2. G.

Save you, good madam.

Hel.
Madam, my lord is gone, for ever gone.

1. G.

Do not say so.

Cou.
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?

1. G.
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 ^note letter, madam, here's † my passport. [reads.]

When thou can'st 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.

Cou.
Brought you this letter, gentlemen?

1. G.
Ay, madam;
And, for the contents' sake, are sorry for our pains.

Cou.
I pr'ythee, lady, have a better cheer;
If thou engrossest all the griefs are thine ^note,
Thou rob'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?

1. G.
Ay, madam.

Cou.
And to be a soldier?

1. G.
Such is his noble purpose: and, believe't,
The duke will lay upon him all the honour
That good convenience claims.

Cou.
Return you thither?

2. G.
Ay, madam, with the swiftest wing of speed.

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

Cou.
Find you that there?

Hel.
Ay, madam.

2. G.
'Tis but the boldness of his hand, haply ^note, which
His heart was not consenting to.

Cou.
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?

2. G.
A servant only, and a gentleman
Which I have sometime known.

Cou.
Parolles, was't not?

2. G.
Ay, my good lady, he.

Cou.
A very tainted fellow, and full of wickedness:
My son corrupts a well-derived nature

With his inducement.

2. G.
Why, indeed, good lady,
The fellow has a deal of that, too much,
Which holds him much to have.14Q0401

Cou.
You're 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. G.
We serve you, madam,
In that and all your worthiest affairs.

Cou.
Not so, but as we change our courtesies.
Will you draw near? [Exeunt Cou. and Gen.

Hel.
'Till I have no wife, I have nothing in France.
Nothing in France, until he has no wife!
Thou shalt have none, Rosillion, none in France,
Then hast thou all again. Poor lord, is't I
That chace 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 speed of fire,
Fly with false aim; pierce the still-moving ^{note 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;
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, Rosillion,
Whence honour but of danger wins a scar,
As oft it loses all14Q0402; 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 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 III. Florence. Before the Duke's Palace. Flourish. Enter the Duke of Florence, Bertram, Lords, Officers, Soldiers, and Others.

Duk.
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 ^note
We'll strive to bear it for your worthy sake,
To the extream edge of hazard.

Duk.
Then go thou 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. Rosillion. A Room in the Count's Palace.

Enter Countess, and Steward.

Cou.
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.
Ste.
I am saint 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 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 despiteful Juno, sent him forth
From courtly friends, with camping foes to live,
  Where death and danger dog ^note the heels of worth:
He is too good and fair for death, and me;
Whom I myself embrace, to set him free.

Cou.
Ah, what sharp stings are in her mildest words!—
Rinaldo, you ne'er lack'd ^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.

Ste.
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.

Cou.
What angel shall
Bless this unworthy husband? he cannot thrive,
Unless her prayers, whom heaven ^note 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 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 ^note bids me speak. [Ex. SCENE V. Without the Walls of Florence. Tucket afar off. Enter an old Widow of Florence, Diana her Daughter, Mariana, and 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 taken their greatest commander; and that with his own hand he slew the duke's brother. [Tucket.] 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, inticements, oaths, tokens, and all these engines of lust, are not the things they go under14Q0403: many a maid hath been seduc'd 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 ^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, 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.—

Hel.
To saint Jaques le grand.
Where do the palmers lodge, I do beseech you?

Wid.
At the saint Francis here beside the port.

Hel.
Is this the way?

Wid.
Ay, marry, is it.—Hark you! [Tucket.
They come this way:—If you will tarry, pilgrim ^note,
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 ^note 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 Rosillion; 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 ^note,
He's bravely taken here. He stole from France,
As 'tis reported, for the king had marry'd 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.

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 examin'd.

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

Wid.
Ay, right:—Good ^note 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 amorous 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.

Mar.
The gods forbid else! Enter, with Drum and Colours, marching, the Florentine Army, Bertram, ^note and Parolles.

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? ^note

Dia.
'Tis pity, he's not honest: Yond's † that same knave,
That leads him to these paces ^note; 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 spy'd us.

Wid.
Marry, hang you! [Parolles bows to them.

Mar.
and your courtesy, for a ring-carrier! [Exeunt Army, Ber. ^note Par. &c.

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 ^note virgin,
Worthy the note.

Mar. Dia.
We'll take your offer kindly. [Exeunt. SCENE VI. Camp under Florence. Enter Bertram, and the two Lords. ^note

2. L.

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

1. L.

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

2. L.

On my life, my lord, a bubble.

Ber.

Do you think, I am so far deceiv'd in him?

2. L.

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.

1. L.

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.

1. L.

None better14Q0404 than to let him fetch off his drum, which you hear him so confidently undertake to do. 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 hoodwink him so, that he shall suppose no other but that he is carry'd 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. L.

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 ^note success in't, and to what metal this counterfeit lump of oar ^note will be melted, if you give him not John Drum's entertainment,14Q0405 your inclining cannot be removed. Here he comes.

&clquo;1. L.

&clquo;O, for the love of laughter, hinder not the honour of his design; let him fetch off his drum in any hand.&crquo;

Ber.

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

1. L.

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.

1. L.

That was not to be blam'd 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 stomack to't, monsieur, if you think your mistery 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 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 valiant; and, to the possibility of thy soldiership, will subscribe for thee. Farewel.

Par.

I love not many words.

2. L.

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 to do't.

1. L.

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, that he will make no deed at all of this, that so seriously he does address himself unto?

2. L.

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. L.

We'll make you some sport with the fox, ere we case him: he was first smok'd by the old lord Lafeu: when his disguise and he is parted ^note, tell me what a sprat you shall find him; which you shall see this very night. I must go look my twigs, he shall be caught.14Q0406

Ber.

Your brother, he shall go along with me.

1. L.

As't please your lordship: I'll leave you.

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

2. L.
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?

2. L.
With all my heart, my lord. [Exeunt.

SCENE VII. Florence. A Room in 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.14Q0407

Wid.
Though my estate be fallen, ^note 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
You are great in fortune.

Hel.
Take this &dagger2; 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 amorous siege before her beauty,
Resolves ^note to carry her; let her, in fine, consent,
As we'll direct her how 'tis best to bear it,
Now his important ^note 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.

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 ^note,
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 ^note 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,14Q0408
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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