Lord.* ^note

He can come no other way, but by this hedge-corner. When you sally upon him, speak what terrible language you will; though you understand it not yourselves, no matter; for we must not seem to understand him, unless some one amongst us, whom we must produce for an interpreter.

Int.

Good captain, let me be the interpreter.

Lord.

Art not acquainted with him? Knows he not thy voice?

Int.

No, sir, I warrant you.

Lord.

But what hast thou to speak to us again?

Int.

Ev'n such as you speak to me.

Lord.

He must think us some band of strangers among the adversaries. Now he hath a smack of all neighbouring languages, therefore we must every one be a man of his own fancy; not to know what we speak one to another; only seem to know gabble enough, and good enough.† ^note As for you, interpreter,

you must seem very politic. But couch, hoa! here he comes, to beguile two hours in a sleep, and then to return, and swear the lies he forges.

Par.

Ten o'clock; within these three hours 'twill be time enough to go home. What shall I say, I have done? It must be a very plausible invention that carries it. They begin to smoke me, and disgraces have of late knock'd too often at my door. I find my tongue is too fool-hardy; but my heart hath the fear of Mars before it, and of his creatures, not daring the reports of my tongue.

Lord.

This is the first truth that e'er thine own tongue was guilty of.

Par.

What the devil should move me to undertake the recovery of this drum, being not ignorant of the impossibility, and knowing I had no such purpose? I must give myself some hurts, and say I got them in exploit; yet slight ones will not carry it. They will say, Came you off with so little? and great ones I dare not give; wherefore, what's the instance? Tongue, I must put you into a butter-woman's mouth, and buy myself another, if you prattle me into these perils.

Lord.

Is it possible, he should know what he is, and be that he is?

Par.

I would the cutting of my garments would serve the turn, or the breaking of my Spanish sword.

Lord.

'Twould not do.

Par.

Or to drown my cloaths, and say I was stript.

Lord.

Hardly serve.

Par.

Though I swore I leap'd from the window of the citadel—

Lord.

How deep?

Par.

Thirty fathom.

Lord.

Three great oaths would scarce make that be believed.

Par.

I would I had any drum of the enemy's; I would swear I recover'd it.

Lord.

You shall hear one, anon.

Par.

A drum now, of the enemies!

Lord.

Throco movousus, cargo, cargo, cargo.

All.

Cargo, cargo, villiando par corbo, cargo.

Par.
Oh! ransom, ransom.—Do not hide mine eyes. [They seize him and blindfold him.

Inter.

Boskos thromuldo boskos.

Par.
I know you are the Muskos regiment,
And I shall lose my life for want of language.
If there be here German, or Dane, low Dutch,
Italian, or French, let him speak to me;
I'll discover that which shall undo the Florentine.

Int.

Boskos vauvado; I understand thee, and can speak thy tongue; Kerelybonto.—Sir, betake thee to thy faith, for seventeen poinards are at thy bosom.

Par.
Oh!

Int.
Oh, pray, pray, pray.
Mancha ravancha dulche.

Lord.
Osceoribi dulchos volivorco.

Int.
The general is content to spare thee yet,
And hood-wink'd as thou art, will lead thee on,
To gather from thee. Haply thou may'st inform
Something to save thy life.

Par.
Oh, let me live,
And all the secrets of our camp I'll shew;
Their force, their purposes; nay, I'll speak that
Which you will wonder at.

Int.
But wilt thou, faithfully?

Par.
If do not, damn me.

Int.
Acordo linta.
Come on, thou art granted space.

Lord.
Go, tell the Count Rousillon, and my brother,
We've caught the woodcock, and will keep him muffled,
'Till we do hear from them.

Int.
Captain, I will.

Lord.
He will betray us all unto ourselves,
Inform 'em that.

Int.
So I will, sir.

Lord.
'Till then I'll keep him dark, and safely lockt. [Exeunt. Scene SCENE, the Widow's House. Enter Bertram and Diana.

Ber.
They told me that your name was Fontibell.

Dia.
No, my good lord, Diana.

Ber.
Titled goddess.
And worth it, with addition! but, fair soul,
In your fine frame hath love no quality?
If the quick fire of youth light not your mind,
You are no maiden, but a monument:
When you are dead, you should be such a one
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.
No.
My mother did but duty; such, my lord,
As you owe to your wife.

Ber.
No more o' that!
I pr'ythee do not strive against my vows:
I was compell'd to her, but I love thee,
By love's own sweet constraint, and will for ever
Do thee all rights of service.

Dia.
Ay, so you serve us,
'Till we serve you; but when you have our roses,
You barely leave our thorns to prick ourselves,
And mock us with our bareness.* ^note

Ber.
How have I sworn!

Dia.
'Tis not the many oaths, that make the truth;
But the plain single vow.† ^note








Therefore your oaths
Are words, and poor conditions but unseal'd;
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.
Say thou art mine; and ever
My love, as it begins, shall so persevere.

Dia.
Give me that ring, then.

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,
Bequeathed down from many ancestors;
Which were the greatest obloquy i'th' world
In me to lose.

Dia.
Mine honour's such a ring;
My chastity's the jewel of our house,
Bequeathed down from many ancestors;
Which were the greatest obloquy i'th' world,
In me to lose. Thus your own proper wisdom
Brings in the champion Honour on my part,
Against your vain assault.

Ber.
Here, take my ring.
My house, my honour, yea, my life be thine,
And I'll be bid by thee.

Dia.
When midnight comes, knock at my chamber window;
I'll order take, my mother shall not hear.
Now will I charge you in the band of truth,
When you have conquer'd my yet maiden-bed,
Remain there but an hour, nor speak to me:
My reasons are most strong, and you shall know them,
When back again this ring shall be deliver'd;
And on your finger, in the night, I'll put
Another ring, that what in time proceeds,
May token to the future our past deeds.
Adieu, 'till then; then, fail not.

Ber.
A heav'n on earth I've won by wooing thee. [Exit.

Dia.
My mother told me just how he would woo,
As if she fate in's heart; she says, all men
Have the like oaths.
Since Frenchmen are so loose,
Marry 'em that will, I'll live and die a maid;
Only, in this disguise, I think't no sin
To cozen him, that would unjustly win.* ^note [Exit. Scene SCENE, the French Camp in Florence. Enter the two French Lords, and two or three Soldiers.

1 Lord.

What hear you of these wars?

2 Lord.

I hear, there is an overture of peace.

1 Lord.

Nay, I assure you, a peace concluded.

2 Lord.

What will Count Rousillon do then? Will he travel higher, or return again to France?

1 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.

1 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 austere sanctimony, she accomplish'd; and there residing, through the tenderness of her nature became as a prey to her grief; in fine, made a groan of her last breath, and now she sings in Heaven.

2 Lord.

Hath the count all this intelligence? The great dignity that his valour hath here acquir'd for him, shall at home be encounter'd with a shame as ample.

1 Lord.

The web of our life is of a mingled yarn, good and ill together: our virtues would be proud, if our faults whipt them not; and our crimes would despair, if they were not cherish'd by our virtues.* ^note

1 Lord.

Here's his lordship now. How now, my lord, is it not after midnight?

Ber.

I have to-night dispatcht sixteen businesses, a month's length a-piece, by an abstract of success; I have congied with the duke, done my adieu with his nearest; buried a wife; mourn'd for her; writ to my lady mother, I am returning; entertain'd my convoy; and, between these main parcels of dispatch, effected many nicer needs; the last was the greatest. But come, bring forth this counterfeit medal; h'as deceiv'd me, like a double-meaning prophesier.

2 Lord.

Bring him forth; h'as fate in the stocks, all night, poor gallant knave.

Ber.

No matter; his heels have deserv'd it, in usurping his spurs so long. How does he carry himself?

1 Lord.

He hath confess'd himself to Morgan, whom he supposes to be a friar, from the time of his remembrance to this very instant disaster of his setting i'th' stocks; and what, think you, he has confest?

Ber.

Nothing of me, has he?

2 Lord.

His confession is taken, and it shall be read to his face; if your lordship be in't, as I believe you are, you must have the patience to hear it.

Scene SCENE, Parolles discovered, in the Stocks, blindfolded.

Ber.

Release him, and bring him forward.

Int.

Damabous news—you must down on your knees.

Par.

O dear!

Int.

Partatorturossa—he calls for the torture.

Par.

I will confess what I know, without it; if you pinch me like a pasty, I can say no more.

Int.

Bosko, chimarcho biblibindo chicurmurco,* ^note a merciful general—you must answer to what I shall ask you of note.

Par.

And truly, as I hope to live.

Int.

How many horse is the duke strong? What say you to that?

Par.

Five or six thousand, but very weak and unserviceable; the troops are all scatter'd, and the commanders very poor rogues, upon my reputation and credit, and as I hope to live.

Int.

Shall I set down your answer so?

Par.

Do, I'll take the sacrament on't, how and which way you will: all's one to me.

Ber.

What a slave is this!

1 Lord.

I will never trust a man again for keeping his sword clean; nor believe he can have every thing in him by wearing his apparel neatly.

Int.

Well, that's set down.

Par.

Poor rogues, I pray you, say?

Int.

Well, that's set down.

Par.

I humbly thank you, sir; a truth's a truth; the rogues are marvellous poor.

Int.

What strength are they a-foot.

Par.

By my troth, sir, I will tell true. The muster file, rotten and sound, upon my life, amounts not to fifteen thousand poll; half of the which dare not shake the snow from off their cassocks, lest they shake themselves to pieces.

Ber.

What shall be done to him?

1 Lord.

Nothing, but let him have thanks. Demand of him my conditions, and what credit I have with the duke.

Int.

Well, that's set down, Is one Captain Dumain i'th' camp, a Frenchman? what is his reputation with the duke? what his valour, honesty, and expertness in war? or is it not possible, with well-weighing sums of gold, to corrupt him to a revolt? What say you to this?

Par.

I beseech you let me answer to the particular of the interrogatories. Demand them singly.

Int.

Do you know this Captain Dumain?

Par.

I know him; he was a butcher's prentice in Paris, from whence he was whipt, for getting the sheriff's fool with child; a dumb innocent, that could not say him nay.

Ber.

Nay, by your leave, hold your hands; we'll have it out.

Int.

Well, is this captain in the Duke of Florence's camp?

Par.

Upon my knowledge he is, and lousy.

1 Lord.

Nay, look not so upon me, we shall hear of your lordship, anon.

Int.

What is his reputation with the duke?

Par.

The duke knows him for no other but a poor officer of mine, and writ to me the other day to turn him out o'th' band. I think I have his letter in my pocket.

Int.

Marry, we'll search.

Par.

In good sadness, I do not know; either it is there, or it is upon the file with the duke's other letters, in my tent.

Int.

Here 'tis, here's a paper, shall I read it to you?

Par.

I do not know if it be it or no.

Ber.

Our interpreter does it well.

1 Lord.

Excellently.

Int.

Dian, the count's a fool, and full of gold.

Par.

That is not the duke's letter, sir; that is an advertisement to a proper maid in Florence, one Diana,

to take heed of the allurement of one Count Rousillon, a foolish, idle boy; but, for all that, very ruttish;‡ ^note I pray you, sir, put it up again.

Int.

Nay, I'll read it first, by your favour.

Par.

My meaning in't, I protest, was very honest, in behalf of the maid; for I knew the young count to be a dangerous and lascivious boy, who is a whale to virginity, and devours up all the fry it finds.

Ber.

Damnable! both sides rogue.

1 Lord.

Ha, ha, ha!