SCENE II.
Rousillon. A Room in the Countess's Palace.
Enter Countess and Clown.
Count.
It hath happened 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 the ruff, and sing7 note; ask questions, and sing; pick
his teeth, and sing. I know a man, that had this trick
of melancholy, sold a goodly manor for a song8 note.
Count.
Let me see what he writes, and when he
means to come.
[Opening a letter.
Clo.
I have no mind to Isbel, since I was at court.
Our old ling and our Isbels o' the country are nothing
like your old ling and your Isbels o' the court: the brains
-- 257 --
of my Cupid's knocked out, and I begin to love, as an
old man loves money, with no stomach.
Count.
What have we here?
Clo.
E'en that you have there.
[Exit.
Count. [Reads.]
“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.”
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 killed 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.
[Exit Clown.
Enter Helena and two French Gentlemen9 note.
Fr. Env.
Save you, good madam.
-- 258 --
Hel.
Madam, my lord is gone; for ever gone.
Fr. Gen.
Do not say so.
Count.
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 me10 note unto't:—where is my son, I pray you?
Fr. Gen.
Madam, he's gone to serve the duke of Florence:
We met him thitherward; for thence we came11 note,
And, after some despatch in hand at court,
Thither we bend again.
Hel.
Look on his letter, madam: here's my passport.
[Reads.]
“When thou canst get the ring upon my
finger1 note, which never shall come off, 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.”
This is a dreadful sentence.
Count.
Brought you this letter, gentlemen?
Fr. Env.
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 are thine,
Thou robb'st me of a moiety. 11Q0416 He was my son,
But I do wash his name out of my blood,
And thou art all my child.—Towards Florence is he?
Fr. Gen.
Ay, madam.
Count.
And to be a soldier?
-- 259 --
Fr. Gen.
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?
Fr. Env.
Ay, madam, with the swiftest wing of speed.
Hel. [Reads.]
“Till I have no wife, I have nothing in France.”
'Tis bitter.
Count.
Find you that there?
Hel.
Ay, madam.
Fr. Env.
'Tis but the boldness of his hand, haply,
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?
Fr. Env.
A servant only, and a gentleman
Which I have some time known.
Count.
Parolles, was it not?
Fr. Env.
Ay, my good lady, he.
Count.
A very tainted fellow, and full of wickedness.
My son corrupts a well-derived nature
With his inducement.
Fr. Env.
Indeed, good lady,
The fellow has a deal of that too much,
Which holds him much to have 11Q04172 note.
Count.
Y' are welcome, gentlemen.
I will entreat you, when you see my son,
To tell him, that his sword can never win
-- 260 --
The honour that he loses: more I'll entreat you
Written to bear along.
Fr. Gen.
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 French Gentlemen.
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 speed of fire,
Fly with false aim; move the still-peering air,
That sings with piercing3 note
, do not touch my lord! 11Q0418
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, though I kill him not, I am the cause
His death was so effected. Better 'twere,
I met the ravin 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,
-- 261 --
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.
J. Payne Collier [1842–1844], The works of William Shakespeare. The text formed from an entirely new collation of the old editions: with the various readings, notes, a life of the poet, and a history of the Early English stage. By J. Payne Collier, Esq. F.S.A. In eight volumes (Whittaker & Co. [etc.], London) [word count] [S10101].
