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SCENE, the Duke's Court in Florence.

Fleurish. Enter the Duke of Florence, two French Lords, with foldiers.

DUKE,

O that, from point to point, now have you heard
The fundamental reasons of this war,

Whofe great decifion hath much blood let forth,
And more thirfts after.

1 Lord. Holy feems the quarrel

Upon your Grace's part; but black and fearful
On the opposer.

Duke. Therefore we marvel much, our coufin France
Would, in fo juft a business, shut his bofom
Against our borrowing prayers.

2 Lord. Good my Lord,

The reasons of our state I cannot yield,
But like a common and an outward man,
That the great figure of a council frames
By felf-unabled motion; therefore dare not
Say what I think of it, fince I have found
My felf in my incertain grounds to fail
As often as I gueft.

Duke. Be it his pleasure.

2 Lord. But I am fure, the younger of our nation, That furfeit on their eafe, will day by day

Come here for phyfick.

Duke. Welcome shall they be :

And all the honours, that can fly from us,

Shall on them fettle. You know your places well.
When better fall, for your avails they fell;
To-morrow, to the field.

VOL. III.

C

[Exeunt. SCENE

SCENE changes to Roufillon, in France.

Count.

I'

Enter Countefs, and Clown.

T hath happen'd, all as I would have had it; fave, that he comes not along with her. Clo. By my troth, I take my young Lord to be a very melancholy man.

Count. By what obfervance, I pray you?

Clo. Why, he will look upon his boot, and fing; mend his ruff, and fing; afk questions, and fing; pick his teeth, and fing. I knew a man that had this trick of melancholy, fold a goodly manor for a fong.

Count. Let me fee what he writes, and when he means to come. [Reads the Letter.

Clo. I have no mind to Ibel, fince I was at court. Our old ling, and our Ibels o'th' country, are nothing like your old ling, and your Ibels o'th' court: the brain of my Cupid's knock'd out; and I begin to love, as an old man loves money, with no ftomach.

Count. What have we here?

Clo. E'en that you have there.

Countess reads a Letter.

[Exit.

I have fent you a daughter-in-law: she hath recovered. the King, and undone me. I have wedded her, not bedded her; and fivorn 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 fon,

This is not well, rafh and unbridled boy,
To fly the favours of fo good a king,
To pluck his indignation on thy head;
By the mifprizing of a maid, too virtuous-
For the contempt of empire.

Bertram.

Re

Re-enter Clown.

Clo. O Madam, yonder is heavy news within between two foldiers and my young Lady,

Count. What is the matter?

Clo. Nay, there is fome comfort in the news, fome comfort; your fon will not be kill'd fo foon as I thought he would.

Count. Why should he be kill'd ?

Clo. So fay I, Madam, if he run away, as I hear he does; the danger is in ftanding to't; that's the lofs of men, though it be the getting of children. Here they come, will tell you more. For my part, I only hear, your fon was run away.

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.

Count. Think upon patience: 'pray you, Gentlemen, I've felt fo many quirks of joy and grief,

That the first face of neither, on the start,

Can woman me unto't. Where is my fon?

2 Gen. Madam, he's gone to ferve the Duke of Florence. We met him thitherward, from thence we came; And after some dispatch in hand at court.

Thither we bend again.

Hel. Look on his letter, Madam; here's my pafsport.

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 fuch a then I write a never.

This is a dreadful fentence.

Count. Brought you this letter, Gentlemen?

1 Gen. Ay, Madam, and, for the contents fake, are forry for our pains.

Count. I pr'ythee, Lady, have a better cheer. If thou engroffeft all the griefs as thine,

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Thou

Thou robb'ft me of a moiety: he was my fon,
But I do wash his name out of my blood,

And thou art all my child.

2 Gen. Ay, Madam.

Count. And to be a foldier ?

Towards Florence is he?

2 Gen. Such is his noble purpofe; 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 swifteft wing of speed. Hel. 'Till I have no wife, I have nothing in France. 'Tis bitter. [Reading.

Count. Find you that there?

Hel. Yes, Madam.

1 Gen. 'Tis but the boldness of his hand, happ'ly, which his heart was not confenting to.

Count. Nothing in France, until he have no wife?
There's nothing here, that is too good for him,
But only fhe; and fhe deferves a Lord,

That twenty fuch rude boys might tend upon,
And call her hourly miftrefs. Who was with him ?
Gen. A fervant only, and a gentleman

Which I have fome time known.

Count. Parolles, was't not?

1 Gen. Ay, my good Lady, he.

Count. A very tainted fellow, and full of wickedness: My fon corrupts a well-derived nature

With his inducement.

1 Gen. (27) Indeed, good Lady, the fellow has a deal of that too much, which holds him much to have. Count. Y'are welcome, Gentlemen; I will intreat you, when you fee my fon, to tell him, that his sword

(27) Indeed, good Lady, the fellow has a deal of that too much, which holds him much to have.] This is fomewhat obfcure in the expreflion; but the meaning must be this, The fellow, indeed, has a deal too much vanity, lying, boafting; but it holds him much to have fuch qualities; i. e. it ftands him in great ftead, is of great fervice to him, and what he cannot do without. For these were the arts that Parolies used to get into Bertram's favour; and when once they were difcover'd, he was fet a-drift, and undone.

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can never win the honour that he lofes : more I'll intreat you written to bear along.

2 Gen. We ferve you, Madam, in that and all your worthieft affairs.

Count. Not fo, but as we change our courtefies.
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, Roufillon, none in France;
Then haft thou all again. Poor Lord! is't I
That chafe thee from thy country, and expofe
Those tender limbs of thine to the event
Of the none-fparing war? and is it I,

That drive thee from the fportive court, where thou
Waft fhot at with fair eyes, to be the mark
Of fmoaky mufkets? O you leaden meffengers,
That ride upon the violent fpeed of fire,
Fly with falfe aim; move the ftill-piercing air,
That fings with piercing, do not touch my Lord:
Whoever shoots at him, I fet him there.
Whoever charges on his forward breast,
I am the caitiff, that do hold him to it;
And tho' I kill him not, I am the cause
His death was fo effected. Better 'twere,
I met the rav'ning lion when he roar'd

With sharp conftraint of hunger: better 'twere,
That all the miferies, which Nature owes,

Were mine at once. No, come thou home, Roufillon,
Whence honour but of danger wins a scar;

As oft it lofes all. I will be gone:

My being here it is, that holds thee hence.
Shall I ftay here to do't? no, no, although
The air of Paradife did fan the house,
And angels offic'd all; I will be gone :
That pitiful rumour may report my flight,

To confolate thine ear. Come, night; end, day!
For with the dark, poor thief, I'll teal away. [Exit.

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