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.

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