Original Text |
Translated Text |
| Source: Folger Shakespeare Library |
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Enter Countess, Steward, and Fool. COUNTESS I will now hear. What say you of this
gentlewoman? STEWARD Madam, the care I have had to even your
content I wish might be found in the calendar of
my past endeavors, for then we wound our modesty 5
and make foul the clearness of our deservings
when of ourselves we publish them. COUNTESS What does this knave here? To Fool. Get
you gone, sirrah. The complaints I have heard of
you I do not all believe. ’Tis my slowness that I do 10
not, for I know you lack not folly to commit them
and have ability enough to make such knaveries
yours. FOOL ’Tis not unknown to you, madam, I am a poor
fellow. 15 COUNTESS Well, sir. FOOL No, madam, ’tis not so well that I am poor,
though many of the rich are damned. But if I may
have your Ladyship’s good will to go to the world,
Isbel the woman and I will do as we may. 20 COUNTESS Wilt thou needs be a beggar? FOOL I do beg your good will in this case. COUNTESS In what case? FOOL In Isbel’s case and mine own. Service is no heritage,
and I think I shall never have the blessing of 25
God till I have issue o’ my body, for they say bairns
are blessings. COUNTESS Tell me thy reason why thou wilt marry. FOOL My poor body, madam, requires it. I am driven
on by the flesh, and he must needs go that the devil 30
drives. COUNTESS Is this all your Worship’s reason? FOOL Faith, madam, I have other holy reasons, such
as they are. COUNTESS May the world know them? 35 FOOL I have been, madam, a wicked creature, as you
and all flesh and blood are, and indeed I do marry
that I may repent. COUNTESS Thy marriage sooner than thy wickedness. FOOL I am out o’ friends, madam, and I hope to have 40
friends for my wife’s sake. COUNTESS Such friends are thine enemies, knave. FOOL You’re shallow, madam, in great friends, for the
knaves come to do that for me which I am aweary
of. He that ears my land spares my team and gives 45
me leave to in the crop; if I be his cuckold, he’s my
drudge. He that comforts my wife is the cherisher
of my flesh and blood; he that cherishes my flesh
and blood loves my flesh and blood; he that loves
my flesh and blood is my friend. Ergo, he that 50
kisses my wife is my friend. If men could be contented
to be what they are, there were no fear in
marriage, for young Charbon the Puritan and old
Poysam the Papist, howsome’er their hearts are
severed in religion, their heads are both one; they 55
may jowl horns together like any deer i’ th’ herd. | Back at the Countess's house in Roussillon, Bertram's mom hangs out with Lavatch, the Fool, and Reynaldo, her steward. The Countess and Reynaldo have been gossiping about Helen, but the Fool keeps interrupting. It turns out that the Fool wants to get hitched to a local girl named Isbel, but he needs the Countess's permission. The Countess asks why the Fool is so anxious to get married. He has two answers: (a) he really wants to have kids, and (b) he really wants to have sex without breaking the law. Brain Snack: In the play and in Shakespeare's England, sex outside of marriage (a.k.a. fornication) is illegal, just like in Shakespeare's other play Measure for Measure. Most of all, it's about the sex. The Fool says his poor body physically requires it. Plus, he's tired of living in sin. Then he launches into a weird speech about how it will be okay with him if his future wife sleeps around with his friends after they're married. |
COUNTESS Wilt thou ever be a foul-mouthed and
calumnious knave? FOOL A prophet I, madam, and I speak the truth the
next way: 60
Sings. "For I the ballad will repeat
Which men full true shall find:
Your marriage comes by destiny;
Your cuckoo sings by kind." COUNTESS Get you gone, sir. I’ll talk with you more 65
anon. STEWARD May it please you, madam, that he bid Helen
come to you. Of her I am to speak. COUNTESS Sirrah, tell my gentlewoman I would speak
with her—Helen, I mean. 70 FOOL sings
“Was this fair face the cause,” quoth she,
“Why the Grecians sackèd Troy?
Fond done, done fond.
Was this King Priam’s joy?”
With that she sighèd as she stood, 75
With that she sighèd as she stood,
And gave this sentence then:
“Among nine bad if one be good,
Among nine bad if one be good,
There’s yet one good in ten.” 80 COUNTESS What, one good in ten? You corrupt the
song, sirrah. FOOL One good woman in ten, madam, which is a
purifying o’ th’ song. Would God would serve the
world so all the year! We’d find no fault with the 85
tithe-woman if I were the parson. One in ten,
quoth he? An we might have a good woman born
but or every blazing star or at an earthquake,
’twould mend the lottery well. A man may draw his
heart out ere he pluck one. 90 COUNTESS You’ll be gone, sir knave, and do as I command
you! FOOL That man should be at woman’s command, and
yet no hurt done! Though honesty be no Puritan,
yet it will do no hurt; it will wear the surplice of 95
humility over the black gown of a big heart. I am
going, forsooth. The business is for Helen to come
hither. He exits. | The Countess calls him an idiot, but the Fool insists that his friends would be doing him a HUGE favor by keeping his future wife happy and giving him more time to relax. Then the Fool belts out a song about how getting married and becoming a cuckold is man's destiny. (A cuckold is a guy whose wife cheats on him; a lot of Shakespeare's plays are obsessed with cuckoldry. Go read As You Like It if you don't believe us.) The Countess tries to throw him out. He ignores her. Hoping to get rid of him, the Countess orders the Fool to go fetch Helen, which prompts the clown to break out into yet another song. This one's about Helen of Troy. (Helen of Troy is one of the most famous she-cheaters of all time. In Greek mythology, Helen's steamy hook-up with Paris supposedly starts the Trojan War.) The Fool leaves, but only after he insists that nine out of ten women are promiscuous cheaters. |
COUNTESS Well, now. STEWARD I know, madam, you love your gentlewoman 100
entirely. COUNTESS Faith, I do. Her father bequeathed her to
me, and she herself, without other advantage, may
lawfully make title to as much love as she finds.
There is more owing her than is paid, and more 105
shall be paid her than she’ll demand. STEWARD Madam, I was very late more near her than I
think she wished me. Alone she was and did communicate
to herself her own words to her own
ears; she thought, I dare vow for her, they touched 110
not any stranger sense. Her matter was she loved
your son. Fortune, she said, was no goddess, that
had put such difference betwixt their two estates;
Love no god, that would not extend his might only
where qualities were level; Dian no queen of virgins, 115
that would suffer her poor knight surprised
without rescue in the first assault or ransom afterward.
This she delivered in the most bitter touch
of sorrow that e’er I heard virgin exclaim in, which
I held my duty speedily to acquaint you withal, 120
sithence in the loss that may happen it concerns
you something to know it. COUNTESS You have discharged this honestly. Keep it
to yourself. Many likelihoods informed me of this
before, which hung so tott’ring in the balance that 125
I could neither believe nor misdoubt. Pray you
leave me. Stall this in your bosom, and I thank you
for your honest care. I will speak with you further
anon. Steward exits. Enter Helen. Aside.
Even so it was with me when I was young. 130
If ever we are nature’s, these are ours. This thorn
Doth to our rose of youth rightly belong.
Our blood to us, this to our blood is born.
It is the show and seal of nature’s truth,
Where love’s strong passion is impressed in youth. 135
By our remembrances of days foregone,
Such were our faults, or then we thought them none.
Her eye is sick on ’t, I observe her now. | Reynaldo and the Countess get back to talking about the real Helen, whom the countess loves very much. Reynaldo confesses that he was spying on Helen earlier and overheard her talking (to herself) about how much she loves Bertram. This doesn't surprise the Countess, who has suspected as much. She thanks Reynaldo for squealing on Helen and sends him away. As Helen enters, the Countess confesses to the audience that she used to be boy crazy, too, back in the day. |
HELEN What is your pleasure, madam? COUNTESS
You know, Helen, I am a mother to you. 140 HELEN
Mine honorable mistress. COUNTESS Nay, a mother.
Why not a mother? When I said “a mother,”
Methought you saw a serpent. What’s in “mother”
That you start at it? I say I am your mother 145
And put you in the catalogue of those
That were enwombèd mine. ’Tis often seen
Adoption strives with nature, and choice breeds
A native slip to us from foreign seeds.
You ne’er oppressed me with a mother’s groan, 150
Yet I express to you a mother’s care.
God’s mercy, maiden, does it curd thy blood
To say I am thy mother? What’s the matter,
That this distempered messenger of wet,
The many-colored Iris, rounds thine eye? 155
Why? That you are my daughter? HELEN That I am not. COUNTESS
I say I am your mother. HELEN Pardon, madam.
The Count Rossillion cannot be my brother. 160
I am from humble, he from honored name;
No note upon my parents, his all noble.
My master, my dear lord he is, and I
His servant live and will his vassal die.
He must not be my brother. 165 COUNTESS Nor I your mother? HELEN
You are my mother, madam. Would you were—
So that my lord your son were not my brother—
Indeed my mother! Or were you both our mothers,
I care no more for than I do for heaven, 170
So I were not his sister. Can ’t no other
But, I your daughter, he must be my brother? COUNTESS
Yes, Helen, you might be my daughter-in-law.
God shield you mean it not! “Daughter” and “mother”
So strive upon your pulse. What, pale again? 175
My fear hath catched your fondness! Now I see
The mystery of your loneliness and find
Your salt tears’ head. Now to all sense ’tis gross:
You love my son. Invention is ashamed
Against the proclamation of thy passion 180
To say thou dost not. Therefore tell me true,
But tell me then ’tis so, for, look, thy cheeks
Confess it th’ one to th’ other, and thine eyes
See it so grossly shown in thy behaviors
That in their kind they speak it. Only sin 185
And hellish obstinacy tie thy tongue
That truth should be suspected. Speak. Is ’t so?
If it be so, you have wound a goodly clew;
If it be not, forswear ’t; howe’er, I charge thee,
As heaven shall work in me for thine avail, 190
To tell me truly. HELEN Good madam, pardon me. COUNTESS
Do you love my son? HELEN Your pardon, noble mistress. COUNTESS
Love you my son? 195 HELEN Do not you love him, madam? COUNTESS
Go not about. My love hath in ’t a bond
Whereof the world takes note. Come, come, disclose
The state of your affection, for your passions
Have to the full appeached. 200 | The Countess launches into a speech about how Helen is like a daughter to her, which pretty much makes her Helen's mother, even if she didn't technically give birth to her. Helen is totally grossed out by this idea because she's got the hots for Bertram and she doesn't even want to think about the possibility of being in lust with her own brother. The countess sees the disgusted look on Helen's face and plays dumb. Helen tries to play it off by saying that she doesn't feel worthy enough to be a part of the Countess's family, but the Countess doesn't buy it. She encourages Helen to 'fess up about her crush on Bertram. Helen waffles. The countess points out that she can't help her if she doesn't know the truth. Helen waffles some more and the countess tells her to knock it off. |
HELEN, kneeling Then I confess
Here on my knee before high heaven and you
That before you and next unto high heaven
I love your son.
My friends were poor but honest; so ’s my love. 205
Be not offended, for it hurts not him
That he is loved of me. I follow him not
By any token of presumptuous suit,
Nor would I have him till I do deserve him,
Yet never know how that desert should be. 210
I know I love in vain, strive against hope,
Yet in this captious and intenible sieve
I still pour in the waters of my love
And lack not to lose still. Thus, Indian-like,
Religious in mine error, I adore 215
The sun that looks upon his worshipper
But knows of him no more. My dearest madam,
Let not your hate encounter with my love
For loving where you do; but if yourself,
Whose agèd honor cites a virtuous youth, 220
Did ever in so true a flame of liking
Wish chastely and love dearly, that your Dian
Was both herself and Love, O then give pity
To her whose state is such that cannot choose
But lend and give where she is sure to lose; 225
That seeks not to find that her search implies,
But riddle-like lives sweetly where she dies. COUNTESS
Had you not lately an intent—speak truly—
To go to Paris? HELEN Madam, I had. 230 COUNTESS Wherefore?
Tell true. HELEN, standing
I will tell truth, by grace itself I swear.
You know my father left me some prescriptions
Of rare and proved effects, such as his reading 235
And manifest experience had collected
For general sovereignty; and that he willed me
In heedfull’st reservation to bestow them
As notes whose faculties inclusive were
More than they were in note. Amongst the rest 240
There is a remedy, approved, set down,
To cure the desperate languishings whereof
The King is rendered lost. COUNTESS
This was your motive for Paris, was it? Speak. HELEN
My lord your son made me to think of this; 245
Else Paris, and the medicine, and the King
Had from the conversation of my thoughts
Haply been absent then. COUNTESS But think you, Helen,
If you should tender your supposèd aid, 250
He would receive it? He and his physicians
Are of a mind: he that they cannot help him,
They that they cannot help. How shall they credit
A poor unlearnèd virgin, when the schools
Emboweled of their doctrine have left off 255
The danger to itself? HELEN There’s something in ’t
More than my father’s skill, which was the great’st
Of his profession, that his good receipt
Shall for my legacy be sanctified 260
By th’ luckiest stars in heaven; and would your
Honor
But give me leave to try success, I’d venture
The well-lost life of mine on his Grace’s cure
By such a day, an hour. 265 COUNTESS Dost thou believe ’t? HELEN Ay, madam, knowingly. COUNTESS
Why, Helen, thou shalt have my leave and love,
Means and attendants, and my loving greetings
To those of mine in court. I’ll stay at home 270
And pray God’s blessing into thy attempt.
Be gone tomorrow, and be sure of this:
What I can help thee to thou shalt not miss. They exit. | Finally, Helen throws herself onto the ground and admits that, yes, she totally worships the countess's son, even though he's way out of her league. Helen also admits that she's been planning to run off to Paris. She's got a plan: she wants to try to cure the king of France's disease with some of the medicine she found in her dad's old medicine bag. Apparently, Helen's dad had a fail-proof cure for fistulas, and he even left behind a set of step-by-step instructions on how to apply the remedy. Of course, Helen admits that curing the king's little problem is just an excuse to see her beloved Bertram. The countess seriously doubts that the king of France would just let some poor virgin play doctor, especially since she's never been to medical school and has probably never even seen a man with his clothes off. Helen insists that there's something really, really special about the medicine her dad left her and begs to be allowed to go to Paris. The countess finally gives in and says she'll do everything she can to help Helen get to the court, cure the king, and win Bertram's love. |