INTRODUCTORY REMARKS. HELENA, the plebeian heroine of this excellent comedy, is of the order of Nature's nobility. The character is a charming compound of courage and tenderness; of modesty and passion; misgiving and perseverance. In the subduement of her superior mind to the personal qualities of Bertram, we recognise one of those familiar tricks that Love, the omnipotent urchin, devises in furtherance of Benedick's maxim,-"The world must be peopled." Notwithstanding the purity and devotedness of the sensitive dependent's affection, ber portrait of the haughty young Count refers solely to bodily perfec tions; and, indeed, he gives neither her nor any one else much opportunity of praising him for others, courage excepted. "His arched brows, his hawking eye, his curls,-every line and trick of his sweet favour,"-these were the charms which struck that finehearted creature whom he contemptuously designates the "poor physician's daughter," and "sanctified his relics" to one whom, in the indignant language of the benevolent Countess, "twenty such rude boys might tend upon, and call her hourly, mistress." He lives, however, to regret her loss; and, on regaining so sweet a treasure, to give a voluntary promise that henceforth he will "love her dearly, ever, ever dearly." Heartily do we sympathise with the strenuous achiever of love's labours, in this summer of her fortunes, her own anticipated time," when briars shall have leaves as well as thorns, and be as sweet as sharp." The Countess is a no less admirable specimen of female humanity: by nature, as by station, she stands erect and graceful,-a genuine "Corinthian capital of polished society." Her overflowing benignity enriches every scene in which she figures: it is not the spurious result of indolence or apathy, but an ever-active principle, leading her to seek and love the just and true in every word and every action. The skilful, sharp, and yet affectionate manner in which she probes the secret feelings of the love-lorn maiden, demanding urgently and frequently the simple rigid truth, is highly characteristic of a warm and sincere nature, ready to make all needful sacrifices, but impatient of deceit or trifling. Had Helena, instead of breaking into an impassioned avowal of her love for Bertram, in preference even to her friend and benefactress, attempted denial or persisted in evasion, she had never gone to Paris with "leave, and love,-means, and attendants," and prayers for blessing on her bold attempt.-These two inestimable women form the gems of the play, and finer ornaments no dramatist of the affections need wish to place in his poetic tiara. ... The comic portion of the drama is principally sustained by Parolles. This amusing braggart is delineated with great skill; and, despite his cowardice and practical absurdity, he possesses an eye for the ridiculous, and considerable power of sarcasm. His libellous sketches of the French gallants in the Florentine camp, are rich and abundant. The mode, too, in which the baffled boaster works upon the self-love of his hearty old enemy, Lafeu, shows him a keen observer of the shady side of human nature :-"O my good lord, you were the first that found me." The old pike bites at this delicious gudgeon :-"Was I, in sooth ?" "Sirrah, inquire further after me; I had talk of you last night: though you are a fool and a knave, you shall eat; go to, follow."-The Clown displays the usual characteristics of his class, as drawn by Shakspere. The occasional coarseness of "good Monsieur Lavatch" is expressive of an imperfectly. refined, though picturesque, state of manners: his wit and humour are not unworthy of the hand that has furnished so ample a supply of these enlivening materials, and of wisdom, passion, and imagination, still more valuable. Throughout the play, there is interspersed much spirited dialogue: its whole strong texture is embroidered with fancy and observation. One of the finest remarks to be found in all the poet ("The web of our life is of a mingled yarn," &c.), is given, with his usual liberality, to a mere subordinate (the First Lord), who has not even a proper name in the dramatis personæ. "ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL" is supposed to have been originally entitled "Love's LABOUR WON;" a production of that name being mentioned by Francis Meres, in his "WIT'S TREASURY" (1598), among the proofs of Shakspere's excellence in comedy. The plot of the play was originally derived from Boccaccio's "DECAMERON;" but is immediately founded on the tale of "Giletta of Narbonne," in Painter's "PALACE OF PLEASURE." ACT SCENE I.-Rousillon. A Room in the COUNTESS'S Palace. Enter BERTRAM, the COUNTESS OF ROUSILLON, HELENA, and LAFEU in mourning. Count. In delivering my son from me, I bury a second husband. Ber. And I, in going, madam, weep o er my father's death anew: but I must attend his majesty's command, to whom I am now in ward, evermore in subjection. Laf. You shall find of the king a husband, madam;-you, sir, a father: he that so generally is at all times good, must of necessity hold his virtue to you; whose worthiness would stir it up where it wanted, rather than lack it where there is such abundance. Count. What hope is there of his majesty's amendment? Laf. He hath abandoned his physicians, madam; under whose practices he hath persecuted time with hope; and finds no other advantage in the process but only the losing of hope by Share with thy birthright! Love all, trust a few, time. Count. This young gentlewoman had a father (O, that "had!" how sad a passage 't is) whose skill was almost as great as his honesty; had it stretched so far, would have made nature immortal, and death should have play for lack of work. 'Would, for the King's sake, he were living! I think it would be the death of the King's disease. Do wrong to none: be able for thine enemy Rather in power than use; and keep thy friend Under thy own life's key: be checked for silence, But never taxed for speech. What heaven more will, That thee may furnish, and my prayers pluck down, Fall on thy head! Farewell.-My lord, Laf. How called you the man you speak of, Advise him. madam? Count. He was famous, sir, in his profession, and it was his great right to be so :-Gerard de Narbon. Laf. He was excellent, indeed, madam: the King very lately spoke of him, admiringly and mourningly. He was skilful enough to have lived still, if knowledge could be set up against mortality. Ber. What is it, my good lord, the King languishes of? Laf. A fistula, my lord. Ber. I heard not of it before. Laf. I would it were not notorious.-Was this gentlewoman the daughter of Gerard de Narbon ? Count. His sole child, my lord; and bequeathed to my overlooking. I have those hopes of her good that her education promises: her dispositions she inherits, which make fair gifts fairer; for where an unclean mind carries virtuous qualities, there commendations go with pity; they are virtues and traitors too: in her they are the better for their simpleness: she derives her honesty, and achieves her goodness. Laf. Your commendations, madam, get from her tears. Count. "Tis the best brine a maiden can season her praise in. The remembrance of her father never approaches her heart, but the tyranny of her sorrows takes all livelihood from her cheek.-No more of this, Helena; go to, no more; lest it be rather thought you affect a sorrow than to have. Hel. I do affect a sorrow, indeed, but I have it too. Laf. Moderate lamentation is the right of the dead; excessive grief the enemy to the living. Count. If the living be enemy to the grief, the excess makes it soon mortal. Ber. Madam, I desire your holy wishes. Count. Be thou blest, Bertram; and succeed thy father In manners as in shape! thy blood and virtue Contend for empire in thee; and thy goodness Laf. He cannot want the best That shall attend his love. tram. Count. Heaven bless him!-Farewell, Ber[Exit COUNTESS. Ber. The best wishes that can be forged in your thoughts [to HELENA] be servants to you! Be comfortable to my mother, your mistress, and make much of her. Laf. Farewell, pretty lady: you must hold the credit of your father. [Exeunt BERTRAM and LAFEU. Hel. O, were that all!-I think not on my father: And these great tears grace his remembrance more Than those I shed for him. What was he like? Hel. And no. Par. Are you meditating on virginity? Hel. Ay. You have some stain of soldier in you; let me ask you a question :-Man is enemy to virginity; how may we barricado it against him? Par. Keep him out. Hel. But he assails; and our virginity, though valiant in the defence, yet is weak: unfold to us some warlike resistance. Par. There is none: man, sitting down before you, will undermine you, and blow you up. Hel. Bless our poor virginity from underminers and blowers-up! Is there no military policy how virgins might blow up men? Par. Virginity being blown down, man will quicklier be blown up: marry, in blowing him. down again with the breach yourselves made, you lose your city. It is not politic in the commonwealth of nature, to preserve virginity. Loss of virginity is rational increase; and there was never virgin got till virginity was first lost. That you were made of, is metal to make virgins. Virginity, by being once lost, may be ten times found: by being ever kept, it is ever lost: 't is too cold a companion; away with it. Hel. I will stand for 't a little, though therefore I die a virgin. Par. There's little can be said in 't; 't is against the rule of nature. To speak on the part of virginity, is to accuse your mothers; which is most infallible disobedience. He that hangs himself is a virgin: virginity murders itself, and should be buried in highways, out of all sanctified limit, as a desperate offendress against nature. Virginity breeds mites, much like a cheese; consumes itself to the very paring, and so dies with feeding his own stomach. Besides, virginity is peevish, proud, idle, made of self-love, which is the most inhibited sin in the canon. Keep it not; you cannot choose but lose by't out with 't: within ten years it will make itself ten, which is a goodly increase, and the principal itself not much the worse: away with 't. Hel. How might one do, sir, to lose it to her own liking? : Par. Let me see: marry, ill, to like him that ne'er it likes. Tis a commodity will lose the gloss with lying; the longer kept, the less worth off with 't, while 't is vendible: answer the time of request. Virginity, like an old courtier, wears her cap out of fashion; richly suited, but unsuitable: just like the brooch and the toothpick, which wear not now. Your date is better in your pie and your porridge, than in your cheek. And your virginity, your old virginity, is like one of our French withered pears: it looks ill, it eats drily; marry, 't is a withered pear it was formerly better; marry, yet 'tis a withered pear. Will you anything with it? Hel. Not my virginity yet. There shall your master have a thousand loves: Hel. That I wish well. "Tis pity- Hel. That wishing well had not a body in 't, Which might be felt that we, the poorer born, Whose baser stars do shut us up in wishes, Might with effects of them follow our friends, And shew what we alone must think; which never Returns us thanks. Enter a Page. Page. Monsieur Parolles, my lord calls for you. [Exit Page. Par. Little Helen, farewell: if I can remember thee, I will think of thee at court. Hel. Monsieur Parolles, you were born under a charitable star. Par. Under Mars, I. Hel. I especially think, under Mars. Hel. The wars have so kept you under, that you must needs be born under Mars Par. When he was predominant. Hel. When he was retrograde, I think, rather. Par. Why think you so? Hel. You go so much backward when you fight. Par. That's for advantage. Hel. So is running away, when fear proposes the safety. But the composition that your valour and fear makes in you, is a virtue of a good wing, and I like the wear well. Par. I am so full of businesses, I cannot answer thee acutely. I will return perfect courtier; in the which, my instruction shall serve to naturalise thee, so thou wilt be capable of a courtier's counsel, and understand what advice shall thrust upon thee: else thou diest in thine unthankfulness, and thine ignorance makes thee away. Farewell. When thou hast leisure, say thy prayers; when thou hast none, remember |