Κ'

ING of France.

Duke of Florence.

Bertram, Count of Roffilion.

Lafeu, an old Lord.

a

Parolles, a Parafitical Follower of Bertram Coward, but Vain, and a great Pretender to Valour.

Several Young French Lords, that ferve with Bertram in the Florentine War.

Steward, Servants to the Countess of Roffilion. Clown, JA

Countess of Roffilion, Mother to Bertram.

Helena, Daughter to Gerrard de Narbon, a fåmous Physician, fome time fince dead.

An old Widow of Florence.

Diana, Daughter to the Widow.

Violenta, Neighbours and Friends to the Widow.

Mariana, j

Lords attending on the King. Officers, Soldiers, &c.

The SCENE lyes partly in France, and partly in Tuscany.

All's

All's well that Ends well.

ACTI. SCENE I.

Enter Bertram, the Countess of Roffilion, Helena, and Lafeu in Mourning.

COUNTESS.

N delivering my Son from me, I bury a fecond Husband.

my

Ber. And in going, Madam, I weep o'er Father's Death anew; but I must attend his Majefty's Command, to whom I am now in Ward, evermore in Subjection.

Laf. You fhall find of the King a Husband, Madam; you, Sir, a Father. He that fo generally is at all times good, muft of neceffity hold his Virtue to you, whofe worthinels would ftir it up were it wanted, rather than lack it where there is fuch abundance.

Count. What hope is there of his Majefty's amendment?

Laf. He hath abandon'd his Phyficians, Madam, under whofe Practices he hath perfecuted Time with Hope, and finds no other advantage in the Procefs, but only the lofing of Hope by Time.

Count. This young Gentlewoman had a Father, O that had! How fad a Paffage 'tis! whofe Skill was almoft as great as his Honefty; had it ftretch'd fo far, it would have made Nature immortal, and Death fhould have play for lack of work. Would, for the King's fake, he were living, I think it would be the Death of the King's Difeafe.

his

Laf. How call'd you the Man you fpeak of, Madam? Count. He was famous, Sir, in his Profeffion, and it was great Right to be fo: Gerard de Narbon.

T 4

Laf.

Laf. He was Excellent indeed, Madam; the King very lately fpoke of him admiringly and mourningly: He was skilful enough to have liv'd still, if Knowledge could be set up against Mortality.

1

Ber. What is it, my good Lord, the King languishes of ? Laf. A Fiftula, my Lord.

Ber. I heard not of it before.

Laf. I would it were not notorious. Was this Gentlewoman the Daughter of Gerard de Narbon?

Count. His fole Child, my Lord, and bequeathed to my overlooking. I have thofe hopes of her good, that her Education promises her Difpofition fhe inherits, which makes fair Gifts fairer; for where an unclean Mind carries virtuous Qualities, there Commendations go with Pity, they are Virtues and Traytors too: In her they are the better for their Simplenefs, the derives her Honefty, and atchieyes her Goodness.

Laf. Your Commendations, Madam, get from her Tears.

Count. 'Tis the best Brine a Maiden can feafon 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, left it be rather thought you affect a Sorrow, than to have

Hel. I do affect a Sorrow indeed, but I have it too.

Laf. Moderate Lamentations is the Right of the Dead, exceffive Grief the Enemy to the Living.

Count. If the Living be Enemy to the Grief, the excess

makes it foon mortal.

Ber. Madam, I defire your holy Wishes.

Laf. How understand we that?

Count. Be thou blest, Bertram, and fucceed thy Father In Manners as in Shape: Thy Blood and Virtue Contend for Empire in thee, and thy Goodness Share with thy Birth-right. Love all, truft a few, Do wrong to none: Be able for thine Enemy Rather in Power than Ufe; and keep thy Friend Under thy own Life's Key: Be check'd for Silence, But never tax'd for Speech. What Heav'n more will, That thee may furnish, and my Prayers pluck down, Fall on thy Head, Farewel, my Lord,

'Tis an unfeafon'd Courtier, good my Lord,

Advise him.

Laf. He cannot want the best

That shall attend his Love.

Count. Heav'n blefs him. Farewel, Bertram. [Exit Count. Ber. [to Hel.] The best Wishes that can be forg'd in your Thoughts, be Servants to you: Be comfortable to my Mother, your Mistress, and make much of her.

Laf. Farewel, pretty Lady, you must hold the Credit of
your Father.
[Exeunt Ber. and Laf.
Hel. Oh were that all—I think not on my Father,
And these great Tears grace his Remembrance more
Than those I fhed for him. What was he like?
I have forgot him. My Imagination
Carries no Favour in't, but Bertram's.
I am undone, there is no Living, none,
If Bertram be away. 'Twere all one
That I fhould love a bright particular Star,
And think to wed it; he is fo Above me:
In his bright Radiance and Collateral Light
Muft I be comforted, not in his Sphere.
Th' Ambition in my Love thus plagues it felf;
The Hind, that would be mated by the Lion,
Muft dye for Love. 'Twas pretty, tho' a Plague,
To fee him ev'ry Hour to fit and draw
His arched Brows, his hawking Eye, his Curls
In our Heart's Table: Heart too capable
Of every Line and Trick of his fweet Favour.
But now he is gone, and my idolatrous Fancy
Muft fanctifie his Relick. Who comes here?
Enter Parolles.

One that goes with him: I love him for his fake,
And yet I know him a notorious Liar,

Think him a great way Fool, folely a Coward;
Yet these fix'd Evils fit fo fit in him,

That they take place, when Virtues fteely Bones
Look bleak i'th' cold Wind; withal, full oft we fee
Cold Wisdom waiting on fuperfluous Folly.

Par. Save you, fair Queen.

Hel. And you, Monarch.

Par. No.

Hel

Hel. And no.

Par. Are you meditating on Virginity?

Hel. Ay: You have fome ftain of Soldier in you; let me ask you a Question. Man is Enemy to Virginity, how may we barricado it against him?

Par. Keep him out.

Hel. But he affails, and our Virginity, though valiant, in the defence yet is weak: Unfold us fome warlike Refiftance.

Par. There is none: Man fetting down before undermine you, and blow you up.

you, will Hel. Blefs our poor Virginity from Underminers, and Blowers up. Is there no military Policy how Virgins might blow up Men?

Par. Virginity being blown down, Man will quicklier be blown up: Marry in blowing him down again, with the Breach your felves made, you lofe your City. It is not Politick, in the Commonwealth of Nature, to preserve Virginity. Lofs of Virginity, is rational Encreafe, and there was never Virgin got, 'till Virginity was first loft. That you were made of, is Metal to make Virgins. Virginity, by being once loft, may be ten times found: By being ever kept, it is ever loft; 'tis too cold a Companion; away with'.

Hel. I will ftand for't a little, though therefore I die a Virgin.

Par. There's little can be faid in't; 'tis against the Rule of Nature. To fpeak on the part of Virginity, is to accufe your Mother; which is most infallible Difobedience. He that hangs himself is a Virgin: Virginity murthers it felf, and fhould be buried in High-ways out of all fanctified Limit, as a defperate Offendrefs against Nature. Virginity breeds Mites, much like a Cheefe, confumes it felf to the very Paring, and fo dies with feeding its own Stomach. Befides, Virginity is peevish, proud, idle, made of felf-love, which is the moft inhabited Sin in the Canon. Keep it not, you cannot chufe but loofe by't. Out with't; within ten Years it will make it felf two, which is a goodly increase, and the Principal it felf not much the worse. Away with't.

Hel.