Speeches (Lines) for Countess
in "All's Well That Ends Well"

Total: 87

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# Act, Scene, Line
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Speech text

1

I,1,3

(stage directions). Enter BERTRAM, the COUNTESS of Rousillon, HELENA,]
and LAFEU, all in black]

Countess. In delivering my son from me, I bury a second husband.


2

I,1,12

Lafeu. You shall find of the king a husband, madam; you,
sir, a father: he that so generally is at all times
good must of necessity hold his virtue to you; whose
worthiness would stir it up where it wanted rather
than lack it where there is such abundance.

Countess. What hope is there of his majesty's amendment?


3

I,1,17

Lafeu. He hath abandoned his physicians, madam; under whose
practises he hath persecuted time with hope, and
finds no other advantage in the process but only the
losing of hope by time.

Countess. This young gentlewoman had a father,—O, that
'had'! how sad a passage 'tis!—whose skill was
almost as great as his honesty; had it stretched so
far, would have made nature immortal, and death
should have play for lack of work. Would, for the
king's sake, he were living! I think it would be
the death of the king's disease.


4

I,1,25

Lafeu. How called you the man you speak of, madam?

Countess. He was famous, sir, in his profession, and it was
his great right to be so: Gerard de Narbon.


5

I,1,36

Lafeu. I would it were not notorious. Was this gentlewoman
the daughter of Gerard de Narbon?

Countess. His sole child, my lord, and bequeathed to my
overlooking. I have those hopes of her good that
her education promises; her dispositions she
inherits, which makes fair gifts fairer; for where
an unclean mind carries virtuous qualities, there
commendations go with pity; they are virtues and
traitors too; in her they are the better for their
simpleness; she derives her honesty and achieves her goodness.


6

I,1,45

Lafeu. Your commendations, madam, get from her tears.

Countess. 'Tis the best brine a maiden can season her praise
in. The remembrance of her father never approaches
her heart but the tyranny of her sorrows takes all
livelihood from her cheek. No more of this, Helena;
go to, no more; lest it be rather thought you affect
a sorrow than have it.


7

I,1,54

Lafeu. Moderate lamentation is the right of the dead,
excessive grief the enemy to the living.

Countess. If the living be enemy to the grief, the excess
makes it soon mortal.


8

I,1,58

Lafeu. How understand we that?

Countess. Be thou blest, Bertram, and succeed thy father
In manners, as in shape! thy blood and virtue
Contend for empire in thee, and thy goodness
Share with thy birthright! Love all, trust a few,
Do wrong to none: be able for thine enemy
Rather in power than use, and keep thy friend
Under thy own life's key: be cheque'd for silence,
But never tax'd for speech. What heaven more will,
That thee may furnish and my prayers pluck down,
Fall on thy head! Farewell, my lord;
'Tis an unseason'd courtier; good my lord,
Advise him.


9

I,1,72

Lafeu. He cannot want the best
That shall attend his love.

Countess. Heaven bless him! Farewell, Bertram.


10

I,3,324

(stage directions). [Enter COUNTESS, Steward, and Clown]

Countess. I will now hear; what say you of this gentlewoman?


11

I,3,330

Steward. Madam, the care I have had to even your content, I
wish might be found in the calendar of my past
endeavours; for then we wound our modesty and make
foul the clearness of our deservings, when of
ourselves we publish them.

Countess. What does this knave here? Get you gone, sirrah:
the complaints I have heard of you I do not all
believe: 'tis my slowness that I do not; for I know
you lack not folly to commit them, and have ability
enough to make such knaveries yours.


12

I,3,336

Clown. 'Tis not unknown to you, madam, I am a poor fellow.

Countess. Well, sir.


13

I,3,341

Clown. No, madam, 'tis not so well that I am poor, though
many of the rich are damned: but, if I may have
your ladyship's good will to go to the world, Isbel
the woman and I will do as we may.

Countess. Wilt thou needs be a beggar?


14

I,3,343

Clown. I do beg your good will in this case.

Countess. In what case?


15

I,3,348

Clown. In Isbel's case and mine own. Service is no
heritage: and I think I shall never have the
blessing of God till I have issue o' my body; for
they say barnes are blessings.

Countess. Tell me thy reason why thou wilt marry.


16

I,3,351

Clown. My poor body, madam, requires it: I am driven on
by the flesh; and he must needs go that the devil drives.

Countess. Is this all your worship's reason?


17

I,3,354

Clown. Faith, madam, I have other holy reasons such as they
are.

Countess. May the world know them?


18

I,3,358

Clown. I have been, madam, a wicked creature, as you and
all flesh and blood are; and, indeed, I do marry
that I may repent.

Countess. Thy marriage, sooner than thy wickedness.


19

I,3,361

Clown. I am out o' friends, madam; and I hope to have
friends for my wife's sake.

Countess. Such friends are thine enemies, knave.


20

I,3,376

Clown. You're shallow, madam, in great friends; for the
knaves come to do that for me which I am aweary of.
He that ears my land spares my team and gives me
leave to in the crop; if I be his cuckold, he's my
drudge: he that comforts my wife is the cherisher
of my flesh and blood; he that cherishes my flesh
and blood loves my flesh and blood; he that loves my
flesh and blood is my friend: ergo, he that kisses
my wife is my friend. If men could be contented to
be what they are, there were no fear in marriage;
for young Charbon the Puritan and old Poysam the
Papist, howsome'er their hearts are severed in
religion, their heads are both one; they may jowl
horns together, like any deer i' the herd.

Countess. Wilt thou ever be a foul-mouthed and calumnious knave?


21

I,3,383

Clown. A prophet I, madam; and I speak the truth the next
way:
For I the ballad will repeat,
Which men full true shall find;
Your marriage comes by destiny,
Your cuckoo sings by kind.

Countess. Get you gone, sir; I'll talk with you more anon.


22

I,3,386

Steward. May it please you, madam, that he bid Helen come to
you: of her I am to speak.

Countess. Sirrah, tell my gentlewoman I would speak with her;
Helen, I mean.


23

I,3,398

Clown. Was this fair face the cause, quoth she,
Why the Grecians sacked Troy?
Fond done, done fond,
Was this King Priam's joy?
With that she sighed as she stood,
With that she sighed as she stood,
And gave this sentence then;
Among nine bad if one be good,
Among nine bad if one be good,
There's yet one good in ten.

Countess. What, one good in ten? you corrupt the song, sirrah.


24

I,3,407

Clown. One good woman in ten, madam; which is a purifying
o' the song: would God would serve the world so all
the year! we'ld find no fault with the tithe-woman,
if I were the parson. One in ten, quoth a'! An we
might have a good woman born but one every blazing
star, or at an earthquake, 'twould mend the lottery
well: a man may draw his heart out, ere a' pluck
one.

Countess. You'll be gone, sir knave, and do as I command you.


25

I,3,414

(stage directions). [Exit]

Countess. Well, now.


26

I,3,416

Steward. I know, madam, you love your gentlewoman entirely.

Countess. Faith, I do: her father bequeathed her to me; and
she herself, without other advantage, may lawfully
make title to as much love as she finds: there is
more owing her than is paid; and more shall be paid
her than she'll demand.


27

I,3,437

Steward. Madam, I was very late more near her than I think
she wished me: alone she was, and did communicate
to herself her own words to her own ears; she
thought, I dare vow for her, they touched not any
stranger sense. Her matter was, she loved your son:
Fortune, she said, was no goddess, that had put
such difference betwixt their two estates; Love no
god, that would not extend his might, only where
qualities were level; Dian no queen of virgins, that
would suffer her poor knight surprised, without
rescue in the first assault or ransom afterward.
This she delivered in the most bitter touch of
sorrow that e'er I heard virgin exclaim in: which I
held my duty speedily to acquaint you withal;
sithence, in the loss that may happen, it concerns
you something to know it.

Countess. You have discharged this honestly; keep it to
yourself: many likelihoods informed me of this
before, which hung so tottering in the balance that
I could neither believe nor misdoubt. Pray you,
leave me: stall this in your bosom; and I thank you
for your honest care: I will speak with you further anon.
[Exit Steward]
[Enter HELENA]
Even so it was with me when I was young:
If ever we are nature's, these are ours; this thorn
Doth to our rose of youth rightly belong;
Our blood to us, this to our blood is born;
It is the show and seal of nature's truth,
Where love's strong passion is impress'd in youth:
By our remembrances of days foregone,
Such were our faults, or then we thought them none.
Her eye is sick on't: I observe her now.


28

I,3,455

Helena. What is your pleasure, madam?

Countess. You know, Helen,
I am a mother to you.


29

I,3,458

Helena. Mine honourable mistress.

Countess. Nay, a mother:
Why not a mother? When I said 'a mother,'
Methought you saw a serpent: what's in 'mother,'
That you start at it? I say, I am your mother;
And put you in the catalogue of those
That were enwombed mine: 'tis often seen
Adoption strives with nature and choice breeds
A native slip to us from foreign seeds:
You ne'er oppress'd me with a mother's groan,
Yet I express to you a mother's care:
God's mercy, maiden! does it curd thy blood
To say I am thy mother? What's the matter,
That this distemper'd messenger of wet,
The many-colour'd Iris, rounds thine eye?
Why? that you are my daughter?


30

I,3,474

Helena. That I am not.

Countess. I say, I am your mother.


31

I,3,482

Helena. Pardon, madam;
The Count Rousillon cannot be my brother:
I am from humble, he from honour'd name;
No note upon my parents, his all noble:
My master, my dear lord he is; and I
His servant live, and will his vassal die:
He must not be my brother.

Countess. Nor I your mother?


32

I,3,489

Helena. You are my mother, madam; would you were,—
So that my lord your son were not my brother,—
Indeed my mother! or were you both our mothers,
I care no more for than I do for heaven,
So I were not his sister. Can't no other,
But, I your daughter, he must be my brother?

Countess. Yes, Helen, you might be my daughter-in-law:
God shield you mean it not! daughter and mother
So strive upon your pulse. What, pale again?
My fear hath catch'd your fondness: now I see
The mystery of your loneliness, and find
Your salt tears' head: now to all sense 'tis gross
You love my son; invention is ashamed,
Against the proclamation of thy passion,
To say thou dost not: therefore tell me true;
But tell me then, 'tis so; for, look thy cheeks
Confess it, th' one to th' other; and thine eyes
See it so grossly shown in thy behaviors
That in their kind they speak it: only sin
And hellish obstinacy tie thy tongue,
That truth should be suspected. Speak, is't so?
If it be so, you have wound a goodly clew;
If it be not, forswear't: howe'er, I charge thee,
As heaven shall work in me for thine avail,
Tell me truly.


33

I,3,509

Helena. Good madam, pardon me!

Countess. Do you love my son?


34

I,3,511

Helena. Your pardon, noble mistress!

Countess. Love you my son?


35

I,3,513

Helena. Do not you love him, madam?

Countess. Go not about; my love hath in't a bond,
Whereof the world takes note: come, come, disclose
The state of your affection; for your passions
Have to the full appeach'd.


36

I,3,544

Helena. Then, I confess,
Here on my knee, before high heaven and you,
That before you, and next unto high heaven,
I love your son.
My friends were poor, but honest; so's my love:
Be not offended; for it hurts not him
That he is loved of me: I follow him not
By any token of presumptuous suit;
Nor would I have him till I do deserve him;
Yet never know how that desert should be.
I know I love in vain, strive against hope;
Yet in this captious and intenible sieve
I still pour in the waters of my love
And lack not to lose still: thus, Indian-like,
Religious in mine error, I adore
The sun, that looks upon his worshipper,
But knows of him no more. My dearest madam,
Let not your hate encounter with my love
For loving where you do: but if yourself,
Whose aged honour cites a virtuous youth,
Did ever in so true a flame of liking
Wish chastely and love dearly, that your Dian
Was both herself and love: O, then, give pity
To her, whose state is such that cannot choose
But lend and give where she is sure to lose;
That seeks not to find that her search implies,
But riddle-like lives sweetly where she dies!

Countess. Had you not lately an intent,—speak truly,—
To go to Paris?


37

I,3,547

Helena. Madam, I had.

Countess. Wherefore? tell true.


38

I,3,559

Helena. I will tell truth; by grace itself I swear.
You know my father left me some prescriptions
Of rare and proved effects, such as his reading
And manifest experience had collected
For general sovereignty; and that he will'd me
In heedfull'st reservation to bestow them,
As notes whose faculties inclusive were
More than they were in note: amongst the rest,
There is a remedy, approved, set down,
To cure the desperate languishings whereof
The king is render'd lost.

Countess. This was your motive
For Paris, was it? speak.


39

I,3,565

Helena. My lord your son made me to think of this;
Else Paris and the medicine and the king
Had from the conversation of my thoughts
Haply been absent then.

Countess. But think you, Helen,
If you should tender your supposed aid,
He would receive it? he and his physicians
Are of a mind; he, that they cannot help him,
They, that they cannot help: how shall they credit
A poor unlearned virgin, when the schools,
Embowell'd of their doctrine, have left off
The danger to itself?


40

I,3,581

Helena. There's something in't,
More than my father's skill, which was the greatest
Of his profession, that his good receipt
Shall for my legacy be sanctified
By the luckiest stars in heaven: and, would your honour
But give me leave to try success, I'ld venture
The well-lost life of mine on his grace's cure
By such a day and hour.

Countess. Dost thou believe't?


41

I,3,583

Helena. Ay, madam, knowingly.

Countess. Why, Helen, thou shalt have my leave and love,
Means and attendants and my loving greetings
To those of mine in court: I'll stay at home
And pray God's blessing into thy attempt:
Be gone to-morrow; and be sure of this,
What I can help thee to thou shalt not miss.


42

II,2,825

(stage directions). [Enter COUNTESS and Clown]

Countess. Come on, sir; I shall now put you to the height of
your breeding.


43

II,2,829

Clown. I will show myself highly fed and lowly taught: I
know my business is but to the court.

Countess. To the court! why, what place make you special,
when you put off that with such contempt? But to the court!


44

II,2,838

Clown. Truly, madam, if God have lent a man any manners, he
may easily put it off at court: he that cannot make
a leg, put off's cap, kiss his hand and say nothing,
has neither leg, hands, lip, nor cap; and indeed
such a fellow, to say precisely, were not for the
court; but for me, I have an answer will serve all
men.

Countess. Marry, that's a bountiful answer that fits all
questions.


45

II,2,843

Clown. It is like a barber's chair that fits all buttocks,
the pin-buttock, the quatch-buttock, the brawn
buttock, or any buttock.

Countess. Will your answer serve fit to all questions?


46

II,2,851

Clown. As fit as ten groats is for the hand of an attorney,
as your French crown for your taffeta punk, as Tib's
rush for Tom's forefinger, as a pancake for Shrove
Tuesday, a morris for May-day, as the nail to his
hole, the cuckold to his horn, as a scolding queen
to a wrangling knave, as the nun's lip to the
friar's mouth, nay, as the pudding to his skin.

Countess. Have you, I say, an answer of such fitness for all
questions?


47

II,2,855

Clown. From below your duke to beneath your constable, it
will fit any question.

Countess. It must be an answer of most monstrous size that
must fit all demands.


48

II,2,861

Clown. But a trifle neither, in good faith, if the learned
should speak truth of it: here it is, and all that
belongs to't. Ask me if I am a courtier: it shall
do you no harm to learn.

Countess. To be young again, if we could: I will be a fool in
question, hoping to be the wiser by your answer. I
pray you, sir, are you a courtier?


49

II,2,866

Clown. O Lord, sir! There's a simple putting off. More,
more, a hundred of them.

Countess. Sir, I am a poor friend of yours, that loves you.


50

II,2,868

Clown. O Lord, sir! Thick, thick, spare not me.

Countess. I think, sir, you can eat none of this homely meat.


51

II,2,870

Clown. O Lord, sir! Nay, put me to't, I warrant you.

Countess. You were lately whipped, sir, as I think.


52

II,2,872

Clown. O Lord, sir! spare not me.

Countess. Do you cry, 'O Lord, sir!' at your whipping, and
'spare not me?' Indeed your 'O Lord, sir!' is very
sequent to your whipping: you would answer very well
to a whipping, if you were but bound to't.


53

II,2,878

Clown. I ne'er had worse luck in my life in my 'O Lord,
sir!' I see things may serve long, but not serve ever.

Countess. I play the noble housewife with the time
To entertain't so merrily with a fool.


54

II,2,881

Clown. O Lord, sir! why, there't serves well again.

Countess. An end, sir; to your business. Give Helen this,
And urge her to a present answer back:
Commend me to my kinsmen and my son:
This is not much.


55

II,2,886

Clown. Not much commendation to them.

Countess. Not much employment for you: you understand me?


56

II,2,888

Clown. Most fruitfully: I am there before my legs.

Countess. Haste you again.


57

III,2,1398

(stage directions). [Enter COUNTESS and Clown]

Countess. It hath happened all as I would have had it, save
that he comes not along with her.


58

III,2,1402

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

Countess. By what observance, I pray you?


59

III,2,1407

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.


60

III,2,1414

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?


61

III,2,1417

(stage directions). [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.


62

III,2,1433

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

Countess. What is the matter?


63

III,2,1437

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?


64

III,2,1448

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?


65

III,2,1463

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?


66

III,2,1466

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?


67

III,2,1472

Second Gentleman. Ay, madam.

Countess. And to be a soldier?


68

III,2,1476

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?


69

III,2,1480

Helena. [Reads] Till I have no wife I have nothing in France.
'Tis bitter.

Countess. Find you that there?


70

III,2,1484

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?


71

III,2,1491

First Gentleman. A servant only, and a gentleman
Which I have sometime known.

Countess. Parolles, was it not?


72

III,2,1493

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.


73

III,2,1499

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.


74

III,2,1506

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!


75

III,4,1559

(stage directions). [Enter COUNTESS and Steward]

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.


76

III,4,1577

Steward. [Reads]
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 fervor 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!
Rinaldo, 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.


77

III,4,1586

Steward. 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, Rinaldo,
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.


78

IV,5,2471

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.


79

IV,5,2520

Lafeu. A shrewd knave and an unhappy.

Countess. So he is. My lord that's gone made himself much
sport out of him: by his authority he remains here,
which he thinks is a patent for his sauciness; and,
indeed, he has no pace, but runs where he will.


80

IV,5,2534

Lafeu. I like him well; 'tis not amiss. And I was about to
tell you, since I heard of the good lady's death and
that my lord your son was upon his return home, I
moved the king my master to speak in the behalf of
my daughter; which, in the minority of them both,
his majesty, out of a self-gracious remembrance, did
first propose: his highness hath promised me to do
it: and, to stop up the displeasure he hath
conceived against your son, there is no fitter
matter. How does your ladyship like it?

Countess. With very much content, my lord; and I wish it
happily effected.


81

IV,5,2540

Lafeu. His highness comes post from Marseilles, of as able
body as when he numbered thirty: he will be here
to-morrow, or I am deceived by him that in such
intelligence hath seldom failed.

Countess. It rejoices me, that I hope I shall see him ere I
die. I have letters that my son will be here
to-night: I shall beseech your lordship to remain
with me till they meet together.


82

IV,5,2546

Lafeu. Madam, I was thinking with what manners I might
safely be admitted.

Countess. You need but plead your honourable privilege.


83

V,3,2677

King of France. We lost a jewel of her; and our esteem
Was made much poorer by it: but your son,
As mad in folly, lack'd the sense to know
Her estimation home.

Countess. 'Tis past, my liege;
And I beseech your majesty to make it
Natural rebellion, done i' the blaze of youth;
When oil and fire, too strong for reason's force,
O'erbears it and burns on.


84

V,3,2753

King of France. 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!


85

V,3,2777

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.


86

V,3,2851

King of France. 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!


87

V,3,2899

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.


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