Complete Plays, The (321 page)

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.

Bertram

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;
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?

Bertram

Admiringly, my liege, 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;
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 praised and whom myself,
Since I have lost, have loved, was in mine eye
The dust that did offend it.

King

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!

Lafeu

Come on, my son, in whom my house’s name
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,
The last that e’er I took her at court,
I saw upon her finger.

Bertram

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.
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?

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.

Lafeu

I am sure I saw her wear it.

Bertram

You are deceived, 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
Of her that threw it: noble she was, and thought
I stood engaged: but when I had subscribed
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 ceased
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
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
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.

Bertram

She never saw it.

King

Thou speak’st it falsely, as I love mine honour;
And makest 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,
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,
Having vainly fear’d too little. Away with him!
We’ll sift this matter further.

Bertram

If you shall prove
This ring was ever hers, you shall as easy
Prove that I husbanded her bed in Florence,
Where yet she never was.

Exit, guarded

King

I am wrapp’d in dismal thinkings.

Enter a Gentleman

Gentleman

Gracious sovereign,
Whether I have been to blame or no, I know not:
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
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

[Reads]
 
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.
Diana CAPILET.

Lafeu

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.
I am afeard the life of Helen, lady,
Was foully snatch’d.

Countess

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,
Yet you desire to marry.

Enter Widow and Diana

What woman’s that?

Diana

I am, my lord, a wretched Florentine,
Derived from the ancient Capilet:
My suit, as I do understand, you know,
And therefore know how far I may be pitied.

Widow

I am her mother, sir, whose age and honour
Both suffer under this complaint we bring,
And both shall cease, without your remedy.

King

Come hither, count; do you know these women?

Bertram

My lord, I neither can nor will deny
But that I know them: do they charge me further?

Diana

Why do you look so strange upon your wife?

Bertram

She’s none of mine, my lord.

Diana

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,
That she which marries you must marry me,
Either both or none.

Lafeu

Your reputation comes too short for my daughter; you are no husband for her.

Bertram

My lord, this is a fond and desperate creature,
Whom sometime I have laugh’d with: let your highness
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.

Diana

Good my lord,
Ask him upon his oath, if he does think
He had not my virginity.

King

What say’st thou to her?

Bertram

She’s impudent, my lord,
And was a common gamester to the camp.

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.

King

Methought you said
You saw one here in court could witness it.

Diana

I did, my lord, but loath am to produce
So bad an instrument: his name’s Parolles.

Lafeu

I saw the man to-day, if man he be.

King

Find him, and bring him hither.

Exit an Attendant

Bertram

What of him?
He’s quoted for a most perfidious slave,
With all the spots o’ 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 any thing?

King

She hath that ring of yours.

Bertram

I think she has: certain it is I liked 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,
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
At market-price have bought.

Diana

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;
Send for your ring, I will return it home,
And give me mine again.

Bertram

I have it not.

King

What ring was yours, I pray you?

Diana

Sir, much like
The same upon your finger.

King

Know you this ring? this ring was his of late.

Diana

And this was it I gave him, being abed.

King

The story then goes false, you threw it him
Out of a casement.

Diana

 
I have spoke the truth.

Enter Parolles

Bertram

My lord, I do confess the ring was hers.

King

You boggle shrewdly, every feather stars you.
Is this the man you speak of?

Diana

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?

Parolles

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?

Parolles

Faith, sir, he did love her; but how?

King

How, I pray you?

Parolles

He did love her, sir, as a gentleman loves a woman.

King

How is that?

Parolles

He loved her, sir, and loved her not.

King

As thou art a knave, and no knave. What an equivocal companion is this!

Parolles

I am a poor man, and at your majesty’s command.

Lafeu

He’s a good drum, my lord, but a naughty orator.

Diana

Do you know he promised me marriage?

Parolles

Faith, I know more than I’ll speak.

King

But wilt thou not speak all thou knowest?

Parolles

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.

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?

Diana

Ay, my good lord.

King

Where did you buy it? or who gave it you?

Diana

It was not given me, nor I did not buy it.

King

Who lent it you?

Diana

 
It was not lent me neither.

King

Where did you find it, then?

Diana

I found it not.

King

If it were yours by none of all these ways,
How could you give it him?

Diana

I never gave it him.

Lafeu

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.

Diana

It might be yours or hers, for aught I know.

King

Take her away; I do not like her now;
To prison with her: and away with him.
Unless thou tell’st me where thou hadst this ring,
Thou diest within this hour.

Diana

I’ll never tell you.

King

Take her away.

Diana

 
I’ll put in bail, my liege.