1 Lord. In the mean time, what hear you of these wars?

2 Lord. I hear there is an overture of peace.

1 Lord. Nay, I affure you, a peace concluded. 2 Lord. What will Count Roufillon do then? will he travel higher, or return again into France ?

1 Lord. I perceive by this demand, you are not altogether of his council.

2 Lord. Let it be forbid, Sir ! so should I be a great deal of his act.

1 Lord. Sir, his wife fome two months fince fled from his houfe, her pretence is a pilgrimage to St. Jaques le Grand; which holy undertaking, with most auftere fanctimony, fhe accomplish'd; and there refiding, the tenderness of her nature became as a prey to her grief; in fine, made a groan of her last breath, and now the fings in heaven.

2 Lord. How is this juftified?

1 Lord. The stronger part of it by her own letters, which makes her story true, even to the point of her death; her death itself (which could not be her office to fay, is come) was faithfully confirm'd by the rector of the place.

2 Lord. Hath the Count all this intelligence?

1 Lord. Ay, and the particular confirmations, point from point, to the full arming of the verity.

2 Lord. I am heartily forry that he'll be glad of this. 1 Lord. How mightily fometimes we make us comforts of our loffes!

2 Lord. And how mightily fome other times we drown our gain in tears! the great dignity that his valour hath here acquired for him, fhall at home be encountered with a fhame as ample.

1 Lord. The web of our life is of a mingled yarn, good and ill together: our virtues would be proud, if our faults whipped them not; and our crimes would despair, if they were not cherish'd by our virtues.

Enter a fervant.

How now? where's your mafter?

Ser. He met the Duke in the street, Sir, of whom he hath taken a folemn leave: his Lordship will next morning

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morning for France. The Duke hath offered him letters of commendations to the King.

2 Lord. They shall be no more than needful there, if they were more than they can commend.

SCENE IV. Enter Bertram.

I Lord. They cannot be too sweet for the King's tartnefs. Here's his Lordship now. How now, my Lord, is't not after midnight?

Ber. I have to-night difpatch'd fixteen bufineffes, a month's length a-piece, by an abstract of fuccefs; I have congied with the Duke, done my adieu with his nearest; buried a wife, mourn'd for her; writ to my lady mother I am returning; entertained my convoy : and, between these main parcels of difpatch, effected many nicer needs; the laft was the greateft, but that I have not ended yet.

2 Lord. If the business be of any difficulty, and this morning your departure hence, it requires hafte to your Lordship.

Ber. I mean, the bufinefs is not ended, as fearing to hear of it hereafter. But fhall we have this dialogue between the fool and the foldier? Come bring forth this counterfeit medal; h'as deceiv'd me, like a doublemeaning prophefier.

2 Lord. Bring him forth; he's fat in the ftocks all night, poor gallant knave.

Ber. No matter; his heels have deferv'd it, in ufurping his spurs fo long. How does he carry himself? I Lord. I have told your Lordship already: the stocks carry him. But to answer you as you would be underftood, he weeps like a wench that had fhed her milk; he hath confefs'd himself to Morgan, whom he fuppofes to be a friar, from the time of his remembrance, to this very instant disaster of his fetting i' th' ftocks; and what, think you, he hath confefs'd?

Ber. Nothing of me, has he?

2 Lord. His confeffion is taken, and it fhall be read to his face if your Lordfhip be in't, as I believe you are, you must have the patience to hear it.

SCENE

SCENE

V.

Enter Parolles, with his Interpreter.

Ber. A plague upon him, muffled! he can say nothing of me; hufh! hufh!

1 Lord. Hoodman comes: Portotartaroa.

Int. He calls for the tortures; what will you fay without 'em?

Par. I will confefs what I know without constraint; if ye pinch me like a pafty, I can fay no more. Int. Bofko chimurcho.

2 Lord Biblibindo chicurmurco.

Int. You are a merciful General: our General bids you answer to what I ask you out of a note. Par. And truly, as I hope to live.

Int. First demand of him how many horse the Duke is ftrong. What fay you to that?

Par. Five or fix thoufand, but very weak and unferviceable. The troops are all fcatter'd, and the commanders very poor rogues, upon my reputation and credit, and as I hope to live.

Int. Shall I fet down your answer fo?

Par. Do; I'll take the facrament on't, how and which way you will: all's one to me.

Ber. What a paft-faving flave is this!

1 Lord. Y'are deceiv'd, my Lord; this is Monfieur Parolles, the gallant militarist, that was his own phrase, that had the whole theory of war in the knot of his fcarf, and the practice in the chape of his dagger.

2 Lord. I will never truft a man again for keeping his fword clean; nor believe he can have every thing in him, by wearing his apparel neatly.

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Int. Well, that's fet down.

Par. Five or fix thoufand horfe I faid (I will fay true) or thereabouts, fet down, for I'll speak truth. 1 Lord. He's very near the truth in this.

Ber. But I con him no thanks for't in the nature he delivers it.

Par. Poor rogues, I pray you, fay.

Int. Well, that's fet down.

Par.

Par. I humbly thank you, Sir: a truth's a truth, the rogues are marvellous poor.

Int. Demand of him of what strength they are afoot. What fay you to that?

Par. By my troth, Sir, if I were to live this prefent hour, I will tell true. Let me fee; Spurio a hundred and fifty, Sebaftian fo many, Corambus fo many, Jaques fo many; Guiltian, Cofmo, Lodowick, and Gratii, two hundred and fifty each; mine own company, Chitopher, Vaumond, Bentii, two hundred and fifty each fo that the muster-file, rotten and found, upon my life, amounts not to fifteen thousand poll; half of the which dare not fake the fnow from off their caffocks, left they shake themselves to pieces. Ber. What fhall be done to him?

1 Lord. Nothing; but let him have thanks. Demand of him my conditions, and what credit I have with the Duke.

Int. Well, that's fet down. You fhall demand of him, whether one Captain Dumain be i' th' camp, a Frenchman: what his reputation is with the Duke, what his valour, honefty, and expertnefs in war; or whether he thinks it were not poffible with well-weighing fums of gold to corrupt him to a revolt. What fay you to this? what do you know of it?

Par. I befeech you, let me answer to the particular of the interrogatories. Demand them fingly.

Int. Do you know this Captain Dumain?

Par. I know him; he was a botcher's prentice in Paris, from whence he was whipp'd for getting the fheriff's fool with child; a dum innocent, that could not say him nay.

Ber. Nay, by your leave, hold your hands; though I know his brains are forfeit to the next tile that falls. Int. Well, is this Captain in the Duke of Florence's camp?

Par. Upon my knowledge he is, and lowfy.

1 Lord. Nay, look not fo upon me, we fhall hear of your I ordfhip anon.

Int. What is his reputation with the Duke?

Par. The Duke knows him for no other but a poor officer of mine; and writ to me the other day, to turn

him

him out o' th' band. I think I have his letter in my pocket.

Int. Marry, we'll fearch.

Par. In good fadnefs, I do not know; either it is there, or it is upon the file with the Duke's other letters in my tent.

Int. Here 'tis, here's a paper, fhall I read it to you? Par. I do not know if it be it or no.

Ber. Our interpreter does it well.

1 Lord. Excellently.

Int. Dian, the Count's a fool, and full of gold.

Par. That is not the Duke's letter, Sir; that is an advertisement to a proper maid in Florence, one Diana, to take heed of the allurement of one Count Roufillon, a foolish idle boy; but for all that very ruttifh. I pray you, Sir, put it up again.

Int. Nay, I'll read it first, by your favour.

Par. My meaning in't, I proteft, was very honeft in the behalf of the maid; for I knew the young Count to be a dangerous and lascivious boy, who is a whale to virginity, and devours up all the fry it finds. Ber. Damnable! both fides rogue.

Interpreter reads the letter.

When he fwears oaths, bid him drop gold, and take it.
After he fcores, he never pays his fcore:

Half won, is match well made; match, and well make it :
He ne'er pays after debts, take it before.
And fay, a foldier (Dian) told thee this:
Men are to mell with, boys are not to kiss.
For, count of this, the Count's a fool, I know it ;
Who pays before, but not when he does owe it.

Thine, as he vow'd to thee in thine ear,

Parolles.

Ber. He fhall be whipped through the army with this rhime in his forehead.

2 Lord This is your devoted friend, Sir; the manifold linguift, and the armipotent foldier.

Ber. I could endure any thing before but a cat, and now he's a cat to me.

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