All’s Well That Ends Well by William Shakespeare (sight word books .txt) 📕

mine; and, when I gave it Helen,
I bade her, if her fortunes ever stood
Necessitied to help, that by this token
I would relieve her. Had you that craft, to reave her
Of what should stead her most? Bertram

My gracious sovereign,
Howe’er it pleases you to take it so,
The ring was never hers.

Countess

Son, on my life,
I have seen her wear it; and she reckon’d it
At her life’s rate.

Lafeu I am sure I saw her wear it. Bertram

You are deceived, my lord; she never saw it:
In Florence was it from a casement thrown me,
Wrapp’d in a paper, which contain’d the name
Of her that threw it: noble she was, and thought
I stood engaged: but when I had subscribed
To mine own fortune and inform’d her fully
I could not answer in that course of honour
As she had made the overture, she ceased
In heavy satisfaction and would never
Receive the ring again.

King

Plutus himself,
That knows the tinct and multiplying medicine,
Hath not in nature’s mystery more science
Than I have in this ring: ’twas mine, ’twas Helen’s,
Whoever gave it you. Then, if you know
That you are well acquainted with yourself,
Confess ’twas hers, and by what rough enforcement
You got it from her: she call’d the saints to surety
That she would never put it from her finger,
Unless she gave it to yourself in bed,
Where you have never come, or sent it us
Upon her great disaster.

Bertram She never saw it. King

Thou speak’st it falsely, as I love mine honour;
And makest conjectural fears to come into me
Which I would fain shut out. If it should prove
That thou art so inhuman⁠—’twill not prove so;⁠—
And yet I know not: thou didst hate her deadly,
And she is dead; which nothing, but to close
Her eyes myself, could win me to believe,
More than to see this ring. Take him away. Guards seize Bertram.
My fore-past proofs, howe’er the matter fall,
Shall tax my fears of little vanity,
Having vainly fear’d too little. Away with him!
We’ll sift this matter further.

Bertram

If you shall prove
This ring was ever hers, you shall as easy
Prove that I husbanded her bed in Florence,
Where yet she never was. Exit, guarded.

King I am wrapp’d in dismal thinkings. Enter a Gentleman. Gentleman

Gracious sovereign,
Whether I have been to blame or no, I know not:
Here’s a petition from a Florentine,
Who hath for four or five removes come short
To tender it herself. I undertook it,
Vanquish’d thereto by the fair grace and speech
Of the poor suppliant, who by this I know
Is here attending: her business looks in her
With an importing visage; and she told me,
In a sweet verbal brief, it did concern
Your highness with herself.

King

Reads. Upon his many protestations to marry me when his wife was dead, I blush to say it, he won me. Now is the Count Rousillon a widower: his vows are forfeited to me, and my honour’s paid to him. He stole from Florence, taking no leave, and I follow him to his country for justice: grant it me, O king! in you it best lies; otherwise a seducer flourishes, and a poor maid is undone.

Diana Capilet.

Lafeu I will buy me a son-in-law in a fair, and toll for this: I’ll none of him. King

The heavens have thought well on thee, Lafeu,
To bring forth this discovery. Seek these suitors:
Go speedily and bring again the count.
I am afeard the life of Helen, lady,
Was foully snatch’d.

Countess Now, justice on the doers! Re-enter Bertram, guarded. King

I wonder, sir, sith wives are monsters to you,
And that you fly them as you swear them lordship,
Yet you desire to marry.

Enter Widow and Diana. What woman’s that? Diana

I am, my lord, a wretched Florentine,
Derived from the ancient Capilet:
My suit, as I do understand, you know,
And therefore know how far I may be pitied.

Widow

I am her mother, sir, whose age and honour
Both suffer under this complaint we bring,
And both shall cease, without your remedy.

King Come hither, count; do you know these women? Bertram

My lord, I neither can nor will deny
But that I know them: do they charge me further?

Diana Why do you look so strange upon your wife? Bertram She’s none of mine, my lord. Diana

If you shall marry,
You give away this hand, and that is mine;
You give away heaven’s vows, and those are mine;
You give away myself, which is known mine;
For I by vow am so embodied yours,
That she which marries you must marry me,
Either both or none.

Lafeu Your reputation comes too short for my daughter; you are no husband for her. Bertram

My lord, this is a fond and desperate creature,
Whom sometime I have laugh’d with: let your highness
Lay a more noble thought upon mine honour
Than for to think that I would sink it here.

King

Sir, for my thoughts, you have them ill to friend
Till your deeds gain them: fairer prove your honour
Than in my thought it lies.

Diana

Good my lord,
Ask him upon his oath, if he does think
He had not my virginity.

King What say’st thou to her? Bertram

She’s impudent, my lord,
And was a common gamester to the camp.

Diana

He does me wrong, my lord; if I were so,
He might have bought me at a common price:
Do not believe him. O, behold this ring,
Whose high respect and rich validity
Did lack a parallel; yet for all that
He gave it to a commoner o’ the camp,
If I be one.

Countess

He blushes, and ’tis it:
Of six preceding ancestors, that gem,
Conferr’d by testament to the sequent issue,
Hath it been owed and worn. This is his wife;
That ring’s a thousand proofs.

King

Methought you said
You saw one here in court could witness it.

Diana

I did, my lord, but loath am to produce
So bad an instrument: his name’s Parolles.

Lafeu I saw the man to-day, if man he be. King Find him, and bring him hither. Exit an Attendant. Bertram

What of him?
He’s quoted for a most perfidious slave,
With all the spots o’ the world tax’d and debosh’d;
Whose nature sickens but to speak a truth.
Am I or that or this for what he’ll