SCENE V.-Another Room in the Same.

SCENE IV.-The Same.

Another Room in the

Par. Bless you, my fortunate lady!

Hel. I hope, sir, I have your good will to have mine own good fortunes.

Par. You had my prayers to lead them on; and to keep them on, have them still.-O, my knave! How does my old lady?

Clo. So that you had her wrinkles, and I her money, I would she did as you say.

Par. Why, I say nothing.

Clo. Marry, you are the wiser man; for many a man's tongue shakes out his master's undoing. To say nothing, to do nothing, to know nothing, and to have nothing, is to be a great part of your title, which is within a very little of nothing.

Par. Away! thou'rt a knave.

Clo. You should have said, sir, before a knave thou'rt a knave; that is, before me thou'rt a knave: this had been truth, sir.

Par. Go to, thou art a witty fool: I have found thee.

Clo. Did you find me in yourself, sir, or were you taught to find me! The search, sir, was profitable; and much fool may you find in you, even to the world's pleasure, and the increase of laughter.

Par. A good knave, i' faith, and well fed.-
Madam, my lord will go away to-night;

A very serious business calls on him.
The great prerogative and rite of love,

Which as your due time claims, he does acknowledge,

But puts it off to a compell'd restraint;

Whose want, and whose delay, is strewed with

Enter LAFEU, and BERTRAM.

Laf. But, I hope, your lordship thinks not him a soldier.

Ber. Yes, my lord, and of very valiant approof. Laf. You have it from his own deliverance. Ber. And by other warranted testimony. Laf. Then my dial goes not true. I took this lark for a bunting.

Ber. I do assure you, my lord, he is very great in knowledge, and accordingly valiant.

Laf. I have then sinned against his experience, and transgressed against his valour; and my state that way is dangerous, since I cannot yet find in my heart to repent. Here he comes. I pray you, make us friends: I will pursue the amity.

Laf. O! I know him well. Ay, sir; he, sir, is a good workman, a very good tailor.

Ber. [Aside to PAROLLES.] Is she gone to the king? Par. She is.

Ber. Will she away to-night?

Par. As you'll have her.

Ber. I have writ my letters, casketed my treasure, Given order for our horses; and to-night, When I should take possesion of the bride, End, ere I do begin.

Laf. A good traveller is something at the latter end of a dinner; but one that lies three-thirds, and uses a known truth to pass a thousand nothings with, should be once heard, and thrice beaten.God save you, captain.

Ber. Is there any unkindness between my lord and you, monsieur?

Par. I know not how I have deserved to run into my lord's displeasure.

Laf. You have made shift to run into't, boots and spurs and all, like him that leaped into the custard; and out of it you'll run again, rather than suffer question for your residence.

Ber. It may be, you have mistaken him, my lord.

Laf. And shall do so ever, though I took him at his prayers. Fare you well, my lord; and believe this of me, there can be no kernel in this light nut; the soul of this man is his clothes: trust him not in matter of heavy consequence; I have kept of them tame, and know their natures.-Farewell, monsieur: I have spoken better of you, than you have or will deserve at my hand; but we must do good against evil. [Exit.

Par. An idle lord, I swear.

Ber. 1 think so.

Par. Why, do you not know him?

Ber. Yes, I do know him well; and common

Enter COUNTESS, and Clown.

Count. It hath happened all as I would have had it, save 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 observance, I pray you?

Clo. Why, he will look upon his boot, and sing; mend the ruff, and sing; ask questions, and sing; pick his teeth, and sing. I know a man, that had this trick of melancholy, sold a goodly manor for a song.

Count. Let me see what he writes, and when he means to come. [Opening a letter.

Clo. I have no mind to Isbel, since I was at court. Our old ling and our Isbels o' the country are

court: the brains of my Cupid's knocked out, and I begin to love, as an old man loves money, with no stomach.

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 thoug' t 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 the two French Gentlemen.

Fr. Env. Save you, good madam.
Hel. Madam, my lord is gone; for ever gone.
Fr. Gen. Do not say so.

Count. Think upon patience.-'Pray you, gentle

men,

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!

Fr. Gen. Madam, he's gone to serve the duke of

Florence:

We met him thitherward; for thence we came, And, after some despatch in hand at court, Thither we bend again.

Hel. Look on his letter, madam: here's my pass

port.

Ay, madam.

Fr. Env. '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?
Fr. Env. A servant only, and a gentleman
Which I have some time known.

Count.
Parolles, was it not?
Fr. Env. Ay, my good lady, he.
Count. A very tainted fellow, and full of wicked-

ness.

My son corrupts a well-derived nature

With his inducement.

Fr. Env.

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 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.

Fr. 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 COUNTESS, and French 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 I

That drive thee from the sportive court, where thou
Wast 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-piecing 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 do hold him to it;
And, though I kill him not, I am the cause
His death was so effected. Better 'twere,
I met the ravin 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 offic'd 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.

[Erit

Might you not know, she would do as she has done, By sending me a letter? Read it again.

Stew. [Reads.] "I am Saint 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, Whom 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,

madam.