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Hel. TK

PILL 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 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
Waft 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; * pierce the still-moving air,
That fings 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 tho' I kill him not, I am the cause
His death was so effected. Better 'twere,
I met the rav'ning lion when he roar'd
With sharp constraint of hunger : better 'twere,
That ail the miseries, which nature owes,
Were mine at once. No, come thou home, Rouhllon;
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 lay here to do't? no, no, alihough
The air of paradise did fan the house,
And angels oflic'd all; I will be gone;

move the still-piercing air, That fings with piercing -] The Words are here odly fliusfied. We should read,

pierce the still moving air,

T'hat sings with piercing, i. c. pierce the Air, which is in perpetual Motion, and suffers no Injury by piercing,


Duke. THE General of our Horse thou art, and we,

That pitiful rumour may report my flight,
To confolate thine ear. Come, night; end, day!
For with the dark, poor thief, I'll steal away. (Éxit.

Changes to the Duke's Court in Florence.
Flourish. Enter the Duke of Florence, Bertram, Drum

and Trumpets, Soldiers, Parolles.
Great in our hope, lay our best love and

Upon thy promising fortune.

Ber. Sir, it is
A charge too heavy for my strength; but yet
We'll strive to bear it for your worthy fake,
To th’extreme edge of hazard.

Duke. Then go forth,
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.

Changes to Rousillon in France.

Enter Countess and Steward.

LAS! 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.

L E T T E R.
I am St. Jaques' pilgrim, thither gone;

Ambitious love hath so in me offended,
Vol. III.



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Count. A

That bare-foot plod I the cold ground upon,

With fainted vow my faults to have amended. Write, write, that from the bloody course of war

My dearest master, jour dear fon, may hie; Bless him at home in peace, whilft I from far

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

I, his despiteful Juno, sent him forth
From courily 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 embraci, to set him


Ah, what 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 the 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,
Tho’ little he do feel it, sét 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;


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W2@. N city, we shall lose all the sight.

My heart is heavy, and mine age is weak;
Grief would have tears, and forrow bids me speak.

Changes to a public Place in Florence.

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

Mariana, with other Citizens.

For if they do approach the Dia. They say, the French Count has done most ho. nourable service.

Wid. It is reported, that he has ta’en their greatest commander; and that with his own hand he few 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. have told my neighbour, how


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, enticements, oaths, tokens, and all these engines of lust, are the things they go under; many a maid hath been seduced by them; and the misery is, example, that so terrible shews in the wreck of maidenhood, cannot for all that dissuade succession, but that they are lined 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, tho'there

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you will

were no further danger found, but the modesty which
is so lost.
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, pil-
grim! whither are you bound?

Hel. To St. Jaques le Grand. Where do the palmers lodge, I do beseech


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

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

come by, If

tarry, holy pilgrim, but 'till the troops
I will conduct you where you shall be lodg’d;
The rather, for, I think, I know your hostess
As ample as myself.

Hel. Is it yourself?
Wid. If you shall please so, 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 yours,
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 most 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.


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