PAROLLES. 2 страница

PAROLLES.   Well, I shall be wiser.

LAFEU.   E'en as soon as thou canst, for thou hast to pull at a smack o' th' contrary. If ever thou beest bound in thy scarf and  beaten, thou shalt find what it is to be proud of thy bondage. I have a desire to hold my acquaintance with thee, or rather my knowledge, that I may say in the default, he is a man I know.

PAROLLES.   My lord, you do me most insupportable vexation.

LAFEU.   I would it were hell-pains for thy sake, and my poor doing  eternal: for doing I am past; as I will by thee, in what motion age will give me leave.

[Exit. ]

PAROLLES.   Well, thou hast a son shall take this disgrace off me;   scurvy, old, filthy, scurvy lord! --Well, I must be patient; there is no fettering of authority. I'll beat him, by my life, if I can meet him with any convenience, an he were double and double a lord. I'll have no more pity of his age than I would have of-- I'll beat him, an if I could but meet him again.

[Re-enter LAFEU. ]

LAFEU.   Sirrah, your lord and master's married; there's news for you; you have a new mistress.

PAROLLES.   I most unfeignedly beseech your lordship to make some reservation of your wrongs: he is my good lord: whom I serve above is my master.

LAFEU.   Who? God?

PAROLLES.   Ay, sir.

LAFEU.   The devil it is that's thy master. Why dost thou garter up thy arms o' this fashion? dost make hose of thy sleeves? do other servants so? Thou wert best set thy lower part where thy nose stands. By mine honour, if I were but two hours younger, I'd beat thee: methink'st thou art a general offence, and every man should beat thee. I think thou wast created for men to breathe  themselves upon thee.

PAROLLES.   This is hard and undeserved measure, my lord.

LAFEU.   Go to, sir; you were beaten in Italy for picking a kernel  out of a pomegranate; you are a vagabond, and no true traveller: you are more saucy with lords and honourable personages than the heraldry of your birth and virtue gives you commission. You are not worth another word, else I'd call you knave. I leave you.

[Exit. ]

PAROLLES.   Good, very good, it is so then. --Good, very good; let it  be concealed awhile.

[Enter BERTRAM. ]

BERTRAM.   Undone, and forfeited to cares for ever!

PAROLLES.   What's the matter, sweet heart?

BERTRAM.   Although before the solemn priest I have sworn,   I will not bed her.

PAROLLES.   What, what, sweet heart?

BERTRAM.   O my Parolles, they have married me! --  I'll to the Tuscan wars, and never bed her.

PAROLLES.   France is a dog-hole, and it no more merits  The tread of a man's foot: --to the wars!

BERTRAM.   There's letters from my mother; what the import is  I know not yet.

PAROLLES.   Ay, that would be known. To the wars, my boy, to the wars!   He wears his honour in a box unseen  That hugs his kicksy-wicksy here at home,   Spending his manly marrow in her arms,   Which should sustain the bound and high curvet  Of Mars's fiery steed. To other regions!   France is a stable; we that dwell in't, jades;   Therefore, to the war!

BERTRAM.   It shall be so; I'll send her to my house,   Acquaint my mother with my hate to her,   And wherefore I am fled; write to the king  That which I durst not speak: his present gift  Shall furnish me to those Italian fields  Where noble fellows strike: war is no strife  To the dark house and the detested wife.

PAROLLES.   Will this caprichio hold in thee, art sure?

BERTRAM.   Go with me to my chamber and advise me.   I'll send her straight away: to-morrow  I'll to the wars, she to her single sorrow.

PAROLLES.   Why, these balls bound; there's noise in it. 'Tis hard:   A young man married is a man that's marr'd:   Therefore away, and leave her bravely; go:   The king has done you wrong: but, hush, 'tis so.

[Exeunt. ]

SCENE 4. The same. Another room in the same.

[Enter HELENA and CLOWN. ]

HELENA.   My mother greets me kindly: is she well?

CLOWN.   She is not well, but yet she has her health: she's very  merry, but yet she is not well: but thanks be given, she's very well, and wants nothing i' the world; but yet she is not well.

HELENA.   If she be very well, what does she ail that she's not very well?

CLOWN.   Truly, she's very well indeed, but for two things.

HELENA.   What two things?

CLOWN.   One, that she's not in heaven, whither God send her quickly! The other, that she's in earth, from whence God send her quickly!

[Enter PAROLLES. ]

PAROLLES.   Bless you, my fortunate lady!

HELENA.   I hope, sir, I have your good will to have mine own good  fortunes.

PAROLLES.   You had my prayers to lead them on; and to keep them on,   have them still. O, my knave, --how does my old lady?

CLOWN.   So that you had her wrinkles and I her money, I would she did as you say.

PAROLLES.   Why, I say nothing.

CLOWN.   Marry, you are the wiser man; for many a man's tongue shakes out his master's undoing: to say nothing, to do nothing, to know nothing, and to have nothing, is to be a great part of your title; which is within a very little of nothing.

PAROLLES.   Away! thou art a knave.

CLOWN.   You should have said, sir, before a knave thou art a knave; that is before me thou art a knave: this had been truth, sir.

PAROLLES.   Go to, thou art a witty fool; I have found thee.

CLOWN.   Did you find me in yourself, sir? or were you taught to find me? The search, sir, was profitable; and much fool may you find in you, even to the world's pleasure and the increase of laughter.

PAROLLES.   A good knave, i' faith, and well fed. --  Madam, my lord will go away to-night:   A very serious business calls on him.   The great prerogative and right of love,   Which, as your due, time claims, he does acknowledge;   But puts it off to a compell'd restraint;   Whose want, and whose delay, is strew'd with sweets;   Which they distil now in the curbed time,   To make the coming hour o'erflow with joy  And pleasure drown the brim.

HELENA.   What's his will else?

PAROLLES.   That you will take your instant leave o' the king,   And make this haste as your own good proceeding,   Strengthen'd with what apology you think  May make it probable need.

HELENA.   What more commands he?

PAROLLES.   That, having this obtain'd, you presently  Attend his further pleasure.

HELENA.   In everything I wait upon his will.

PAROLLES.   I shall report it so.

HELENA.   I pray you. --Come, sirrah.

[Exeunt. ]

SCENE 5. Another room in the same.

[Enter LAFEU and BERTRAM. ]

LAFEU.   But I hope your lordship thinks not him a soldier.

BERTRAM.   Yes, my lord, and of very valiant approof.

LAFEU.   You have it from his own deliverance.

BERTRAM.   And by other warranted testimony.

LAFEU.   Then my dial goes not true: I took this lark for a bunting.

BERTRAM.   I do assure you, my lord, he is very great in knowledge,   and accordingly valiant.

LAFEU.   I have, then, sinned against his experience and transgressed against his valour; and my state that way is dangerous, since I cannot yet find in my heart to repent. Here he comes; I pray you make us friends; I will pursue the amity

[Enter PAROLLES. ]

PAROLLES.   [To BERTRAM. ] These things shall be done, sir.

LAFEU.   Pray you, sir, who's his tailor?

PAROLLES.   Sir!

LAFEU.   O, I know him well, I, sir; he, sir, is a good workman, a  very good tailor.

BERTRAM.   [Aside to PAROLLES. ] Is she gone to the king?

PAROLLES.   She is.

BERTRAM.   Will she away to-night?

PAROLLES.   As you'll have her.

BERTRAM.   I have writ my letters, casketed my treasure,   Given order for our horses; and to-night,   When I should take possession of the bride,   End ere I do begin.

LAFEU.   A good traveller is something at the latter end of a dinner; but one that lies three-thirds and uses a known truth to pass a thousand nothings with, should be once heard and thrice beaten. -- God save you, Captain.

BERTRAM.   Is there any unkindness between my lord and you, monsieur?

PAROLLES.   I know not how I have deserved to run into my lord's displeasure.

LAFEU.   You have made shift to run into 't, boots and spurs and all, like him that leapt into the custard; and out of it you'll run again, rather than suffer question for your residence.

BERTRAM.   It may be you have mistaken him, my lord.

LAFEU.   And shall do so ever, though I took him at his prayers.   Fare you well, my lord; and believe this of me, there can be no kernal in this light nut; the soul of this man is his clothes; trust him not in matter of heavy consequence; I have kept of them tame, and know their natures. --Farewell, monsieur; I have spoken better of you than you have or will to deserve at my hand; but we must do good against evil.

[Exit. ]

PAROLLES.   An idle lord, I swear.

BERTRAM.   I think so.

PAROLLES.   Why, do you not know him?

BERTRAM.   Yes, I do know him well; and common speech  Gives him a worthy pass. Here comes my clog.

[Enter HELENA. ]

HELENA.   I have, sir, as I was commanded from you,   Spoke with the king, and have procur'd his leave  For present parting; only he desires  Some private speech with you.

BERTRAM.   I shall obey his will.   You must not marvel, Helen, at my course,   Which holds not colour with the time, nor does  The ministration and required office  On my particular. Prepared I was not  For such a business; therefore am I found  So much unsettled: this drives me to entreat you:   That presently you take your way for home,   And rather muse than ask why I entreat you:   For my respects are better than they seem;   And my appointments have in them a need  Greater than shows itself at the first view  To you that know them not. This to my mother:

[Giving a letter. ]  'Twill be two days ere I shall see you; so  I leave you to your wisdom.

HELENA.   Sir, I can nothing say  But that I am your most obedient servant.

BERTRAM.   Come, come, no more of that.

HELENA.   And ever shall  With true observance seek to eke out that  Wherein toward me my homely stars have fail'd  To equal my great fortune.

BERTRAM.   Let that go:   My haste is very great. Farewell; hie home.

HELENA.   Pray, sir, your pardon.

BERTRAM.   Well, what would you say?

HELENA.   I am not worthy of the wealth I owe;   Nor dare I say 'tis mine, and yet it is;   But, like a timorous thief, most fain would steal  What law does vouch mine own.

BERTRAM.   What would you have?

HELENA.   Something; and scarce so much: --nothing, indeed. --  I would not tell you what I would, my lord: --Faith, yes; --  Strangers and foes do sunder and not kiss.

BERTRAM.   I pray you, stay not, but in haste to horse.

HELENA.   I shall not break your bidding, good my lord.

BERTRAM.   Where are my other men, monsieur? --  Farewell,

[Exit HELENA. ]

Go thou toward home, where I will never come  Whilst I can shake my sword or hear the drum: --  Away, and for our flight.

PAROLLES.   Bravely, coragio!

[Exeunt. ]

ACT III.

SCENE 1. Florence. A room in the DUKE's palace.

[Flourish. Enter the DUKE OF FLORENCE, attended; two French Lords, and Soldiers. ]

DUKE.   So that, from point to point, now have you heard  The fundamental reasons of this war;   Whose great decision hath much blood let forth,   And more thirsts after.

FIRST LORD.   Holy seems the quarrel  Upon your grace's part; black and fearful  On the opposer.

DUKE.   Therefore we marvel much our cousin France  Would, in so just a business, shut his bosom  Against our borrowing prayers.

SECOND LORD.   Good my lord,   The reasons of our state I cannot yield,   But like a common and an outward man  That the great figure of a council frames  By self-unable motion; therefore dare not  Say what I think of it, since I have found  Myself in my incertain grounds to fail  As often as I guess'd.

DUKE.   Be it his pleasure.

FIRST LORD.   But I am sure the younger of our nature,   That surfeit on their ease, will day by day  Come here for physic.

DUKE.   Welcome shall they be;   And all the honours that can fly from us  Shall on them settle. You know your places well;   When better fall, for your avails they fell:   To-morrow to th' field.

[Flourish. Exeunt. ]

SCENE 2. Rousillon. A room in the COUNTESS'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 misprizing 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 the two Gentlemen. ]

SECOND GENTLEMAN.   Save you, good madam.

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

FIRST 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?

FIRST GENTLEMAN.   Madam, he's gone to serve the Duke of Florence:   We met him thitherward; for thence we came,   And, after some despatch in hand at court,   Thither we bend again.

HELENA.   Look on this 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 pains.

COUNTESS.   I pr'ythee, 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?

FIRST GENTLEMAN.   Ay, madam.

COUNTESS.   And to be a soldier?

FIRST 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?

SECOND 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.

SECOND 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?

SECOND GENTLEMAN.   A servant only, and a gentleman  Which I have sometime known.

COUNTESS.   Parolles, was it not?

SECOND 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.

SECOND GENTLEMAN.   Indeed, good lady,   The fellow has a deal of that too much  Which holds him much to have.

COUNTESS.   You are 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.

FIRST 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 it;   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 offic'd 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.

[Exit. ]

SCENE 3. Florence. Before the DUKE's palace.

[Flourish. Enter the DUKE OF FLORENCE, BERTRAM, PAROLLES, Lords, Soldiers, and others. ]

DUKE.   The general of our horse thou art; and we,   Great in our hope, lay our best love and credence  Upon thy promising fortune.

BERTRAM.   Sir, it is  A charge too heavy for my strength; but yet  We'll strive to bear it, for your worthy sake  To the extreme edge of hazard.

DUKE.   Then go thou forth;   And fortune play upon thy prosperous helm,   As thy auspicious mistress!

BERTRAM.   This very day,   Great Mars, I put myself into thy file;   Make me but like my thoughts, and I shall prove  A lover of thy drum, hater of love.

[Exeunt. ]

SCENE 4. Rousillon. A room in the COUNTESS'S palace.

[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.

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 fervour 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 dog 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.

STEWARD.   Pardon me, madam:   If I had given you this at over-night,   She might have been o'er ta'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.

[Exeunt. ]

SCENE 5. Without the walls of Florence.

[Enter an old Widow of Florence, DIANA, VIOLENTA, MARIANA, and other Citizens. ]

WIDOW.   Nay, come; for if they do approach the city we shall lose  all the sight.

DIANA.   They say the French count has done most honourable service.

WIDOW.   It is reported that he has taken their greatest commander;   and that with his own hand he slew the duke's brother.

[A tucket afar off. ]

We have lost our labour; they are gone a contrary way: hark! you may know by their trumpets.

MARIANA.   Come, let's return again, and suffice ourselves with the report of it. Well, Diana, take heed of this French earl: the honour of a maid is her name; and no legacy is so rich as honesty.

WIDOW.   I have told my neighbour how you have been solicited by a  gentleman his companion.

MARIANA.   I know that knave; hang him! one Parolles: a filthy officer he is in those suggestions for the young earl. --Beware of them, Diana; their promises, enticements, oaths, tokens, and all these engines of lust, are not the things they go under; many a maid hath been seduced by them; and the misery is, example, that so terrible shows in the wreck of maidenhood, cannot for all that dissuade succession, but that they are limed with the twigs that threaten them. I hope I need not to advise you further; but I hope your own grace will keep you where you are, though there were no further danger known but the modesty which is so lost.

DIANA.   You shall not need to fear me.

WIDOW.   I hope so. --Look, here comes a pilgrim. I know she will lie at my house: thither they send one another; I'll question her. --

[Enter HELENA in the dress of a pilgrim. ]

God save you, pilgrim! Whither are bound?

HELENA.   To Saint Jaques-le-Grand.   Where do the palmers lodge, I do beseech you?

WIDOW.   At the Saint Francis here, beside the port.

HELENA.   Is this the way?

WIDOW.   Ay, marry, is't. Hark you! They come this way.

[A march afar off. ]

If you will tarry, holy pilgrim,   But till the troops come by,   I will conduct you where you shall be lodg'd;   The rather for I think I know your hostess  As ample as myself.

HELENA.   Is it yourself?

WIDOW.   If you shall please so, pilgrim.

HELENA.   I thank you, and will stay upon your leisure.

WIDOW.   You came, I think, from France?

HELENA.   I did so.

WIDOW.   Here you shall see a countryman of yours  That has done worthy service.

HELENA.   His name, I pray you.

DIANA.   The Count Rousillon: know you such a one?

HELENA.   But by the ear, that hears most nobly of him:   His face I know not.

DIANA.   Whatsoe'er he is,   He's bravely taken here. He stole from France,   As 'tis reported, for the king had married him  Against his liking: think you it is so?

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