All’s Well That Ends Well

excels his brother for a coward, yet his brother is reputed one of the best that is: in a retreat he outruns any lackey; marry, in coming on he has the cramp. First Soldier If your life be saved, will you undertake to betray the Florentine? Parolles Ay, and the captain of his horse, Count Rousillon. First Soldier I’ll whisper with the general, and know his pleasure. Parolles Aside. I’ll no more drumming; a plague of all drums! Only to seem to deserve well, and to beguile the supposition of that lascivious young boy the count, have I run into this danger. Yet who would have suspected an ambush where I was taken? First Soldier There is no remedy, sir, but you must die: the general says, you that have so traitorously discovered the secrets of your army and made such pestiferous reports of men very nobly held, can serve the world for no honest use; therefore you must die. Come, headsman, off with his head. Parolles O Lord, sir, let me live, or let me see my death! First Lord That shall you, and take your leave of all your friends. Unblinding him. So, look about you: know you any here? Bertram Good morrow, noble captain. Second Lord God bless you, Captain Parolles. First Lord God save you, noble captain. Second Lord Captain, what greeting will you to my Lord Lafeu? I am for France. First Lord Good captain, will you give me a copy of the sonnet you writ to Diana in behalf of the Count Rousillon? an I were not a very coward, I’ld compel it of you: but fare you well. Exeunt Bertram and Lords. First Soldier You are undone, captain, all but your scarf; that has a knot on’t yet Parolles Who cannot be crushed with a plot? First Soldier If you could find out a country where but women were that had received so much shame, you might begin an impudent nation. Fare ye well, sir; I am for France too: we shall speak of you there. Exit with Soldiers. Parolles

Yet am I thankful: if my heart were great,
’Twould burst at this. Captain I’ll be no more;
But I will eat and drink, and sleep as soft
As captain shall: simply the thing I am
Shall make me live. Who knows himself a braggart,
Let him fear this, for it will come to pass
That every braggart shall be found an ass.
Rust, sword! cool, blushes! and, Parolles, live
Safest in shame! being fool’d, by foolery thrive!
There’s place and means for every man alive.
I’ll after them. Exit.

Scene IV

Florence. The Widow’s house.

	Enter Helena, Widow, and Diana.
Helena	That you may well perceive I have not wrong’d you, One of the greatest in the Christian world Shall be my surety; ’fore whose throne ’tis needful, Ere I can perfect mine intents, to kneel: Time was, I did him a desired office, Dear almost as his life; which gratitude Through flinty Tartar’s bosom would peep forth, And answer, thanks: I duly am inform’d His grace is at Marseilles; to which place We have convenient convoy. You must know, I am supposed dead: the army breaking, My husband hies him home; where, heaven aiding, And by the leave of my good lord the king, We’ll be before our welcome.
Widow	Gentle madam, You never had a servant to whose trust Your business was more welcome.
Helena	Nor you, mistress, Ever a friend whose thoughts more truly labour To recompense your love: doubt not but heaven Hath brought me up to be your daughter’s dower, As it hath fated her to be my motive And helper to a husband. But, O strange men! That can such sweet use make of what they hate, When saucy trusting of the cozen’d thoughts Defiles the pitchy night: so lust doth play With what it loathes for that which is away. But more of this hereafter. You, Diana, Under my poor instructions yet must suffer Something in my behalf.
Diana	Let death and honesty Go with your impositions, I am yours Upon your will to suffer.
Helena	Yet, I pray you: But with the word the time will bring on summer, When briers shall have leaves as well as thorns, And be as sweet as sharp. We must away; Our wagon is prepared, and time revives us: All’s well that ends well: still the fine’s the crown; Whate’er the course, the end is the renown. Exeunt.

Scene V

Rousillon. The Count’s palace.

	Enter Countess, Lafeu, and Clown.
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.
Lafeu	’Twas a good lady, ’twas a good lady: we may pick a thousand salads ere we light on such another herb.
Clown	Indeed, sir, she was the sweet-marjoram of the salad, or rather, the herb of grace.
Lafeu	They are not herbs, you knave; they are nose-herbs.
Clown	I am no great Nebuchadnezzar, sir; I have not much skill in grass.
Lafeu	Whether dost thou profess thyself, a knave or a fool?
Clown	A fool, sir, at a woman’s service, and a knave at a man’s.
Lafeu	Your distinction?
Clown	I would cozen the man of his wife and do his service.
Lafeu	So you were a knave at his service, indeed.
Clown	And I would give his wife my bauble, sir, to do her service.
Lafeu	I will subscribe for thee, thou art both knave and fool.
Clown	At your service.
Lafeu	No, no, no.
Clown	Why, sir, if I cannot serve you, I can serve as great a prince as you are.
Lafeu	Who’s that? a Frenchman?
Clown	Faith, sir, a’ has an English name; but his fisnomy is more hotter in France