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Clo. Why, he will look upon his boot, and sing ; 'mend the ruff, and fing; 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 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'the country, are nothing like your old ling and your Isbels o'the court : the brain of my Cupid's knock'd out; and I begin to love, as an old man loves money, 6 with no stomach.

Count. What have we here?
Clo. E'en that you have there.


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Countess reads a letter. I have sent you a daughter-in-law : me hath recovered the king, and undone me. I have wedded her, not bedded her; and sworn to make the not eternal. You shall bear, 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 fon,


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 com.

f mend the ruff]-adjust his cravat. 8 with no fumach.] to enjoy it.


fort; your fon 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.

Enter Helena, and two gentlemen. 1 Gen. Save you, good madam. Hel. Madam, my lord is gone, for ever gone. 2 Gen. Do not say so. Count. Think upon patience. -'Pray you, gentle,

men, I have felt so many quirks of joy, and grief, That the first face of neither, on the start, Can woman me unto't :-Where is my son, I pray you?

2 Gen. Madam, he's gone to serve the duke of Florence: We met him thitherward; for thence we came, And, after some dispatch in hand at court, Thither we bend again.

Hel. Look on this letter, madam ; here's my passport. When thou canst get the ring upon my finger, which never

jhall come off, and New me a child begotten of thy body, that I am father to, then call me busband : but in such

a Then I write a Never. This is a dreadful sentence.

Count. Brought you this letter, gentlemen ?

i Gen. Ay, madam; And, for the contents' sake, are sorry for our pains.

Count. I pr’ythee, lady, have a better cheer ;

h. Can woman me unto'r: 1-Produce in me such sudden emotions, as are usual in our sex. "VOL. II.


. If


If thou engroffest all the griefs' as thine,
Thou robb’st me of a moiety: He was my fon ;
But I do wash his name out of my blood,
And thou art all my child-Towards Florence is he?

2 Gen. Ay, madam.
! Count. And to be a soldier ?
. 2 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 ? i Gen. Ay, madam, with the swifteft wing of speed.

Hel. 'Till I have no wife, I have nothing in France. 'Tis bitter. - Count. Find you that there?

Hel. Ay, madam.

į Gen. '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 ?

i Gen. A servant only, and a gentleman Which I have some time known.

Count. Parolles, was't not?
I Gen. Ay, my good lady, he.

Count. A very tainted fellow, and full of wickedness :
My son corrupts a well-derived nature
With his inducement.

i Gen. Indeed, good lady, The fellow has a deal * of that, too much, . i are.

k of that, too much, which holds him much to have.]_Of that villainy, which stands him in good stead of that ignorance, which judges him to have much in him.

Which holds him much to have.

Count. You are welcome, gentlemen.
I will intreat you, when you see my son,
To tell him, that his sword can never win
The honour that he loses : more l’ll intreat you
Written to bear along.

2 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 gentlemen.

Hel. 'Till I bave no wife, I have nothing in France.
Nothing in France, until he has no wife!
Thou shalt have none, Rousillon, none in France,
Then haft 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
Waft 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 “ ftill-piecing air,
That sings with piercing, do not touch my lord!
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 'cwere,
I met the ravin lion when he roar'd .
With sharp constraint of hunger; better 'twere,
That all the miseries, which nature owes,

Not fo, but as we change our courtefies. ]-No further than our mu. tual civilities may extend. . * ftill-piecing]-closing after seperation.



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Were mine at once: No, come thou home, Rousillon;
» Whence honour but of danger wins a scar;
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 confolate thine ear. Come, night; end, day!
For, with the dark, poor thief, I'll steal away. [Exit.

s C É N E III.

The Duke's Court in Florence,
Flouriß. Enter the Duke of Florence, Bertram, drum and

trumpets, foldier's, &c.
Duke. The general of our horse 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 strength; but yet
We'll strive to bear it for your worthy fake,
To the extream edge of hazard.

Duke. Then go forth;
And fortune play upon thy prosperous helin,
As thy auspicious mistress!

Ber. This very day,
Great Mars, I put myself into thy file:
Make me but like my thoughts; and I shall prove
A lover of thy drum, hater of love.


* Whence, &c.] From the wars, that abode of danger, where the fairest trophy of honour is a scar, it's frequent fortune, death.


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