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; but 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,
But like a common and an outward man,
That the great figure of a Council frames
By self-unable motion; therefore dare not
Say what I think of it, since I have found
My self in my incertain grounds to fail
As often as I guest.

Duke.
Be it his pleasure.

2 Lord.
But I am sure, the younger of our Nation,
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. [Exeunt.

Scene 2 SCENE changes to Rousillon, in France. Enter Countess, and Clown.

Count.

It hath happen'd, 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 his ruff, and sing; ask questions, and sing; pick his teeth, and sing. I knew a man that had this trick of melancholy, sold a goodly Manor for a song.

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'th' Country, are nothing like your old ling, and your Isbels o'th' Court: the brain of my Cupid's knock'd out; and I begin to love, as an old man loves money, with no stomach.

Count.

What have we here?

Clo.

E'en That you have there.

Countess reads a Letter.

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.

Re-enter Clown.

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 kill'd 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've felt so many quirks of joy and grief,
That the first face of neither, on the start,
Can woman me unto't. Where is my Son?

2 Gen.
Madam, he's gone to serve the Duke of Florence.
We met him thitherward, for thence we came;
And after some dispatch in hand at Court,
Thither we bend again.

Hel.

Look on his Letter, Madam; here's my Passport.

When thou canst get the ring upon my finger, which never shall come off; and shew 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 as thine,

Thou robb'st me of a moiety: he was my Son,
But I do wash his name out of my blood,
And thou art all my child. Towards Florence is he?

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.
'Till I have no Wife, I have nothing in France.
'Tis bitter. [Reading.

Count.

Find you That there?

Hel.

Yes, Madam.

1 Gen.

'Tis but the boldness of his hand, happ'ly, 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.

(27) ^noteIndeed, good Lady, the Fellow has a deal of That too much, which holds him much to have.

Count.

Y'are welcome, Gentlemen; I will intreat you, when you see my Son, to tell him, that his sword

can never win the honour that he loses: more I'll intreat 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 Count. 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, 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 thou
Wast shot at with fair eyes, to be the mark
Of smoaky muskets? O you leaden messengers,
That ride upon the violent speed of fire,
Fly with false aim; move the still-piercing air,
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 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 all the miseries, which Nature owes,
Were mine at once. No, come thou home, Rousillon,
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.

Scene 3 SCENE changes to the Duke's Court in Florence. Flourish. Enter the Duke of Florence, Bertram, Drum and Trumpets, Soldiers, Parolles.

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 th' extream 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 my self into thy file;
Make me but like my thoughts, and I shall prove
A lover of thy drum; hater of love. [Exeunt. Scene 4 SCENE changes to Rousillon in France. 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.
LETTER.
I am St. Jacques' Pilgrim, thither gone;
  Ambitious love hath so in me offended,
That bare-foot plod 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 sanctifie.

His taken labours bid him me forgive;
  I, his despightful 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 my self embrace, to set him free.

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 she writes,
Pursuit would be but vain.

Count.
What Angel shall
Bless this unworthy Husband? he cannot thrive,
Unless her prayers, whom Heav'n 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, set 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 dearest to me, I've 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 5 SCENE changes to a publick Place in Florence. A Tucket afar off. Enter an old widow of Florence, Diana, Violenta, and Mariana, with 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 ta'en 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 our selves 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 sollicited 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; (28) ^note











their promises, enticements,

oaths, tokens, and all these engines of lust, are not 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 limed 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 were no further danger known, but the modesty which is so lost.

Dia.

You shall not need to fear me.

Wid.

I hope so.—Look, here comes a Pilgrim; I know, she will lye at my house; thither they send one another; I'll question her: God save you, Pilgrim! whither are you bound?

Hel.

To S. Jaques le Grand. Where do the Palmers lodge, I do beseech you?

Wid.

At the St. Francis, beside the Port.

Hel.

Is this the way?

Wid.

Ay, marry, is't. Hark you, they come this way. If you will tarry, holy Pilgrim, but 'till the troops come by,

Hel.
Is it your self?

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 so.

Wid.
Here you shall see a Country-man of yours,
That has done worthy service.

Hel.
His name, I pray you?

Dia.
The Count Rousillon: 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, meer the 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.

Hel.
Oh, I believe with him,
In argument of praise, or to the worth
Of the great Count himself, she is too mean
To have her name repeated; all her deserving
Is a reserved honesty, and That
I have not heard examin'd.

Dia.
Alas, poor lady!
'Tis a hard bondage, to become the wife
Of a detesting lord.

Wid.
Ah! right; good creature! wheresoe'er she is,
Her heart weighs sadly; this young maid might do her
A shrewd Turn, if she pleas'd.

Hel.
How do you mean?
May be, the am'rous Count sollicites her
In the unlawful purpose,

Wid.
He does, indeed;
And brokes with all, that can in such a suit
Corrupt the tender honour of a maid:
But she is arm'd for him, and keeps her guard
In honestest defence. Drum and Colours. Enter Bertram, Parolles, Officers and Soldiers attending.

Mar.
The Gods forbid else!

Wid.
So, now they come:
That is Antonio, the Duke's eldest son;
That, Escalus.

Hel.
Which is the Frenchman?

Dia.
He;
That with the Plume; 'tis a most gallant fellow;
I would, he lov'd his wife! if he were honester,
He were much goodlier. Is't not a handsome gentleman?

Hel.
I like him well.

Dia.
'Tis pity, he is not honest; yond's that same knave,(29) ^note

Hel.

Which is he?

Dia.

That jack-an-apes with scarfs. Why is he melancholy?

Hel.

Perchance, he's hurt i' th' battel.

Par.

Lose our drum! well.—

Mar.

He's shrewdly vex'd at something. Look, he has spied us.

Wid.

Marry, hang you!

Mar.
And your curtesie, for a ring-carrier!—

Wid.
The troop is past: come, Pilgrim, I will bring you,
Where you shall host: Of injoyn'd Penitents
There's four or five, to great St. Jaques bound,
Already at my house.

Hel.
I humbly thank you:
Please it this matron, and this gentle maid
To eat with us to night, the Charge and Thanking
Shall be for me: and to requite you further,
I will bestow some precepts on this virgin
Worthy the note.

Both.
We'll take your offer kindly. [Exeunt. Enter Bertram, and the two French Lords.

1 Lord.

Nay, good my lord, put him to't: let him have his way.

2 Lord.

If your lordship find him not a hilding, hold me no more in your respect.

1 Lord.

On my life, my lord, a bubble.

Ber.

Do you think, I am so far deceiv'd 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, when we bring him to our own 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; (30) ^note

your lordship sees the bottom of his success in't, and to what metal this counterfeit lump of Oar will be melted, if you give him not John Drum's entertainment, your inclining cannot be removed. Here he comes.

1 Lord.

O, for the love of laughter, hinder not the humour of his design, let him fetch off his drum in any hand.

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 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 recover'd.

Par.

It might have been recover'd.

Ber.

It might, but it is not now.

Par.

It is to be recover'd; 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—

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 dilemma's, encourage my self in my certainty, put my self into my mortal preparation; and, by midnight, look to hear further from me.

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, th'art valiant; and to the possibility of thy soldiership, will subscribe for thee; farewel.

Par.

I love not many words.

1 Lord.

No more than a fish loves water.—Is 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 it, and dares better be damn'd than to 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?

2 Lord.

None in the world, but return with an invention, and clap upon you two or three probable lies; but we have almost imboss'd him, you shall see his fall to night; for, indeed, he is not for your lordship's respect.

1 Lord.

We'll make you some sport with the fox, ere we case him. He was first smoak'd 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.

2 Lord.

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

Ber.
Your brother he shall go along with me.

2 Lord.
As't please your lordship. I'll leave you [Exit.

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

1 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'th' wind,
Tokens and letters, which she did resend;
And this is all I've done: she's a fair creature,
Will you go see her?

1 Lord.
With all my heart, my lord. [Exeunt. Scene 6 SCENE changes to 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.

Wid.
Tho' 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 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 shew'd me That, which well approves
Y'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 wooes your daughter,
Lays down his wanton siege before her beauty,
Resolves to carry her; let her consent,
As we'll direct her how 'tis best to bear it.
Now his important blood will nought deny,
That she'll demand: a ring the Count does wear,
That downward hath succeeded in his House
From son to son, some four or five Descents,
Since the first Father wore it. This ring he holds
In most rich choice; yet in his idle fire,
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,
Her self most chastly absent: after this,
To marry her, I'll add three thousand crowns
To what is past already.

Wid.
I have yielded:
Instruct my daughter how she shall persever,
That time and place, with this deceit so lawful,
May prove coherent. Every night he comes
With musick of all sorts, and songs compos'd

To her unworthiness: it nothing steads us
To chide him from our eeves, 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,
Where Both not sin, and yet a sinful fact.
But let's about it.— [Exeunt.

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