Duke.
So that, from point to point, now have you heard

The fundamental reasons of this war;
Whose great decision hath much blood let forth,
And more thirsts after.

1 Lord.
Holy seems the quarrel
Upon your grace's part; black and fearful
On the opposer.

Duke.
Therefore we marvel much, our cousin France
Would, in so just a business, shut his bosom
Against our borrowing prayers.

2 Lord.
Good my lord,
The reasons of our state I cannot yield^{4 note}

Duke.
Be it his pleasure.

2 Lord.
But I am sure, the younger of our nature^{7 note},
That surfeit on their ease, will, day by day,
Come here for physick.

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 Countess 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 sing; mend the ruff, and sing^{8 note}

Count.

Let me see what he writes, and when he means to come.

Clo.

I have no mind to Isbel, since I was at court: our old ling and our Isbels o' the country are nothing like your old ling and your Isbels o' the court: the brains of my Cupid's knocked out; and I begin to love, as an old man loves money, with no stomach.

Count.

What have we here?

Clo.

E'en that^{1 note} you have there.

Count. [Reads.]

I have sent you a daughter-in-law: she hath recovered the king, and undone me. I have wedded her, not bedded her; and sworn to make the not eternal. You shall 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 son,

Bertram.

Clo.

O madam, yonder is heavy news within, between two soldiers and my young lady.

Count.

What is the matter?

Clo.

Nay, there is some comfort in the news, some comfort; your son will not be killed so soon as I thought he would.

Count.

Why should he be kill'd?

Clo.

So say I, madam, if he run away, as I hear he does: the danger is in standing to't; that's the loss of men, though it be the getting of children.

Here they come, will tell you more: for my part, I only hear, your son was run away.

1 Gen.

Save you, good madam.

Hel.
Madam, my lord is gone, for ever gone.

2 Gen.

Do not say so.

Count.
Think upon patience.—'Pray you, gentlemen,—
I have felt so many quirks of joy, and grief,
That the first face of neither, on the start,
Can woman me^{2 note}

2 Gen.
Madam, he's gone to serve the duke of Florence:
We met him thitherward; from thence we came,
And, after some despatch in hand at court,
Thither we bend again.

Hel.
Look on his letter, madam; here's my passport. [Reads.]

When thou canst get the ring upon my finger^{3 note}

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.

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^{4 note}

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.

Hel. [Reads.]
Till I have no wife, I have nothing in France.
'Tis bitter.

Count.
Find you that there?

Hel.
Ay, madam.

1 Gen.
'Tis but the boldness of his hand, haply,
Which his heart was not consenting to.

Count.
Nothing in France, until he have no wife!
There's nothing here, that is too good for him,
But only she; and she deserves a lord,
That twenty such rude boys might tend upon,
And call her hourly, mistress. Who was with him?

1 Gen.
A servant only, and a gentleman
Which I have some time known.

Count.
Parolles, was't not?

1 Gen.
Ay, my good lady, he.

Count.
A very tainted fellow, and full of wickedness.
My son corrupts a well-derived nature
With his inducement.

1 Gen.
Indeed, good lady,
The fellow has a deal of that, too much,
Which holds him much to have^{5 note}

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^{6 note}.
Will you draw near? [Exeunt Countess and Gentlemen.

Hel.
Till I have no wife, I have nothing in France.
Nothing in France, until he has no wife!
Thou shalt have none, Rousíllon, 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
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,
That sings with piercing^{7 note}

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 'twere,
I met the ravin lion^{8 note}

SCENE III. Florence. Before the Duke's Palace. Flourish. Enter the Duke of Florence, Bertram, Lords, Officers, Soldiers, and others.

Duke.
The general of our horse thou art; and we,
Great in our hope, lay our best love and credence,
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 sake,
To the extreme edge of hazard^{1 note}

Duke.
Then go thou forth;
And fortune play upon thy prosperous helm^{2 note}

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 IV. Rousillon. A Room in the Countess's Palace. 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.
Stew.
I am Saint Jaques' pilgrim,^{3 note}

Count.
Ah, what sharp stings are in her mildest words!—

Rinaldo, you did never lack advice so much^{5 note}

Stew.
Pardon me, madam:
If I had given you this at over-night,
She might have been o'erta'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, Rinaldo,
To this unworthy husband of his wife;
Let every word weigh heavy of her worth,
That he does weigh too light^{6 note}
: my greatest grief,
Though little he do feel it, set down sharply.
Despatch 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 dearest to me, I have 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.

SCENE V. Without the Walls of Florence. A tucket afar off. Enter an old Widow of Florence, Diana, Violenta, Mariana, and 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 taken 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^{7 note}
.—Beware of them, Diana; their promises, enticements, oaths, tokens, and all these engines of lust, are not the things they go under^{8 note}

1 Lord.

On my life, my lord, a bubble.

Ber.

Do you think, I am so far deceived in him?

1 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 liar, an hourly promise-breaker, the owner of no one good quality worthy your lordship's entertainment.

2 Lord.

It were fit you knew him; lest, reposing too far in his virtue, which he hath not, he might, at some great and trusty business, in a main danger, fail you.

Ber.

I would, I knew in what particular action to try him.

2 Lord.

None better than to let him fetch off

his drum, which you hear him so confidently undertake to do.

1 Lord.

I, with a troop of Florentines, will suddenly surprize him; such I will have, whom, I am sure, he knows not from the enemy: we will bind and hood-wink him so, that he shall suppose no other but that he is carried into the leaguer of the adversaries^{9 note}, when we bring him to our tents: Be but your lordship present at his examination; if he do not, for the promise of his life, and in the highest compulsion of base fear, offer to betray you, and deliver all the intelligence in his power against you, and that with the divine forfeit of his soul upon oath, never trust my judgment in any thing.

2 Lord.

O for the love of laughter, let him fetch his drum; he says, he has a stratagem for't: when your lordship sees the bottom of his^{1 note} success in't, and to what metal this counterfeit lump of ore^{2 note}

Enter Parolles.

1 Lord.

O, for the love of laughter, hinder not

the humour of his design; let him fetch off his drum in any hand^{4 note}.

Ber.

How now, monsieur? this drum sticks sorely in your disposition.

2 Lord.

A pox on't; let it go; 'tis but a drum.

Par.

But a drum! Is't but a drum? A drum so lost!—There was an excellent command! to charge in with our horse upon our own wings, and to rend our own soldiers.

2 Lord.

That was not to be blamed in the command of the service: it was a disaster of war that Cæsar himself could not have prevented, if he had been there to command.

Ber.

Well, we cannot greatly condemn our success; some dishonour we had in the loss of that drum; but it is not to be recovered.

Par.

It might have been recovered.

Ber.

It might, but it is not now.

Par.

It is to be recovered: but that the merit of service is seldom attributed to the true and exact performer, I would have that drum or another, or hic jacet^{5 note}.

Ber.

Why, if you have a stomach to't, monsieur, if you think your mystery in stratagem can bring this instrument of honour again into his native quarter, be magnanimous in the enterprize, and go on; I will grace the attempt for a worthy exploit: if you speed well in it, the duke shall both speak of it, and extend to you what further becomes his

greatness, even to the utmost syllable of your worthiness.

Par.

By the hand of a soldier, I will undertake it.

Ber.

But you must not now slumber in it.

Par.

I'll about it this evening: and I will presently pen down my dilemmas^{6 note}

Ber.

May I be bold to acquaint his grace, you are gone about it?

Par.

I know not what the success will be, my lord; but the attempt I vow.

Ber.

I know, thou art valiant; and, to the possibility of thy soldiership^{7 note}

Par.

I love not many words.

1 Lord.

No more than a fish loves water^{8 note}

not this a strange fellow, my lord? that so confidently seems to undertake this business, which he knows is not to be done; damns himself to do, and dares better be damned than do't.

2 Lord.

You do not know him, my lord, as we do: certain it is, that he will steal himself into a man's favour, and, for a week, escape a great deal of discoveries; but when you find him out, you have him ever after.

Ber.

Why, do you think, he will make no deed at all of this, that so seriously he does address himself unto?

1 Lord.

None in the world; but return with an invention, and clap upon you two or three probable lies: but we have almost embossed him^{9 note}

2 Lord.

We'll make you some sport with the fox, ere we case him^{1 note}. He was first smoked by the old lord Lafeu: when his disguise and he is parted,

tell me what a sprat you shall find him; which you shall see this very night.

1 Lord.

I must go look my twigs; he shall be caught.

Ber.
Your brother, he shall go along with me.

1 Lord.
As't please your lordship: I'll leave you^{2 note}

Ber.
Now will I lead you to the house, and show you
The lass I spoke of.

2 Lord.
But, you say, she's honest.

Ber.
That's all the fault: I spoke with her but once,
And found her wondrous cold; but I sent to her,
By this same coxcomb that we have i' the wind^{3 note},
Tokens and letters which she did re-send;
And this is all I have done: She's a fair creature;
Will you go see her?

2 Lord.
With all my heart, my lord. [Exeunt. SCENE VII. Florence. A Room in the Widow's House. Enter Helena and Widow.

Hel.
If you misdoubt me that I am not she,
I know not how I shall assure you further,
But I shall lose the grounds I work upon^{4 note}.

Wid.
Though my estate be fallen, I was well born,
Nothing acquainted with these businesses;
And would not put my reputation now
In any staining act.

Hel.
Nor would I wish you.
First, give me trust, the count he is my husband;
And, what to your sworn counsel^{5 note} I have spoken,
Is so, from word to word; and then you cannot,
By the good aid that I of you shall borrow,
Err in bestowing it.

Wid.
I should believe you:
For you have show'd me that, which well approves
You are great in fortune.

Hel.
Take this purse of gold,
And let me buy your friendly help thus far,
Which I will over-pay, and pay again,
When I have found it. The count he woos your daughter,
Lays down his wanton siege before her beauty,
Resolves to carry her; let her, in fine, consent,
As we'll direct her how 'tis best to bear it,
Now his important blood will nought deny^{6 note}

To buy his will, it would not seem too dear,
Howe'er repented after.

Wid.
Now I see
The bottom of your purpose.

Hel.
You see it lawful then: It is no more,
But that your daughter, ere she seems as won,
Desires this ring; appoints him an encounter;
In fine, delivers me to fill the time,
Herself most chastely absent: after this^{8 note},
To marry her, I'll add three thousand crowns
To what is past already.

Wid.
I have yielded:
Instruct my daughter how she shall perséver,
That time and place, with this deceit so lawful,
May prove coherent. Every night he comes
With musicks of all sorts, and songs compos'd
To her unworthiness: It nothing steads us,
To chide him from our eaves; for he persists,
As if his life lay on't.

Hel.
Why then, to-night
Let us assay our plot; which, if it speed,
Is wicked meaning in a lawful deed,
And lawful meaning in a lawful act^{9 note}

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