Enda ere I do begin.

LAF. A good traveller is something at the latter end of a dinner; but one that lies threethirds, 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; (5) 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.

b

PAR. An idle lord, I swear.

с

BER. I think so.

[specch

PAR. Why, do you not know him? BER. Yes, I do know him well; and common Gives him a worthy pass. Here comes my clog.

That presently you take your way for home,
And rather muse, than ask, why I entreat you;
For my respects are better than they seem,
And my appointments have in them a need,
Greater than shows itself at the first view,
Το you that know them not. This to my mother:
[Giving a letter.
"T will be two days ere I shall see you; so
I leave you to your wisdom.

HEL.

Sir, I can nothing say, But that I am your most obedient servant. BER. Come, come, no more of that. HEL.

And ever shall With true observance seek to eke out that, Wherein toward me my homely stars have fail'd To equal my great fortune.

BER. Let that go: My haste is very great: farewell; hie home. HEL. Pray, sir, your pardon. BER. Well, what would you say? ? HEL. I am not worthy of the wealth I owe,d Nor dare I say, 't is mine; and yet it is; But, like a timorous thief, most fain would steal What law does vouch mine own.

I would not tell you what I would: my lord— 'faith, yes;

Strangers, and foes, do sunder, and not kiss. BER. I pray you, stay not, but in haste to horse.

HEL. I shall not break your bidding, good my

lord.

BER. Where are my other men, monsieur ?— Farewell. [Exit HELENA. Go thou toward home; where I will never come, Whilst I can shake my sword, or hear the drum.— Away, and for our flight.

crazy, wild, mad-brained: thus, again in Act III. Sc. 7 :-
66 ——yet,
in his idle fire," &c.
and in "Hamlet," Act III. Sc. 6, Hamlet says-

"They are coming to the play; I must be idle."

e I think so.] The context testifies the poet wrote "I think not

80.

d The wealth I owe:-] The wealth I own, possess.

e Where are my other men, &c.] This line, in the old copies, is given to Helena.

Be it his pleasure.

2 LORD. But I am sure, the younger of our

nature,

That surfeit on their ease, will, day by day, Come here for physic.

DUKE.

Welcome shall they be ; And all the honours, that can fly from us, Shall on them settle. You know your places well; When better fall, for your avails they fell. To-morrow to the field.

[Flourish. Exeunt.

SCENE II.-Rousillon. A Room in the Countess's Palace.

Enter Counters 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

That the first face of neither, on the start, Can woman me unto 't.-Where is my son, I pray you?

2 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.

[passport. HEL. Look on his letter, madam; here's my [Reads.] When thou canst get the ring upon my finger which never shall come off, and show me a child begotten of thy body, that I am father to, then call me husband: but in such a then I write a never.

This is a dreadful sentence.

COUNT. Brought you this letter, gentlemen? 1 GEN. Ay, madam; And, for the contents' sake, are sorry for our pains.

COUNT. I pr'ythee, lady, have a better cheer; If thou engrossest all the griefs are thine, Thou robb'st me of a moiety: he was my son; But I do wash his name out of my blood, [he? And thou art all my child.-Towards Florence is 2 GEN. Ay, madam.

COUNT.

And to be a soldier? 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 swiftest wing of

speed.

Which holds him much to have."

COUNT. You 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.

2 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 Gentlemen. HEL. Till I have no wife, I have nothing in France.

[thou

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
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,b
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 't were
I met the ravin lion when he roar'd

With sharp constraint of hunger; better 't were
That all the miseries, which nature owes, [sillon,
Were mine at once. No, come thou home, Rou-
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. [Exit.

I am St. Jaques' pilgrim, thither gone :
Ambitious love hath so in me offended,
That bare-foot plcd 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 lalours bid him me forgive;

1, 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 : 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.