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.

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