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WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE
EXTENT OF THE IMPUESSION.
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Date ihe Reign of Queen Elizabeth. Drawn & En.graved by Henrjy Shaw
THE WORKS
iVILLIAM SHAKESPEARE
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VOLUME VII.
ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. TWELFTH NIGHT, OR, WHAT YOU WILL.
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ITist 0f |1Iiitcs
1. The Great Bed of Ware, drawn and engraved by Henry Shaw, Esq., E.S.A., from the Original still preserved at Ware Frontispiece.
2. The Entry of the First Eolio Edition of Shakespeare's Plays, 1623, &c., from the Registers of the Stationers' Company . . 11
3. Extracts from a Manuscript of the Seventeenth Century, exhihiting corrupted alterations of passages in All's Well that Ends Well, and in Twelfth Night . . . . . .128
4. Entries of Assignments of Shakespeare's Plays, from the original Manuscripts preserved at Stationers' Hall . . . . 227
5. Notices of the "Wits Treasury" of Meres, 1598, and other Works, from the original Begisters of the Stationers' Company . . 212
6. The original Tune to the Song, " O mistress mine, where are you roaming," from Queen Elizabeth's Virginal Book preserved in the Eitzwilliam Museum at Cambridge . . . .32.5
7. Facsimile of the first Portion of the ancient English Ballad, the Constancy of Susanna, from an early Edition preserved in the Roxburghe Collection. . . . . . .330
8. The Entry of the Ballad of "Please one and please all," 1591, and other Notices, from the original manuscript Registers of the Stationers' Company 365
9. The ancient Ballad of, " Please one and please all," from the unique Original preserved in the Library of George Daniel, Esq. . 384
10. The Music to the Passy-Measures Pavin, from the Manuscript Music-Book of Lady Nevill, dated 1591, now in the possession of the Earl of Abergavenny . . . . .422
11. The Dances, Passo-e-mezo and Pavana, from an Engraving in
an early Italian Work on Dancing, dated 1581 . . . 435
EARLY EDITIONS.
1. In the First Folio Edition of 1623.
2. In the Second Folio Edition of 1632.
3. In the Third Folio Edition of 1663.
4. In the Fourth Folio Edition of 1685.
INTRODUCTION.
The main incidents of the serious portion of the present comedy were originally related in the Decameron of Boccaccio, in the ninth novel of the third day, a story which was known to Shakespeare through the medium of an English translation, first published in William Painter's Palace of Pleasure, in the year 1566 ; reprinted in 1575. The outline of the novel is thus described in the title of the translation in the latter work, — " Giletta, a phisician's doughter of Narbon, healed the Frenche Kyng of a fistula, for reward wherof she demaunded Beltramo, counte of Rossiglione, to husbande ; the counte, beyng maried againste his will, for despite fled to Florence, and loved another ; Giletta, his wife, by poUicie founde meanes to lye with her husbande in place of his lover, and was begotten with child of twoo sonnes, whiche knowen to her husbande, he received her againe, and afterwardes she lived in greate honor and felicitie." This brief notice of the contents of the tale sufficiently indicates the outline of so much of the story as was adopted by the great dramatist, who has followed the preliminary circumstances with much fidelity, but has deviated considerably from the concluding incidents, which are exhibited in the play at greater length tlian they are presented to us in the novel, while the comic portion of the former is entirely new. In Boccaccio, the prototype of Helena, instead of being prostrated with grief at the absence of her husband, and unceasingly pursuing her love-labours, governs a province witli wisdom, and gains the esteem of the people,
ALL'S AVELL THAT ENDS WELL.
[iNTROD.
before she takes the recovery of her husband's affections into consideration, thus involving a calmness of action inconsistent with the character as pourtrayed by Shakespeare. The supposed death of the heroine, the scenes in which her husband's mother is introduced, and the report of her murder, are also peculiar to the comedy. Shakespeare has adopted the name of Bertram from the novel, anglicizing it from Beltram, but this is the only apj^ellation in his list of characters that is so derived, although Helena's father, Gerard de Narbon, is so called in both com- positions. The name of Violenta seems to have been suggested by the story of Didaco and Violenta, which occurs in the same volume of the Palace of Pleasure as that in which Giletta of Narbona is found. It is worthy of remark that Boccaccio's novel had been dramatised early in the sixteenth century by Bernard Accolti, in an Italian comedy entitled Virginia, first printed in 1 5 13, and several times republished in the sixteenth century ; but the novelist is very closely followed in this pro- duction, and there is no reason for supposing that Shakespeare was acquainted with it. Painter's translation of the original story in Boccaccio, which is here reprinted from the first edition of the Palace of Pleasure, 4to. Lond. 1566, is in fact the only real source for any of the incidents of the English comedy that has yet been discovered, but it contains suggestions for nearly the whole of the main action of the serious portion of the comedy. Even the scenes in which the wars between the Florentines and the Siennois are alluded to, ma^^ have been derived from the same source, for the hero of the tale is represented, after the desertion of his wife, as going into Tuscany, " where, understanding that the Florentines and Siennois were at war, he determined to take the Florentines' part, and was willingly received and honorably entertained, and made captain of a certain number of men, continuing in their service a long time —
In Eraunce there was a gentleman called Isnardo, the counte of Rossig-lione, who, bicause he was sickly and diseased, kepte alwaies in his house a phisicion, named maister Gerardo of Narbona. This counte had one onely sonne called Beltramo, a verie yonge childe, pleasaunt and faire, with whom there was nourished and broughte up many other children of his age ; emonges whom one of the doughters of the saied phisicion, named Giletta, who ferventlie fell in love with Beltramo, more then was meete for a maiden of her age. This Beltramo, M hen his father was dedde, and lefte under the roiall custodie of the kyng, was sente to Paris, for whose departure the maiden was verie pensife. A litle while after, her father beyng likewise dedde, she was desirous to goe to Paris, onely to see the yong counte, if for that purpose she could gette any good occasion. But beyng diligently looked unto by her kinsfolke, bicause she was riche and fatherlesse, she
INTEOD.]
ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL.
5
could see no conveniente waie for lier intended journey ; and being now manage- able, the love she bare to the counte was never out of her remembraunce, and refused many husbandes with whom her kinsfolke would have placed her, without making them privie to the occasion of her refusall. Now it chaunced that she burned more in love with Beltramo then ever she did before, bicause she heard tell that he was growen to the state of a goodly yonge gentlemanne. She heard, by reporte, that the Erenche kyng had a swellyng upon his breast, whiche by reason of ill cure was growen to a fistula, and did putte him to merveilous paine and grief, and that there was no phisicion to be founde, although many were proved, that could heale it, but rather did impaire the grief, and made it worsse and worsse. Wherefore the kyng, like one that was in dispaire, would take no more counsaill or helpe; wherof the yonge maiden was wonderfull glad, and thought to have by this meanes, not onelie a lawfull occasion to goe to Paris, but if the disease were suche as she supposed, easely to bryng to passe that she might have the counte Beltramo to her husbande. Whereupon, with suche knowledge as she had learned at her fathers handes before time, she made a pouder of certain herbes, whiche she thought meete for that disease, and rode to Paris. And the first thing she went about when she came thither, was to see the counte Beltramo ; and then she repaired to the kyng, praiyng his grace to vouchsaufe to shewe her his disease. The kyng. perceivyng her to bee afaireyonge maiden and a comelie, would not hide it, but opened the same unto her. So soone as she sawe it, she putte hym in comforte, that she was able to heale hym, saiyng : " Sire, if it shall please your grace, I trust in God, without any paine or grief unto your highnesse, within eighte dales I will make you whole of this disease." The kyng hearyng her sale so, began to mocke her, saiyng : " How is it possible for thee, beyng a yong woman, to doe that whiche the best renoumed phisicions in the worlde can not ?" He thanked her for her good will, and made her a directe answere, that he was determined no more to followe the counsaile of any phisicion. Wherunto the maiden answered : " Sire, you dispise my knowledge bicause I am yonge and a woman, but I assure you that I doe not minister phisicke by profes- sion, but by the aide and helpe of God ; and with the cunnyng of maister Gerardo of Narbona, who was my father, and a phisicion of greate fame so longe as he lived." The kyng hearyng those wordes, saied to hymself : " This woman, peradventure, is sent unto me of God, and therfore why should I disdain to prove her cunnyng ? sithens she promiseth to heale me within a little space, without any offence or grief unto me." And beyng determined to prove her, he said : " Damosell, if thou doest not heale me, but make me to breake my determinacion, what wilt thou shall fclowe thereof." " Sire," saied the maiden, " let me be kept in what guarde and kepyng you list ; and if I dooe not heale you within these eight dales, let me bee burnte; but if I doe heale your grace, what recompence shall I have then ?" To whom the kyng answered : " Bicause thou art a maiden and unmaried, if thou heale me accordyng to thy promisse, I will bestowe thee upon some gentleman, that shalbe of right good worship and estimacion." To whom she answered : " Sire, I am verie well content that you bestowe me in mariage : but I will have suche a husbande as I myself shall demaunde, without presumpcion to any of your children or other of your bloudde ;" whiche requeste the kyng incontinently graunted. The yong maiden began to minister her phisicke, and in shorte space before her appoincted tyme, she had throughly cured the kyng. And when the king perceived himself whole, said unto her : " Thou hast well deserved a husbande, Giletla, even suche a one as thyself shalt chose." " I have then, my lorde," quod she, " deserved the countie Beltramo of Eossiglione, whom 1 have loved from my youthe." The kyng was very lothe to graunte hym unto her ; but bicause he had made a promis whiche he was lothe to breake, he caused hym
C ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS AVELL. [introd.
to bee called fortlie, and saied unto hym : " Sir counte, bicause you are a gentleman of grcate honor, our pleasure is, that you retourne home to your owne house, to order your estate according to your degree ; and that you take with you a damosell uliiclie I have appoincted to be your wife." To whom the counte gave his humble thankes, and dcmaunded what she was ? " It is she," quoth the kyng, " that with her medecincs hath healed me." The counte knewe her well, and had alredie seen her, although she was faire, yet knowing her not to be of a stocke convenable to his nobilitie, disdainfuUie said unto the king, " "Will you then, sir, give me a phisicion to wife ? It is not the pleasure of God that ever I should in that wise bestowe myself." To whom the kyng said : — " Wilt thou then, that we should breake our faithe, whiclie we, to recover healthe, have given to the damosell, who for a rewarde thereof asked thee to husband ?" " Sire," quod Eeltramo, " you maie take from me al that I have, and give my persone to whom you please, bicause I am your subject: but I assure you, I shall never bee contented with that mariage." " Well, you shall have her," saied the kyng, " for the maiden is faire and wise, and loveth you raoste intirely: thinkyng verelie you shall leade a more joyfuU life with her, then with a ladie of a greater house." The counte therwithal helde his peace, and the king made great preparacion for the mariage. And when the appoincted daie was come, the counte in the presence of the kyng, although it were againste his will, maried the maiden, who loved hym better then her owne self. Whiche dooen, the counte, determinyng before what he would doe, praied licence to retourne to his countrie to consummat the mariage ; and when he was on horsebacke, he went not thither, but tooke his journey into Thuscane, where, understandyng that the Florentines and Senois were at warres, he determined to take the Florentines parte, and was willinglie received and honourablie interteigned, and made capitaine of a certaine nomber of men, continuyng in their service a longe tyme. The newe-maried gentlewoman, scarce contented with that, and hopyng by her well-doyng to cause hym to retourne into his countrie, went to Hossiglione, where she was received of all his subjectes for their ladie ; and, perceivyng that, through the countes absence, all thinges were spoiled and out of order, she, like a sage lady, with greate dihgence and care, disposed all thynges in order againe ; whereof the subjectes rejoysed verie muche, bearyng to her their hartie love and affection, greatlie blamyng the counte bicause he could not contente himself with her. This notable gentle- woman, having restored all the countrie againe, sent worde thereof to the counte her husbande, by twoo knightes of the countrie, whiche she sent to signifie unto hym, that if it were for her sake that he had abandoned his countrie, he should sende her woorde thereof, and she to doe hym pleasure, would depart from thence. To whom he chorlishlie saied : — " Lette her doe what she list : for I doe purpose to dwell witli her, when she shall have this ryng, meanyng a ryng which he wore, upon her finger, and a soonne in her armes begotten by me." He greatly loved that ryng, and kepte it verie carefullie, and never tooke it of from his finger, for a certaine vertue that he knewe it had. The knightes, hearyng the harde condicion of twoo thinges impossible, and seyng that by them he could not be removed from his determinacion, thei retourned againe to the ladie, telling her his answere ; who, verie sorowfuU, after she hadde a good while bethought herself, purposed to finde meanes to attaine to those twoo thynges, to the intente that thereby she might recover her husband. And havyng advised with her self what to doe, she assembled the noblest and chiefest of her countrie, declaring unto them, in lamentable wise, what she had alredie dooen to winne the love of the counte, shewyng them also what folowed thereof : and in the ende saied unto them, that she was lothe the counte for her sake sliould dwell in perpetuall exile ; therefore she determined to spende the rest of her tyme in pilgrimages and
INTROD.]
ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL.
7
devocion, for preservacion of her soule, praiyng them to take the charge and governemente of the countrie, and that thei would lette the counte understande, that she had forsaken his house, and was removed farre from thence, with purpose never to retourne to RossigHone againe. Many teares were shedde by the people, as she was speakyng these wordes ; and divers supplicacions were made unto him to alter his opinion, but al in vaine. Wherefore, commending them all unto God, she tooke her waie with her maide, and one of her kinsemen, in the habite of a pilgrime, well furnished with silver and precious jewelles : tellyng no man whither she wente, and never rested till she came to Florence ; where, arrivyng by fortune at a poore widowes house, she contented herself with the state of a poore pilgrime, desirous to here newes of her lorde, whom by fortune she sawe the next daie passing by the house where she lay, on horsebacke with his companie ; and although she knewe him well enough, yet she demaunded of the good wife of the house what he was ; who answered that he was a straunge gentleman, called the counte Beltramo of Rossiglione, a curteous knighte, and wel beloved in the citie, and that he was merveilously in love with a neighbor of hers, that was a gentle- woman, verie poore and of small substaunce, neverthelesse of right honest life and report, and by reason of her povertie was yet unmaried, and dwelte with her mother, that was a wise and honest ladie. The countesse, well notyng these wordes, and by litle and litle debatyng every particular point thereof, com- prehendyng the effecte of those newes, concluded what to doe, and when she had well understanded whiche was the house, and the name of the ladie, and of her doughter that was beloved of the counte ; upon a daie repaired to the house secretlie in the habite of a pilgrime, where finding the mother and doughter in poore estate emonges their familie, after she hadde saluted them, tolde the mother that she had to saie unto her. The gentlewoman risyng up, curteouslie interteigned her, and beyng entred alone into a chamber, thei satte doune, and the countesse began to saie unto her in this wise, — " Madame, me thinke that ye be one upon whom fortune doetli frowne, so well as upon me : but, if you please, you male bothe comfort me and yourself." The ladie answered that there was nothyng in the worlde whereof she was more desirous then of honest comforte. The countesse, procedyng in her talke, saied unto her,—" I have nede now of your fidelitie and trust, whereupon if I doe stale, and you deceive me, you shall bothe undoe me and yourself." " Tel me then what it is hardelie," saied the gentlewoman, " if it bee your pleasure ; for you shall never bee deceived of me." Then the countesse beganne to recite her whole estate of love ; tellyng her what she was, and what had chaunced to that present daie, in suche perfite order, that the gentlewoman, belevyng her woordes, bicause she had partlie heard report thereof before, beganne to have compassion upon her, and after that the countesse had rehearsed all the whole circumstaunce, she continued her purpose, saiyng : — " Now you have heard emonges other my troubles, what twoo thynges thei bee, whiche behoveth me to have, if I doe recover my husbande, whiche I knowe none can helpe me to obtain, but onely you, if it bee true that I heare, whiche is, that the counte, my husbande, is farre in love with your doughter." To whom the gentlewoman, saied : — " Madame, if the counte love my doughter, I knowe not, albeit the likelihoode is greate : but what am I able to doe, in that whiche you desire!" "Madame," answered the countesse, " I will tell you ; but first I will declare what I mean to doe for you, if my determinacion be brought to effect : I see your faier doughter of good age, redie to marie, but as I understand the cause why she is unmaried, is tlie lacke of substance to bestowe upon her. Wherfore I purpose, for recompence of the pleasure whiche you shall dooe for me, to give so muche redie money to marie her honorably, as you shall thinke sufficient." The countesse' ofPer was very well
8 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. [introd.
liked of the ladie, bicause she was but poore ; yet having a noble hart, she said unto her, — " Madame, tell me wherin I male do you service ; and if it be a thing honest, I will gladlic performe it, and the same being brought to passe, do as it shal please you." Then saied the countesse : — " I thinke it requisite, that by some one whom you truste, that you give knowledge to the counte, my husbande, that your doughter is, and shalbe at his commaundement ; and to the intent she male bee well assured that he loveth her in deede above any other, that she praieth him to sende her a ring that he weareth upon his finger, whiche ring she heard tell he loved verie derely ; and when he sendeth the ryng, you shall give it unto me, and afterwardes sende hym woorde that your doughter is redie to accoraplishe his pleasure, and tlien you shall cause hym secretly to come hither, and place me by hym, in steede of your doughter ; peradventure God will give me the grace that I male bee with childe, and so havyng this ryng on my finger, and the childe in myne armes begotten by him, I shall recover him, and by your meanes continue with hym, as a wife ought to doe with her husbande." This thing semed difficulte unto the gentlewoman ; fearyng that there would folowe reproche unto her doughter. Notwithstandyng, consideryng what an honest parte it were, to be a meane that the good ladie should recover her husband, and that she should doe it for a good purpose, havyng affiaunce in her honest aflPection, not onely promised the countesse to bryng this to passe, but in fewe dales with greate subtiltie, folowyng the order wherein she was instructed, she had gotten the ryng, although it was with the countes ill will, and toke order that the countesse in-stede of her doughter did lye with hym. And at the first meetyng, so alfectuously desired by the counte, God so disposed the matter, that the countesse was begotten with childe of twoo goodly sonnes, and her delivery chaunced at the due time. Wherupon the gentlewoman, not onely contented the countesse at that tyme with the companie of her husbande, but at many other times so secretly that it was never knowen ; the counte not thinkyng that he had lien with his wife, but with her whom he loved. To whom at his uprisyng in the mornyng, he used many curteous and amiable woordes, and gave divers faire and precious jewelles, whiche the countesse kepte moste carefullie ; and when she perceived herself with childe, she determined no more to trouble the gentlewoman, but saied unto her, — " Madame, thankes bee to God and you, I have the thyng that I desire, and even so it is tyme to recompence your desert, that afterwardes I male departe." The gentlewoman saied unto her, that if she had doen any pleasure agreable to her mind, she was right glad thereof, whiche she did, not for hope of rewarde, but bicause it apperteined to her by well doyng so to doe. Wherunto the countesse saied : — " Your saiyng pleaseth me well, and likewise, for my parte, I dooe not purpose to give unto you the thing you shall demaunde of me in rewarde, but for consideracion of your well doyng, whiche duetie forceth me so to dooe." The gentlewoman then, constrained with necessitie, demaunded of her, with greate bashefulnesse, an hundred poundes to marie her doughter. The countesse perceivyng the shame- fastnesse of the gentlewoman, and hearyng her curteous demaunde, gave her five hundred poundes, and so many faire and costly jewels whiche almoste amounted to like valer ; for whiche the gentlewoman, more then contented, gave moste hartie thankes to the countesse, who departed from the gentlewoman, and retourned to her lodging. The gentlewoman, to take occasion from the counte of any farther repaire, or sendyng to her house, tooke her doughter with her, and went into the countrie to her frendes. The counte Beltramo, within fewe dales after, beyng revoked home to his owne house by his subjectes, hearyng that the countesse was departed from thence, retourned. The countesse, knowynge that her housband was gone from Florence and retourned into his countrie, was verie glad and contented, and she continewed in Elorence till the tyme of her childbedde was
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ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL.
9
come, and was brought a bedde of twoo soones, whiche were verie like unto their father, and caused them carefuUie to be noursed and brouglit up, and when she sawe tyme, she toke her journey, unknowen to any manne, and arrived at Monpellier, and restyng her self there for certaine daies, hearyng newes of the counte, and where he was, and that upon the dale of All Sainctes, he purposed to make a great feast and asserablie of ladies and knightes, in her pilgrim es weede she wente thither. And knowyng that thei were all assembled, at the pallace of the counte, redie to sitte doune at the table, she passed through the people without chaunge of apparell, with her twoo sonnes in her armes ; and when she was come up into the hall, even to the place where the counte was, fallying doune prostrate at his feete, wepyng, saied unto him : — " My lorde, I am thy poore infortunate wife, who to th'intent thou mightest returne and dwel in thine owne house, have been a great while beggyng about the worlde ; therefore I now beseche thee, for the honour of God, that thou wilt observe the condicions whiche the twoo knightes, that I sent unto thee, did commaunde me to doe ; for beholde, here in myne armes, not onelie one soonne begotten by thee, but twaine, and likewise thy rynge : it is now tyme then, if thou kepe promis, that I should be received as thy wife." The counte hearyng this, was greatly astonned, and knewe the rynge, and the children also, thei were so like hym. " But tell me," quod he, " howe is this come to passe?" The countesse, to the greate admiracion of the counte, and of all those that were in presence, rehearsed unto them in order all that whiche had been doen, and the whole discourse therof. For whiche cause the counte, knowyng the thynges she had spoken to be true, and perceivyng her constaunt minde and good witte, and the twoo faier yonge boies to kepe his promisse made, and to please his subjectes, and the ladies that made sute unto him, to accept her from that time forthe as his lawfull wife, and to honour her, abjected his obstinate rigour; causyng her to rise up, and imbraced and kissed her, acknowledgyng her againe for his lawfull wife. And after he had apparelled her according to her estate, to the greate pleasure and contentacion of those that were there, and of all his other frendes, not onely that dale, but many others, he kepte greate chere, and from that tyme forthe, he loved and honoured her as his dere spouse and wife.
There are reasons for believing that AlFs Well that Ends Well originally appeared mider another, certainly the more graceful, and perhaps the more appropriate, title of Love's Labour's Won. Meres, in his Palladis Tamia, 1598, speaking of the writings of Shakespeare, says, — for comedy, witnes his Gentlemen of Verona, his Errors, his Love Labors Lost, his Love Labors Wonne, his Midsummers Night Dreame, and his Merchant of Venice." It is evident, therefore, on unquestioned authority, that, late in the year 1598, one of the comedies of Shakespeare was called Love Labours Won, or, to judge from the analogous instance of the companion drama, a play the proper title of which was I^ove's Labour's Won ; and unless the somewhat improbable conjecture that this is a lost play be adopted, one of the comedies not mentioned in the above list was, under some form or other, so styled at the time of its production. The comedies that answer to this condition are, — VII. 2
10
ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL.
[iNTROD.
1, The Tempest, a play in which the lahours by which love is won are of brief duration, and capriciously imposed merely for a temporary purpose ; 2, The Merry Wives of Windsor, a title too obvious and definite to admit of conjectural alteration, and a comedy to which the title in Meres cannot be considered with probability to apply ; 3, Measure for Measure, which involves no action applicable to the new title ; 4, Much Ado about Nothing ; 5, As You Like It ; 6, The Taming of the Shrew ; 7, The Winter's Tale, which, with the three previous comedies, may fairly be dismissed from consideration as candidates for the appellation in question ; and lastly, Twelfth Night, or What you Will, the double title of which sufficiently precludes the probability of a third name having been assigned to it. In this discussion, the presumed dates of the composition of these plays are not considered, none of them having been established with absolute certainty. The real questions are, whether the title of Love's Labour's Won does not indicate a drama in which the main incident involves the triumph of love over serious difficulties by indomitable perseverance, and if there is any one of the other comedies in Shakespeare not mentioned by Sieres to which such a description applies so forcibly as doth that of All's Well that Ends Well. If these inquiries are answered in the affirmative, it may then be safely concluded that Love's Labour's Won was originally the name of the present comedy, either in a separate form, or as a second title. The latter supposition is the most likely to be correct, for although Helena tells Bertram that by her steadfast labours he is " doubly won," won by two series of love-labours, there are no fewer than four distinct allusions in the play to the proverb of All's Well that Ends Well, and the last, — "all is well ended, if this suit be won," seems almost to indicate the correctness of the assump- tion that, in the author's original manuscript, the comedy was entitled, AU's Well that Ends Well, or Love's I^abour's Won. The evidence is obviously insufficient to warrant any alteration in the title as given in the first folio of 1623, but, unless it be supposed that the editors of that edition omitted a comedy which is not now known to exist, it seems almost certain that the present drama was the one alluded to by Meres under the latter title. An admission of this presumed fact necessarily implies a belief that the play was produced at least as early as in the year 1598. It is not impossible that either the players, or the editors of the first folio of 1623, altered the title of
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iNTROD.] ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL.
11
Love's Labour's Won without due authority. There is evidence that plays were sometimes printed with new names. Thus in Cokain's Poems, 1658, is one "to my friend Mr. Thomas Randolph, on his play called the Entertainment, printed by the name of the Muses Looking-glass." It is also worthy of remark that Shakespeare's comedy, at a later period, seems to have passed under the name of "Monsieur Parolles," that appellation being assigned to it by King Charles L in a manuscript note in a copy of the second folio of 1 632, preserved at Windsor Castle, which formerly belonged to that unfortunate monarch. No notice of All's Well that Ends Well, under that title, has been discovered of a date previous to its entry on the books of the Stationers' Company, in November, 1623, where it is placed in the list of *' soe manie of the said copies as are not formerly entred to other men."
The adoption of the date of composition, thus conjecturally assigned, does not involve any variance with allusions to con- temporary incidents or fashions in the play itself, as far as the latter are at present discovered or understood. When Helena, in the first scene, calls Parolles by the epithet, Monarch, she is supposed to allude to a character also mentioned in the companion drama of Love's Labour's Lost, who, under the title of Monarch or Monarcho, was well-known in London at the latter part of the sixteenth century, and whose boasting pro- pensities rendered his name a fitting appellation for Parolles, which he was anxious to disclaim, though his wit failed him, and he was constrained to utter merely a monosyllabic negative. There is no doubt he felt that the implied satire was deservedly bestowed. The notice of the surplice, in the same act, is not of any utility in the consideration of the subject of date, as the controversy respecting this article of ecclesiastical costume was carried on previously to 1598, and continued at intervals for many years afterwards. Of as little consideration is the presumed allusion to a book called the Theorique and Practice of Warre, published in 1597, the passage which is conjectured to apply to this work bearing no necessary reference to any publication of the kind.
There is, however, a notice towards the close of the play which is worth some consideration, and may possibly be thought of sufficient moment to deserve the title of an evidence of probability in the question as to the chronology or period of its composition. When Lafeu styles Parolles " good Tom Drum,"
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[iNTROD.
he refers of course to the incident of the drum which that character professed to he so anxious to recover, hut the nickname itself is not necessarily original, and when it is con- sidered that the story of Tom Drum takes a prominent position in one of the popular novels of the day, in which he is intro- duced as a notorious liar and hraggart, the probabilities are that Sbakespeare, when he places the name as applied to Parolles in the mouth of Lafevi, was not merely thinking of the old pro- verbial expression of Tom Drum's or Jack Drum's Entertain- ment, but that he introduced it as a name well known to the audience, and most appropriate in its application to the detected character of Parolles. The story of Tom Drum was familiar to the English public through the medium of Deloney's Second Part of the Gentle Craft, a most merry and pleasant History not altogether unprofitable nor any way hurtfull, very fit to passe away the tediousnes of the long winters evenings, 4to. London, Printed for Edward White, and are to be sold at his shop neere the little North doore of S. Panics at the signe of the Gun, 1598. This was probably the first edition, printed late in 1597 or very early in 1598, the work being entered on the books of the Stationers' Company in October, 1597. In the sixth chapter of this second part, which relates how Harry Nevell and Tom Drum came to serve Peachey of Fleete- streete," the author thus commences the history of the latter personage, — " among manie other that was desirous of his service, there was one called Tom Drum, that had a great minde to be his man, a very odde fellow , and one that was sore infected with the sinne of cogging ; this boasting companion, sitting on a time sadlie at worke in his master's shoppe at Petworth," &c. Deloney then proceeds to relate how he left this situation, and the merry manner in which he was accom- panied by his fellow countrymen a mile out of the town. As Tom Drum proceeded on his way, in the best possible spirits,