All's Well That Ends Well by William Shakespeare
Act 3 - Scene 4
Rousillon. The COUNT’s palace.
Countess : Alas! and would you take the letter of her?
[p]Might you not know she
would do as she has done,
[p]By sending me a letter? Read it again.
Steward : [Reads]
[p]I am Saint Jaques' pilgrim, thither gone:
[p]Ambitious love
hath so in me offended,
[p]That barefoot plod I the cold ground
upon,
[p]With sainted vow my faults to have amended.
[p]Write, write,
that from the bloody course of war
[p]My dearest master, your dear
son, may hie:
[p]Bless him at home in peace, whilst I from far
[p]His
name with zealous fervor sanctify:
[p]His taken labours bid him me
forgive;
[p]I, his despiteful Juno, sent him forth
[p]From courtly
friends, with camping foes to live,
[p]Where death and danger dogs the
heels of worth:
[p]He is too good and fair for death and me:
[p]Whom I
myself embrace, to set him free.
Countess : Ah, what sharp stings are in her mildest words!
[p]Rinaldo, you did
never lack advice so much,
[p]As letting her pass so: had I spoke with
her,
[p]I could have well diverted her intents,
[p]Which thus she hath
prevented.
Steward : Pardon me, madam:
[p]If I had given you this at over-night,
[p]She
might have been o'erta'en; and yet she writes,
[p]Pursuit would be but
vain.
Countess : What angel shall
[p]Bless this unworthy husband? he cannot
thrive,
[p]Unless her prayers, whom heaven delights to hear
[p]And
loves to grant, reprieve him from the wrath
[p]Of greatest justice.
Write, write, Rinaldo,
[p]To this unworthy husband of his wife;
[p]Let
every word weigh heavy of her worth
[p]That he does weigh too light:
my greatest grief.
[p]Though little he do feel it, set down
sharply.
[p]Dispatch the most convenient messenger:
[p]When haply he
shall hear that she is gone,
[p]He will return; and hope I may that
she,
[p]Hearing so much, will speed her foot again,
[p]Led hither by
pure love: which of them both
[p]Is dearest to me. I have no skill in
sense
[p]To make distinction: provide this messenger:
[p]My heart is
heavy and mine age is weak;
[p]Grief would have tears, and sorrow bids
me speak.
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Next: Act 3 - Scene 5
