Книга Alls Wel that ends Well. Содержание - SCENE 4.

trial; which if-Lord have mercy on thee for a hen! So, my good

window of lattice, fare thee well; thy casement I need not open,

for I look through thee. Give me thy hand.

PAROLLES. My lord, you give me most egregious indignity.

LAFEU. Ay, with all my heart; and thou art worthy of it.

PAROLLES. I have not, my lord, deserv'd it.

LAFEU. Yes, good faith, ev'ry dram of it; and I will not bate thee

a scruple.

PAROLLES. Well, I shall be wiser.

LAFEU. Ev'n as soon as thou canst, for thou hast to pull at a smack

o' th' contrary. If ever thou be'st bound in thy scarf and

beaten, thou shalt find what it is to be proud of thy bondage. I

have a desire to hold my acquaintance with thee, or rather my

knowledge, that I may say in the default 'He is a man I know.'

PAROLLES. My lord, you do me most insupportable vexation.

LAFEU. I would it were hell pains for thy sake, and my poor doing

eternal; for doing I am past, as I will by thee, in what motion

age will give me leave. Exit 

PAROLLES. Well, thou hast a son shall take this disgrace off me:

scurvy, old, filthy, scurvy lord! Well, I must be patient; there

is no fettering of authority. I'll beat him, by my life, if I can

meet him with any convenience, an he were double and double a

lord. I'll have no more pity of his age than I would have of-

I'll beat him, and if I could but meet him again.

Re-enter LAFEU

LAFEU. Sirrah, your lord and master's married; there's news for

you; you have a new mistress.

PAROLLES. I most unfeignedly beseech your lordship to make some

reservation of your wrongs. He is my good lord: whom I serve

above is my master.

LAFEU. Who? God?

PAROLLES. Ay, sir.

LAFEU. The devil it is that's thy master. Why dost thou garter up

thy arms o' this fashion? Dost make hose of thy sleeves? Do other

servants so? Thou wert best set thy lower part where thy nose

stands. By mine honour, if I were but two hours younger, I'd beat 

thee. Methink'st thou art a general offence, and every man should

beat thee. I think thou wast created for men to breathe

themselves upon thee.

PAROLLES. This is hard and undeserved measure, my lord.

LAFEU. Go to, sir; you were beaten in Italy for picking a kernel

out of a pomegranate; you are a vagabond, and no true traveller;

you are more saucy with lords and honourable personages than the

commission of your birth and virtue gives you heraldry. You are

not worth another word, else I'd call you knave. I leave you.



PAROLLES. Good, very, good, it is so then. Good, very good; let it

be conceal'd awhile.

BERTRAM. Undone, and forfeited to cares for ever!

PAROLLES. What's the matter, sweetheart?

BERTRAM. Although before the solemn priest I have sworn,

I will not bed her.

PAROLLES. What, what, sweetheart? 

BERTRAM. O my Parolles, they have married me!

I'll to the Tuscan wars, and never bed her.

PAROLLES. France is a dog-hole, and it no more merits

The tread of a man's foot. To th' wars!

BERTRAM. There's letters from my mother; what th' import is I know

not yet.

PAROLLES. Ay, that would be known. To th' wars, my boy, to th'


He wears his honour in a box unseen

That hugs his kicky-wicky here at home,

Spending his manly marrow in her arms,

Which should sustain the bound and high curvet

Of Mars's fiery steed. To other regions!

France is a stable; we that dwell in't jades;

Therefore, to th' war!

BERTRAM. It shall be so; I'll send her to my house,

Acquaint my mother with my hate to her,

And wherefore I am fled; write to the King

That which I durst not speak. His present gift

Shall furnish me to those Italian fields 

Where noble fellows strike. War is no strife

To the dark house and the detested wife.

PAROLLES. Will this capriccio hold in thee, art sure?

BERTRAM. Go with me to my chamber and advise me.

I'll send her straight away. To-morrow

I'll to the wars, she to her single sorrow.

PAROLLES. Why, these balls bound; there's noise in it. 'Tis hard:

A young man married is a man that's marr'd.

Therefore away, and leave her bravely; go.

The King has done you wrong; but, hush, 'tis so. Exeunt


Paris. The KING'S palace

HELENA. My mother greets me kindly; is she well?

CLOWN. She is not well, but yet she has her health; she's very

merry, but yet she is not well. But thanks be given, she's very

well, and wants nothing i' th' world; but yet she is not well.

HELENA. If she be very well, what does she ail that she's not very


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

HELENA. What two things?

CLOWN. One, that she's not in heaven, whither God send her quickly!

The other, that she's in earth, from whence God send her quickly!


PAROLLES. Bless you, my fortunate lady!

HELENA. I hope, sir, I have your good will to have mine own good


PAROLLES. You had my prayers to lead them on; and to keep them on, 

have them still. O, my knave, how does my old lady?

CLOWN. So that you had her wrinkles and I her money, I would she

did as you say.

PAROLLES. Why, I say nothing.

CLOWN. Marry, you are the wiser man; for many a man's tongue shakes

out his master's undoing. To say nothing, to do nothing, to know

nothing, and to have nothing, is to be a great part of your

title, which is within a very little of nothing.

PAROLLES. Away! th'art a knave.

CLOWN. You should have said, sir, 'Before a knave th'art a knave';

that's 'Before me th'art a knave.' This had been truth, sir.

PAROLLES. Go to, thou art a witty fool; I have found thee.

CLOWN. Did you find me in yourself, sir, or were you taught to find

me? The search, sir, was profitable; and much fool may you find

in you, even to the world's pleasure and the increase of


PAROLLES. A good knave, i' faith, and well fed.

Madam, my lord will go away to-night:

A very serious business calls on him.

The great prerogative and rite of love, 

Which, as your due, time claims, he does acknowledge;

But puts it off to a compell'd restraint;

Whose want, and whose delay, is strew'd with sweets,

Which they distil now in the curbed time,

To make the coming hour o'erflow with joy

And pleasure drown the brim.

HELENA. What's his else?

PAROLLES. That you will take your instant leave o' th' King,

And make this haste as your own good proceeding,

Strength'ned with what apology you think

May make it probable need.

HELENA. What more commands he?

PAROLLES. That, having this obtain'd, you presently

Attend his further pleasure.

HELENA. In everything I wait upon his will.

PAROLLES. I shall report it so.

HELENA. I pray you. Exit PAROLLES

Come, sirrah. Exeunt

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