Текст книги "William Shakespeare: The Complete Works 2nd Edition"

Автор книги: William Shakespeare

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2.4 Enter Helen reading a letter, and Lavatch the clown

HELEN

My mother greets me kindly. Is she well?

LAVATCH 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.

HELEN

If she be very well, what does she ail

That she’s not very well?

LAVATCH Truly, she’s very well indeed, but for two things. HELEN What two things?

LAVATCH 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.

Enter Paroles

PAROLES Bless you, my fortunate lady.

HELEN

I hope, sir, I have your good will to have

Mine own good fortunes. 15

PAROLES You had my prayers to lead them on, and to keep them on have them stitt.—O my knave, how does my old lady?

LAVATCH So that you had her wrinkles and I her money, I would she did as you say.

PAROLES Why, I say nothing.

LAVATCH 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.

PAROLES Away, thou’rt a knave.

LAVATCH You should have said, sir, ‘Before a knave, thou’rt a knave‘—that’s ‘Before me, thou‘rt a knave’. This had been truth, sir.

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

LAVATCH Did you find me in yourself, sir, or were you taught to find me?

⌈PAROLES⌉ In myself, knave.

LAVATCH The search, sir, was profitable, and much fool may you find in you, even to the world’s pleasure and the increase of laughter.

PAROLES (to Helen) A good knave, i’faith, and well fed.

Madam, my lord will go away tonight.

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 compelled restraint:

Whose want and whose delay is strewed with sweets,

Which they distil now in the curbed time,

To make the coming hour o’erflow with joy,

And pleasure drown the brim.

HELEN

What’s his will else?

PAROLES

That you will take your instant leave o’th’ King,

And make this haste as your own good proceeding,

Strengthened with what apology you think

May make it probable need.

HELEN

What more commands he?

PAROLES

That having this obtained, you presently

Attend his further pleasure.

HELEN

In everything

I wait upon his will.

PAROLES

I shall report it so.

HELEN I pray you.

⌈Exit Paroles at one door]

Come, sirrah.

Exeunt Fat another door]

2.5 Enter Lafeu and Bertram

LAFEU But I hope your lordship thinks not him a soldier.

BERTRAM) Yes, my lord, and of very valiant approof.

LAFEU You have it from his own deliverance.

BERTRAM And by other warranted testimony.

LAFEU Then my dial goes not true. I took this lark for a bunting.

BERTRAM I do assure you, my lord, he is very great in knowledge, and accordingly valiant.

LAFEU I have then sinned against his experience and transgressed against his valour—and my state that way is dangerous, since I cannot yet find in my heart to repent. Here he comes. I pray you make us friends. I will pursue the amity.

Enter Paroles

PAROLES (to Bertram) These things shall be done, sir.

LAFEU (to Bertram) Pray you, sir, who’s his tailor? 15

PAROLES Sir!

LAFEU O, I know him well. Ay, ‘Sir’, he; ‘Sir’ ’s a good workman, a very good tailor.

BERTRAM) (aside to Paroles) Is she gone to the King?

PAROLES She is.

BERTRAM) Will she away tonight?

PAROLES As you’ll have her.

BERTRAM

I have writ my letters, casketed my treasure,

Given order for our horses, and tonight,

When I should take possession of the bride,

End ere I do begin.

LAFEU (aside) A good traveller is something at the latter end of a dinner, but one that lies three-thirds and uses a known truth to pass a thousand nothings with, should be once heard and thrice beaten. (To Paroles) God save you, captain.

BERTRAM) (to Paroles) Is there any unkindness between my lord and you, monsieur?

PAROLES I know not how I have deserved to run into my lord’s displeasure. 35

LAFEU You have made shift to run into’t, boots and spurs and all, like him that leaped into the custard, and out of it you’ll run again, rather than suffer question for your residence.

BERTRAM) It may be you have mistaken him, my lord.

LAFEU And shall do so ever, though I took him at’s prayers. Fare you well, my lord, and believe this of me: there can be no kernel in this light nut. The soul of this man is his clothes. Trust him not in matter of heavy consequence. I have kept of them tame, and know their natures.—Farewell, monsieur. I have spoken better of you than you have wit or will to deserve at my hand, but we must do good against evil.

Exit

PAROLES An idle lord, I swear.

BERTRAM I think not so.

PAROLES Why, do you not know him?

BERTRAM

Yes, I do know him well, and common speech

Gives him a worthy pass. Here comes my clog.

Enter Helen, ⌈attended⌉

HELEN

I have, sir, as I was commanded from you,

Spoke with the King, and have procured his leave

For present parting; only he desires

Some private speech with you.

BERTRAM)

I shall obey his will.

You must not marvel, Helen, at my course,

Which holds not colour with the time, nor does

The ministration and required office

On my particular. Prepared I was not

For such a business, therefore am I found

So much unsettled. This drives me to entreat you

That presently you take your way for home,

And rather muse than ask why I entreat you,

For my respects are better than they seem,

And my appointments have in them a need

Greater than shows itself at the first view

To you that know them not. This to my mother.

He gives her a letter

’Twill be two days ere I shall see you, so

I leave you to your wisdom.

HELEN

Sir, I can nothing say

But that I am your most obedient servant.

BERTRAM

Come, come, no more of that.

HELEN

And ever shall

With true observance seek to eke out that

Wherein toward me my homely stars have failed

To equal my great fortune.

BERTRAM

Let that go.

My haste is very great. Farewell. Hie home.

HELEN

Pray sir, your pardon.

BERTRAM

Well, what would you say?

HELEN

I am not worthy of the wealth I owe,

Nor dare I say ’tis mine—and yet it is—

But like a timorous thief most fain would steal

What law does vouch mine own.

BERTRAM

What would you have?

HELEN

Something, and scarce so much: nothing indeed.

I would not tell you what I would, my lord. Faith,

yes:

Strangers and foes do sunder and not kiss.

BERTRAM

I pray you, stay not, but in haste to horse.

HELEN

I shall not break your bidding, good my lord.—

Where are my other men?—Monsieur, farewell.

Exeunt Helen ⌈and attendants at one door⌉

BERTRAM

Go thou toward home, where I will never come

Whilst I can shake my sword or hear the drum.—

Away, and for our flight.

PAROLES

Bravely. Coraggio!

Exeunt ⌈at another door⌉

3.1 Flourish of trumpets. Enter the Duke of Florence and the two Lords Dumaine, with a troop of soldiers

DUKE

So that from point to point now have you heard

The fundamental reasons of this war,

Whose great decision hath much blood let forth,

And more thirsts after.

FIRST LORD DUMAINE Holy seems the quarrel

Upon your grace’s part; black and fearful

On the opposer.

DUKE

Therefore we marvel much our cousin France

Would in so just a business shut his bosom

Against our borrowing prayers.

SECOND LORD DUMAINE

Good my lord,

The reasons of our state I cannot yield

But like a common and an outward man

That the great figure of a council frames

By self-unable motion; therefore dare not

Say what I think of it, since I have found

Myself in my incertain grounds to fail

As often as I guessed.

DUKE

Be it his pleasure.

FIRST LORD DUMAINE

But I am sure the younger of our nation,

That surfeit on their ease, will day by day

Come here for physic.

DUKE

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.

Tomorrow to the field.

Flourish. Exeunt

3.2 Enter the Countess with a letter, and Lavatch COUNTESS It hath happened all as I would have had it, save that he comes not along with her.

LAVATCH By my troth, I take my young lord to be a very melancholy man.

COUNTESS By what observance, I pray you?

LAVATCH 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.

She opens the letter and reads

LAVATCH (aside) I have no mind to Isbel since I was at court. Our old lings and our Isbels o‘th’ country are nothing like your old ling and your Isbels o’th’ 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?

LAVATCH E’en that you have there.

Exit

COUNTESS (reads the letter aloud) ’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 misprizing of a maid too virtuous

For the contempt of empire.

Enter Lavatch

LAVATCH O madam, yonder is heavy news within, between two soldiers and my young lady.

COUNTESS What is the matter?

LAVATCH 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?

LAVATCH So say I, madam—if he run away, as I hear he does. The danger is in standing to’t; that’s the loss of men, though it be the getting of children. Here they come will tell you more. For my part, I only heard your son was run away. [Exit]

Enter Helen with a letter, and the two Lords Dumaine

SECOND LORD DUMAINE (to the Countess)

Save you, good madam.

HELEN

Madam, my lord is gone, for ever gone.

FIRST LORD DUMAINE Do not say so.

COUNTESS (to Helen)

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?

FIRST LORD DUMAINE

Madam, he’s gone to serve the Duke of Florence.

We met him thitherward, for thence we came,

And, after some dispatch in hand at court,

Thither we bend again.

HELEN

Look on his letter, madam: here’s my passport.

⌈She⌉ reads aloud

‘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?

FIRST LORD DUMAINE Ay, madam,

And for the contents’ sake are sorry for our pains.

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?

FIRST LORD DUMAINE

Ay, madam.

COUNTESS

And to be a soldier?

FIRST LORD DUMAINE

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?

SECOND LORD DUMAINE

Ay, madam, with the swiftest wing of speed.

HELEN ‘Till I have no wife, I have nothing in France.’

’Tis bitter. 75

COUNTESS Find you that there?

HELEN Ay, madam.

SECOND LORD DUMAINE

’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?

SECOND LORD DUMAINE

A servant only, and a gentleman

Which I have sometime known.

COUNTESS Paroles, was it not?

SECOND LORD DUMAINE Ay, my good lady, he.

COUNTESS

A very tainted fellow, and full of wickedness.

My son corrupts a well-derivèd nature

With his inducement.

SECOND LORD DUMAINE 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.

FIRST LORD DUMAINE We serve you, madam,

In that and all your worthiest affairs.

COUNTESS

Not so, but as we change our courtesies.

Will you draw near?

Exeunt all but Helen

HELEN ‘Till I have no wife I have nothing in France.’

Nothing in France until he has no wife.

Thou shalt have none, Roussillon, none in France;

Then hast thou all again. Poor lord, is’t I

That chase thee from thy country and expose

Those tender limbs of thine to the event

Of the none-sparing war? And is it I

That drive thee from the sportive court, where thou

Wast shot at with fair eyes, to be the mark

Of smoky muskets? O you leaden messengers

That ride upon the violent speed of fire,

Fly with false aim, cleave the still-piecing air

That sings with piercing, do not touch my lord.

Whoever shoots at him, I set him there.

Whoever charges on his forward breast,

I am the caitiff that do hold him to’t,

And though I kill him not, I am the cause

His death was so effected. Better ’twere

I met the ravin lion when he roared

With sharp constraint of hunger; better ’twere

That all the miseries which nature owes

Were mine at once. No, come thou home, Roussillon,

Whence honour but of danger wins a scar,

As oft it loses all. I will be gone;

My being here it is that holds thee hence.

Shall I stay here to do’t? No, no, although

The air of paradise did fan the house

And angels officed all. I will be gone,

That pitiful rumour may report my flight

To consolate thine ear. Come night, end day;

For with the dark, poor thief, I’ll steal away. Exit

3.3 Flourish of trumpets. Enter the Duke of Florence, Bertram, a drummer and trumpeters, soldiers, and Paroles

DUKE (to Bertram)

The general of our horse thou art, and we,

Great in our hope, lay our best love and credence

Upon thy promising fortune.

BERTRAM

Sir, it is

A charge too heavy for my strength, but yet

We’ll strive to bear it for your worthy sake

To th’extreme edge of hazard.

DUKE

Then go thou forth,

And Fortune play upon thy prosperous helm

As thy auspicious mistress.

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.

Exeunt

3.4 Enter the Countess and Reynaldo her steward, with a letter

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.

REYNALDO (reads the letter)

‘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 fervour 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!

Reynaldo, 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.

REYNALDO

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, Reynaldo,

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.

Exeunt

3.5 A tucket afar off. Enter an old Widow, her daughter Diana, and Mariana, with other Florentine citizens

WIDOW Nay, come, for if they do approach the city we shall lose all the sight.

DIANA They say the French Count has done most honourable service.

WIDOW It is reported that he has taken their greatest commander, and that with his own hand he slew the Duke’s brother. (Tucket) We have lost our labour; they are gone a contrary way. Hark. You may know by their trumpets.

MARIANA Come, let’s return again, and suffice ourselves with the report of it.—Wett, Diana, take heed of this French earl. The honour of a maid is her name, and no legacy is so rich as honesty.

WIDOW (to Diana) I have told my neighbour how you have been solicited by a gentleman, his companion.

MARIANA I know that knave, hang him! One Paroles. A filthy officer he is in those suggestions for the young earl. Beware of them, Diana; their promises, enticements, oaths, tokens, and all their engines of lust, are not the things they go under. Many a maid hath been seduced by them; and the misery is, example, that so terrible shows in the wreck of maidenhood, cannot for all that dissuade succession, but that they are limed with the twigs that threatens them. I hope I need not to advise you further, but I hope your own grace will keep you where you are, though there were no further danger known but the modesty which is so lost.

DIANA You shall not need to fear me.

Enter Helen dressed as a pilgrim

WIDOW I hope so. Look, here comes a pilgrim. I know she will lie at my house; thither they send one another. I’ll question her.

God save you, pilgrim. Whither are you bound?

HELEN To Saint Jaques le Grand.

Where do the palmers lodge, I do beseech you?

WIDOW

At the ’Saint Francis’ here beside the port.

HELEN

Is this the way?

WIDOW

Ay, marry, is’t.

Sound of a march, far off

Hark you, they come this way. If you will tarry,

Holy pilgrim, but till the troops come by,

I will conduct you where you shall be lodged,

The rather for I think I know your hostess

As ample as myself.

HELEN Is it yourself?

WIDOW If you shall please so, pilgrim.

HELEN

I thank you, and will stay upon your leisure.

WIDOW

You came, I think, from France?

HELEN

I did SO.

WIDOW

Here you shall see a countryman of yours

That has done worthy service.

HELEN His name, I pray you?

DIANA

The Count Roussillon. Know you such a one?

HELEN

But by the ear, that hears most nobly of him; 50

His face I know not.

DIANA

Whatsome’er he is,

He’s bravely taken here. He stole from France,

As ’tis reported; for the King had married him

Against his liking. Think you it is so?

HELEN

Ay, surely, mere the truth. I know his lady.

DIANA

There is a gentleman that serves the Count

Reports but coarsely of her.

HELEN

What’s his name?

DIANA A

Monsieur Paroles.

HELEN

O, I believe with him:

In argument of praise, or to the worth

Of the great Count himself, she is too mean

To have her name repeated. All her deserving

Is a reserved honesty, and that

I have not heard examined.

DIANA

Alas, poor lady.

’Tis a hard bondage to become the wife

Of a detesting lord.

WIDOW

I warr’nt, good creature, wheresoe’er she is

Her heart weighs sadly. This young maid might do her

A shrewd turn if she pleased.

HELEN

How do you mean?

Maybe the amorous Count solicits her

In the unlawful purpose.

WIDOW

He does indeed,

And brokes with all that can in such a suit

Corrupt the tender honour of a maid.

But she is armed for him, and keeps her guard

In honestest defence.

MARIANA The gods forbid else.

⌈Enter, with drummer and colours, Bertram, Paroles, and the whole army⌉

WIDOW So, now they come.

That is Antonio, the Duke’s eldest son;

That, Escalus.

HELEN

Which is the Frenchman?

DIANA He—

That with the plume. ’Tis a most gallant fellow.

I would he loved his wife. If he were honester

He were much goodlier. Is’t not

A handsome gentleman?

HELEN I like him well.

DIANA ’Tis pity he is not honest.

Yond’s that same knave that leads him to those

places.

Were I his lady, I would poison

That vile rascal.

HELEN

Which is he?

DIANA

That jackanapes

With scarves. Why is he melancholy?

HELEN Perchance he’s hurt i’th’ battle.

PAROLES (aside) Lose our drum? Well. 90

MARIANA He’s shrewdly vexed at something.

Look, he has spied us.

WIDOW (to Paroles)

Marry, hang you!

MARIANA (to Paroles)

And your courtesy, for a ring-carrier.

Exeunt Bertram, Paroles, and the army

WIDOW

The troop is past. Come, pilgrim, I will bring you

Where you shall host. Of enjoined penitents

There’s four or five to great Saint Jaques bound

Already at my house.

HELEN

I humbly thank you.

Please it this matron and this gentle maid

To eat with us tonight, the charge and thanking

Shall be for me. And to requite you further,

I will bestow some precepts of this virgin

Worthy the note.

WIDOW and MARIANA We’ll take your offer kindly. Exeunt