It hath happen’d all as I would have had it, save that he comes not
along with her.
It has happen’d all as I would have had it, save that he comes not along with her.
it has happen’d all as i would 've had it, save that he comes not along with her.
It has happen’d all as I would have had it, save that...
By my troth, I take my young lord to be a very melancholy man.
By my troth, I take my young lord to be a very melancholy man.
by my troth, i take my young lord to be a very melancholy man.
By my troth, I take my young lord to be a very...
By what observance, I pray you?
By what observance, I pray you?
by what observance, i pray you?
By what observance, I pray you?
Why, he will look upon his boot and sing; mend the ruff and sing; ask
questions and sing; pick his teeth and sing. I know a man that had this
trick of melancholy sold a goodly manor for a song.
Why, he will look upon his boot and sing; mend the ruff and sing; ask questions and sing; pick his teeth and sing. I know a man that had this trick of melancholy sold a goodly manor for a song.
why, he will look upon h's boot and sing; mend the ruff and sing; ask questions and sing; pick h's teeth and sing. i know a man that had th's trick of melancholy sold a goodly manor for a song.
Why, he will look upon his boot and sing; mend the ruff...
Let me see what he writes, and when he means to come.
Let me see what he writes, and when he means to come.
let me see what he writes, and when he means to come.
Let me see what he writes, and when he means to come.
I have no mind to Isbel since I was at court. Our old lings and our
Isbels o’ th’ country are nothing like your old ling and your Isbels o’
th’ court. The brains of my Cupid’s knock’d out, and I begin to love,
as an old man loves money, with no stomach.
I have no mind to Isbel since I was at court. Our old lings and our Isbels o’ th’ country are nothing like your old ling and your Isbels o’ th’ court. The brains of my Cupid’s knock’d out, and I begin to love, as an old man loves money, with no stomach.
i 've no mind to isbel since i was at court. our old lings and our isbels o’ th’ country 're nothing like your old ling and your isbels o’ th’ court. the brains of my cupid’s knock’d out, and i begin to love, as an old man loves money, with no stomach.
I have no mind to Isbel since I was at court. Our...
What have we here?
What have we here?
what 've we here?
What have we here?
E’en that you have there.
E’en that you have there.
e’en that you 've there.
E’en that you have there.
king and undone me. I have wedded her, not bedded her, and sworn to
make the “not” eternal. You shall hear I am run away; know it before
the report come. If there be breadth enough in the world, I will hold a
long distance. My duty to you.
Your unfortunate son,_
king and undone me. I have wedded her, not bedded her, and sworn to make the “not” eternal. You shall hear I am run away; know it before the report come. If there be breadth enough in the world, I will hold a long distance. My duty to you. Your unfortunate son,_
king and undone me. i 've wedded her, not bedded her, and sworn to make the “not” eternal. you shall hear i am run away; know it before the report come. if there be breadth enough in the world, i will hold a long distance. my duty to you. your unfortunate son,_
king and undone me. I have wedded her, not bedded her, and...
This is not well, rash and unbridled boy,
To fly the favours of so good a king,
To pluck his indignation on thy head
By the misprizing of a maid too virtuous
For the contempt of empire.
This is not well, rash and unbridled boy, To fly the favours of so good a king, To pluck his indignation on your head By the misprizing of a maid too virtuous For the contempt of empire.
th's 's not well, rash and unbridled boy, to fly the favours of so good a king, to pluck h's indignation on your head by the misprizing of a maid too virtuous for the contempt of empire.
This is not well, rash and unbridled boy, To fly the favours...
Bertram's letter to his mother ('I have wedded her, not bedded her, and sworn to make the not eternal') is one of the coldest pieces of communication in Shakespeare. But it's worth understanding what it's actually trying to do, legally and emotionally. In Elizabethan marriage law, consummation was the final step that made a marriage fully binding — an unconsummated marriage could potentially be annulled. By swearing never to bed Helena, Bertram is attempting to keep the marriage in a permanently incomplete state. His conditions — get my ring (never given), produce my child (impossible without consummation) — are designed to be logically impossible simultaneously. You can't get the ring without his cooperation; you can't have his child without his body. He has constructed what he thinks is an airtight escape. He has not counted on Helena's ingenuity, or on the strange slippage between the letter and spirit of his own words.
O madam, yonder is heavy news within between two soldiers and my young
lady.
O madam, over there is heavy news within between two soldiers and my young lady.
o madam, over there 's heavy news within between two soldiers and my young lady.
O madam, over there is heavy news within between two soldiers and...
What is the matter?
What is the matter?
what 's the matter?
What is the matter?
Nay, there is some comfort in the news, some comfort; your son will not
be kill’d so soon as I thought he would.
no, there is some comfort in the news, some comfort; your son will not be kill’d so soon as I thought he would.
no, there 's some comfort in the news, some comfort; your son will not be kill’d so soon as i thought he would.
no, there is some comfort in the news, some comfort; your son...
Why should he be kill’d?
Why should he be kill’d?
why should he be kill’d?
Why should he be kill’d?
So say I, madam, if he run away, as I hear he does; the danger is in
standing to’t; that’s the loss of men, though it be the getting of
children. Here they come will tell you more. For my part, I only hear
your son was run away.
So say I, madam, if he run away, as I hear he does; the danger is in standing to’t; that’s the loss of men, though it be the getting of children. Here they come will tell you more. For my part, I only hear your son was run away.
so say i, madam, if he run away, as i hear he does; the danger 's in standing to’t; that’s the loss of men, though it be the getting of children. here they come will tell you more. for my part, i only hear your son was run away.
So say I, madam, if he run away, as I hear he...
Save you, good madam.
Save you, good madam.
save you, good madam.
Save you, good madam.
Madam, my lord is gone, for ever gone.
Madam, my lord is gone, for ever gone.
madam, my lord 's gone, for ever gone.
Madam, my lord is gone, for ever gone.
Do not say so.
Do not say so.
do not say so.
Do not say so.
Think upon patience. Pray you, gentlemen,—
I have felt so many quirks of joy and grief
That the first face of neither on the start
Can woman me unto ’t. Where is my son, I pray you?
Think upon patience. Pray you, gentlemen,— I have felt so many quirks of joy and grief That the first face of neither on the start Can woman me unto ’t. Where is my son, I pray you?
think upon patience. pray you, gentlemen,— i 've felt so many quirks of joy and grief that the first face of neither on the start can woman me unto ’t. where 's my son, i pray you?
Think upon patience. Pray you, gentlemen,— I have felt so many quirks...
Madam, he’s gone to serve the Duke of Florence;
We met him thitherward, for thence we came,
And, after some despatch in hand at court,
Thither we bend again.
Madam, he’s gone to serve the Duke of Florence; We met him thitherward, for from there we came, And, after some despatch in hand at court, Thither we bend again.
madam, he’s gone to serve the duke of florence; we met him thitherward, for from there we came, and, after some despatch in hand at court, thither we bend again.
Madam, he’s gone to serve the Duke of Florence; We met him...
Look on this letter, madam; here’s my passport.
Look on this letter, madam; here’s my passport.
look on th's letter, madam; here’s my passport.
Look on this letter, madam; here’s my passport.
Helena's final soliloquy in 3-2 — 'O you leaden messengers...' — has been read in radically different ways by directors and critics. One reading is that it's pure, transcendent love: she fears for his safety so deeply that she would suffer anything to protect him, and her decision to disappear is an act of radical selflessness. Another reading is more disturbing: a woman so thoroughly conditioned to define herself through a man that she can only imagine her own value as the negative of his pain. To remove herself is the only power she has — and she exercises it. Both readings can be true simultaneously. What's striking about the soliloquy is how it turns on 'poor thief' — Helena calls herself a thief who steals away. But later in the play, she will also be a different kind of thief: stealing into Bertram's bed, stealing his ring, stealing the conditions he thought were impossible. The soliloquy sets up a character who has learned, from this moment of apparent powerlessness, that action under cover of darkness is her mode.
Brought you this letter, gentlemen?
Brought you this letter, gentlemen?
brought you th's letter, gentlemen?
Brought you this letter, gentlemen?
Ay, madam; And for the contents’ sake, are sorry for our pains.
Ay, madam; And for the contents’ sake, are sorry for our pains.
ay, madam; and for the contents’ sake, 're sorry for our pains.
Ay, madam; And for the contents’ sake, are sorry for our pains.
I pr’ythee, lady, have a better cheer;
If thou engrossest all the griefs are thine,
Thou robb’st me of a moiety. He was my son,
But I do wash his name out of my blood,
And thou art all my child. Towards Florence is he?
I pr’ythee, lady, have a better cheer; If you engrossest all the griefs are yours, you robb’st me of a moiety. He was my son, But I do wash his name out of my blood, And you are all my child. Towards Florence is he?
i pr’ythee, lady, 've a better cheer; if you engrossest all the griefs 're yours, you robb’st me of a moiety. he was my son, but i do wash h's name out of my blood, and you 're all my child. towards florence 's he?
I pr’ythee, lady, have a better cheer; If you engrossest all the...
Ay, madam.
Ay, madam.
ay, madam.
Ay, madam.
And to be a soldier?
And to be a soldier?
and to be a soldier?
And to be a soldier?
Such is his noble purpose, and, believe’t,
The duke will lay upon him all the honour
That good convenience claims.
Such is his noble purpose, and, believe’t, The duke will lay upon him all the honour That good convenience claims.
such 's h's noble purpose, and, believe’t, the duke will lay upon him all the honour that good convenience claims.
Such is his noble purpose, and, believe’t, The duke will lay upon...
Return you thither?
Return you thither?
return you thither?
Return you thither?
Ay, madam, with the swiftest wing of speed.
Ay, madam, with the swiftest wing of speed.
ay, madam, with the swiftest wing of speed.
Ay, madam, with the swiftest wing of speed.
The moment the Countess says 'I do wash his name out of my blood, and thou art all my child' is quietly radical. Mothers in Shakespeare — Volumnia in Coriolanus, Lady Capulet in Romeo and Juliet, Gertrude in Hamlet — are rarely as clearly on the right side as the Countess of Rossillon. She doesn't hesitate, doesn't offer excuses for Bertram, doesn't try to balance maternal love with moral judgment. She judges him, and her judgment is simple: he is wrong, Helena is right, and the bond of motherhood does not exempt a child from justice. This moral clarity makes the Countess one of the most unusual characters in the play — and it throws Bertram's behavior into sharper relief. He is lucky to have a mother this clear-eyed. He's too young to know it yet.
’Tis bitter.
’is bitter.
’t's bitter.
’is bitter.
Find you that there?
Find you that there?
find you that there?
Find you that there?
Ay, madam.
Ay, madam.
ay, madam.
Ay, madam.
’Tis but the boldness of his hand haply, which his heart was not
consenting to.
’is but the boldness of his hand perhaps, which his heart was not consenting to.
’t's but the boldness of h's hand perhaps, which h's heart was not consenting to.
’is but the boldness of his hand perhaps, which his heart was...
Nothing in France until he have no wife!
There’s nothing here that is too good for him
But only she, and she deserves a lord
That twenty such rude boys might tend upon,
And call her hourly mistress. Who was with him?
Nothing in France until he have no wife! There’s nothing here that is too good for him But only she, and she deserves a lord That twenty such rude boys might tend upon, And call her hourly mistress. Who was with him?
nothing in france until he 've no wife! there’s nothing here that 's too good for him but only she, and she deserves a lord that twenty such rude boys might tend upon, and call her hourly mistress. who was with him?
Nothing in France until he have no wife! There’s nothing here that...
A servant only, and a gentleman which I have sometime known.
A servant only, and a gentleman which I have sometime known.
a servant only, and a gentleman which i 've sometime known.
A servant only, and a gentleman which I have sometime known.
Parolles, was it not?
Parolles, was it not?
parolles, was it not?
Parolles, was it not?
Ay, my good lady, he.
Ay, my good lady, he.
ay, my good lady, he.
Ay, my good lady, he.
A very tainted fellow, and full of wickedness.
My son corrupts a well-derived nature
With his inducement.
A very tainted fellow, and full of wickedness. My son corrupts a well-derived nature With his inducement.
a very tainted fellow, and full of wickedness. my son corrupts a well-derived nature with h's inducement.
A very tainted fellow, and full of wickedness. My son corrupts a...
Indeed, good lady,
The fellow has a deal of that too much,
Which holds him much to have.
Indeed, good lady, The fellow has a deal of that too much, Which holds him much to have.
indeed, good lady, the fellow has a deal of that too much, which holds him much to have.
Indeed, good lady, The fellow has a deal of that too much,...
Y’are welcome, gentlemen.
I will entreat you, when you see my son,
To tell him that his sword can never win
The honour that he loses: more I’ll entreat you
Written to bear along.
Y’are welcome, gentlemen. I will entreat you, when you see my son, To tell him that his sword can never win The honour that he loses: more I’ll entreat you Written to bear along.
y’'re welcome, gentlemen. i will entreat you, when you see my son, to tell him that h's sword can never win the honour that he loses: more i’ll entreat you written to bear along.
Y’are welcome, gentlemen. I will entreat you, when you see my son,...
We serve you, madam,
In that and all your worthiest affairs.
We serve you, madam, In that and all your worthiest affairs.
we serve you, madam, in that and all your worthiest affairs.
We serve you, madam, In that and all your worthiest affairs.
Not so, but as we change our courtesies.
Will you draw near?
Not so, but as we change our courtesies. Will you draw near?
not so, but as we change our courtesies. will you draw near?
Not so, but as we change our courtesies. Will you draw near?
“Till I have no wife, I have nothing in France.”
Nothing in France until he has no wife!
Thou shalt have none, Rossillon, none in France;
Then hast thou all again. Poor lord, is’t I
That chase thee from thy country, and expose
Those tender limbs of thine to the event
Of the none-sparing war? And is it I
That drive thee from the sportive court, where thou
Wast shot at with fair eyes, to be the mark
Of smoky muskets? O you leaden messengers,
That ride upon the violent speed of fire,
Fly with false aim; move the still-peering air,
That sings with piercing; do not touch my lord.
Whoever shoots at him, I set him there;
Whoever charges on his forward breast,
I am the caitiff that do hold him to’t;
And though I kill him not, I am the cause
His death was so effected. Better ’twere
I met the ravin lion when he roar’d
With sharp constraint of hunger; better ’twere
That all the miseries which nature owes
Were mine at once. No; come thou home, Rossillon,
Whence honour but of danger wins a scar,
As oft it loses all. I will be gone;
My being here it is that holds thee hence.
Shall I stay here to do’t? No, no, although
The air of paradise did fan the house,
And angels offic’d all. I will be gone,
That pitiful rumour may report my flight
To consolate thine ear. Come, night; end, day;
For with the dark, poor thief, I’ll steal away.
“Till I have no wife, I have nothing in France.” Nothing in France until he has no wife! you shall have none, Rossillon, none in France; Then hast you all again. Poor lord, is’t I That chase you from your country, and expose Those tender limbs of yours to the event Of the none-sparing war? And is it I That drive you from the sportive court, where you were shot at with fair eyes, to be the mark Of smoky muskets? O you leaden messengers, That ride upon the violent speed of fire, Fly with false aim; move the still-peering air, That sings with piercing; do not touch my lord. Whoever shoots at him, I set him there; Whoever charges on his forward breast, I am the caitiff that do hold him to’t; And though I kill him not, I am the cause His death was so effected. Better ’twere I met the ravin lion when he roar’d With sharp constraint of hunger; better ’twere That all the miseries which nature owes Were mine at once. No; come you home, Rossillon, Whence honour but of danger wins a scar, As oft it loses all. I will be gone; My being here it is that holds you hence. Shall I stay here to do’t? No, no, although The air of paradise did fan the house, And angels offic’d all. I will be gone, That pitiful rumour may report my flight To consolate yours ear. Come, night; end, day; For with the dark, poor thief, I’ll steal away.
“till i 've no wife, i 've nothing in france.” nothing in france until he has no wife! you shall 've none, rossillon, none in france; then hast you all again. poor lord, is’t i that chase you from your country, and expose those tender limbs of yours to the event of the none-sparing war? and 's it i that drive you from the sportive court, where you were shot at with fair eyes, to be the mark of smoky muskets? o you leaden messengers, that ride upon the violent speed of fire, fly with false aim; move the still-peering air, that sings with piercing; do not touch my lord. whoever shoots at him, i set him there; whoever charges on h's forward breast, i am the caitiff that do hold him to’t; and though i kill him not, i am the cause h's death was so effected. better ’twere i met the ravin lion when he roar’d with sharp constraint of hunger; better ’twere that all the miseries which nature owes were mine at once. no; come you home, rossillon, whence honour but of danger wins a scar, as oft it loses all. i will be gone; my being here it 's that holds you hence. shall i stay here to do’t? no, no, although the air of paradise did fan the house, and angels offic’d all. i will be gone, that pitiful rumour may report my flight to consolate yours ear. come, night; end, day; for with the dark, poor thief, i’ll steal away.
“Till I have no wife, I have nothing in France.” Nothing in...
The Reckoning
The scene where everything falls apart and Helena decides to sacrifice herself for Bertram's safety. The letter from Bertram is brutal — 'I have wedded her, not bedded her, and sworn to make the not eternal' — and the conditions he sets for recognizing the marriage are designed to be impossible. Helena reads them, then does something radical: she concludes that her presence is the reason Bertram is in danger, and she will remove herself from the world. Her final soliloquy, a prayer for his protection in war, is one of the most selfless speeches in Shakespeare. The audience is left with the question: is this beautiful or is this unbearable?
If this happened today…
A young woman gets home from the courthouse where her marriage was registered and finds a letter on the doormat: 'I've moved out. I've gone overseas. If you can somehow get my grandmother's ring off my finger — which you never will — and prove you're pregnant with my child — which you can't be, since I've never touched you — then you can call yourself my wife. Until then, stay out of my life.' Her new mother-in-law reads the letter over her shoulder. Then she reads another letter that says: 'Till I have no wife, I have nothing here.' The young woman texts her friend: 'He's in a war zone because of me. I have to leave.'