SCENE II.
Rousillon, in France.
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; ask questions, and sing;
pick his teeth, and sing: I know a man that had this
trick of melancholy, sold a goodly manor for a song2 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 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.
[Exit.
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.
-- 77 --
This is not well, rash and unbridled boy,
To fly the favours of so good a king;
To pluck his indignation on thy head,
By the misprizing of a maid too virtuous
For the contempt of empire.
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.
Enter Helena, and two gentlemen.
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 unto't:—Where is my son, I pray you?
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 this letter, madam; here's my passport.
-- 78 --
3 note
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 are 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.
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,
-- 79 --
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 have4 note
.
Count.
You 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.
5 noteNot so, but as we change our courtesies.
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, Rousillon, none in France,
Then hast thou all again. Poor lord! is't I
That chase thee from thy country, and expose
-- 80 --
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 air6 note
,
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, though I kill him not, I am the cause
His death was so effected: better 'twere,
I met the ravin 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;
-- 81 --
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 III.
The Duke's court in Florence.
Flourish. Enter the Duke of Florence, Bertram, drum and trumpets, soldiers, &c.
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 extream edge of hazard7 note
.
Duke.
Then go forth;
And fortune play upon thy prosperous helm,
As thy auspicious mistress!
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 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.
-- 82 --
Stew.
I am 8 noteSt. Jaques' 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 hye;
Bless him at home in peace, whilst I from far,
His name with zealous fervour sanctify:
His taken labours bid him me forgive;
I, his despightful 9 noteJuno, 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 myself embrace, to set him free.
Ah, what sharp stings are in her mildest words!—
Rinaldo, you did never lack advice1 note 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 me, 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 heaven delights to hear,
And loves to grant, reprieve him from the wrath
-- 83 --
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: my greatest grief,
Though 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 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, 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 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.
-- 84 --
Wid.
I have told my neighbour, how you have
been solicited by a gentleman his companion.
Mar.
I know the knave; hang him! one Parolles:
a filthy officer he is in those suggestions for the
young earl.—Beware of them, Diana; their promises,
enticements, oaths, tokens, and all these engines of
lust, 2 note
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, though
there were no further danger known, but the modesty
which is so lost.
Dia.
You shall not need to fear me.
Enter Helena, disguis'd like a pilgrim.
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?
-- 85 --
Hel.
To St. Jaques le grand.
Where do the palmers3 note lodge, I do beseech you?
Wid.
At the St. Francis here, beside the port.
Hel.
Is this the way?
[A march afar off.
Wid.
Ay, marry, is it. Hark you!
They come this way:—If you will tarry, holy pilgrim,
But 'till the troops come by,
I will conduct you where you shall be lodg'd;
The rather, for, I think, I know your hostess
As ample as myself.
Hel.
Is it yourself?
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 countryman 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 coarsely of her.
-- 86 --
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 examined4 note.
Dia.
Alas, poor lady!
'Tis a hard bondage, to become the wife
Of a detesting lord.
Wid.
A right good creature 9Q0409: wheresoe'er she is,
Her heart weighs sadly5 note
: this young maid might do her
A shrewd turn, if she pleas'd.
Hel.
How do you mean?
May be, the amorous count solicits her
In the unlawful purpose.
Wid.
He does, indeed;
And brokes6 note 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.
-- 87 --
Enter with drum and colours, 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 knave7 note
,
That leads him to these places; were I his lady,
I'd poison that vile rascal.
Hel.
Which is he?
Dia.
That jack-an-apes with scarfs: Why is he
melancholy?
Hel.
Perchance he's hurt i' the battle.
Par.
Lose our drum! well.
Mar.
He's shrewdly vex'd at something: Look,
he has spied us.
Wid.
Marry, hang you!
[Exeunt Bertram, Parolles, &c.
Mar.
And your courtesy, for a ring-carrier!
-- 88 --
Wid.
The troop is past: Come, pilgrim, I will bring you
Where you shall host: of enjoin'd penitents
There's four or five, to great Saint 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.
SCENE VI.
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.
-- 89 --
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: 8 note
when
your lordship sees the bottom of his success in't, and
-- 90 --
to what metal this counterfeit lump of ore will be
melted, if you give him not John Drum's entertainment,
your inclining cannot be removed. Here he
comes.
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 hand1 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 recover'd.
-- 91 --
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 its 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 2 note
I will presently
pen down my dilemma's, encourage myself in
my certainty, put myself 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, thou art valiant; and, to the 3 note
possibility
of thy soldiership, will subscribe for thee.
Farewel.
-- 92 --
Par.
I love not many words.
[Exit.
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, and dares better
be damn'd 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?
2 Lord.
None in the world; but return with an invention,
and clap upon you two or three probable
lies: but we have almost4 note
imboss'd him, you shall
-- 93 --
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,
ere5 note we case him. He was first smok'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 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'the wind,
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?
1 Lord.
With all my heart, my lord.
[Exeunt.
SCENE VII.
Florence. 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,
6 noteBut I shall lose the grounds I work upon.
-- 94 --
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, 7 notewhat 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
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 wooes 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,
8 note
Now his important blood will nought deny
That she'll demand: A ring the county wears,
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.
-- 95 --
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 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 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,
9 note
Is wicked meaning in a lawful deed,
-- 96 --
And lawful meaning in a lawful act;
Where both not sin, and yet a sinful fact:
But let's about it.
[Exeunt.
Samuel Johnson [1778], The plays of William Shakspeare. In ten volumes. With the corrections and illustrations of various commentators; to which are added notes by Samuel Johnson and George Steevens. The second edition, Revised and Augmented (Printed for C. Bathurst [and] W. Strahan [etc.], London) [word count] [S10901].
