Page images
PDF
EPUB

Clo. Why, he will look upon his boot, and fing; mend the ruff, and fing; afk queftions, and fing; pick his teeth, and fing: I know a man that had this trick of melancholy, fold a goodly manor for a song.

Count. Let me fee what he writes, and when he means

to come.

Clo. I have no mind to Ifbel, fince I was at court: our old ling and our Ifbels o'the country, are nothing like your old ling and your Ifbels o'the 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. E'en that you have there.

Countess reads a letter.

[Exit.

I have fent you a daughter-in-law: he hath recovered the king, and undone me. I have wedded her, not bedded ber; and fworn 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 fon,

This is not well, rash and unbridled boy,
To fly the favours of fo good a king;
To pluck his indignation on thy head,
By the mifprizing of a maid too virtuous
For the contempt of empire.

Re-enter Clown.

BERTRAM.

Clo. O madam, yonder is heavy news within, between two foldiers and my young lady.

Count. What is the matter?

Clo. Nay, there is fome comfort in the news, fome com

fmend the ruff,]-adjuft his cravat.

with no ftomach.]-to enjoy it.

fort;

fort; your fon will not be kill'd so soon as I thought he would.

Count. Why should he be kill'd?

Clo. So fay I, madam, if he run away, as I hear he does the danger is in ftanding to't; that's the lofs of men, though it be the getting of children. Here they come, will tell you more: for my part, I only hear, your fon was run away.

Enter Helena, and two gentlemen.

I Gen. Save you, good madam.

Hel. Madam, my lord is gone, for ever gone.

2 Gen. Do not say so.

Count. Think upon patience.

men,

-'Pray you, gentle

I have felt fo many quirks of joy, and grief,
That the first face of neither, on the start,

Can woman me unto't:-Where is my fon, I pray you? 2 Gen. Madam, he's gone to ferve the duke of Florence: We met him thitherward; for thence we came,

And, after fome difpatch in hand at court,

Thither we bend again.

Hel. Look on this letter, madam; here's my paffport. When thou canst get the ring upon my finger, which never fball come off, and shew me a child begotten of thy body, that I am father to, then call me bufband: but in fuch a Then I write a Never.

This is a dreadful fentence.

Count. Brought you this letter, gentlemen?

1 Gen. Ay, madam ;

And, for the contents' fake, are forry for our pains.
Count. I pr'ythee, lady, have a better cheer;

1 Can woman me unto't :]-Produce in me fuch fudden emotions, as are usual in our sex.

VOL. II.

E e

If

If thou engroffeft 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 foldier?

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?

1 Gen. Ay, madam, with the swifteft wing of fpeed. Hel. 'Till I have no wife, I have nothing in France. 'Tis bitter.

Count. Find you that there?

Hel. Ay, madam.

[Reading.

1 Gen. '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 fhe deferves a lord,

That twenty fuch rude boys might tend upon,
And call her hourly, miftrefs. Who was with him?
1 Gen. A fervant only, and a gentleman
Which I have fome time known.

Count. Parolles, was't not?

I Gen. 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 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 ftands 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 fon,
To tell him, that his sword can never win
The honour that he loses: more I'll intreat you
Written to bear along.

2 Gen. We serve you, madam,

In that and all your worthiest affairs.

Count. 'Not fo, but as we change our courtefies.
Will you draw near? [Exeunt Countess and gentlemen.
Hel. 'Till I have no wife, I have nothing in France.
Nothing in France, until he has no wife!

Thou shalt have none, Roufillon, 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
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 falfe aim; move the " ftill-piecing air,
That fings with piercing, do not touch my lord!
Whoever shoots 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 ravin lion when he roar'd

With fharp constraint of hunger; better 'twere,
That all the miferies, which nature owes,

Not fo, but as we change our courtefies.]-No further than our mutual civilities may extend.

m

ftill-piecing]-clofing after feperation.

E ez

Were

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 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.

[blocks in formation]

[Exit.

Flourish. Enter the Duke of Florence, Bertram, drum and trumpets, foldiers, &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 ftrive to bear it for your worthy fake,
To the extream edge of hazard.

Duke. Then go forth;

And fortune play upon thy profperous helm,
As thy aufpicious mistress!

Ber. This very day,

Great Mars, I put myself into thy file:

Make me but like my thoughts; and I fhall prove

A lover of thy drum, hater of love.

[Exeunt.

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

SCENE

« PreviousContinue »