And thou art all my child. Towards Florence is he? 2 Gent. Ay, Madam.

Count. And to be a foldier?

2 Gent. Such is his noble purpofe; 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 fwifteft 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.

I Gent. 'Tis but the boldness of his hand, haply, which his heart was not confenting to.

Count. Nothing in France until he have no wife? There's nothing here that is too good for him, But only fhe; and the deferves a Lord. That twenty fuch rude boys might tend upon, And call her hourly Miftrefs. Who was with him? 1 Gent. A fervant only, and a gentleman Which I have fometime known.

Count. Parolles, was't not?

1 Gent. Ay, my good Lady, he.

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

With his inducement.

1 Gent. Indeed, good Lady, the fellow has a deal of that too much, which holds him much to have. Count. Y'are welcome, Gentlemen; I will intreat you, when you fee my fon, to tell him, that his fword can never win the honour that he lofes more I'll intreat you written to bear along.

1 Gent. We ferve you, Madam, in that and all your worthieft affairs.

Count. Not fo, but as we change our courtefies. Will you draw near?

[Exeunt Countess and Gent.

Hel. Till I have no wife, I have nothing in France. Nothing in France, until he has no wife! Thou fhalt have none, Koufillon, none in France; Then haft thou all again. Poor Lord! is't I.

That

That chafe thee from thy country, and expose
Thofe 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
Waft fhot at with fair eyes, to be the mark
Of fmoaky muskets? O you leaden mellengers,
That ride upon the violent speed of fire,
Fly with falfe aim; pierce the ftill-moving air,
That fings with piercing, do not touch my Lord.
Whoever fhoots at him, I fet 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 fo effected. Better 'twere
I met the rav'ning lion when he roar'd
With fharp constraint of hunger; better 'twere
That all the miferies which nature owes,

Were mine at once. No, come thou home, Roufillon:
Whence honour but of danger wins a fcar;

As oft it lofes all, I will be gone:

My being here it is that holds thee hence.
Shall I ftay here to do't? No, no, although
The air of paradife did fan the house,
And angel's office'd all I will be gone;
That pitiful rumour my report my flight,

To confolate thine ear. Come, night! end, day!
For with the dark, poor thief, I'll steal away. Exit.

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 Horfe 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 ftrength; but yet
We'll ftrive to bear it for your worthy fake,
To th' extreme edge of hazard.

Duke. Then go forth,

F 2

And

enticements, oaths, tokens, and all these engines of lust, are the things they go under; many a maid hath been feduced by them; and the mifery is, example, that fo terrible fhews in the wreck of maidenhood, cannot for all that diffuade fucceffion, 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, though there were no further danger found but the modesty which is fo loft. Dia. You fhall not need to fear me.

Enter Helena, disguis'd like a pilgrim.

Wid. I hope fo

Look, here comes a pilgrim: I know fhe will lie at my houfe; thither they send one another; I'll queftion her: God fave you, pilgrim ! whither are you bound?

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 I will conduct you where you fhall be lodg'd;

The rather, for I think I know your hoftefs

As ample as myfelf.

Hel. Is it yourself?

Wid. If you fhall pleafe fo, pilgrim.

[by,

Hel. I thank you, and will stay upon your leisure. Wid. You came, I think, from France.

Hel. I did fo.

Wid. Here you shall fee a countryman of your's,

That has done worthy fervice.

Hel. His name, I pray you?

Dia. The Count Roufillon: know you fuch a one? Hel. But by the ear, that hears most nobly of him, His face I know not.

Dia. Whatfoe'er he is,

He's bravely taken here. He ftole from France,
As 'tis reported; for the king hath married him
Against his liking. Think you it is fo?

Hel. Ay, furely, merely truth; I know his lady.

Dia. There is a gentleman that ferves the Count, Reports but courfely of her. Hel. What's his name?

Dia. Monfieur Parolles.

Hel. Oh, I believe with him,

In argument of praise, or to the worth
Of the great Count himfelf: fhe is too mean
To have her name repeated; all her deferving
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 detefting Lord.

Wid. Ah! right; good creature! where foe'er fhe is Her heart weighs fadly; this young maid might do her A fhrewd turn, if the pleas'd.

Hel. How do you mean?

May be the am'rous Count folicits her

In the unlawful purpofe.

Wid. He does indeed;

And brokes with all that can in fuch a fuit
Corrupt the tender honour of a maid :

But he is arm'd for him, and keeps her guard
In honefteft defence.

SCENE VIII. Drum and Colours.

Enter Bertram, Parolles, Officers and foldiers attending. Mar. The Gods forbid elfe!

Wid. So now they come :

That is Antonio, the Duke's eldest fon ;

That, Efcalus.

Hel. Which is the Frenchman?

Dia. He';

That with the plume; 'tis a moft gallant fellow

I would he lov'd his wife! if he were honefter,

He were much goodlier. Is't not a handfome gentle

man?

Hel. I like him well.

Dia. 'Tis pity he is not honeft; yond's that fame

knave,

Σ

That

That leads him to thefe places; were I his lady,
I'd poifon that vile rafcal.

Hel. Which is he?

Dia. That jack-an-apes with scarfs. Why is he melancholy?

Hel. Perchance he's hurt i' th' battle.

Par. Lofe our drum!

Mar. He's fhrewdly vex'd at something, Look, he hath fpied us.

Wid. Marry, hang you!

[Exeunt Bertram, Parolles, &c. Mar. And your courtesy, for a ring-carrier!

Wid. The troop is pafs'd. Come, pilgrim, I will bring

you

Where you fhall hoft: Of injoin'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 fome precepts on this virgin

Worthy the note.

Both. We'll take your offer kindly.

SCENE

[Exeunt.

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 refpect.

1 Lord. On my life, my Lord, a bubble.

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

I Lord. Believe it, my Lord, in mine own direct knowledge, without any malice, but to fpeak of him as my kinfman; he's a moft notable coward, an infinite and endlefs lyar, an hourly promife-breaker, the owner of no one good quality worthy your Lordship's entertainment.

2 Lord. It were fit you knew him, left repofing too far in his virtue, which he hath not, he might

at