The Complete Works of William Shakespeare. Уильям Шекспир

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СКАЧАТЬ 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 heraldry of your birth and virtue gives you commission. You are not worth another word, else I’d call you knave. I leave you.

       [Exit.]

       PAROLLES. Good, very good, it is so then.—Good, very good; let it be concealed awhile.

       [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; what the import is

       I know not yet.

       PAROLLES.

       Ay, that would be known. To the wars, my boy, to the wars!

       He wears his honour in a box unseen

       That hugs his kicksy-wicksy here at home,

       Spending his manly marrow in her arms,

       Which should sustain the bound and high curvet

       Of Mars’s fiery steed. To other regions!

       France is a stable; we that dwell in’t, jades;

       Therefore, to the war!

       BERTRAM.

       It shall be so; I’ll send her to my house,

       Acquaint my mother with my hate to her,

       And wherefore I am fled; write to the king

       That which I durst not speak: his present gift

       Shall furnish me to those Italian fields

       Where noble fellows strike: war is no strife

       To the dark house and the detested wife.

       PAROLLES.

       Will this caprichio hold in thee, art sure?

       BERTRAM.

       Go with me to my chamber and advise me.

       I’ll send her straight away: tomorrow

       I’ll to the wars, she to her single sorrow.

       PAROLLES.

       Why, these balls bound; there’s noise in it. ‘Tis hard:

       A young man married is a man that’s marr’d:

       Therefore away, and leave her bravely; go:

       The king has done you wrong: but, hush, ‘tis so.

       [Exeunt.]

      SCENE 4. The same. Another room in the same.

       [Enter HELENA and CLOWN.]

       HELENA.

       My mother greets me kindly: is she well?

       CLOWN. She is not well, but yet she has her health: she’s very merry, but yet she is not well: but thanks be given, she’s very well, and wants nothing i’ the world; but yet she is not well.

       HELENA.

       If she be very well, what does she ail that she’s not very well?

       CLOWN.

       Truly, she’s very well indeed, but for two things.

       HELENA.

       What two things?

       CLOWN.

       One, that she’s not in heaven, whither God send her quickly!

       The other, that she’s in earth, from whence God send her quickly!

       [Enter PAROLLES.]

       PAROLLES.

       Bless you, my fortunate lady!

       HELENA. I hope, sir, I have your good will to have mine own good fortunes.

       PAROLLES. You had my prayers to lead them on; and to keep them on, have them still. O, my knave,—how does my old lady?

       CLOWN. So that you had her wrinkles and I her money, I would she did as you say.

       PAROLLES.

       Why, I say nothing.

       CLOWN. Marry, you are the wiser man; for many a man’s tongue shakes out his master’s undoing: to say nothing, to do nothing, to know nothing, and to have nothing, is to be a great part of your title; which is within a very little of nothing.

       PAROLLES.

       Away! thou art a knave.

       CLOWN. You should have said, sir, before a knave thou art a knave; that is before me thou art a knave: this had been truth, sir.

       PAROLLES.

       Go to, thou art a witty fool; I have found thee.

       CLOWN.

       Did you find me in yourself, sir? or were you taught to find me?

       The search, sir, was profitable; and much fool may you find in

       you, even to the world’s pleasure and the increase of laughter.

       PAROLLES.

       A good knave, i’ faith, and well fed.—

       Madam, my lord will go away tonight:

       СКАЧАТЬ