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Sol. Captain, I will.
Lord. He will betray us all unto ourselves. Inform 'em That.
Sol. So I will, Sir. Lord. 'Till then I'll keep him dark and safely lockt.
[Exeunt. SCENE II.
Changes to the Widow's House.
Enter Bertram, and Diana.
Dia. No, my good lord, Diana.
should be such a one
you As you are now, for you are cold and stern; And now you should be as your
Mother was, When your
sweet self was got. Dia. She then was honest. Ber. So should you be.
Dia. Ay, fo you serve us, 'Till we serve
have our roses, You barely leave our thorns to prick ourselves, And mock us with our bareness. Ber. How have I sworn!
Dia. 'Tis not the many oaths, that make the truth; But the plain single vow, that is vow'd true ;
What is not holy, that we swear, not 'bides, – But take the High'st to witness: then, pray tell me, If I thould swear by Jove's great Attributesi I lov'd you dearly, would you believe my oaths, When I did love you ill? this has no holding, To swear by him whom I protest to love, That I will work again it him. Therefore your
oaths Are words, and poor conditions but unseald; At least, in my opinion.
Ber. Change it, change it: Be not so holy-cruel. Love is holy, And my integrity ne'er knew the crafts, That you do charge men with : stand no more off, But give thyself unto my fick defires, Which then recover. Say, thou art mine; and ever My love, as it begins, shall so, persever.
Dia. I see, that men make hopes in such affairs That we'll forsake ourselves. Give me that ring.
Ber. I'll lend it thee, my Dear, but have no power To give it from me.
Dia. Will you not, my Lord ?
Ber. It is an Honour 'longing to our House,
Dia. Mine Honour's such a ring;
* What is not holy, that we swear not by,] Yes, nothing is more common than such kind of Oaths. But Diana is not here accusing Ber: tram for swearing by a Being not holy, but for swearing to an unholy Purpole; therefore, is evidently corrupt, and should be read thus,
What is not holy, that we swear, not 'bides, i. e. If we swear to an unholy Purpose the Oath abides not, but is diffolved in the making. This is an Answer to the Purpose. She subjoins the reason two or three Lines after.
Bequeathed down from many Ancestors;
Ber. Here, take my ring.
so in the end.
Changes to the French Camp in Florence. Enter the two French Lords, and two or three Soldiers. i Lord. VOU have not given him his Mother's
letter? · Lord. I have deliver'd it an hour since; there is something in't, that stings his nature; for, on the reading it, he chang'd almost into another man.
1 Lord. He has much worthy blame laid upon him for shaking off so good a wife, and so sweet a lady.
2 Lord. Especially, he hath incurred the everlasting displeasure of the King, who had even tun'd his bounty 10 sing happiness to him. I will tell you a thing, but you shall let it dwell darkly with you.
i Lord. When you have spoken it, 'tis dead, and I am the
of it. 2 Lord. He hath perverted a young Gentlewoman here in Florence, of a moft chaste renown; and this night he fleshes his will in the spoil of her honour; he hath given her his monumental ring, and thinks himself made in the unchaste compofition.
i Lord. Now God delay our rebellion; as we are ourselves, what things are we!
2 Lord. Merely our own traitors ; and, as in the common course of all treasons, we still see them reveal themselves, 'till they attain to their abhor'd ends; so he, that in this acion contrives against his own Nobility, in his proper stream o'erflows himself.
i Lord. Is it not meant damnable in us to be the trumpeters of our unlawful intents ? we shall not then have his company to night?
2 Lord. Not till after midnight ; for he is dieted to his hour,
1 Lord. That approaches apace: I would gladly have him see his company anatomiz'd, that he might
take a measure of his own Judgment, wherein fo cu-
2 Lord. We will not meddle with him 'till he
2 Lord. I hear, there is an overture of Peace.
2 Lord. What will Count Roufillon do then? will
i Lord. I perceive by this demand, you are not altogether of his Council.
2 Lord. Let it be forbid, Sir! so should I be a great deal of his act.
i Lord. Sir, his Wife some two months since fled from his House, her pretence is a Pilgrimage to St. Jaques le Grand; which holy Undertaking, with most auftere fan&imony, she accomplish'd; and there refiding, the tenderness of her nature became as a prey to her grief; in fine, made a groan of her last breathi, and now she sings in heaven.
2 Lord. How is this justified ?
i Lord. The stronger part of it by her own letters, which makes her story true, even to the point of her death; her Death itself (which could not be her office to say, is come) was faithfully confirm'd by the Rector of the place.
2 Lord. Hath the Count all this intelligence ?
i Lord. Ay, and the particular confirmations, point from point, to the full arming of the verity.
2 Lord. I am heartily sorry that he'll be glad of this.
i Lord. How mightily sometimes we make us comforts of our losses !
2 Lord. And how mightily some other times we drown our gain in tears! the great dignity, that his valour hath here acquired for him, fhall at home be encounter'd with a shame as ample.