Alls Wel that ends Well

DIANA. Ay, so you serve us

Till we serve you; but when you have our roses

You barely leave our thorns to prick ourselves,

And mock us with our bareness.

BERTRAM. How have I sworn!

DIANA. 'Tis not the many oaths that makes the truth,

But the plain single vow that is vow'd true.

What is not holy, that we swear not by,

But take the High'st to witness. Then, pray you, tell me:

If I should swear by Jove's great attributes

I lov'd you dearly, would you believe my oaths

When I did love you ill? This has no holding,

To swear by him whom I protest to love

That I will work against him. Therefore your oaths

Are words and poor conditions, but unseal'd-

At least in my opinion. 

BERTRAM. Change it, change it;

Be not so holy-cruel. Love is holy;

And my integrity ne'er knew the crafts

That you do charge men with. Stand no more off,

But give thyself unto my sick desires,

Who then recovers. Say thou art mine, and ever

My love as it begins shall so persever.

DIANA. I see that men make ropes in such a scarre

That we'll forsake ourselves. Give me that ring.

BERTRAM. I'll lend it thee, my dear, but have no power

To give it from me.

DIANA. Will you not, my lord?

BERTRAM. It is an honour 'longing to our house,

Bequeathed down from many ancestors;

Which were the greatest obloquy i' th' world

In me to lose.

DIANA. Mine honour's such a ring:

My chastity's the jewel of our house,

Bequeathed down from many ancestors;

Which were the greatest obloquy i' th' world 

In me to lose. Thus your own proper wisdom

Brings in the champion Honour on my part

Against your vain assault.

BERTRAM. Here, take my ring;

My house, mine honour, yea, my life, be thine,

And I'll be bid by thee.

DIANA. When midnight comes, knock at my chamber window;

I'll order take my mother shall not hear.

Now will I charge you in the band of truth,

When you have conquer'd my yet maiden bed,

Remain there but an hour, nor speak to me:

My reasons are most strong; and you shall know them

When back again this ring shall be deliver'd.

And on your finger in the night I'll put

Another ring, that what in time proceeds

May token to the future our past deeds.

Adieu till then; then fail not. You have won

A wife of me, though there my hope be done.

BERTRAM. A heaven on earth I have won by wooing thee.

Exit 

DIANA. For which live long to thank both heaven and me!

You may so in the end.

My mother told me just how he would woo,

As if she sat in's heart; she says all men

Have the like oaths. He had sworn to marry me

When his wife's dead; therefore I'll lie with him

When I am buried. Since Frenchmen are so braid,

Marry that will, I live and die a maid.

Only, in this disguise, I think't no sin

To cozen him that would unjustly win. Exit

SCENE 3.

The Florentine camp

Enter the two FRENCH LORDS, and two or three SOLDIERS

SECOND LORD. You have not given him his mother's letter?

FIRST LORD. I have deliv'red it an hour since. There is something

in't that stings his nature; for on the reading it he chang'd

almost into another man.

SECOND LORD. He has much worthy blame laid upon him for shaking off

so good a wife and so sweet a lady.

FIRST LORD. Especially he hath incurred the everlasting displeasure

of the King, who had even tun'd his bounty to sing happiness to

him. I will tell you a thing, but you shall let it dwell darkly

with you.

SECOND LORD. When you have spoken it, 'tis dead, and I am the grave

of it.

FIRST LORD. He hath perverted a young gentlewoman here in Florence,

of a most chaste renown; and this night he fleshes his will in

the spoil of her honour. He hath given her his monumental ring,

and thinks himself made in the unchaste composition.

SECOND LORD. Now, God delay our rebellion! As we are ourselves, 

what things are we!

FIRST LORD. Merely our own traitors. And as in the common course of

all treasons we still see them reveal themselves till they attain

to their abhorr'd ends; so he that in this action contrives

against his own nobility, in his proper stream, o'erflows

himself.

SECOND LORD. Is it not meant damnable in us to be trumpeters of our

unlawful intents? We shall not then have his company to-night?

FIRST LORD. Not till after midnight; for he is dieted to his hour.

SECOND LORD. That approaches apace. I would gladly have him see his

company anatomiz'd, that he might take a measure of his own

judgments, wherein so curiously he had set this counterfeit.

FIRST LORD. We will not meddle with him till he come; for his

presence must be the whip of the other.

SECOND LORD. In the meantime, what hear you of these wars?

FIRST LORD. I hear there is an overture of peace.

SECOND LORD. Nay, I assure you, a peace concluded.

FIRST LORD. What will Count Rousillon do then? Will he travel

higher, or return again into France?

SECOND LORD. I perceive, by this demand, you are not altogether 

of his counsel.

FIRST LORD. Let it be forbid, sir! So should I be a great deal

of his act.

SECOND LORD. Sir, his wife, some two months since, fled from his

house. Her pretence is a pilgrimage to Saint Jaques le Grand;

which holy undertaking with most austere sanctimony she