All's Well That Ends Well

What angel shall
Bless this unworthy husband? He cannot thrive
Unless her prayers, whom heaven delights to hear
And loves to grant, reprieve him from the wrath
Of greatest justice. Write, write, Rinaldo,
To this unworthy husband of his wife.

My heart is heavy, and mine age is weak.
Grief would have tears, and sorrow bids me speak.
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Parolles
I know not what the success will be, my
lord, but the attempt I vow.
Bertram
I know thou ‘rt valiant, and to the possibility
of thy soldiership will subscribe for thee. Farewell.

I love not many words.

Parolles
I love not many words. He exits.
First Lord
No more than a fish loves water.
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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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Lord
But couch, ho! Here he comes to beguile two hours
in a sleep and then to return and swear the lies
he forges.  They move aside.

 Enter Parolles.

Parolles
Ten o’clock. Within these three hours ’twill
be time enough to go home. What shall I say I have
done?
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Bertram 
They told me that your name was Fontibell.
Diana 
No, my good lord, Diana.
Bertram
Titled goddess,
And worth it, with addition. But, fair soul,
In your fine frame hath love no quality?
If the quick fire of youth light not your mind,
You are no maiden but a monument.
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Bertram
I prithee do not strive against my vows.
I was compelled to her, but I love thee
By love’s own sweet constraint, and will forever
Do thee all rights of service.
Diana
Ay, so you serve us
Till we serve you. But when you have our roses,
You barely leave our thorns to prick ourselves
And mock us with our bareness.
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First Lord
Sir, his wife some two months since fled
from his house. Her pretense is a pilgrimage to
Saint Jaques le Grand, which holy undertaking
with most austere sanctimony she accomplished.
And, there residing, the tenderness of her nature
became as a prey to her grief; in fine, made a groan
of her last breath,
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First Soldier
If you could find out a country where
but women were that had received so much
shame, you might begin an impudent nation. Fare
you well, sir. I am for France too. We shall speak of
you there.  He exits.

Who knows himself a braggart,
Let him fear this, for it will come to pass
That every braggart shall be found an ass.
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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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Lafew
No, no, no, your son was misled with a
snipped-taffeta fellow there, whose villainous saffron
would have made all the unbaked and doughy
youth of a nation in his color. Your daughter-in-law
had been alive at this hour, and your son here
at home, more advanced by the King than by that
red-tailed humble-bee I speak of.
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