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.
[Reads the letter.
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 mony, 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,
-- 56 --
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.
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.
SCENE III.
Enter Helena, and two Gentlemen.
1 Gent.
Save you, good Madam.
Hel.
Madam, my Lord is gone, for ever gone.—
2 Gent.
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?
-- 57 --
2 Gent.
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.
3 noteWhen 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 Gent.
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 Gent.
Ay, Madam.
Count.
And to be a soldier?
2 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?
1 Gent.
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.
-- 58 --
1 Gent.
'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 Gent.
A servant only, and a gentleman
Which I have some time known.
Count.
Parolles, was't not?
1 Gent.
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 Gent.
Indeed, good lady, the fellow has 4 note
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.
1 Gent.
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 Countess and Gent.
SCENE IV.
Hel.
'Till I have no wife, I have nothing in France.
Nothing in France, until he has no wife!
-- 59 --
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; 5 note
pierce the still-moving 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.
-- 60 --
SCENE V.
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 myself into thy file;
Make me but like my thoughts, and I shall prove
A lover of thy drum; hater of love.
[Exeunt.
SCENE VI.
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.
-- 61 --
LETTER.
I am St. 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 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 despiteful 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 myself 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 heaven 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;
-- 62 --
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 VII.
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 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
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; their promises,
enticements, oaths, tokens, and all these engines of
-- 63 --
lust, 6 noteare 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 7 noteno further danger found, 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?
-- 64 --
Hel.
To St. 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?
[A march afar off.
Wid.
Ay, marry, is't. 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, 8 note
meerlye 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
-- 67 --
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 sollicits 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.
SCENE VIII.
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,
That leads him to these places; were I his lady,
I'd poison that vile rascal.
-- 68 --
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!
[Exeunt Bertram, Parolles, &c.
Mar.
And your courtesie, 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.
SCENE IX.
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
-- 69 --
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; when
your lordship sees the bottom of his success in't, and
to what metal this counterfeit lump of 9 noteOar will be
melted, if you give him not 1 noteJohn Drum's entertainment,
-- 70 --
your inclining cannot be removed. Here he
comes.
SCENE X.
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 hand.
Ber.
How now, Monsieur? this drum sticks sorely
in your disposition.
2 Lord.
A pox't 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.
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.
-- 71 --
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 noteI 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, th'art valiant; and to the 3 notepossibility
of soldiership, will subscribe for thee; farewel.
Par.
I love not many words.
[Exit.
SCENE XI.
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.
-- 72 --
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 re-send;
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 XII.
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;
4 noteBut 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.
-- 73 --
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,
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 persevere,
That time and place, with this deceit so lawful,
May prove coherent. Every night he comes
-- 74 --
With musick 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,
5 note
Is wicked meaning in a lawful deed;
And lawful meaning in a wicked act;
Where both not sin, and yet a sinful fact.
But let's about it—
[Exeunt.
Alexander Pope [1747], The works of Shakespear in eight volumes. The Genuine Text (collated with all the former Editions, and then corrected and emended) is here settled: Being restored from the Blunders of the first Editors, and the Interpolations of the two Last: with A Comment and Notes, Critical and Explanatory. By Mr. Pope and Mr. Warburton (Printed for J. and P. Knapton, [and] S. Birt [etc.], London) [word count] [S11301].
