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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;
To pluck his indignation on thy head,
By the misprizing of a maid too virtuous
For the contempt of empire.

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,
And, after some despatch in hand at court,
Thither we band again.

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,
The duke will lay upon him all the honour
That good convenience claims.
Count.

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.
Indeed, good lady,
The fellow has a deal of that, too much,
Which holds him much to have.

Count. You 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.

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
Of smoky muskets? O you leaden messengers,
That ride upon the violent speed of fire,

Fly with false aim; move the still-piercing 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 doth hold him to 't;
And, though I kill him not, I am the cause
His death was so effected. Better 'twere
I met the ravening 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, Rousillon,
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 officed 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. [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.
A charge too heavy for my strength; but yet
We'll strive to bear it for your worthy sake,
To the extreme edge of hazard.
Duke.

Then go thou forth;

This very day,

And fortune play upon thy prosperous helm,
As thy suspicious mistress

Ber.

Great Mars, I put myself into thy file:

Make me but like my thoughts; and I shall prove
A lover of thy drum, hater of love.

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;
Ambitious love hath so in me offended,

That bare-foot plod I the cold ground upon,
With sainted vow my faults to have amended.
Write, write, that, from the bloody course of war,
My dearest master, your dear son, may hie:
Bless him at home in peace, whilst I from far,
His name with zealous fervour sanctify:
His taken labours bid him me forgive;

I, his despiteful Juno, sent him forth

From courtly friends, with camping foes to live.
Where death and danger dog the heels of worth
He is too good and fair for death and me;
Whora I myself embrace, to set him free.

Count. Ah, what sharp stings are in her mildest words!

Rinaldo, you did never lack advice so much,
As letting her pass so; had I spoke with her,
I could have well diverted her intents,

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,
Pursuit would be in vain.

Count.

What angel shall
Bless this unworthy husband ? he cannot thrive,
Unless her prayers, whom Heaven delights to hear,
And loves to grant, reprieve him from the wrath
Of greatest justice.-Write, write, Rinaldo,
To this unworthy husband of his wife;
Let every word weigh heavy of her worth,
That he does weigh too light; my greatest grief,
Though little he do feel it, set down sharply.
Despatch the most convenient messenger:
When, haply, he shall hear that she is gone,
He will return; and hope I may, that she,
Hearing so much, will speed her foot again,
Led hither by pure love. Which of them both
Is dearest to me, I have no skill in sense

To make distinction.-Provide this messenger.
My heart is heavy, and mine age is weak;
Grief would have tears, and sorrow bids me speak.

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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?
Hel. To Saint Jaques le grand.

Where do the palmers lodge, I do beseech you?
Wid. At the Saint Francis here, beside the port.
Hel. Is this the way?

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