Alls Wel that ends Well - Шекспир Уильям - Страница 7

Fall, when love please. Marry, to each but one!

LAFEU. I'd give bay Curtal and his furniture

My mouth no more were broken than these boys',

And writ as little beard.

KING. Peruse them well.

Not one of those but had a noble father.

HELENA. Gentlemen,

Heaven hath through me restor'd the King to health.

ALL. We understand it, and thank heaven for you.

HELENA. I am a simple maid, and therein wealthiest

That I protest I simply am a maid.

Please it your Majesty, I have done already.

The blushes in my cheeks thus whisper me:

'We blush that thou shouldst choose; but, be refused,

Let the white death sit on thy cheek for ever,

We'll ne'er come there again.' 

KING. Make choice and see:

Who shuns thy love shuns all his love in me.

HELENA. Now, Dian, from thy altar do I fly,

And to imperial Love, that god most high,

Do my sighs stream. Sir, will you hear my suit?

FIRST LORD. And grant it.

HELENA. Thanks, sir; all the rest is mute.

LAFEU. I had rather be in this choice than throw ames-ace for my

life.

HELENA. The honour, sir, that flames in your fair eyes,

Before I speak, too threat'ningly replies.

Love make your fortunes twenty times above

Her that so wishes, and her humble love!

SECOND LORD. No better, if you please.

HELENA. My wish receive,

Which great Love grant; and so I take my leave.

LAFEU. Do all they deny her? An they were sons of mine I'd have

them whipt; or I would send them to th' Turk to make eunuchs of.

HELENA. Be not afraid that I your hand should take;

I'll never do you wrong for your own sake. 

Blessing upon your vows; and in your bed

Find fairer fortune, if you ever wed!

LAFEU. These boys are boys of ice; they'll none have her.

Sure, they are bastards to the English; the French ne'er got 'em.

HELENA. You are too young, too happy, and too good,

To make yourself a son out of my blood.

FOURTH LORD. Fair one, I think not so.

LAFEU. There's one grape yet; I am sure thy father drunk wine-but

if thou be'st not an ass, I am a youth of fourteen; I have known

thee already.

HELENA. [To BERTRAM] I dare not say I take you; but I give

Me and my service, ever whilst I live,

Into your guiding power. This is the man.

KING. Why, then, young Bertram, take her; she's thy wife.

BERTRAM. My wife, my liege! I shall beseech your Highness,

In such a business give me leave to use

The help of mine own eyes.

KING. Know'st thou not, Bertram,

What she has done for me?

BERTRAM. Yes, my good lord; 

But never hope to know why I should marry her.

KING. Thou know'st she has rais'd me from my sickly bed.

BERTRAM. But follows it, my lord, to bring me down

Must answer for your raising? I know her well:

She had her breeding at my father's charge.

A poor physician's daughter my wife! Disdain

Rather corrupt me ever!

KING. 'Tis only title thou disdain'st in her, the which

I can build up. Strange is it that our bloods,

Of colour, weight, and heat, pour'd all together,

Would quite confound distinction, yet stand off

In differences so mighty. If she be

All that is virtuous-save what thou dislik'st,

A poor physician's daughter-thou dislik'st

Of virtue for the name; but do not so.

From lowest place when virtuous things proceed,

The place is dignified by the doer's deed;

Where great additions swell's, and virtue none,

It is a dropsied honour. Good alone

Is good without a name. Vileness is so: 

The property by what it is should go,

Not by the title. She is young, wise, fair;

In these to nature she's immediate heir;

And these breed honour. That is honour's scorn

Which challenges itself as honour's born

And is not like the sire. Honours thrive

When rather from our acts we them derive

Than our fore-goers. The mere word's a slave,

Debauch'd on every tomb, on every grave

A lying trophy; and as oft is dumb

Where dust and damn'd oblivion is the tomb

Of honour'd bones indeed. What should be said?

If thou canst like this creature as a maid,

I can create the rest. Virtue and she

Is her own dower; honour and wealth from me.

BERTRAM. I cannot love her, nor will strive to do 't.

KING. Thou wrong'st thyself, if thou shouldst strive to choose.

HELENA. That you are well restor'd, my lord, I'm glad.

Let the rest go.

KING. My honour's at the stake; which to defeat, 

I must produce my power. Here, take her hand,

Proud scornful boy, unworthy this good gift,

That dost in vile misprision shackle up

My love and her desert; that canst not dream

We, poising us in her defective scale,

Shall weigh thee to the beam; that wilt not know

It is in us to plant thine honour where

We please to have it grow. Check thy contempt;

Obey our will, which travails in thy good;

Believe not thy disdain, but presently

Do thine own fortunes that obedient right

Which both thy duty owes and our power claims;

Or I will throw thee from my care for ever

Into the staggers and the careless lapse

Of youth and ignorance; both my revenge and hate

Loosing upon thee in the name of justice,

Without all terms of pity. Speak; thine answer.

BERTRAM. Pardon, my gracious lord; for I submit

My fancy to your eyes. When I consider

What great creation and what dole of honour 

Flies where you bid it, I find that she which late

Was in my nobler thoughts most base is now

The praised of the King; who, so ennobled,

Is as 'twere born so.

KING. Take her by the hand,

And tell her she is thine; to whom I promise

A counterpoise, if not to thy estate

A balance more replete.

BERTRAM. I take her hand.

KING. Good fortune and the favour of the King

Smile upon this contract; whose ceremony

Shall seem expedient on the now-born brief,

And be perform'd to-night. The solemn feast

Shall more attend upon the coming space,

Expecting absent friends. As thou lov'st her,

Thy love's to me religious; else, does err.

Exeunt all but LAFEU and PAROLLES who stay behind,

commenting of this wedding

LAFEU. Do you hear, monsieur? A word with you.

PAROLLES. Your pleasure, sir? 

LAFEU. Your lord and master did well to make his recantation.

PAROLLES. Recantation! My Lord! my master!

LAFEU. Ay; is it not a language I speak?

PAROLLES. A most harsh one, and not to be understood without bloody

succeeding. My master!

LAFEU. Are you companion to the Count Rousillon?

PAROLLES. To any count; to all counts; to what is man.

LAFEU. To what is count's man: count's master is of another style.

PAROLLES. You are too old, sir; let it satisfy you, you are too

old.

LAFEU. I must tell thee, sirrah, I write man; to which title age

cannot bring thee.

PAROLLES. What I dare too well do, I dare not do.

LAFEU. I did think thee, for two ordinaries, to be a pretty wise

fellow; thou didst make tolerable vent of thy travel; it might

pass. Yet the scarfs and the bannerets about thee did manifoldly

dissuade me from believing thee a vessel of too great a burden. I

have now found thee; when I lose thee again I care not; yet art

thou good for nothing but taking up; and that thou'rt scarce

worth. 

PAROLLES. Hadst thou not the privilege of antiquity upon thee-

LAFEU. Do not plunge thyself too far in anger, lest thou hasten thy

trial; which if-Lord have mercy on thee for a hen! So, my good

window of lattice, fare thee well; thy casement I need not open,