enough in the world, I will hold a long distance. My duty to you. Your unfortunate son, BERTRAM. This is not well, rash and unbridled boy, To fly the favours of so good a king; Re-enter Clown. Clo. O madam, yonder is heavy news within, between two soldiers and my young lady. Count. What is the matter? Clo. Nay, there is some comfort in the news, some comfort; your son will not be killed so soon as I thought he would. Count. Why should he be kill'd? Clo. 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. [Exit Clown. Enter HELENA and two Gentlemen. 1 Gen. Save you, good madam. Hel. Madam, my lord is gone, for ever gone, 2 Gen. Do not say so. [men, Count. Think upon patience.-Pray you, gentle 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? 2 Gen. Madam, he's gone to serve the duke of Florence: We met him thitherward; from thence we came, Hel. Look on his letter, madam; here's my passport. (Reads.) When thou canst get the ring upon my finger, which never shall come off, and shew me a child begotten of thy body, that I am father to, then call me husband: but in such a then I write a never. This is a dreadful sentence. Count. Brought you this letter, gentlemen? 1 Gen. Ay, madam; And for the contents' sake, are sorry for our pains. Count. I pr'y thee, lady, have a better cheer; If thou engrossest all the griefs are thine, Thou robb'st me of my moiety: He was my son; VOL. II. 19 But I do wash his name out of my blood, And thou art all my child.-Towards Florence is he? 2 Gen. Ay, madam. Count. And to be a soldier? 2 Gen. Such is his noble purpose: and believe 't, Return you thither? 1 Gen. Ay, madam, with the swiftest wing of speed. Hel. (Reads.) Till I have no wife, I have nothing in France. 'Tis bitter. Count. Hel. Find you that there? Ay, madam. 1 Gen. 'Tis but the boldness of his hand, haply, which His heart was not consenting to. Count. 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? 1 Gen. A servant only, and a gentleman Which I have some time known. Count. 1 Gen. Ay, my good lady, he. Parolles, was 't not? Count. A very tainted fellow, and full of wickedness. My son corrupts a well-derivéd nature With his inducement. 1 Gen. Count. You are welcome, gentlemen ; I will entreat you, when you see my son, 2 Gen. We serve you, madam, In that and all your worthiest affairs. Count. Not so, but as we change our courtesies. Will you draw near? [Exeunt Count. and Gentlemen. Hel. Till I have no wife, I have nothing in France. Nothing in France, until he has no wife! Thou shalt have none, Rousillon, 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 1, That drive thee from the sportive court, where thou Was shot at with fair eyes, to be the mark Fly with false aim; move the still-piercing air, Were mine at once. No, come thou home, Rousillon, My being here it is, that holds thee hence: For, with the dark, poor thief, I'll steal away. [Exit. SCENE III.-Florence. Before the Duke's Palace. Flourish. Enter the DUKE OF FLORENCE, BERTRAM, Lords, Officers, Soldiers, and others. Duke. The general of our horse thou art; and we, Great in our hope, lay our best love and credence Upon thy promising fortune. Sir, it is Ber. Then go thou forth; This very day, And fortune play upon thy prosperous helm, Ber. Great Mars, I put myself into thy file: Make me but like my thoughts; and I shall prove E [Exeunt. SCENE IV.-Rousillon. A Room in the Countess' s Palace. Enter Countess and Steward. Count. Alas! and would you take the letter of her! Might you not know, she would do as she has done, By sending me a letter? Read it again. Stew. I am St Jaques' pilgrim, thither gone; That bare-foot plod I the cold ground upon, I, his despiteful Juno, sent him forth From courtly friends, with camping foes to live. Count. Ah, what sharp stings are in her mildest words! Rinaldo, you did never lack advice so much, Which thus she hath prevented. Stew. Pardon me, madamı If I had given you this at over-night, She might have been o'erta'en; and yet she writes, Count. What angel shall To make distinction.-Provide this messenger. SCENE V. Without the Walls of Florence. A tucket afar off. Enter an old Widow of Florence, DIANA, VIOLENTA, MARIANA, and other Citizens. Wid. Nay, come; for if they do approach the city, we shall lose all the sight. Dia. They say, the French count has done most honourable service. Wid. It is reported that he has taken their greatest commander: and that with his own hand he slew the duke's brother. We have lost our labour; they are gone a contrary way: hark! you may know by their trumpets. Mar. Come, let's return again, and suffice ourselves with the report of it. Well, Diana, take heed of this French earl: the honour of a maid is her name; and no legacy is so rich as honesty. Wid. I have told my neighbour, how you have been solicited by a gentleman his companion. Mar. I know that knave; hang him! one Parolles : a filthy officer he is in those suggestions for the young earl. Beware of them, Diana; their promises, enticements, oaths, tokens, and all these engines of lust, are not the things they go under: many a maid hath been seduced by them; and the misery is, example, that so terrible shews in the wreck of maidenhood, cannot for all that dissuade succession, but they are limed with the twigs that threaten them. I hope, I need not to advise you farther; but, I hope, your own grace will keep you where you are, though there were no farther danger known, but the modesty which is so lost. Dia. You shall not need to fear me. Enter HELENA, in the dress of a pilgrim. Wid. I hope so. --Look, here comes a pilgrim. I know she will lie at my house: thither they send one another. I'll question her. God save you, pilgrim! Whither are you bound? Where do the palmers lodge, I do beseech you? |