Strangers and foes do funder, and not kiss.

Ber. I pray you, ftay not; but in hafte to horfe. Hel. I fhall not break your bidding, good my Lord. [Exit Helena. Ber. Where are my other men, Monfieur?-farewel. Go thou tow'rd home, where I will never come, Whilft I can fhake my fword, or hear the drum : Away, and for our flight.

Par. Bravely, Couragio!

[Exeunt.

SCENE I.

The Duke's court in Florence.

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

・S%

Duke. O that, from point to point, now have you
The fundamental reafons of this war, [heard
Whofe great decifion hath much blood let forth,
And more thirfts after.

1 Lord. Holy seems the quarrel

Upon your Grace's part; but black and fearful

On the oppofer.

Duke. Therefore we marvel much our coufin France Would, in so just a business, shut his bofom

Against our borrowing prayers.

2 Lord. Good my Lord,

The reafons of our ftate I cannot yield,
But like a common and an outward man,
That the great figure of a council frames
By felf-unable notion; therefore dare not
Say what I think of it, fince I have found
Myfelf in my uncertain grounds to fail
As often as I guess'd.

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 phyfic.

Duke. Welcome fhall 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.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II. Changes to Roufillon in France.

Enter Countefs and Clown.

Count. It 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; ask questions, and fing; pick his teeth, and fing. I knew a man that had this trick of melancholy, fold a goodly manor for a song.

Count. Let me fee what he writes, and when he means [Reads the letter.

to come.

Clo. I have no mind to Ifbel, fince I was at court. Our old ling, and our Ifbels o' th' country, are nothing like your old ling, and your Iíbels 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.

Countefs reads a letter.

[Exit.

I have fent you a daughter-in-law: fhe hath recovered the King, and undone me. I have wedded her, not bedded her; and fworn to make the not eternal. You fhall 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 mifprifing of a maid, too virtuous
For the contempt of empire.

Bertram.

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 fhould 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.

SCENE III. Enter Helena, and two Gentlemen.

1 Gent. Save you, good Madam.

Hel. Madam, my Lord is gone, for ever gone.-2 Gent. Do not say so.

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

That the firft face of neither, on the ftart,

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

2 Gent. Madam, he's gone to ferve the Duke of Florence.

We met him thitherward, for thence we came;
And, after fome dispatch in hand at court,

Thither we bend again.

Hel. Look on this letter, Madam; here's my pafiport. When thou canft get the ring upon my finger, which never fhall come off; and fhew 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 sentence.

Coant. Brought you this letter, Gentlemen?

1 Gent. 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,
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. Towards Florence is he?

2 Gent. Ay, Madam.

Count. And to be a foldier?

2 Gent. 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. Gent. Ay, Madam, with the swiftest 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.

I Gent. 'Tis but the boldnefs of his hand, haply, 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 the; and she deserves a Lord

That twenty fuch rude boys might tend upon,

And call her hourly Miftrefs. Who was with him ? 1 Gent. A fervant only, and a gentleman Which I have fometime known.

Count. Parolles, was 't not?

1 Gent. 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 Gent. 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 when you you, fee my fon, to tell him, that his fword can never win the honour that he lofes: more I'll intreat you written to bear along.

1 Gent. 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 Countefs and Gent.

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 chase thee from thy country, and expose
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
Wast shot at with fair eyes, to be the mark
Of Smoaky muskets? O you leaden meffengers,
That ride upon the violent speed of fire,
Fly with falfe aim; pierce the ftill-moving 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 though 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 fharp 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 fteal away. [Exit.

Changes to the Duke's court in Florence.

Flourish. Enter the Duke of Florence, Bertram, Drum and Trumpets, Soldiers, Parolles.

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
We'll ftrive to bear it for your worthy fake,
To th' extreme edge of hazard.

Duke. Then go forth,