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.

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 money, with no stomach.

Count.

What have we here?

Clo.

In that you have there.

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.

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, you 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.