If thou engroffeft all the griefs' as thine, And thou art all my child.-Towards Florence is he? Count. And to be a foldier? 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 swifteft wing of speed. Hel. 'Till I have no wife, I have nothing in France. 'Tis bitter. Count. Find you that there? Hel. Ay, madam. [Reading. 1 Gen. 'Tis but the boldness of his hand, haply, which His heart was not confenting to. Count. Nothing in France, until he have no wife! That twenty fuch rude boys might tend upon, 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. I Gen. Indeed, good lady, The fellow has a deal of that, too much, k of that, too much, which holds him much to have.]-Of that villainy, which stands him in good ftead-of that ignorance, which judges him to have much in him, Which holds him much to have. Count. You are welcome, gentlemen. 2 Gen. We serve you, madam, In that and all your worthieft affairs. Count. Not fo, but as we change our courtefies. Will you draw near? [Exeunt Countess 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, Of the none-fparing war? and is it I That drive thee from the sportive court, where thou Fly with false aim; move the " still-piecing air, I met the ravin lion when he roar'd With sharp constraint of hunger; better 'twere, Not fo, but as we change our courtefies.]-No further than our mutual civilities may extend. ftill-piecing]-clofing after feperation. Were mine at once: No, come thou home, Roufillon; My being here it is, that holds thee hence; The air of paradife did fan the house, That pitiful rumour may report my flight, To confolate thine ear. Come, night; end, day! [Exit. The Duke's Court in Florence. Flourish. Enter the Duke of Florence, Bertram, drum and trumpets, foldiers, &c. Duke. The general of our horfe thou art; and we, Great in our hope, lay our best love and credence, Upon thy promifing fortune. Ber. Sir, it is A charge too heavy for my ftrength; but yet Duke. Then go forth; And fortune play upon thy profperous helm, Ber. This very day, 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. [Exeunt. Whence, &c.]-From the wars, that abode of danger, where the fairest trophy of honour is a fcar, it's frequent fortune, death. SCENE Count. Alas! and would you take the letter of her? Stew. I am St. Jaques' pilgrim, thither gone; With fainted vow my faults to have amended. Ah, what sharp ftings are in her mildest words!- Stew. Pardon me, madam: If I had given you this at over-night, She might have been o'er-ta'en; and yet the writes, • Herculean. P advice]-difcretion. Ee 3 Purfuit. Purfuit would be but vain. Count. What angel fhall Bless this unworthy husband? he cannot thrive, SCENE V. Without the walls of Florence. A tucket afar off. [Exeunt. Enter an old Widow of Florence, Diana, and Mariana, with other citizens. Wid. Nay, come; for if they do approach the city, we fhall lofe all the fight. Dia. They fay, the French count has done most honourable fervice. a I have no skill in fenfe to make diftinction:]-I am unable to deter mine. |