First Gent. ^note

Save you, good madam.

Hel.

Madam, my lord is gone, for ever gone.

Sec. Gent. ^note

Do not say so.

Count.
Think upon patience. Pray you, ^note gentlemen,
I have ^note 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 ^note?

Sec. Gent.
Madam, he's gone to serve the duke of Florence:
We met him thitherward; for ^note thence we came,
And, after some dispatch in hand at court,
Thither we bend again.

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

When thou canst get the ring upon my finger which never shall come off ^note, and show 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?

First Gent. ^note
Ay, madam;
And for the contents' sake are sorry for our pains ^note.

Count.
I prithee, lady, have a better cheer;
If thou engrossest all the griefs are ^note 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?

Sec. Gent.
Ay, madam.

Count.
And to be a soldier?

Sec. Gent.
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?

First Gent.
Ay, madam, with the swiftest wing of speed.

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

Count.
Find you that there?

Hel.
Ay ^note, madam.

First Gent.

'Tis but the boldness of his hand, haply ^note, 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?

First Gent.
A servant only, and a gentleman
Which I have sometime ^note known ^note.

Count.
Parolles, was it ^note not?

Ay, my good lady, he.

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

First Gent.
Indeed ^note, good lady,
The fellow has a deal of that too ^note much,
Which holds him much to have ^note.

Count.
Y' 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.

Sec. Gent.
We serve you, madam,
In that and all your worthiest affairs ^note.

Count.
Not so, but as we change our courtesies. ^note
Will you draw near? [Exeunt Countess and Gentlemen. ^{note note}

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 smoky muskets? O you leaden messengers,
That ride upon the violent ^note speed of fire,
Fly with false aim; move the still-peering ^note air,
That sings ^note 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 't ^note;
And, though I kill him not, I am the cause
His death was so effected: better 'twere
I met the ravin ^note 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 ^note officed all: I will be gone,
That pitiful rumour may report my flight,
To consolate ^note thine ear. Come, night; end, day!
For with the dark, poor thief, I'll steal away. [Exit. ^note Scene III. [Footnote: Florence. Before the Duke's palace. ^note Flourish. Enter the Duke of Florence, Bertram, Parolles ^note, Soldiers, Drum, and Trumpets.

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 ^note
A charge too heavy for my strength; but yet ^note
We'll strive to bear it for your worthy sake
To the ^note extreme edge of hazard.

Duke.
Then go thou ^note 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. [Exit.

^note Scene IV. [Footnote: Rousillon. The Count'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. [reads ^note]
I am Saint ^note Jaques' pilgrim, thither gone:
  Ambitious love hath so in me offended,
That barefoot plod I the cold ground upon,
  With sainted vow my faults to have ^note amended.
Write, write, that from the bloody course of war
  My dearest master, your dear son, may hie:
Bless ^note him at home in peace, whilst ^note I from far
  His name with zealous fervour sanctify:
His taken ^note labours bid him me forgive;
  I, his despiteful Juno, sent him forth
From courtly friends with camping foes to live,
  Where death and danger dogs ^note the heels of worth:
He is too good and fair for death and me;
Whom I myself embrace to set him free.

Count. ^note
Ah, what sharp stings are in her mildest words!
Rinaldo ^note, you did never lack ^note 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 me ^note, 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 ^note thrive,
Unless her prayers, whom ^note heaven delights to hear
And loves to grant, reprieve him from the wrath
Of greatest justice. Write, write ^note, 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 ^note 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 ^note no skill in sense ^note
To make distinction: provide this messenger:
My heart is heavy and mine age is weak;
Grief would have tears, and ^note sorrow bids me speak. [Exeunt. ^note Scene V. [Footnote: Florence. Without the walls. ^note A tucket ^note afar off. Enter an old Widow of Florence, Diana ^note, Violenta ^note, and Mariana, and Mariana, with other Citizens.

Wid.

Nay, come; for if they do approach the city, we shall lose all the sight.

Dia. ^note

They say the French count has done most honourable service.

Wid.

It is reported that he has taken ^note their greatest ^note commander; and that with his own hand he slew the Duke's brother. [Tucket. ^note] 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. ^note

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; their promises, enticements, oaths, tokens, and all these engines of lust, are not ^note the things they go under: many a maid hath been seduced by them; and the misery is, example ^note, that so terrible shows in the wreck of maidenhood, cannot for all that dissuade succession, but that they are limed with the twigs that threaten ^note 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 ^note but the modesty ^note 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 lie at my house; thither they send one another: I'll question her. God save you, pilgrim! whither are you bound?

Hel.
To Saint Jaques le ^note Grand.
Where do the palmers lodge, I do beseech you?

Wid.
At the Saint Francis here ^note beside the port.

Hel.
Is this the way?

Wid.
Ay, marry, is't ^note. [A march afar. ^note] Hark you! they come this way.
If you will tarry, holy ^note pilgrim,
But till the ^note troops come by, ^note
I will conduct you where you shall be lodged;
The rather, for I think I know your hostess
As ample ^note as myself.

Hel.
Is it yourself?

Wid.
If you shall please so, pilgrim ^note.

Hel.
I thank you, and will stay upon your leisure.

Wid.
You came, I think, from France?

Hel.
I did ^note 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.
Whatsome'er he is ^note,
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, mere the ^note truth: I know his lady.

Dia.
There is a gentleman that serves the count
Reports but coarsely ^note of her.

Hel.
What's his name?

Dia.
Monsieur Parolles.

Hel.
O, 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 examined.

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

Wid.
I write good creature, ^note wheresoe'er she is,
Her heart weighs sadly: this young maid might do her
A shrewd turn, if she pleased.

Hel.
How do you mean?
May be the amorous count solicits her
In the unlawful purpose.

Wid.
He does indeed;
And brokes ^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. ^note

Mar.
The gods forbid else!

Wid.
So, now they come: Drum and Colours. Enter Bertram ^note, Parolles, and the whole army.
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 loved his wife: if he were honester
He were much goodlier: is't not a ^note handsome gentleman?

Hel.
I like him well.

Dia.
'Tis pity he is ^note not honest: yond's that same knave
That leads him to these places ^note: were I his lady,
I would ^note 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 ^{note note}.

Mar.

He's shrewdly vexed at something: look, he has spied us.

Wid.

Marry, hang you!

Mar.

And your courtesy, for a ring-carrier!

Wid.
The troop is past. Come, pilgrim, I will bring you ^note
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 of ^note this virgin
Worthy the note.

Both.
We'll take your offer kindly. [Exeunt. ^note Scene VI. [Footnote: Camp before Florence. ^note Enter ^note Bertram and the two French Lords.

Sec. Lord. ^note

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

First Lord. ^note

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

Sec. Lord.

On my life, my lord, a bubble.

Ber.

Do you think I am so far deceived in him?

Sec. 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.

First 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.

First Lord.

None better than to let him fetch off his drum, which you hear him so confidently undertake to do.

Sec. Lord. ^note

I, with a troop of Florentines, will suddenly surprise him; such I will have, whom I am sure he knows not from the enemy: we will bind and hoodwink him so, that he shall suppose no other but that he is carried into the leaguer ^note of the adversaries ^note, 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 judgement in any thing.

First Lord.

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

give him not John ^note Drum's entertainment, your inclining ^note cannot be removed. Here he comes.

Sec. Lord. [Aside to Ber.]

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

Ber.

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

First 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 ^note with our horse upon our own wings, and to rend our own soldiers!

First Lord.

That was not to be blamed in the command ^note 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.’ ^note

Ber.

Why, if you have a stomach, to't, monsieur: if you think your mystery ^note in stratagem can bring this instrument of honour again into his native quarter, be magnanimous in the enterprise 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, 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'rt ^note valiant; and, to the possibility of thy ^note soldiership, will subscribe for thee. Farewell.

Par.

I love not many words.

Sec. 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 ^note and dares better be damned than to do't ^note?

First 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 ^note; 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?

Sec. Lord.

None in the world; but return with an invention and clap upon you two or three probable ^note lies: but we have almost embossed him; you shall see his fall tonight; for indeed he is not for your lordship's respect.

First Lord.

We'll make you some sport with the fox ere we case ^note him. He was first smoked by the old lord Lafeu: when his disguise and he is parted ^note, tell me ^note what a sprat you shall find him; which you shall see this very night.

Sec. Lord.
I must go look ^note my twigs: he shall be caught ^note.

Ber.
Your brother he shall go along with me.

Sec. Lord. ^note
As't please your lordship: I'll leave you ^note. [Exit.

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

First Lord. ^note
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 ^note done. She's a fair creature:
Will you go see her?

First Lord. ^note
With all my heart, my lord. [Exeunt. ^note Scene VII. [Footnote: 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,
But I shall lose the grounds I work upon.

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

Hel.
Nor would I wish you.
First, give me trust, the count he ^note is ^note 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 show'd me that which well approves
You're ^note 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 ^{note note} wooes your daughter,
Lays down his wanton siege before her beauty,
Resolved ^note to carry her: let her in fine ^note consent,
As we'll direct her how 'tis ^note best to bear it.
Now his important ^note blood will nought deny
That she'll demand: a ring the county wears ^note,
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 ^note.

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 ^note,
To marry her, I'll add three thousand crowns
To what is past ^note 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 musics ^note of all sorts and songs composed
To her unworthiness: it nothing steads ^note us
To chide him from our eaves ^note; 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 ^note meaning in a lawful act ^note,
Where both not sin, and yet a sinful fact:
But let's about it. [Exeunt.

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