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SceneCoach-AI
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Alls-Well-That-Ends-Well

Dataset card Data Studio Files
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Rather in power than use; and keep thy friend
Under thy own life’s key. Be check’d for silence,
But never tax’d for speech. What heaven more will,
That thee may furnish and my prayers pluck down,
Fall on thy head! Farewell. My lord,
’Tis an unseason’d courtier; good my lord,
Advise him.
LAFEW.
He cannot want the best
That shall attend his love.
COUNTESS.
Heaven bless him! Farewell, Bertram.
[Exit Countess.]
BERTRAM.
The best wishes that can be forg’d in your thoughts be servants to you! [To Helena.] Be comfortable to my mother, your mistress, and make much of her.
LAFEW.
Farewell, pretty lady, you must hold the credit of your father.
[Exeunt Bertram and Lafew.]
HELENA.
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; my imagination
Carries no favour in’t but Bertram’s.
I am undone: there is no living, none,
If Bertram be away. ’Twere all one
That I should love a bright particular star,
And think to wed it, he is so above me.
In his bright radiance and collateral light
Must I be comforted, not in his sphere.
Th’ambition in my love thus plagues itself:
The hind that would be mated by the lion
Must die for love. ’Twas pretty, though a plague,
To see him every hour; to sit and draw
His arched brows, his hawking eye, his curls,
In our heart’s table,—heart too capable
Of every line and trick of his sweet favour.
But now he’s gone, and my idolatrous fancy
Must sanctify his relics. Who comes here?
Enter Parolles.
One that goes with him: I love him for his sake,
And yet I know him a notorious liar,
Think him a great way fool, solely a coward;
Yet these fix’d evils sit so fit in him
That they take place when virtue’s steely bones
Looks bleak i’ th’ cold wind: withal, full oft we see
Cold wisdom waiting on superfluous folly.
PAROLLES.
Save you, fair queen!
HELENA.
And you, monarch!
PAROLLES.
No.
HELENA.
And no.
PAROLLES.
Are you meditating on virginity?
HELENA.
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.
HELENA.
But he assails; and our virginity, though valiant, in the defence, yet is weak. Unfold to us some warlike resistance.
PAROLLES.
There is none. Man setting down before you will undermine you and blow you up.
HELENA.
Bless our poor virginity from underminers and blowers-up! Is there no military policy how virgins might blow up men?
PAROLLES.
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. ...
HELENA.
I will stand for’t a little, though therefore I die a virgin.
PAROLLES.
There’s little can be said in’t; ’tis 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 again...
HELENA.
How might one do, sir, to lose it to her own liking?
PAROLLES.
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 ’tis 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 th...
HELENA.
Not my virginity yet.
There shall your master have a thousand loves,
A mother, and a mistress, and a friend,
A phoenix, captain, and an enemy,
A guide, a goddess, and a sovereign,
A counsellor, a traitress, and a dear:
His humble ambition, proud humility,
His jarring concord, and his discord dulcet,
His faith, his sweet disaster; with a world
Of pretty, fond, adoptious christendoms
That blinking Cupid gossips. Now shall he—
I know not what he shall. God send him well!
The court’s a learning-place; and he is one.
PAROLLES.
What one, i’ faith?
HELENA.
That I wish well. ’Tis pity—
PAROLLES.
What’s pity?
HELENA.
That wishing well had not a body in’t
Which might be felt, that we, the poorer born,