Speeches (Lines) for Countess in "All's Well That Ends Well"

Total: 87
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# Act / Scene Speech text
1 I / 1
  • In delivering my son from me, I bury a second husband.
  • In delivering my son from me, I bury a second husband.
  • .

    Countess. In delivering my son from me, I bury a second husband.

2 I / 1
  • What hope is there of his majesty's amendment?
  • What hope is there of his majesty's amendment?
  • Lafeu. 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.

    Countess. What hope is there of his majesty's amendment?

3 I / 1
  • This young gentlewoman had a father,--O, that
    'had'! how sad a passage 'tis!...
  • This young gentlewoman had a father,--O, that
    'had'! how sad a passage 'tis!--whose skill was
    almost as great as his honesty; had it stretched so
    far, would have made nature immortal, 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.
  • Lafeu. He hath abandoned his physicians, madam; under whose
    practises he hath persecuted time with hope, and
    finds no other advantage in the process but only the
    losing of hope by time.

    Countess. This young gentlewoman had a father,--O, that
    'had'! how sad a passage 'tis!--whose skill was
    almost as great as his honesty; had it stretched so
    far, would have made nature immortal, 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.

4 I / 1
  • He was famous, sir, in his profession, and it was
    his great right to be so:...
  • He was famous, sir, in his profession, and it was
    his great right to be so: Gerard de Narbon.
  • Lafeu. How called you the man you speak of, madam?

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

5 I / 1
  • His sole child, my lord, and bequeathed to my
    overlooking. I have those hope...
  • His sole child, my lord, and bequeathed to my
    overlooking. I have those hopes of her good that
    her education promises; her dispositions she
    inherits, which makes fair gifts fairer; for where
    an unclean mind carries virtuous qualities, there
    commendations go with pity; they are virtues and
    traitors too; in her they are the better for their
    simpleness; she derives her honesty and achieves her goodness.
  • Lafeu. I would it were not notorious. Was this gentlewoman
    the daughter of Gerard de Narbon?

    Countess. His sole child, my lord, and bequeathed to my
    overlooking. I have those hopes of her good that
    her education promises; her dispositions she
    inherits, which makes fair gifts fairer; for where
    an unclean mind carries virtuous qualities, there
    commendations go with pity; they are virtues and
    traitors too; in her they are the better for their
    simpleness; she derives her honesty and achieves her goodness.

6 I / 1
  • 'Tis the best brine a maiden can season her praise
    in. The remembrance of he...
  • 'Tis the best brine a maiden can season her praise
    in. The remembrance of her father never approaches
    her heart but the tyranny of her sorrows takes all
    livelihood from her cheek. No more of this, Helena;
    go to, no more; lest it be rather thought you affect
    a sorrow than have it.
  • Lafeu. Your commendations, madam, get from her tears.

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

7 I / 1
  • If the living be enemy to the grief, the excess
    makes it soon mortal.
  • If the living be enemy to the grief, the excess
    makes it soon mortal.
  • Lafeu. Moderate lamentation is the right of the dead,
    excessive grief the enemy to the living.

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

8 I / 1
  • Be thou blest, Bertram, and succeed thy father
    In manners, as in shape! thy...
  • Be thou blest, Bertram, and succeed thy father
    In manners, as in shape! thy blood and virtue
    Contend for empire in thee, and thy goodness
    Share with thy birthright! Love all, trust a 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 cheque'd for silence,
    But never tax'd for speech. What heaven more will,
    That thee may furnish and my prayers pluck down,
    Fall on thy head! Farewell, my lord;
    'Tis an unseason'd courtier; good my lord,
    Advise him.
  • Lafeu. How understand we that?

    Countess. Be thou blest, Bertram, and succeed thy father
    In manners, as in shape! thy blood and virtue
    Contend for empire in thee, and thy goodness
    Share with thy birthright! Love all, trust a 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 cheque'd for silence,
    But never tax'd for speech. What heaven more will,
    That thee may furnish and my prayers pluck down,
    Fall on thy head! Farewell, my lord;
    'Tis an unseason'd courtier; good my lord,
    Advise him.

9 I / 1
  • Heaven bless him! Farewell, Bertram.
  • Heaven bless him! Farewell, Bertram.
  • Lafeu. He cannot want the best
    That shall attend his love.

    Countess. Heaven bless him! Farewell, Bertram.

10 I / 3
  • I will now hear; what say you of this gentlewoman?
  • I will now hear; what say you of this gentlewoman?
  • Bertram. Thank your majesty.

    Countess. I will now hear; what say you of this gentlewoman?

11 I / 3
  • What does this knave here? Get you gone, sirrah:
    the complaints I have heard...
  • What does this knave here? Get you gone, sirrah:
    the complaints I have heard of you I do not all
    believe: 'tis my slowness that I do not; for I know
    you lack not folly to commit them, and have ability
    enough to make such knaveries yours.
  • Steward. Madam, the care I have had to even your content, I
    wish might be found in the calendar of my past
    endeavours; for then we wound our modesty and make
    foul the clearness of our deservings, when of
    ourselves we publish them.

    Countess. What does this knave here? Get you gone, sirrah:
    the complaints I have heard of you I do not all
    believe: 'tis my slowness that I do not; for I know
    you lack not folly to commit them, and have ability
    enough to make such knaveries yours.

12 I / 3
  • Well, sir.
  • Well, sir.
  • Clown. 'Tis not unknown to you, madam, I am a poor fellow.

    Countess. Well, sir.

13 I / 3
  • Wilt thou needs be a beggar?
  • Wilt thou needs be a beggar?
  • Clown. No, madam, 'tis not so well that I am poor, though
    many of the rich are damned: but, if I may have
    your ladyship's good will to go to the world, Isbel
    the woman and I will do as we may.

    Countess. Wilt thou needs be a beggar?

14 I / 3
  • In what case?
  • In what case?
  • Clown. I do beg your good will in this case.

    Countess. In what case?

15 I / 3
  • Tell me thy reason why thou wilt marry.
  • Tell me thy reason why thou wilt marry.
  • Clown. In Isbel's case and mine own. Service is no
    heritage: and I think I shall never have the
    blessing of God till I have issue o' my body; for
    they say barnes are blessings.

    Countess. Tell me thy reason why thou wilt marry.

16 I / 3
  • Is this all your worship's reason?
  • Is this all your worship's reason?
  • Clown. My poor body, madam, requires it: I am driven on
    by the flesh; and he must needs go that the devil drives.

    Countess. Is this all your worship's reason?

17 I / 3
  • May the world know them?
  • May the world know them?
  • Clown. Faith, madam, I have other holy reasons such as they
    are.

    Countess. May the world know them?

18 I / 3
  • Thy marriage, sooner than thy wickedness.
  • Thy marriage, sooner than thy wickedness.
  • Clown. I have been, madam, a wicked creature, as you and
    all flesh and blood are; and, indeed, I do marry
    that I may repent.

    Countess. Thy marriage, sooner than thy wickedness.

19 I / 3
  • Such friends are thine enemies, knave.
  • Such friends are thine enemies, knave.
  • Clown. I am out o' friends, madam; and I hope to have
    friends for my wife's sake.

    Countess. Such friends are thine enemies, knave.

20 I / 3
  • Wilt thou ever be a foul-mouthed and calumnious knave?
  • Wilt thou ever be a foul-mouthed and calumnious knave?
  • Clown. You're shallow, madam, in great friends; for the
    knaves come to do that for me which I am aweary of.
    He that ears my land spares my team and gives me
    leave to in the crop; if I be his cuckold, he's my
    drudge: he that comforts my wife is the cherisher
    of my flesh and blood; he that cherishes my flesh
    and blood loves my flesh and blood; he that loves my
    flesh and blood is my friend: ergo, he that kisses
    my wife is my friend. If men could be contented to
    be what they are, there were no fear in marriage;
    for young Charbon the Puritan and old Poysam the
    Papist, howsome'er their hearts are severed in
    religion, their heads are both one; they may jowl
    horns together, like any deer i' the herd.

    Countess. Wilt thou ever be a foul-mouthed and calumnious knave?

21 I / 3
  • Get you gone, sir; I'll talk with you more anon.
  • Get you gone, sir; I'll talk with you more anon.
  • Clown. A prophet I, madam; and I speak the truth the next
    way:
    For I the ballad will repeat,
    Which men full true shall find;
    Your marriage comes by destiny,
    Your cuckoo sings by kind.

    Countess. Get you gone, sir; I'll talk with you more anon.

22 I / 3
  • Sirrah, tell my gentlewoman I would speak with her;
    Helen, I mean.
  • Sirrah, tell my gentlewoman I would speak with her;
    Helen, I mean.
  • Steward. May it please you, madam, that he bid Helen come to
    you: of her I am to speak.

    Countess. Sirrah, tell my gentlewoman I would speak with her;
    Helen, I mean.

23 I / 3
  • What, one good in ten? you corrupt the song, sirrah.
  • What, one good in ten? you corrupt the song, sirrah.
  • Clown. Was this fair face the cause, quoth she,
    Why the Grecians sacked Troy?
    Fond done, done fond,
    Was this King Priam's joy?
    With that she sighed as she stood,
    With that she sighed as she stood,
    And gave this sentence then;
    Among nine bad if one be good,
    Among nine bad if one be good,
    There's yet one good in ten.

    Countess. What, one good in ten? you corrupt the song, sirrah.

24 I / 3
  • You'll be gone, sir knave, and do as I command you.
  • You'll be gone, sir knave, and do as I command you.
  • Clown. One good woman in ten, madam; which is a purifying
    o' the song: would God would serve the world so all
    the year! we'ld find no fault with the tithe-woman,
    if I were the parson. One in ten, quoth a'! An we
    might have a good woman born but one every blazing
    star, or at an earthquake, 'twould mend the lottery
    well: a man may draw his heart out, ere a' pluck
    one.

    Countess. You'll be gone, sir knave, and do as I command you.

25 I / 3
  • Well, now.
  • Well, now.
  • Clown. That man should be at woman's command, and yet no
    hurt done! Though honesty be no puritan, yet it
    will do no hurt; it will wear the surplice of
    humility over the black gown of a big heart. I am
    going, forsooth: the business is for Helen to come hither.

    Countess. Well, now.

26 I / 3
  • Faith, I do: her father bequeathed her to me; and
    she herself, without other...
  • Faith, I do: her father bequeathed her to me; and
    she herself, without other advantage, may lawfully
    make title to as much love as she finds: there is
    more owing her than is paid; and more shall be paid
    her than she'll demand.
  • Steward. I know, madam, you love your gentlewoman entirely.

    Countess. Faith, I do: her father bequeathed her to me; and
    she herself, without other advantage, may lawfully
    make title to as much love as she finds: there is
    more owing her than is paid; and more shall be paid
    her than she'll demand.

27 I / 3
  • You have discharged this honestly; keep it to
    yourself: many likelihoods inf...
  • You have discharged this honestly; keep it to
    yourself: many likelihoods informed me of this
    before, which hung so tottering in the balance that
    I could neither believe nor misdoubt. Pray you,
    leave me: stall this in your bosom; and I thank you
    for your honest care: I will speak with you further anon.
    [Exit Steward]
    [Enter HELENA]
    Even so it was with me when I was young:
    If ever we are nature's, these are ours; this thorn
    Doth to our rose of youth rightly belong;
    Our blood to us, this to our blood is born;
    It is the show and seal of nature's truth,
    Where love's strong passion is impress'd in youth:
    By our remembrances of days foregone,
    Such were our faults, or then we thought them none.
    Her eye is sick on't: I observe her now.
  • Steward. Madam, I was very late more near her than I think
    she wished me: alone she was, and did communicate
    to herself her own words to her own ears; she
    thought, I dare vow for her, they touched not any
    stranger sense. Her matter was, she loved your son:
    Fortune, she said, was no goddess, that had put
    such difference betwixt their two estates; Love no
    god, that would not extend his might, only where
    qualities were level; Dian no queen of virgins, that
    would suffer her poor knight surprised, without
    rescue in the first assault or ransom afterward.
    This she delivered in the most bitter touch of
    sorrow that e'er I heard virgin exclaim in: which I
    held my duty speedily to acquaint you withal;
    sithence, in the loss that may happen, it concerns
    you something to know it.

    Countess. You have discharged this honestly; keep it to
    yourself: many likelihoods informed me of this
    before, which hung so tottering in the balance that
    I could neither believe nor misdoubt. Pray you,
    leave me: stall this in your bosom; and I thank you
    for your honest care: I will speak with you further anon.
    [Exit Steward]
    [Enter HELENA]
    Even so it was with me when I was young:
    If ever we are nature's, these are ours; this thorn
    Doth to our rose of youth rightly belong;
    Our blood to us, this to our blood is born;
    It is the show and seal of nature's truth,
    Where love's strong passion is impress'd in youth:
    By our remembrances of days foregone,
    Such were our faults, or then we thought them none.
    Her eye is sick on't: I observe her now.

28 I / 3
  • You know, Helen,
    I am a mother to you.
  • You know, Helen,
    I am a mother to you.
  • Helena. What is your pleasure, madam?

    Countess. You know, Helen,
    I am a mother to you.

29 I / 3
  • Nay, a mother:
    Why not a mother? When I said 'a mother,'
    Methought you s...
  • Nay, a mother:
    Why not a mother? When I said 'a mother,'
    Methought you saw a serpent: what's in 'mother,'
    That you start at it? I say, I am your mother;
    And put you in the catalogue of those
    That were enwombed mine: 'tis often seen
    Adoption strives with nature and choice breeds
    A native slip to us from foreign seeds:
    You ne'er oppress'd me with a mother's groan,
    Yet I express to you a mother's care:
    God's mercy, maiden! does it curd thy blood
    To say I am thy mother? What's the matter,
    That this distemper'd messenger of wet,
    The many-colour'd Iris, rounds thine eye?
    Why? that you are my daughter?
  • Helena. Mine honourable mistress.

    Countess. Nay, a mother:
    Why not a mother? When I said 'a mother,'
    Methought you saw a serpent: what's in 'mother,'
    That you start at it? I say, I am your mother;
    And put you in the catalogue of those
    That were enwombed mine: 'tis often seen
    Adoption strives with nature and choice breeds
    A native slip to us from foreign seeds:
    You ne'er oppress'd me with a mother's groan,
    Yet I express to you a mother's care:
    God's mercy, maiden! does it curd thy blood
    To say I am thy mother? What's the matter,
    That this distemper'd messenger of wet,
    The many-colour'd Iris, rounds thine eye?
    Why? that you are my daughter?

30 I / 3
  • I say, I am your mother.
  • I say, I am your mother.
  • Helena. That I am not.

    Countess. I say, I am your mother.

31 I / 3
  • Nor I your mother?
  • Nor I your mother?
  • Helena. Pardon, madam;
    The Count Rousillon cannot be my brother:
    I am from humble, he from honour'd name;
    No note upon my parents, his all noble:
    My master, my dear lord he is; and I
    His servant live, and will his vassal die:
    He must not be my brother.

    Countess. Nor I your mother?

32 I / 3
  • Yes, Helen, you might be my daughter-in-law:
    God shield you mean it not! dau...
  • Yes, Helen, you might be my daughter-in-law:
    God shield you mean it not! daughter and mother
    So strive upon your pulse. What, pale again?
    My fear hath catch'd your fondness: now I see
    The mystery of your loneliness, and find
    Your salt tears' head: now to all sense 'tis gross
    You love my son; invention is ashamed,
    Against the proclamation of thy passion,
    To say thou dost not: therefore tell me true;
    But tell me then, 'tis so; for, look thy cheeks
    Confess it, th' one to th' other; and thine eyes
    See it so grossly shown in thy behaviors
    That in their kind they speak it: only sin
    And hellish obstinacy tie thy tongue,
    That truth should be suspected. Speak, is't so?
    If it be so, you have wound a goodly clew;
    If it be not, forswear't: howe'er, I charge thee,
    As heaven shall work in me for thine avail,
    Tell me truly.
  • Helena. You are my mother, madam; would you were,--
    So that my lord your son were not my brother,--
    Indeed my mother! or were you both our mothers,
    I care no more for than I do for heaven,
    So I were not his sister. Can't no other,
    But, I your daughter, he must be my brother?

    Countess. Yes, Helen, you might be my daughter-in-law:
    God shield you mean it not! daughter and mother
    So strive upon your pulse. What, pale again?
    My fear hath catch'd your fondness: now I see
    The mystery of your loneliness, and find
    Your salt tears' head: now to all sense 'tis gross
    You love my son; invention is ashamed,
    Against the proclamation of thy passion,
    To say thou dost not: therefore tell me true;
    But tell me then, 'tis so; for, look thy cheeks
    Confess it, th' one to th' other; and thine eyes
    See it so grossly shown in thy behaviors
    That in their kind they speak it: only sin
    And hellish obstinacy tie thy tongue,
    That truth should be suspected. Speak, is't so?
    If it be so, you have wound a goodly clew;
    If it be not, forswear't: howe'er, I charge thee,
    As heaven shall work in me for thine avail,
    Tell me truly.

33 I / 3
  • Do you love my son?
  • Do you love my son?
  • Helena. Good madam, pardon me!

    Countess. Do you love my son?

34 I / 3
  • Love you my son?
  • Love you my son?
  • Helena. Your pardon, noble mistress!

    Countess. Love you my son?

35 I / 3
  • Go not about; my love hath in't a bond,
    Whereof the world takes note: come,...
  • Go not about; my love hath in't a bond,
    Whereof the world takes note: come, come, disclose
    The state of your affection; for your passions
    Have to the full appeach'd.
  • Helena. Do not you love him, madam?

    Countess. Go not about; my love hath in't a bond,
    Whereof the world takes note: come, come, disclose
    The state of your affection; for your passions
    Have to the full appeach'd.

36 I / 3
  • Had you not lately an intent,--speak truly,--
    To go to Paris?
  • Had you not lately an intent,--speak truly,--
    To go to Paris?
  • Helena. Then, I confess,
    Here on my knee, before high heaven and you,
    That before you, and next unto high heaven,
    I love your son.
    My friends were poor, but honest; so's my love:
    Be not offended; for it hurts not him
    That he is loved of me: I follow him not
    By any token of presumptuous suit;
    Nor would I have him till I do deserve him;
    Yet never know how that desert should be.
    I know I love in vain, strive against hope;
    Yet in this captious and intenible sieve
    I still pour in the waters of my love
    And lack not to lose still: thus, Indian-like,
    Religious in mine error, I adore
    The sun, that looks upon his worshipper,
    But knows of him no more. My dearest madam,
    Let not your hate encounter with my love
    For loving where you do: but if yourself,
    Whose aged honour cites a virtuous youth,
    Did ever in so true a flame of liking
    Wish chastely and love dearly, that your Dian
    Was both herself and love: O, then, give pity
    To her, whose state is such that cannot choose
    But lend and give where she is sure to lose;
    That seeks not to find that her search implies,
    But riddle-like lives sweetly where she dies!

    Countess. Had you not lately an intent,--speak truly,--
    To go to Paris?

37 I / 3
  • Wherefore? tell true.
  • Wherefore? tell true.
  • Helena. Madam, I had.

    Countess. Wherefore? tell true.

38 I / 3
  • This was your motive
    For Paris, was it? speak.
  • This was your motive
    For Paris, was it? speak.
  • Helena. I will tell truth; by grace itself I swear.
    You know my father left me some prescriptions
    Of rare and proved effects, such as his reading
    And manifest experience had collected
    For general sovereignty; and that he will'd me
    In heedfull'st reservation to bestow them,
    As notes whose faculties inclusive were
    More than they were in note: amongst the rest,
    There is a remedy, approved, set down,
    To cure the desperate languishings whereof
    The king is render'd lost.

    Countess. This was your motive
    For Paris, was it? speak.

39 I / 3
  • But think you, Helen,
    If you should tender your supposed aid,
    He would r...
  • But think you, Helen,
    If you should tender your supposed aid,
    He would receive it? he and his physicians
    Are of a mind; he, that they cannot help him,
    They, that they cannot help: how shall they credit
    A poor unlearned virgin, when the schools,
    Embowell'd of their doctrine, have left off
    The danger to itself?
  • Helena. My lord your son made me to think of this;
    Else Paris and the medicine and the king
    Had from the conversation of my thoughts
    Haply been absent then.

    Countess. But think you, Helen,
    If you should tender your supposed aid,
    He would receive it? he and his physicians
    Are of a mind; he, that they cannot help him,
    They, that they cannot help: how shall they credit
    A poor unlearned virgin, when the schools,
    Embowell'd of their doctrine, have left off
    The danger to itself?

40 I / 3
  • Dost thou believe't?
  • Dost thou believe't?
  • Helena. There's something in't,
    More than my father's skill, which was the greatest
    Of his profession, that his good receipt
    Shall for my legacy be sanctified
    By the luckiest stars in heaven: and, would your honour
    But give me leave to try success, I'ld venture
    The well-lost life of mine on his grace's cure
    By such a day and hour.

    Countess. Dost thou believe't?

41 I / 3
  • Why, Helen, thou shalt have my leave and love,
    Means and attendants and my l...
  • Why, Helen, thou shalt have my leave and love,
    Means and attendants and my loving greetings
    To those of mine in court: I'll stay at home
    And pray God's blessing into thy attempt:
    Be gone to-morrow; and be sure of this,
    What I can help thee to thou shalt not miss.
  • Helena. Ay, madam, knowingly.

    Countess. Why, Helen, thou shalt have my leave and love,
    Means and attendants and my loving greetings
    To those of mine in court: I'll stay at home
    And pray God's blessing into thy attempt:
    Be gone to-morrow; and be sure of this,
    What I can help thee to thou shalt not miss.

42 II / 2
  • Come on, sir; I shall now put you to the height of
    your breeding.
  • Come on, sir; I shall now put you to the height of
    your breeding.
  • King of France. Here is my hand; the premises observed,
    Thy will by my performance shall be served:
    So make the choice of thy own time, for I,
    Thy resolved patient, on thee still rely.
    More should I question thee, and more I must,
    Though more to know could not be more to trust,
    From whence thou camest, how tended on: but rest
    Unquestion'd welcome and undoubted blest.
    Give me some help here, ho! If thou proceed
    As high as word, my deed shall match thy meed.

    Countess. Come on, sir; I shall now put you to the height of
    your breeding.

43 II / 2
  • To the court! why, what place make you special,
    when you put off that with s...
  • To the court! why, what place make you special,
    when you put off that with such contempt? But to the court!
  • Clown. I will show myself highly fed and lowly taught: I
    know my business is but to the court.

    Countess. To the court! why, what place make you special,
    when you put off that with such contempt? But to the court!

44 II / 2
  • Marry, that's a bountiful answer that fits all questions.
  • Marry, that's a bountiful answer that fits all questions.
  • Clown. Truly, madam, if God have lent a man any manners, he may
    easily put it off at court. he that cannot make a leg, put off's cap,
    kiss his hand, and say nothing, has neither leg, hands, lip, nor cap,
    and indeed such a fellow, to say precisely, were not for the court. But
    for me, I have an answer will serve all men.

    Countess. Marry, that's a bountiful answer that fits all questions.

45 II / 2
  • Will your answer serve fit to all questions?
  • Will your answer serve fit to all questions?
  • Clown. It is like a barber's chair that fits all buttocks: the pin-buttock, the quatch-buttock, the brawn buttock, or any buttock.

    Countess. Will your answer serve fit to all questions?

46 II / 2
  • Have you, I say, an answer of such fitness for all
    questions?
  • Have you, I say, an answer of such fitness for all
    questions?
  • Clown. As fit as ten groats is for the hand of an attorney,
    as your French crown for your taffeta punk, as Tib's
    rush for Tom's forefinger, as a pancake for Shrove
    Tuesday, a morris for May-day, as the nail to his
    hole, the cuckold to his horn, as a scolding queen
    to a wrangling knave, as the nun's lip to the
    friar's mouth, nay, as the pudding to his skin.

    Countess. Have you, I say, an answer of such fitness for all
    questions?

47 II / 2
  • It must be an answer of most monstrous size that
    must fit all demands.
  • It must be an answer of most monstrous size that
    must fit all demands.
  • Clown. From below your duke to beneath your constable, it
    will fit any question.

    Countess. It must be an answer of most monstrous size that
    must fit all demands.

48 II / 2
  • To be young again, if we could: I will be a fool in
    question, hoping to be t...
  • To be young again, if we could: I will be a fool in
    question, hoping to be the wiser by your answer. I
    pray you, sir, are you a courtier?
  • Clown. But a trifle neither, in good faith, if the learned
    should speak truth of it: here it is, and all that
    belongs to't. Ask me if I am a courtier: it shall
    do you no harm to learn.

    Countess. To be young again, if we could: I will be a fool in
    question, hoping to be the wiser by your answer. I
    pray you, sir, are you a courtier?

49 II / 2
  • Sir, I am a poor friend of yours, that loves you.
  • Sir, I am a poor friend of yours, that loves you.
  • Clown. O Lord, sir! There's a simple putting off. More,
    more, a hundred of them.

    Countess. Sir, I am a poor friend of yours, that loves you.

50 II / 2
  • I think, sir, you can eat none of this homely meat.
  • I think, sir, you can eat none of this homely meat.
  • Clown. O Lord, sir! Thick, thick, spare not me.

    Countess. I think, sir, you can eat none of this homely meat.

51 II / 2
  • You were lately whipped, sir, as I think.
  • You were lately whipped, sir, as I think.
  • Clown. O Lord, sir! Nay, put me to't, I warrant you.

    Countess. You were lately whipped, sir, as I think.

52 II / 2
  • Do you cry, 'O Lord, sir!' at your whipping, and
    'spare not me?' Indeed your...
  • Do you cry, 'O Lord, sir!' at your whipping, and
    'spare not me?' Indeed your 'O Lord, sir!' is very
    sequent to your whipping: you would answer very well
    to a whipping, if you were but bound to't.
  • Clown. O Lord, sir! spare not me.

    Countess. Do you cry, 'O Lord, sir!' at your whipping, and
    'spare not me?' Indeed your 'O Lord, sir!' is very
    sequent to your whipping: you would answer very well
    to a whipping, if you were but bound to't.

53 II / 2
  • I play the noble housewife with the time
    To entertain't so merrily with a fo...
  • I play the noble housewife with the time
    To entertain't so merrily with a fool.
  • Clown. I ne'er had worse luck in my life in my 'O Lord,
    sir!' I see things may serve long, but not serve ever.

    Countess. I play the noble housewife with the time
    To entertain't so merrily with a fool.

54 II / 2
  • An end, sir; to your business. Give Helen this,
    And urge her to a present an...
  • An end, sir; to your business. Give Helen this,
    And urge her to a present answer back:
    Commend me to my kinsmen and my son:
    This is not much.
  • Clown. O Lord, sir! why, there't serves well again.

    Countess. An end, sir; to your business. Give Helen this,
    And urge her to a present answer back:
    Commend me to my kinsmen and my son:
    This is not much.

55 II / 2
  • Not much employment for you: you understand me?
  • Not much employment for you: you understand me?
  • Clown. Not much commendation to them.

    Countess. Not much employment for you: you understand me?

56 II / 2
  • Haste you again.
  • Haste you again.
  • Clown. Most fruitfully: I am there before my legs.

    Countess. Haste you again.

57 III / 2
  • It hath happened all as I would have had it, save
    that he comes not along wi...
  • It hath happened all as I would have had it, save
    that he comes not along with her.
  • Duke of Florence. Welcome shall they be;
    And all the honours that can fly from us
    Shall on them settle. You know your places well;
    When better fall, for your avails they fell:
    To-morrow to the field.

    Countess. It hath happened all as I would have had it, save
    that he comes not along with her.

58 III / 2
  • By what observance, I pray you?
  • By what observance, I pray you?
  • Clown. By my troth, I take my young lord to be a very
    melancholy man.

    Countess. By what observance, I pray you?

59 III / 2
  • Let me see what he writes, and when he means to come.
  • Let me see what he writes, and when he means to come.
  • Clown. Why, he will look upon his boot and sing; mend the
    ruff and sing; ask questions and sing; pick his
    teeth and sing. I know a man that had this trick of
    melancholy sold a goodly manor for a song.

    Countess. Let me see what he writes, and when he means to come.

60 III / 2
  • What have we here?
  • What have we here?
  • Clown. I have no mind to Isbel since I was at court: our
    old ling and our Isbels o' the country are nothing
    like your old ling and your Isbels o' the court:
    the brains of my Cupid's knocked out, and I begin to
    love, as an old man loves money, with no stomach.

    Countess. What have we here?

61 III / 2
  • [Reads] I have sent you a daughter-in-law: she hath
    recovered the king, and...
  • [Reads] I have sent you a daughter-in-law: she hath
    recovered the king, and undone me. I have wedded
    her, not bedded her; and sworn to make the 'not'
    eternal. You shall hear I am run away: know it
    before the report come. If there be breadth enough
    in the world, I will hold a long distance. My duty
    to you.. Your unfortunate son,
    BERTRAM.
    This is not well, rash and unbridled boy.
    To fly the favours of so good a king;
    To pluck his indignation on thy head
    By the misprising of a maid too virtuous
    For the contempt of empire.
  • Clown. E'en that you have there.

    Countess. [Reads] I have sent you a daughter-in-law: she hath
    recovered the king, and undone me. I have wedded
    her, not bedded her; and sworn to make the 'not'
    eternal. You shall hear I am run away: know it
    before the report come. If there be breadth enough
    in the world, I will hold a long distance. My duty
    to you.. Your unfortunate son,
    BERTRAM.
    This is not well, rash and unbridled boy.
    To fly the favours of so good a king;
    To pluck his indignation on thy head
    By the misprising of a maid too virtuous
    For the contempt of empire.

62 III / 2
  • What is the matter?
  • What is the matter?
  • Clown. O madam, yonder is heavy news within between two
    soldiers and my young lady!

    Countess. What is the matter?

63 III / 2
  • Why should he be killed?
  • Why should he be killed?
  • Clown. Nay, there is some comfort in the news, some
    comfort; your son will not be killed so soon as I
    thought he would.

    Countess. Why should he be killed?

64 III / 2
  • Think upon patience. Pray you, gentlemen,
    I have felt so many quirks of joy...
  • Think upon patience. Pray you, gentlemen,
    I have felt so many quirks of joy and grief,
    That the first face of neither, on the start,
    Can woman me unto't: where is my son, I pray you?
  • Second Gentleman. Do not say so.

    Countess. Think upon patience. Pray you, gentlemen,
    I have felt so many quirks of joy and grief,
    That the first face of neither, on the start,
    Can woman me unto't: where is my son, I pray you?

65 III / 2
  • Brought you this letter, gentlemen?
  • Brought you this letter, gentlemen?
  • Helena. Look on his letter, madam; here's my passport.
    [Reads]
    When thou canst get the ring upon my finger which
    never shall come off, and show me a child begotten
    of thy body that I am father to, then call me
    husband: but in such a 'then' I write a 'never.'
    This is a dreadful sentence.

    Countess. Brought you this letter, gentlemen?

66 III / 2
  • I prithee, lady, have a better cheer;
    If thou engrossest all the griefs are...
  • I prithee, lady, have a better cheer;
    If thou engrossest all the griefs are thine,
    Thou robb'st me of a moiety: he was my son;
    But I do wash his name out of my blood,
    And thou art all my child. Towards Florence is he?
  • First Gentleman. Ay, madam;
    And for the contents' sake are sorry for our pain.

    Countess. I prithee, lady, have a better cheer;
    If thou engrossest all the griefs are thine,
    Thou robb'st me of a moiety: he was my son;
    But I do wash his name out of my blood,
    And thou art all my child. Towards Florence is he?

67 III / 2
  • And to be a soldier?
  • And to be a soldier?
  • Second Gentleman. Ay, madam.

    Countess. And to be a soldier?

68 III / 2
  • Return you thither?
  • Return you thither?
  • Second Gentleman. Such is his noble purpose; and believe 't,
    The duke will lay upon him all the honour
    That good convenience claims.

    Countess. Return you thither?

69 III / 2
  • Find you that there?
  • Find you that there?
  • Helena. [Reads] Till I have no wife I have nothing in France.
    'Tis bitter.

    Countess. Find you that there?

70 III / 2
  • Nothing in France, until he have no wife!
    There's nothing here that is too g...
  • Nothing in France, until he have no wife!
    There's nothing here that is too good for him
    But only she; and she deserves a lord
    That twenty such rude boys might tend upon
    And call her hourly mistress. Who was with him?
  • First Gentleman. 'Tis but the boldness of his hand, haply, which his
    heart was not consenting to.

    Countess. Nothing in France, until he have no wife!
    There's nothing here that is too good for him
    But only she; and she deserves a lord
    That twenty such rude boys might tend upon
    And call her hourly mistress. Who was with him?

71 III / 2
  • Parolles, was it not?
  • Parolles, was it not?
  • First Gentleman. A servant only, and a gentleman
    Which I have sometime known.

    Countess. Parolles, was it not?

72 III / 2
  • A very tainted fellow, and full of wickedness.
    My son corrupts a well-derive...
  • A very tainted fellow, and full of wickedness.
    My son corrupts a well-derived nature
    With his inducement.
  • First Gentleman. Ay, my good lady, he.

    Countess. A very tainted fellow, and full of wickedness.
    My son corrupts a well-derived nature
    With his inducement.

73 III / 2
  • You're welcome, gentlemen.
    I will entreat you, when you see my son,
    To t...
  • You're welcome, gentlemen.
    I will entreat you, when you see my son,
    To tell him that his sword can never win
    The honour that he loses: more I'll entreat you
    Written to bear along.
  • First Gentleman. Indeed, good lady,
    The fellow has a deal of that too much,
    Which holds him much to have.

    Countess. You're welcome, gentlemen.
    I will entreat you, when you see my son,
    To tell him that his sword can never win
    The honour that he loses: more I'll entreat you
    Written to bear along.

74 III / 2
  • Not so, but as we change our courtesies.
    Will you draw near!
  • Not so, but as we change our courtesies.
    Will you draw near!
  • Second Gentleman. We serve you, madam,
    In that and all your worthiest affairs.

    Countess. Not so, but as we change our courtesies.
    Will you draw near!

75 III / 4
  • Alas! and would you take the letter of her?
    Might you not know she would do...
  • Alas! and would you take the letter of her?
    Might you not know she would do as she has done,
    By sending me a letter? Read it again.
  • Bertram. This very day,
    Great Mars, I put myself into thy file:
    Make me but like my thoughts, and I shall prove
    A lover of thy drum, hater of love.

    Countess. Alas! and would you take the letter of her?
    Might you not know she would do as she has done,
    By sending me a letter? Read it again.

76 III / 4
  • Ah, what sharp stings are in her mildest words!
    Rinaldo, you did never lack...
  • Ah, what sharp stings are in her mildest words!
    Rinaldo, you did never lack advice so much,
    As letting her pass so: had I spoke with her,
    I could have well diverted her intents,
    Which thus she hath prevented.
  • Steward. [Reads]
    I am Saint Jaques' pilgrim, thither gone:
    Ambitious love hath so in me offended,
    That barefoot plod I the cold ground upon,
    With sainted vow my faults to have amended.
    Write, write, that from the bloody course of war
    My dearest master, your dear son, may hie:
    Bless him at home in peace, whilst I from far
    His name with zealous fervor sanctify:
    His taken labours bid him me forgive;
    I, his despiteful Juno, sent him forth
    From courtly friends, with camping foes to live,
    Where death and danger dogs the heels of worth:
    He is too good and fair for death and me:
    Whom I myself embrace, to set him free.

    Countess. Ah, what sharp stings are in her mildest words!
    Rinaldo, you did never lack advice so much,
    As letting her pass so: had I spoke with her,
    I could have well diverted her intents,
    Which thus she hath prevented.

77 III / 4
  • What angel shall
    Bless this unworthy husband? he cannot thrive,
    Unless h...
  • What angel shall
    Bless this unworthy husband? he cannot thrive,
    Unless her prayers, whom heaven delights to hear
    And loves to grant, reprieve him from the wrath
    Of greatest justice. Write, write, Rinaldo,
    To this unworthy husband of his wife;
    Let every word weigh heavy of her worth
    That he does weigh too light: my greatest grief.
    Though little he do feel it, set down sharply.
    Dispatch the most convenient messenger:
    When haply he shall hear that she is gone,
    He will return; and hope I may that she,
    Hearing so much, will speed her foot again,
    Led hither by pure love: which of them both
    Is dearest to me. I have no skill in sense
    To make distinction: provide this messenger:
    My heart is heavy and mine age is weak;
    Grief would have tears, and sorrow bids me speak.
  • Steward. Pardon me, madam:
    If I had given you this at over-night,
    She might have been o'erta'en; and yet she writes,
    Pursuit would be but vain.

    Countess. What angel shall
    Bless this unworthy husband? he cannot thrive,
    Unless her prayers, whom heaven delights to hear
    And loves to grant, reprieve him from the wrath
    Of greatest justice. Write, write, Rinaldo,
    To this unworthy husband of his wife;
    Let every word weigh heavy of her worth
    That he does weigh too light: my greatest grief.
    Though little he do feel it, set down sharply.
    Dispatch the most convenient messenger:
    When haply he shall hear that she is gone,
    He will return; and hope I may that she,
    Hearing so much, will speed her foot again,
    Led hither by pure love: which of them both
    Is dearest to me. I have no skill in sense
    To make distinction: provide this messenger:
    My heart is heavy and mine age is weak;
    Grief would have tears, and sorrow bids me speak.

78 IV / 5
  • I would I had not known him; it was the death of the
    most virtuous gentlewom...
  • I would I had not known him; it was the death of the
    most virtuous gentlewoman that ever nature had
    praise for creating. If she had partaken of my
    flesh, and cost me the dearest groans of a mother, I
    could not have owed her a more rooted love.
  • Lafeu. No, no, no, your son was misled with a snipt-taffeta
    fellow there, whose villanous saffron would have
    made all the unbaked and doughy youth of a nation in
    his colour: your daughter-in-law had been alive at
    this hour, and your son here at home, more advanced
    by the king than by that red-tailed humble-bee I speak of.

    Countess. I would I had not known him; it was the death of the
    most virtuous gentlewoman that ever nature had
    praise for creating. If she had partaken of my
    flesh, and cost me the dearest groans of a mother, I
    could not have owed her a more rooted love.

79 IV / 5
  • So he is. My lord that's gone made himself much
    sport out of him: by his aut...
  • So he is. My lord that's gone made himself much
    sport out of him: by his authority he remains here,
    which he thinks is a patent for his sauciness; and,
    indeed, he has no pace, but runs where he will.
  • Lafeu. A shrewd knave and an unhappy.

    Countess. So he is. My lord that's gone made himself much
    sport out of him: by his authority he remains here,
    which he thinks is a patent for his sauciness; and,
    indeed, he has no pace, but runs where he will.

80 IV / 5
  • With very much content, my lord; and I wish it
    happily effected.
  • With very much content, my lord; and I wish it
    happily effected.
  • Lafeu. I like him well; 'tis not amiss. And I was about to
    tell you, since I heard of the good lady's death and
    that my lord your son was upon his return home, I
    moved the king my master to speak in the behalf of
    my daughter; which, in the minority of them both,
    his majesty, out of a self-gracious remembrance, did
    first propose: his highness hath promised me to do
    it: and, to stop up the displeasure he hath
    conceived against your son, there is no fitter
    matter. How does your ladyship like it?

    Countess. With very much content, my lord; and I wish it
    happily effected.

81 IV / 5
  • It rejoices me, that I hope I shall see him ere I
    die. I have letters that m...
  • It rejoices me, that I hope I shall see him ere I
    die. I have letters that my son will be here
    to-night: I shall beseech your lordship to remain
    with me till they meet together.
  • Lafeu. His highness comes post from Marseilles, of as able
    body as when he numbered thirty: he will be here
    to-morrow, or I am deceived by him that in such
    intelligence hath seldom failed.

    Countess. It rejoices me, that I hope I shall see him ere I
    die. I have letters that my son will be here
    to-night: I shall beseech your lordship to remain
    with me till they meet together.

82 IV / 5
  • You need but plead your honourable privilege.
  • You need but plead your honourable privilege.
  • Lafeu. Madam, I was thinking with what manners I might
    safely be admitted.

    Countess. You need but plead your honourable privilege.

83 V / 3
  • 'Tis past, my liege;
    And I beseech your majesty to make it
    Natural rebel...
  • '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,
    O'erbears it and burns on.
  • King of France. 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
    Her estimation home.

    Countess. '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,
    O'erbears it and burns on.

84 V / 3
  • Which better than the first, O dear heaven, bless!
    Or, ere they meet, in me,...
  • Which better than the first, O dear heaven, bless!
    Or, ere they meet, in me, O nature, cesse!
  • King of France. Well excused:
    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,
    To the great sender turns a sour offence,
    Crying, 'That's good that's gone.' Our rash faults
    Make trivial price of serious things we have,
    Not knowing them until we know their grave:
    Oft our displeasures, to ourselves unjust,
    Destroy our friends and after weep their dust
    Our own love waking cries to see what's done,
    While shame full late sleeps out the afternoon.
    Be this sweet Helen's knell, and now forget her.
    Send forth your amorous token for fair Maudlin:
    The main consents are had; and here we'll stay
    To see our widower's second marriage-day.

    Countess. Which better than the first, O dear heaven, bless!
    Or, ere they meet, in me, O nature, cesse!

85 V / 3
  • Son, on my life,
    I have seen her wear it; and she reckon'd it
    At her lif...
  • Son, on my life,
    I have seen her wear it; and she reckon'd it
    At her life's rate.
  • Bertram. My gracious sovereign,
    Howe'er it pleases you to take it so,
    The ring was never hers.

    Countess. Son, on my life,
    I have seen her wear it; and she reckon'd it
    At her life's rate.

86 V / 3
  • Now, justice on the doers!
  • Now, justice on the doers!
  • King of France. The heavens have thought well on thee Lafeu,
    To bring forth this discovery. Seek these suitors:
    Go speedily and bring again the count.
    I am afeard the life of Helen, lady,
    Was foully snatch'd.

    Countess. Now, justice on the doers!

87 V / 3
  • He blushes, and 'tis it:
    Of six preceding ancestors, that gem,
    Conferr'd...
  • He blushes, and 'tis it:
    Of six preceding ancestors, that gem,
    Conferr'd by testament to the sequent issue,
    Hath it been owed and worn. This is his wife;
    That ring's a thousand proofs.
  • Diana. 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
    Did lack a parallel; yet for all that
    He gave it to a commoner o' the camp,
    If I be one.

    Countess. He blushes, and 'tis it:
    Of six preceding ancestors, that gem,
    Conferr'd by testament to the sequent issue,
    Hath it been owed and worn. This is his wife;
    That ring's a thousand proofs.

© Copyright 2017-2022 Shakespeare Network - Maximianno Cobra - All rights reserved.

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© Copyright 2017-2022 Shakespeare Network - Maximianno Cobra - All rights reserved.