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And Fortune play upon thy prosp'rous helm,
As thy auspicious mistress?

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.
SCENE VI. Changes to Roufillon in France,

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.

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I am St Jaques' pilgrim, thither gone ;

Ambitious love hath fo 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 deareft master, your dear fon, may hie; Bless him at home in peace, whilft I from far

His name with zealous fervour sanctisy. His taken labours bid him me forgive;

1, his despiteful funo, 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.'
Ah, whát sharp stings are in her mildest words ?
Rynaldo, 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, Madam,
If I had given you this at over-night,
She might have been o'er-ta’en; and yet she writes,
Pursuit would be but 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, Rynaldo,
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.
Dispatch 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 deareft to me, I've 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.

[Exeunt.
S CE N E VII.
Changes to a public place in Florence.

A tucket afar off Enter an old Widow of Florence, Diana, Violenta, and

Mariana, with 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 ta’en 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,

1

enticements, oaths, tokens, and all these engines of luft, are the things they go under; many a maid hath been seduced by them; and the misery is, example, that fo terrible News in the wreck of maidenhood, cannot for all that dissuade succession, but that they are limed with the twigs that threaten them. I hope I need not to advise you further; but I hope your own grace will keep you where you are, though there were no further danger found but the modesty which is so loft. Dia. You shall not need to fear me.

Enter Helena, disguis'd like a pilgrim. Wid. I hope fo-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 St Jaques le Grand. Where do the palmers lodge, I do beseech you?

Wid. At the St Francis, beside the port.
Hel. Is this the way

7 ?

[ A march afar off. Wid. Ay, marry, is ’t. Hark you, they come this

way. If you

will tarry, holy pilgrim, but till the troops come I will conduct you where you shall be lodg’d; [by, The rather, for I think I know your

hostess As ample as myself.

Hel. Is it yourself?
Wid. If you shall please fo, pilgrim.
Hel. I thank you, and will stay upon your leisure.
Wid. You came, I think, from France.
Hel. I did fo.

Wid. Here you shall see a countryman of your's,
That has done worthy service.

Hel. His name, I pray you?
Dia. The Count Roufillon : know you

such a one ? Hel. But by the ear, that hears moft nobly of him ; His face I know not.

Dia. Whatsoe'er he is,
He's bravely taken here. He stole from France,
As 'tis reported; for the King had married him
Against his liking. Think you it is so ?

Hel. Ay, surely, merely truth; I know his lady.

Dia. There is a gentleman that serves the count,
Reports but coursely of her.

Hel. What's his name?
Dia. Monsieur Parolles.

Hel. Oh, I believe with him,
In argument of praise, or to the worth
Of the great Count himself: she is too mean
To have her name repeated; all her deserving
Is a reserved honesty, and that
I have not heard examin'd.

Dia. Alas, poor lady!
'Tis a hard bondage, to become the wife
Of a detesting Lord.

Wid. Ah! right; good creature ! wheresoe’er she is Her heart weighs fadly; this young maid might do her A shrewd turn, if she pleas’d.

Hel. How do you mean?
May be the am'rous Count solicits her
In the unlawful purpose.

Wid. He does indeed ;
And brokes with all that can in such a suit
Corrupt the tender honour of a maid :
But she is arm’d for him, and keeps her guard
In honeftest defence.

S C Ε Ν Ε

VIII.

Drum and Colours.

Enter Bertram, Parolles, Officers and Soldiers attending.

Mar. The Gods forbid else!

Wid. So now they come :
That is Antonio, the Duke's eldest son;
That, Escalus.

Hel. Which is the Frenchman ?

Dia. He; That with the plume; 'tis a moft gallant fellow; I would he lov'd his wife ! if he were honester, He were much goodlier. Is’t not a handsome gentle)

man? Hel. I like him well. Dia. 'Tis pity he is not honeft; yond's that fame

That leads him to these places ; were I his lady,
I'd poison that vile rascal.

Hel. Which is he?

Dia. That jack-an-apes with scarfs. Why is he melancholy?

Hel. Perchance he's hurt i'th' battle.
Par. Lose our drum! well.-

Mar. He's shrewdly vex'd at something. Look, he hath spied us. Wid. Marry, hang you !

[Exeunt Bertram, Parolles, Gc. Mar. And your courtesy, for a ring-carrier !Wid. The troop is pass'd. Come, pilgrim, I will bring

you
Where you shall hoft: Of injoin'd penitents

There's four or five, to great St Jaques bound,
Already at my house.

Hel. I humbly thank you :
Please it this matron, and this gentle maid
To eat with us to-night, the charge and thanking
Shall be for me: and to requite you further,
I will bestow some precepts on this virgin
Worthy the note.

Both. We'll take your offer kindly. [Exeunt,

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Enter Bertram, and the two French Lords. 1 Lord. Nay, good my Lord, put him to't: let him have his way.

2 Lord. If your Lordthip find him not a hilding, hold me no more in your respect.

i Lord. On my life, my Lord, a bubble.
Ber. Do

you
think I

am so far deceiv'd in him ? i Lord. Believe it, my Lord, in mine own direct knowledge, without any malice, but to speak of him as my kinsman; he's a most notable coward, an infinite and endless lyar, an hourly promise-breaker, the owner of no one good quality worthy your Lordship's entertainment.

2 Lord. It were fit you knew him, left, reporing too far in his virtue, which he hath not, he might

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