The Countess speaks with the authority of someone who has earned the right to say hard things gently. She gives advice in aphorisms ('Love all, trust a few, do wrong to none') and observes more than she lets on — watch for the gap between what she says and what she already knows.
In delivering my son from me, I bury a second husband.
By sending my son away, I feel like I'm burying a second husband.
Losing my son to the king feels like losing another husband.
sending him away feels like burying another husband
Bertram speaks in short bursts — he's not a talker. His silence often conceals resistance; when he does speak, it tends to be complaint or capitulation. Watch for the moments when he says the least and means the most.
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.
And I, in leaving you, madam, grieve anew over my father's death; but I must obey the king's orders, to whom I am now a ward, and remain always in his authority.
And leaving you, madam, brings back my grief over my father—but I have to obey the king now. He's my guardian, and I answer to him completely.
leaving reminds me of dad but i have to serve the king now
Lafew is the play's most reliable judge of character — he sizes people up correctly and immediately, and he says so whether it's welcome or not. Watch for the moments when he is the only person in a scene who is telling the truth.
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.
You will find in the king a husband, madam; and you, sir, a father. He who is consistently good at all times must necessarily maintain his kindness toward you, whose worthiness would awaken it where it was needed, rather than fail where there is such abundance.
The king will be like a husband to you, madam, and like a father to you, sir. Since he's always good to everyone, he'll definitely treat you both well—your worth alone would bring out his kindness.
king will be your husband madam, your father sir. he's always good so you got this
What hope is there of his majesty’s amendment?
Is there any hope for the king's recovery?
Do you think the king will get better?
can the king even be cured
He hath abandon’d 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 time.
He has given up his doctors, madam; under their treatment he pursued time with hope, and finds no benefit in the process except the loss of hope as time passes.
He's stopped seeing doctors, madam. He followed their treatments hoping to get better, but all he's gotten is disappointment—he just lost hope over time.
he fired his doctors. nothing worked anyway just lost hope
This young gentlewoman had a father—O that “had!”, how sad a passage
’tis!—whose skill was almost as great as his honesty; had it stretch’d
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.
This young lady's father—oh, the sadness of that loss!—was nearly as skilled as he was honest. If his medical skill had matched his integrity, he would have made people live forever, and death would have nothing left to do. I wish he were alive for the king's sake! I think he could cure the king's disease.
This girl's father was so skilled and so honest—it's tragic we lost him. If he'd been as good at medicine as he was at living right, he'd have made people immortal. God, I wish he were here for the king! He could save the king's life.
her dad was brilliant and good. if he were here he'd save the king
How called you the man you speak of, madam?
What is the name of the man you're speaking of, madam?
Who was he, madam? What's his name?
who was he though
He was famous, sir, in his profession, and it was his great right to be
so: Gerard de Narbon.
He was famous, sir, in his profession, and deserved to be: Gerard de Narbon.
He was famous, sir, and rightly so. His name was Gerard de Narbon.
gerard de narbon. really famous
He was excellent indeed, madam; the king very lately spoke of him
admiringly, and mourningly; he was skilful enough to have liv’d still,
if knowledge could be set up against mortality.
He was excellent indeed, madam; the king spoke of him recently with great admiration and sorrow; he was skilled enough that he could have lived still, if knowledge could stand against death.
He really was, madam. The king was just talking about him—with admiration and sadness. He was so talented, he might never have died if skill could stop death.
king mentioned him. great guy. too smart to die if that was possible
What is it, my good lord, the king languishes of?
What is it that the king suffers from, my good lord?
What exactly is wrong with the king, sir?
what's the king got
A fistula, my lord.
He has a fistula, my lord.
It's a fistula, sir.
its a wound thing
I heard not of it before.
I hadn't heard of it before.
I hadn't heard about that before.
didn't know that
When Bertram says he is 'in ward, evermore in subjection,' he is describing a real Elizabethan legal institution that Shakespeare's audience would have recognized immediately. When a nobleman died leaving a minor child, that child became a ward of the crown. The king — or more often a court official who purchased the wardship — controlled the ward's lands, received income from the estate, and had the right to arrange the ward's marriage. Refusing an arranged marriage meant forfeiting a substantial financial penalty. This isn't just context: it's the entire engine of the main plot. The king gives Helena a husband as her reward for curing him — and Bertram cannot legally refuse without consequences. His rebellion is real, but so is his powerlessness. The play explores what happens when the law and the heart point in opposite directions.
I would it were not notorious. Was this gentlewoman the daughter of
Gerard de Narbon?
I wish it weren't so well known. Was this young lady the daughter of Gerard de Narbon?
I wish it weren't so public. Is this girl Gerard de Narbon's daughter?
wish nobody knew that. is she gerard's kid
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 makes 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.
His only child, my lord, and left under my care. I have such hopes for her goodness because her education promises what her nature already gives her—good qualities that become even better with virtue; for when a deceitful mind carries good traits, they're admired but pitied, both virtues and betrayals. In her they're pure goodness; she gets her honesty naturally, and earns her goodness through character.
His only daughter, my lord. I'm raising her, and I've every confidence she'll be good. Her education builds on her nature—she has good instincts, and virtue makes them shine. When bad people have good qualities, we pity them for it. But in her, everything's genuine—she's honest by nature and becomes good through her own choices.
his only kid. im raising her. shes naturally good and works to be better
Your commendations, madam, get from her tears.
Your praise of her comes through in her tears, madam.
Her tears speak to how highly you think of her, madam.
she's crying cos of what you said about her
’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.
Tears are the best seasoning for a girl's good reputation. The moment she remembers her father, sorrow takes all color from her face. No more of this, Helena; come now, no more—or people will think you're acting sad rather than truly grieving.
Tears show what you're worth. Every time she thinks of her father, grief drains her face. Enough, Helena—stop or people will think you're just performing sadness, not actually suffering.
tears show how good you are. but stop or theyll think youre faking it
Helena speaks differently in company versus alone — in company she deflects and is modest; in soliloquy she is fierce, precise, and completely sure of herself. Watch for the shift between these two registers as the play unfolds.
I do affect a sorrow indeed, but I have it too.
I am acting sad, yes, but I truly feel sadness too.
I might look sad, but I really am sad.
im sad for real tho
Moderate lamentation is the right of the dead; excessive grief the
enemy to the living.
Measured grief is what the dead deserve; excessive sorrow harms the living.
Reasonable grief honors the dead. But too much grief hurts the people still alive.
some sadness is good. too much hurts you
If the living be enemy to the grief, the excess makes it soon mortal.
If grief becomes the enemy to the living, excess grief soon becomes deadly.
But if grief turns against the living, then too much grief kills them.
but too much grief actually kills you
Madam, I desire your holy wishes.
Madam, I ask for your prayers.
Madam, I ask for your blessing.
pray for me madam
How understand we that?
What do you mean by that?
What do you mean?
huh
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
Share with thy birthright! Love all, trust a few,
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 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.
Be blessed, Bertram, and follow your father in behavior as well as in appearance! Your blood and your goodness contest for rule in you, and let your goodness share your noble birth! Love everyone, trust few, wrong no one. Against your enemy be strong in power, not in action; and keep your friend under your own control. Accept silence without complaint, but never be blamed for speaking. Whatever heaven wishes, that you might gain and my prayers draw down, fall on your head! Goodbye. My lord, he's an inexperienced courtier; please my lord, advise him.
Be blessed, Bertram, and be like your father in how you act as well as how you look. You've got two things fighting inside you—your noble blood and your goodness—so let goodness win. Love many, trust few, hurt no one. Be ready against enemies through power, not cruelty; and keep your friends close. Accept being told to be quiet without complaining, but never take blame for speaking truthfully. May heaven give you what you need, and may my prayers reach you—all of that on your head! Goodbye. My lord, he's new to court; please, teach him how things work.
be like your dad. love everyone but trust few. be strong not mean. keep friends close. may god help you. teach him courtier stuff
He cannot want the best
That shall attend his love.
He won't lack the best that love can provide.
He'll have everything good that love can give him.
hell get the best
Heaven bless him! Farewell, Bertram.
Heaven bless him! Goodbye, Bertram.
God bless you! Goodbye, Bertram.
goodbye bertram
The best wishes that can be forg’d in your thoughts be servants to you!
May the best wishes that can exist in your heart be servants to you!
May all the good wishes you have in your heart stay with you!
your good wishes stay w you
Helena's closing soliloquy — 'Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie / Which we ascribe to heaven' — is one of the most quietly radical statements in Shakespeare. The Elizabethan worldview was deeply providentialist: what happens is God's will, fate is written in the stars, your birth determines your life. Helena is explicitly rejecting this. She argues that 'the fated sky gives us free scope' — that destiny provides the space to act, and only withholds when we withhold ourselves. She is not an atheist; she still invokes grace and heaven throughout the play. But she is arguing for human agency within a divinely ordered world. This tension — between what is given and what is made — is the play's deepest theme. And it is Helena, the low-born woman, who claims the most active role.
[_To Helena._] Be comfortable to my mother, your mistress, and make
much of her.
Be a comfort to my mother, your mistress, and take good care of her.
Look after my mom, would you? Be kind to her and keep her company while I'm gone.
take care of my mom be good to her
Farewell, pretty lady, you must hold the credit of your father.
Goodbye, pretty lady, you must live up to your father's reputation.
Goodbye, pretty lady. You have to be as good as your father was.
bye girl. be like your dad
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?
Oh, if only that were all! I don't think about my father, and these great tears honor his memory more than those I cried for him. What was he like? I've forgotten him; my mind holds no image of him but Bertram's. I'm destroyed: there's no life for me, none at all, if Bertram is away. It would be just as hopeless for me to love a bright particular star, and think to marry it—he's so far above me. In his bright radiance and reflected light I must find comfort, not standing as his equal. My love's own ambition destroys itself this way: the doe that wants to mate with the lion must die from love. It was sweet to see him every hour; to sit and draw his arched eyebrows, his keen eye, his curls, in my heart's memory—a heart that holds every line and feature of his lovely face. But now he's gone, and my worshipful fancy must treasure his memory. Who comes here?
Oh, I wish it were just about my father! But I don't even think about him anymore, and honestly I've cried more for him than I actually feel. What did he even look like? I can't remember. All I see is Bertram in my head. That's it for me—I can't live if he's not around. It's like trying to marry a star in the sky; he's just too far above me. I can only feel anything when his light touches me, like living in his shadow. My own love destroys me: it's like a doe trying to mate with a lion—you'll die doing it. When I could see him every day, I'd sit and draw his face over and over from memory. Now he's gone, and all I can do is hold onto thoughts of him. Who's that coming?
i dont even think about my dad. all i see is bertram. cant live without him. hes too good for me. ive been drawing his face over and over. now hes gone
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.
One who travels with him: I love him because he's connected to Bertram, and yet I know he's a notorious liar, I think him a great fool and utter coward. Yet these permanent flaws fit him so well that they succeed where virtue's strong character looks weak and pale in the harsh world. Indeed, we often see cold wisdom ignored while frivolous folly takes center stage.
He's one of Bertram's companions, and I like him for that reason. But I know he's a well-known liar, a total fool, and a coward. Somehow his flaws work for him though—his foolishness looks good while genuine virtue just looks weak and pale by comparison. We see it all the time—real wisdom gets sidelined while fake confidence and foolishness get all the attention.
follows bertram he's a liar fool coward but his flaws look better than virtue folly beats wisdom
Parolles speaks in elaborate, blusterous performance — he name-drops, brags, and fills space with the noise of competence. His speeches often have one grain of truth buried in them. Watch for how easily he caves when anyone pushes back.
Save you, fair queen!
I greet you, fair queen!
Hello, fair queen!
hey queen
And you, monarch!
And you, monarch!
and you, monarch!
And you, monarch!
No.
No.
no.
No.
And no.
And no.
and no.
And no.
Are you meditating on virginity?
Are you thinking about virginity?
Are you thinking about staying a virgin?
thinking about staying virgin
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?
Yes. You have some military experience; let me ask you a question. Men are the enemies of virginity; how can we protect it against them?
Yeah. You know about war—let me ask you something. Men are virginity's enemy; how do we defend against them?
you seem military. so how do we keep guys away from our virginity
Keep him out.
Keep him out.
keep him out.
Keep him out.
But he assails; and our virginity, though valiant, in the defence, yet
is weak. Unfold to us some warlike resistance.
But he attacks; and though our virginity is brave in defense, it's still weak. Tell us what military strategy we can use.
But he'll attack. Our virginity fights hard, but we're still vulnerable. What's our military strategy against that?
but theyll attack. we cant actually defend ourselves
The extended conversation about virginity between Helena and Parolles is often played as broad comedy — two people enjoying a bawdy game. But it's also doing something precise. Helena is using Parolles's own terms to extract the one piece of information she needs: how does a woman lose her virginity on her own terms? Parolles, who doesn't take her seriously, answers flippantly ('Let me see. Marry, ill, to like him that ne'er it likes'). But Helena is already thinking tactically. The scene tells us two things: Helena is smarter than everyone around her, and she is willing to use people's condescension as cover. Watch for this pattern throughout the play — she operates most effectively when people are underestimating her.
There is none. Man setting down before you will undermine you and blow
you up.
There's no defense. A man laying siege to you will dig under your walls and blow you up.
There's no defense. When a man attacks you like a siege, he'll tunnel under your walls and destroy you.
no defense. hes gonna tunnel and blow u up
Bless our poor virginity from underminers and blowers-up! Is there no
military policy how virgins might blow up men?
Protect our poor virginity from those who dig under and blow up! Is there no military strategy by which virgins could blow up men?
Protect us from those tunnelers and bombers! Isn't there any military tactic where we virgins could blow up the men instead?
save us from being blown up! cant we blow them up instead
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. ’Tis too cold a companion.
Away with it!
When virginity is destroyed, a man will be blown up even faster; but by blowing him down again in the breach you've made, you lose your city. It's not natural for the commonwealth to keep virginity. Loss of virginity is natural growth, and no virgin ever was born until virginity was already lost somewhere. You are made from the same material that creates virgins. Virginity, once lost, can be found ten times over; if always kept, it is always wasted. It's too cold a companion. Get rid of it!
Once virginity falls, men fall even faster; but when you blow them down through the hole you've made, you lose your fortress. It doesn't make sense in nature to preserve virginity. Losing virginity is how life continues, and no virgin was ever born until virginity was first lost. You're made of the same stuff that makes virgins. Virginity, lost once, can be regained ten times; if kept forever, it's wasted forever. It's a lonely, cold thing. Throw it away!
lose virginity then guys fall faster. but you lose your city doing it. its not natural anyway. you are made to make babies. lose it or waste it
I will stand for’t a little, though therefore I die a virgin.
I'll defend it a little while, though I die unmarried because of it.
I'm going to hold onto it for a while, even if I end up alone because of it.
im keeping it even if im alone forever
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 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
the year it will make itself two, which is a goodly increase, and the
principal itself not much the worse. Away with it!
There's little to say about that; it goes against nature. To defend virginity is to accuse your mothers of disobedience to nature. A man who hangs himself is a virgin: virginity destroys itself and should be buried in wastelands, outside all sacred ground, as a desperate criminal against nature. Virginity breeds worms, like spoiling cheese; it consumes itself down to nothing and dies eating itself. Besides, virginity is moody, proud, idle, made of self-love, which is the most forbidden sin there is. Don't keep it; you can only lose by keeping it. Get rid of it! Within the year it will make itself two, which is good increase, and the original itself not much the worse for it. Get rid of it!
There's nothing good to say for it—it goes against nature. Saying virginity is good is calling your mothers unnatural. A person who kills themselves is like virginity: it's suicide against nature and should be thrown in a ditch, nowhere sacred. Virginity is like a rotting cheese—it grows worms, eats itself, and dies alone. And virgins are moody, proud, lazy, all wrapped up in themselves, which is literally the worst sin. Don't keep it—you only lose by keeping it. Let it go! In a year it turns into two—that's great for the world. The original you hasn't lost much. Let it go!
virgin isnt natural. its like suicide. rots like cheese. virgins are just proud selfish. lose it. youll make more anyway
How might one do, sir, to lose it to her own liking?
How might one go about losing it in a way she chooses?
How would I lose it on my own terms?
how do i pick who i lose it to
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 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 wither’d pears; it looks ill, it eats drily; marry, ’tis a
wither’d pear; it was formerly better; marry, yet ’tis a wither’d pear.
Will you anything with it?
Let me think. The problem is, she'd have to choose someone she doesn't even like. It's a thing that loses its shine the longer it's kept; the longer you hold it, the less it's worth. Get rid of it while it still has value; answer the call when it comes. Virginity, like an old-fashioned courtier, wears her hat out of style, richly dressed but not suited, just like the old brooch and toothpick that nobody wears anymore. Your freshness is better used in pies and porridge than on your face. And your virginity—your old virginity—is like one of those withered French pears; it looks bad, tastes dry; truly, it's a withered pear; it was once better; but still, it's a withered pear. What can I do for you with it?
Let me see. The hard part is liking the guy enough. It's merchandise that gets worse the longer you keep it; the older it gets, the cheaper it becomes. Sell it while it's still worth something; be ready when the buyer comes. Virginity is like an out-of-fashion courtier—all richly dressed but nobody respects it anymore, like old jewelry nobody wears. You'd look fresher in a pie than on your face. And your virginity—your old worn-out virginity—is like a dried-up French pear; it's ugly, tastes like nothing, and yes, it's a withered pear. It used to be better, but now it's still just a sad dried pear. So what do you want to do with it?
problem is liking the guy. your freshness gets worse over time. sell it while its worth something. its like old stale pear nobody wants
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.
Not my virginity yet. There will your master find a thousand loves, a mother, and a mistress, and a friend, a phoenix, a captain, and an enemy, a guide, a goddess, and a sovereign, a counselor, a traitor, and a love: his humble pride, proud humility, his clashing harmony, and his sweet discord, his faith, his sweet disaster; with a world of pretty, foolish, false names for love that blind Cupid whispers. Now will he— I don't know what he'll become. God send him well! The court's a school; and he is just beginning.
Not yet, though. Your master will have a thousand things waiting for him— a mother's love, a mistress, a friend, a phoenix, a warrior, an enemy, a guide, a goddess, a sovereign, a counselor, a traitor, a lover: his pride will humble him and humble him with pride, his conflicts will harmonize and harmonize in conflict, his faith and his beautiful disasters; all those pretty names for love that blind Cupid talks about. Now what'll he become? I have no idea. God keep him safe! Court is his education; he's just learning.
not my virginity. he got a thousand things waiting—lovers, friends, enemies, guides, goddesses, traitors. hes gonna learn some stuff at court
What one, i’ faith?
Which one are you talking about?
Who exactly do you mean?
which one
That I wish well. ’Tis pity—
The one I wish well. The pity—
The one I hope does well. The sad part is—
the one i hope for. its sad
What’s pity?
What’s pity?
what’s pity?
What’s pity?
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 show what we alone must think, which never
Returns us thanks.
That good wishes had no physical form so that we, the poor and common-born, whose lower fate limits us to mere wishes, could actually act on them and follow our friends, and show what we can only think about, which they never know to thank us for.
That I wish had a body— so that we, born poor and lower, whose fate leaves us with just hopes and wishes, could actually do something about them and stick with our friends, and let them know what we're thinking, which they never realize they should thank us for.
wish i could show bertram i care. im poor so i cant do anything for him
Monsieur Parolles, my lord calls for you.
Sir, your lord is looking for you.
Your master wants you, Parolles.
boss wants u
The stage direction specifies the entire company enters 'all in black.' This is unusual — Shakespeare rarely specifies costume. It immediately establishes a tone: this is a play about loss, about things already gone, about people trying to recover what cannot be recovered. The Count is dead. The King is dying. Helena is in mourning for a father she can barely remember, because her mind is occupied by a living man who doesn't know she exists. The comedy promised by the genre hasn't arrived yet — and in some ways, it never entirely arrives. 'All's Well That Ends Well' is one of the 'problem plays' precisely because the comedy is always being undercut by something that feels more like grief. The opening image of black cloth tells you not to get too comfortable.
Little Helen, farewell. If I can remember thee, I will think of thee at
court.
Little Helena, goodbye. If I can remember you, I'll think of you at court.
Little Helen, goodbye. If I remember you, I'll think of you when I'm at court.
bye helena. ill think of you
Monsieur Parolles, you were born under a charitable star.
The stars gave you a generous nature, Monsieur Parolles.
Fortune's been kind to you, Parolles.
blessed by the stars
Under Mars, I.
Under Mars, I.
under mars, i.
Under Mars, I.
I especially think, under Mars.
That's exactly my thought—born under Mars.
Yeah, Mars definitely shaped you.
yeah mars for sure
Why under Mars?
Why under Mars?
why under mars?
Why under Mars?
The wars hath so kept you under, that you must needs be born under
Mars.
War has kept you so occupied that you must have been born under Mars.
The wars have kept you so busy that you must have been born under Mars's influence.
youre always at war so you must be born under mars
When he was predominant.
When Mars was at his strongest.
When Mars had power.
when mars was strong
When he was retrograde, I think rather.
When Mars was moving backward in the sky, I think.
When Mars was in retrograde, I think.
when mars was going backwards
Why think you so?
What makes you believe that?
What's your reasoning?
how so
You go so much backward when you fight.
Because you retreat so often when you fight.
Because you're always running away when you fight.
cos you run away when you fight
That’s for advantage.
That’s for advantage.
that’s for advantage.
That’s for advantage.
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.
Running away is also smart when fear is the better choice for safety: but what you combine—your courage and your fear—makes a virtue; you move well, and I like how you use it.
Running away is smart too when fear keeps you safe. But the mix of your boldness and your fear together is actually good—you move well, and I respect how you use it.
running is smart too. your fear and courage mix well. you move good
I am so full of business I cannot answer thee acutely. I will return
perfect courtier; in the which my instruction shall serve to naturalize
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 thy
friends. Get thee a good husband, and use him as he uses thee. So,
farewell.
I'm so busy I can't answer you carefully. I'll come back as a perfect courtier; in that role my learning will teach you manners, so you'll be smart enough to understand courtly advice, and know what others tell you; otherwise you'll ruin yourself through ingratitude and ignorance. Goodbye. When you have time, pray; when you don't have time, remember your friends. Find a good husband and treat him as he treats you. So, goodbye.
I'm too busy to talk now. I'll come back a real courtier; when I do, I'll teach you how to act, so you'll understand when people give you advice and know what to do. Otherwise you'll destroy yourself through stupidity and ingratitude. Goodbye. Pray when you can; when you can't, think of your friends. Get yourself a good man and treat him like he treats you. See you later.
too busy. ill teach you court stuff later. find a good guy and treat him right bye
Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie,
Which we ascribe to heaven: the fated sky
Gives us free scope; only doth backward pull
Our slow designs when we ourselves are dull.
What power is it which mounts my love so high,
That makes me see, and cannot feed mine eye?
The mightiest space in fortune nature brings
To join like likes, and kiss like native things.
Impossible be strange attempts to those
That weigh their pains in sense, and do suppose
What hath been cannot be. Who ever strove
To show her merit that did miss her love?
The king’s disease,—my project may deceive me,
But my intents are fix’d, and will not leave me.
Our cures often lie within ourselves, which we blame on fate: the powers above let us act freely; they only hold back our slow actions when we're lazy. What power makes my love so strong, that lets me see him but leaves me hungry? Nature and fortune both bring together matched pairs, and kiss as they belong. It's strange when people give up trying because they weigh their efforts and think what was lost can stay lost. But who ever tried to show her worth and failed at love? The king is sick—my plan might fail, but I have decided, and won't stop now.
We usually have the cure inside us, but we blame the stars: the powers above give us freedom; they only slow us down when we ourselves are dragging our feet. Why does love make me see him so clearly, but leave me unable to reach him? Nature brings together what matches together, and they fit perfectly. It's strange how people give up before they try, thinking what's lost stays lost forever. But anyone with real worth fighting for love will find a way. The king is ill, and my idea might not work—but I'm set on this, and I won't turn back now.
i got the cure inside me. love shows me bertram but i cant have him. maybe my plan works maybe not. im doing it
The Reckoning
The play begins in black. Everyone is grieving something: the Countess her husband, Bertram his father, the King his health. But Helena is grieving a different kind of loss — the gap between who she is and who she loves. When Parolles arrives and the conversation turns to virginity, we see her wit, her intelligence, and the buried plan beginning to form. The scene ends with Helena alone, deciding: she will not accept the destiny her birth has written for her.
If this happened today…
Picture the reading of a will in a law office. The family is there in black. A young woman who grew up in the house — daughter of the deceased family doctor, basically a ward — sits quietly at the back while the wealthy son prepares to leave for his prestigious internship at the family's patron's firm. Once everyone else is gone, she pulls out her phone and texts her best friend: 'I haven't been thinking about my dad at all. I've been thinking about HIM.' Then the son's obnoxious hype-man friend shows up and spends fifteen minutes explaining why being a virgin is bad investment strategy. She mostly lets him talk, asks the one question she actually wanted to ask, and then sits back down alone to work out a plan.