ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL.

ACT I. SCENE I.

Rousillon. A Room in the Countess's Palace.

Enter BERTRAM, the Countess of Rousillon, HELENA, and LAFEU, in mourning.

Count. In delivering my son from me, I bury a

second husband.

Ber. And I, in going, Madam, weep o'er my father's death anew; but I must attend his Majesty's command, to whom I am now in ward evermore in subjection.

Laf. You shall find of the King a husband, Madam; you, Sir, a father: He that so generally is at all times good, must of necessity hold his virtue to you; whose worthiness would stir it up where it wanted, rather than lack it where there is such abundance.

Count. What hope is there of his Majesty's amendment?

Laf. He hath abandon'd his physicians, Madam; under whose practices he hath persecuted time with hope; and finds no other advantage in the process, but only the losing of hope by time.

Count. This young gentlewoman had a father, (0, that had! how sad a passage, 'tis!) whose skill was almost as great as his honesty: had it stretch'd so far, would have made nature immor. tal, and death should have play for lack of work. 'Would, for the King's sake, he were living! I think, it would be the death of the King's

disease.

Laf. How call'd you the man you speak of, Madam?

Count. He was famous, Sir, in his profession, and it was his great right to be so: Gerard de Narbon.

Laf. He was excellent, indeed, Madam; the King very lately spoke of him, admiringly, and mourningly he was skilful enough to have liv'd still, if knowledge could be set up against mor tality.

Ber. What is it, my good Lord, the King languishes of?

Laf. A fistula, my Lord.

Ber. I heard not of it before.

Was

Laf. I would it were not notorious. this gentlewoman the daughter of Gerard de Narbon ?

Count. His sole child, my Lord; and bequeathed. to my overlooking. I have those hopes of her good, that her education promises: her disposi tions she inherits, which make fair gifts fairer ; for where an unclean mind carries virtuous qua lities, there commendations go with pity, they are virtues and traitors too; in her they are the

better for their simpleness; she derives her h nesty, and achieves her, goodness.

Laf. Your commendations, Madam, get from her tears.

Count. 'Tis the best brine a maiden can seaso a her praise in. The remembrance of her father' never approaches her heart; but the tyranny of her sorrows takes all livelihood from her chee No more of this, Helena, go to, no more; lest it be rather thought you affect a sorrow, than to

have.

Hel. I do affect a sorrow, indeed, but I have it too.

Laf. Moderate lamentation is the right of the dead, excessive grief the enemy to the living.

Count. If the living be enemy to the grief, the excess makes it soon mortal.

Ber. Madam, 1 desire your holy wishes.
Laf. How understand we that?

Count. Be thou blest, Bertram!

thy father

and succe ed

In manners, as in shape! thy blood, and virtue, Contend for empire in thee; and thy goodness Share with thy birth-right! Love all, trust

few,

Do wrong to none: be able for thine enemy Rather in power, than use: and keep thy friend Under thy own life's key be check'd for silence, But never tax'd for speech. What heaven more

'Tis an unseason'd courtier; good my Lord, Advise him.

[Exit Coumess.

Ber. The best wishes, that can be forged, in your thoughts, [To HELENA.] be servants to you! Be comfortable to my mother, your mistress, and make much of her.

Laf. Farewell, pretty Lady: You must hold the credit of your father.

[Exeunt BERTRAM and LAFEU. Hel. O, were that all! I think not on my father;

And these great tears' grace his remembrance more,
Than those I'shed for him. What was he like?
I bave forgot him: my imagination

Ca tries no favour in it, but Bertram's.
I an undone; there is no living, none,
If Bertram be away. It were all one,
That I should love a bright particular star,
And think to wed it, he is so above me:
In his bright radiance and collateral light
Mast I be comforted, not in his sphere.
The ambition in my love thus plagues itself:
Tae hind, that would be mated by the lion,
Mlust die for love. 'Twas pretty, though a
plague,

To see him every hour; to sit and draw
His arched brows, his hawking eye, his curls,
In our heart's table; heart, too capable
Of every line and trick of his sweet favour:
But now he's gone, and my idolatrous fancy
Must sanctify his relicks. Who comes here?

Enter PAROLLES.

One that goes with him: I love him for his sake;

And yet I know him a notorious liar,
Think him a great way fool, solely a coward;
Yet these fix'd evils sit so fit in him,

That they take place, when virtue's steely bones
Look bleak in the cold wind: withal, full oft

we see

Cold wisdom waiting on superfluous folly.

Par. Save you, fair Queen.
Hel. And you, Monarch.

Par. No.

Hel. And no.

Par. Are you meditating on virginity?

Iel. Ay.

You have some stain of soldier in you; let me ask you a question: Man is enemy to virginity; how may we barricado it against

him?

Par. Keep him out.

Hel. But he assails; and our virginity, though valiant in the defence, yet is weak: unfold to us some warlike resistance.

Par. There is none; man, sitting down before you, will undermine you, and blow you up. Hel. Bless our poor virginity from underminers, and blowers up! Is there no military policy,

how virgins might blow up men?

Par. Virginity being blown down, man will be quicklier blown up: marry, in blowing him down again, with the breach yourselves made, you lose your city, It is not politick in the common wealth of nature, to preserve virginity. Loss of virginity is rational increase; and there was never virgin got, till virginity was first lost, That, you were made of, is metal to make virgins, Virginity by being once lost, may be ten times found by being ever kept, it is ever lost: 'tis too cold a companion; away with it.