d,
And at that time he got his wife with child:
Dead though she be, she feels her young one kick:
So there’s my riddle: one that’s dead is quick;
And now behold the meaning.        320
Re-enter Widow, with HELENA.
  King.        Is there no exorcist
Beguiles the truer office of mine eyes?
Is ’t real that I see?
  Hel.        No, my good lord;        325
’Tis but the shadow of a wife you see;
The name and not the thing.
  Ber.        Both, both. O! pardon.
  Hel.  O my good lord! when I was like this maid,
I found you wondrous kind. There is your ring;        330
And, look you, here’s your letter; this it says:
When from my finger you can get this ring,
And are by me with child, &c. This is done:
Will you be mine, now you are doubly won?
  Ber.  If she, my liege, can make me know this clearly,        335
I’ll love her dearly, ever, ever dearly.
  Hel.  If it appear not plain, and prove untrue,
Deadly divorce step between me and you!
O! my dear mother; do I see you living?
  Laf.  Mine eyes smell onions; I shall weep anon.  [To PAROLLES.]  Good Tom Drum, lend me a handkercher: so, I thank thee. Wait on me home, I’ll make sport with thee: let thy curtsies alone, they are scurvy ones.        340
  King.  Let us from point to point this story know,
To make the even truth in pleasure flow.
[To DIANA.]  If thou be’st yet a fresh uncropped flower,
Choose thou thy husband, and I’ll pay thy dower;
For I can guess that by thy honest aid        345
Thou keptst a wife herself, thyself a maid.
Of that, and all the progress, more and less,
Resolvedly more leisure shall express:
All yet seems well; and if it end so meet,
The bitter past, more welcome is the sweet.  [Flourish.  Exeunt.        350
Spoken by the KING.
The king’s a beggar, now the play is done:
All is well ended if this suit be won
That you express content; which we will pay,        355
With strife to please you, day exceeding day:
Ours be your patience then, and yours our parts;
Your gentle hands lend us, and take our hearts.  [Exeunt.

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