SCENE II. Rousillon. The COUNT's palace. All's Well That Ends Well  Shakespeare homepage  |  All's Well That Ends Well  | Act 3, Scene 2 

 Previous scene  |  Next scene  SCENE II. Rousillon. The COUNT's palace. 

 Enter COUNTESS and Clown  COUNTESS  It hath happened all as I would have had it, save 

 that he comes not along with her. 

 Clown  By my troth, I take my young lord to be a very 

 melancholy man. 

 COUNTESS  By what observance, I pray you? 

 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. 



 Opening a letter  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? 

 Clown  E'en that you have there. 



 Exit  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. 



 Re-enter Clown  Clown  O madam, yonder is heavy news within between two 

 soldiers and my young lady! 

 COUNTESS  What is the matter? 

 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? 

 Clown  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 

 hear your son was run away. 



 Exit 

 Enter HELENA, and two Gentlemen  First Gentleman  Save you, good madam. 

 HELENA  Madam, my lord is gone, for ever gone. 

 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? 

 Second Gentleman  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. 

 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? 

 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? 

 Second Gentleman  Ay, madam. 

 COUNTESS  And to be a soldier? 

 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? 

 First Gentleman  Ay, madam, with the swiftest wing of speed. 

 HELENA  [Reads]  Till I have no wife I have nothing in France. 

 'Tis bitter. 

 COUNTESS  Find you that there? 

 HELENA  Ay, madam. 

 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? 

 First Gentleman  A servant only, and a gentleman 

 Which I have sometime known. 

 COUNTESS  Parolles, was it not? 

 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. 

 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. 

 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! 



 Exeunt COUNTESS and Gentlemen  HELENA  'Till I have no wife, I have nothing in France.' 

 Nothing in France, until he has no wife! 

 Thou shalt have none, Rousillon, 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; move the still-peering 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 roar'd 

 With sharp constraint of hunger; better 'twere 

 That all the miseries which nature owes 

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

 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. 



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