Helen of Rossillion

Lafew
—Was this gentlewoman
the daughter of Gerard de Narbon?

Moderate lamentation is the right of the dead,
excessive grief the enemy to the living

Countess
His sole child, my lord, and bequeathed to
my overlooking.Ellipsis I have those hopes of her good
that her education promises.
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Lafew
Farewell, pretty lady. You must hold the credit
of your father. Bertram and Lafew exit.
Helen
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?
I have forgot him.

Th’ ambition in my love thus plagues itself:
The hind that would be mated by the lion
Must die for love.
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Parolles
Are you meditating on virginity?
Helen
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?
Parolles
Keep him out.
Helen
But he assails, and our virginity, though
valiant in the defense,
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Parolles
Little Helen, farewell. If I can remember
thee, I will think of thee at court.
Helen
Monsieur Parolles, you were born under a
charitable star.
Parolles
Under Mars, I.Hyperbaton & Ellipsis
Helen
I especially think under Mars.

Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie,
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Countess
You know, Helen, I am a mother to you.
Helen
Mine honorable mistress.

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

Countess
Nay, a mother.
Why not a mother? When I said “a mother,”
Methought you saw a serpent.
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King
We thank you, maiden,
But may not be so credulous of cure,
When our most learnèd doctors leave us and
The congregated college have concluded
That laboring art can never ransom nature
From her inaidible estate. I say we must not
So stain our judgment or corrupt our hope
To prostitute our past-cure malady
To empirics,
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Helen, 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.
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“Till I have no wife I have nothing in France.”
Nothing in France until he has no wife.
Thou shalt have none, Rossillion, none in France.
Then hast thou all again.

O you leaden messengers
That ride upon the violent speed of fire,
Fly with false aim; move the still-‘pearing air
That sings with piercing; do not touch my lord.
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Widow 
Though my estate be fall’n, I was well born,
Nothing acquainted with these businesses,
And would not put my reputation now
In any staining act.

Let us assay our plot, which, if it speed,
Is wicked meaning in a lawful deed,
And lawful meaning in a lawful act,
Where both not sin, and yet a sinful fact.
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Widow
Gentle madam,
You never had a servant to whose trust
Your business was more welcome.

But with the word the time will bring on summer,
When briers shall have leaves as well as thorns,
And be as sweet as sharp.

Helen
Nor you, mistress,
Ever a friend whose thoughts more truly labor
To recompense your love.
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