Alls Wel that ends Well

Which lay nice manners by, I put you to

The use of your own virtues, for the which

I shall continue thankful.

GENTLEMAN. What's your will?

HELENA. That it will please you

To give this poor petition to the King;

And aid me with that store of power you have

To come into his presence.

GENTLEMAN. The King's not here.

HELENA. Not here, sir?

GENTLEMAN. Not indeed.

He hence remov'd last night, and with more haste

Than is his use.

WIDOW. Lord, how we lose our pains!

HELENA. All's Well That Ends Well yet,

Though time seem so adverse and means unfit.

I do beseech you, whither is he gone?

GENTLEMAN. Marry, as I take it, to Rousillon;

Whither I am going. 

HELENA. I do beseech you, sir,

Since you are like to see the King before me,

Commend the paper to his gracious hand;

Which I presume shall render you no blame,

But rather make you thank your pains for it.

I will come after you with what good speed

Our means will make us means.

GENTLEMAN. This I'll do for you.

HELENA. And you shall find yourself to be well thank'd,

Whate'er falls more. We must to horse again;

Go, go, provide. Exeunt

SCENE 2.

Rousillon. The inner court of the COUNT'S palace

Enter CLOWN and PAROLLES

PAROLLES. Good Monsieur Lavache, give my Lord Lafeu this letter. I

have ere now, sir, been better known to you, when I have held

familiarity with fresher clothes; but I am now, sir, muddied in

Fortune's mood, and smell somewhat strong of her strong

displeasure.

CLOWN. Truly, Fortune's displeasure is but sluttish, if it smell

so strongly as thou speak'st of. I will henceforth eat no fish

of Fortune's butt'ring. Prithee, allow the wind.

PAROLLES. Nay, you need not to stop your nose, sir; I spake but by

a metaphor.

CLOWN. Indeed, sir, if your metaphor stink, I will stop my nose; or

against any man's metaphor. Prithee, get thee further.

PAROLLES. Pray you, sir, deliver me this paper.

CLOWN. Foh! prithee stand away. A paper from Fortune's close-stool

to give to a nobleman! Look here he comes himself.

Enter LAFEU 

Here is a pur of Fortune's, sir, or of Fortune's cat, but not

a musk-cat, that has fall'n into the unclean fishpond of her

displeasure, and, as he says, is muddied withal. Pray you, sir,

use the carp as you may; for he looks like a poor, decayed,

ingenious, foolish, rascally knave. I do pity his distress

in my similes of comfort, and leave him to your lordship.

Exit

PAROLLES. My lord, I am a man whom Fortune hath cruelly scratch'd.

LAFEU. And what would you have me to do? 'Tis too late to pare her

nails now. Wherein have you played the knave with Fortune, that

she should scratch you, who of herself is a good lady and would

not have knaves thrive long under her? There's a cardecue for

you. Let the justices make you and Fortune friends; I am for

other business.

PAROLLES. I beseech your honour to hear me one single word.

LAFEU. You beg a single penny more; come, you shall ha't; save your

word.

PAROLLES. My name, my good lord, is Parolles.

LAFEU. You beg more than word then. Cox my passion! give me your 

hand. How does your drum?

PAROLLES. O my good lord, you were the first that found me.

LAFEU. Was I, in sooth? And I was the first that lost thee.

PAROLLES. It lies in you, my lord, to bring me in some grace, for

you did bring me out.

LAFEU. Out upon thee, knave! Dost thou put upon me at once both the

office of God and the devil? One brings the in grace, and the

other brings thee out. [Trumpets sound] The King's coming; I

know by his trumpets. Sirrah, inquire further after me; I had

talk of you last night. Though you are a fool and a knave, you

shall eat. Go to; follow.

PAROLLES. I praise God for you. Exeunt

SCENE 3.

Rousillon. The COUNT'S palace

Flourish. Enter KING, COUNTESS, LAFEU, the two FRENCH LORDS, with ATTENDANTS

KING. 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' th' blaze of youth,

When oil and fire, too strong for reason's force,

O'erbears it and burns on.

KING. My honour'd lady,

I have forgiven and forgotten all;

Though my revenges were high bent upon him

And watch'd the time to shoot.

LAFEU. This I must say-

But first, I beg my pardon: the young lord

Did to his Majesty, his mother, and his lady, 

Offence of mighty note; but to himself

The greatest wrong of all. He lost a wife

Whose beauty did astonish the survey

Of richest eyes; whose words all ears took captive;

Whose dear perfection hearts that scorn'd to serve

Humbly call'd mistress.

KING. Praising what is lost

Makes the remembrance dear. Well, call him hither;

We are reconcil'd, and the first view shall kill

All repetition. Let him not ask our pardon;

The nature of his great offence is dead,

And deeper than oblivion do we bury

Th' incensing relics of it; let him approach,

A stranger, no offender; and inform him

So 'tis our will he should.

GENTLEMAN. I shall, my liege. Exit GENTLEMAN

KING. What says he to your daughter? Have you spoke?

LAFEU. All that he is hath reference to your Highness.