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

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. Cheque 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 lovest her,
Thy love’s to me religious; else, does err. Exeunt all but Lafeu and Parolles.

Lafeu Advancing. 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 burthen. 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, for I look through thee. Give me thy hand. Parolles My lord, you give me most egregious indignity. Lafeu Ay, with all my heart; and thou art worthy of it. Parolles I have not, my lord, deserved it. Lafeu Yes, good faith, every dram of it; and I will not bate thee a scruple. Parolles Well, I shall be wiser. Lafeu Even as soon as thou canst, for thou hast to pull at a smack o’ the contrary. If ever thou be’st 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 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 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’ld beat thee: methinks, 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 commission of your birth and virtue gives you heraldry. You are not worth another word, else I’ld call you knave. I leave you. Exit. Parolles Good, very good; it is so then: good, very good; let it be concealed awhile. Re-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: