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 mater?

Clo. Nay, there is some comfort in the news, some comfort; your son will not be killed so soon as I thought he would.

Indeed, good lady,
The fellow has a deal of that, too much,

Which holds him much to have.

Count. Why should he be killed? he does: the danger is in standing to't; that's the I Clo. So say I, madam, if he run away, as I hear 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 Gentlemen.

1 Gent. Save you, good madam.
Hel. Madam, my lord is gone, for ever gone.
2 Gent. 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 Gent. Madam, he's gone to serve the duke of
Florence:

We met him thitherward; from thence we came,
And, after some despatch in hand at court,
Thither we bend again.

Hel. Look on his letter, madam; here's my
port.
[Reads.] When thou canst get the ring upon my
finger 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? 1 Gent.

will entreat you, when you see my son,
Count. You are welcome, gentlemen,
To tell him that his sword can never win
The honour that he loses; more I'll entreat you
Written to bear along.
We serve you, madam,
In that and all your worthiest affairs.
Count. Not so, but as we change our courtesies.'
Will you draw near?

2 Gent.

[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, 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,
pass-That ride upon the violent speed of fire,
Fly with false aim; move the still-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 '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,
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, dav
For, with the dark, poor thief, I'll steal away.

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,3
Thou robb'st me of a moiety: He was my son;
But I do wash his name out of my blood,
And thou art all my child.-Towards Florence is he?
2 Gent. Ay, madam,
Count.

And to be a soldier?

2 Gent. 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 Gent. 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.

1 Gent. "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? 1 i. e. affect me suddenly and deeply, as our sex are usually affected.

2 i. e. when you can get the ring which is on my finger into your possession.

3 If thou keepest all thy sorrows to thyself: an ellipucal expression for all the griefs that are thine.'

4 This passage as it stands is very obscure; it ap. pears to me that something is omitted after much. Warburton interprets it, That his vices stand him in stead of virtues. And Heath thought the meaning was:-"This fellow hath a deal too much of that which alone can hold or judge that he has much in him ;' i. e. folly and ignorance.

5 In reply to the gentleman's declaration that they are her servants, the countess answers-no otherwise than as she returns the same offices of civility.

[Exu.

A charge too heavy for my strength; but yet
We'll strive to bear it for your worthy sake,
To the extreme edge of hazard.
Duke.

Then go thou forth;
And fortune play upon thy prosperous helm,1o
As thy auspicious mistress!
This very day,

Ber.

Great Mars, I put myself into thy file:

6 The old copy reads, still-peering. The emenda tion was adopted by Steevens: still-piecing is still reuniting; peecing is the old orthography of the word. I must confess that I should give the preference to stillpacing, i. e. still-moving, as more in the poet's manner. 7 That is the ravenous or ravening lion.

8 The sense is, 'From that place, where all the advantages that honour usually reaps from the danger it rushes upon, is only a scar in testimony of its bravery, as, on the other hand, it often is the cause of losing all even life itself."

9 So in Shakspeare's 116th Sonnet :
But bears it out, even to the edge of doom.'
10 In K Richard III. we have:

Fortune and victory sit on the helm

Make me but like my thoughts; and I shall prove WVid. I have told my neighbour, how you have
A lover of thy drum, hater of love. [Exeunt. been solicited by a gentleman his companion.
Mar. I know that knave; hang him! one Pa-
SCENE IV. Rousillon. A Room in the Count-rolles: a filthy officer he is in those suggestions
ess's Palace. Enter Countess and Steward.
Count. Alas! and would you take the letter of her?
Might you not know, she would do as she has done,
By sending me a letter? Read it again.

Stew. I am Saint Jaques" pilgrim, thither gone; wreck of maidenhead, carnot for all that dissuade Ambitious love hath so in me offended, That bare-foot plod I the cold ground upon, With sainted vow my faults to have amended. Write, write, that from the bloody course of war, My dearest master, your dear son, may hie; Bless him at home in peace, whilst I from far, His name with zealous fervour sanctify: His taken labours bid him me forgive;

Enter, with Drum and Colours, a party of the Flo-lordship present at his examination; if he do not, for rentine Army, BERTRAM, and PAROLLES.

He were much goodlier :--Is't not a handsome gen-tainment, your inclining cannot be removed. Here

Dia. "Tis pity, he is not honest: Yond's that
same knave,

That leads him to these places;' were I his lady,
I'd poison that vile rascal.
Hel.

Dia. That jack-an-apes with scarfs: Why is he in your disposition. melancholy?

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

Par. Lose our drum! well.

2 Lord. A pox on't, let it go; 'tis but a drinn. Par. But a drum! Is't but a drum? A drum so lost!-There was an excellent command! to charge

Mar. He's shrewdly vexed at something: Look, in with our horse upon our own wings, and to rend

Par. By the hand of a soldier, I will undertake it. Ber. But you must not now slumber in it. Par. I'll about it this evening: and I will presently pen down my dilemmas, encourage myself in my certainty, put myself into tion, and, by midnight, look to hear further from me. my mortal preparaBer. May I be bold to acquaint his grace, you are gone about it?

Par. I know not what the success will be, my lord; but the attempt I vow.

bility of thy soldiership, will subscribe for thee. Ber. I know, thou art valiant; and, to the possi Farewell.

Par. I love not many words.

1 Lord. No more than a fish loves water.-Is not this a strange fellow, my lord? that so confidently is not to be done; damns himself to do, and dares seems to undertake this business, which he knows better be damned than to do't.

2 Lord. You do not know him, my lord, as we do: certain it is, that he will steal himself into a man's favour, and, for a week, escape a great deal

the attempt. An epitaph then usually began hie jacet, 7 I would recover the lost drum or another, or die in

8 The dilemmas of Parolles have nothing to do with those of the schoolmen, as the commentators imagin ed:-his dilemmas are the difficulties he was to encoun ter. Mr. Boswell argues that the penning down of these are those distinct actions necessarily connected? could not well encourage him in his certainty: but why

9 Steevens has mistaken this passage; Malone is right. Bertram's meaning is, that he will vouch for his Sometimes, at any doing all that it is possible for soldiership to effect. He was not yet certain of his cowardice.

of discoveries; but when you find him out, you have | But that your daughter, ere she seems as won, him ever after.

Ber. Why, do you think, he will make no deed at all of this, that so seriously he does address himself unto?

1 Lord. None in the world; but return with an invention, and clap upon you two or three probable lies: but we have almost embossed him,' you shall see his fall to-night; for, indeed, he is not for your lordship's respect.

2 Lord. We will make you some sport with the fox, ere we case him. He was first smoked by the old lord Lafeu: when his disguise and he is parted, tell me what a sprat you shall find him; which you shall see this very night.

1 Lord. I must go look my twigs; he shall be caught.

Ber. Your brother, he shall go along with me.
1 Lord. As't please your lordship: I'll leave you.

once,

[Exit.
Ber. Now will I lead you to the house, and show you
The lass I spoke of.
2 Lord.
But, you say, she's honest.
Ber. That's all the fault: I spoke with her but
And found her wondrous cold; but I sent to her,
By this same coxcomb that we have i'the wind,
Tokens and letters which she did resend;
And this is all I have done: She's a fair creature:
Will you go see her?
2 Lord.

With all my heart, my lord.
[Exeunt.
SCENE VII. Florence. A Room in the Widow's
House. Enter HELENA and Widow.

Hel. If you misdoubt me that I am not she,
I know not how I shall assure you further,
But I shall lose the grounds I work upon.4
Wid. Though my estate be fallen, I was well born,
Nothing acquainted with these businesses;
And would not put my reputation now
In any staining act.

Hel.

Nor would I wish you.

First, give me trust, the count he is my husband;
And, what to your sworn counsel I have spoken,
Is
So, from word to word; and then you cannot,
By the good aid that I of you shall borrow,
Err in bestowing it.

Wid.
I should believe you;
For you have show'd me that, which well approves
You are great in fortune.
Hel.
Take this purse of gold,
And let me buy your friendly help thus far,
Which I will overpay, and pay again,
When I have found it. The count he woos your
daughter,

Lays down his wanton siege before her beauty,
Resolves to carry her; let her, in fine, consent,
As we'll direct her how 'tis best to bear it,
Now his important' blood will nought deny
That she'll demand: A ring the county wears
That downward hath succeeded in his house,
From son to son, some four or five descents
Since the first father wore it; this ring he holds
In most rich choice; yet, in his idle fire,
To buy his will, it would not seem too dear,
Howe'er repented after.

Wid.

The bottom of your purpose.

Now I see

Hel. You see it lawful then: It is no more,

V.

Desires this ring; appoints him an encounter;
In fine, delivers me to fill the time,
Herself most chastely absent: after this,
To marry her, I'll add three thousand crowns
To what is past already.
Wid.
I have yielded:
Instruct my daughter how she shall persever,
That time and place, with this deceit so lawful,
May prove coherent. Every night he comes
With musics of all sorts, and songs compos'd
To her unworthiness: It nothing steads us,
To chide him from our eaves: for he persists,
As if his life lay on't.

Hel.
Why then, to-night
Let us assay our plot; which, if it speed,
Is wicked meaning in a lawful deed,
And lawful meaning in a lawful act
Where both not sin, and yet a sinful fact:
But let's about it.

ACT IV.

[Exeunt.

SCENE I. Without the Florentine Camp. Enter
first Lord, with five or six Soldiers in ambush.
1 Lord. He can come no other way but by this
hedge' corner: When you sally upon him, speak
what terrible language you will; though you under
stand it not yourselves, no matter: for we must not
seem to understand him; unless some one among
us, whom we must produce for an interpreter.

1 Sold. Good captain, let me be the interpreter. 1 Lord. Art not acquainted with him? knows he not thy voice?

1 Sold. No, sir, I warrant you.

1 Lord. But what linsy-woolsy hast thou to speak to us again?

1 Sold. Even such as you speak to me.

1 Lord. He must think us some band of strangers i'the adversary's entertainment. Now he hath a smack of all neighbouring languages; therefore we must every one be a man of his own fancy, not to know what we speak one to another; so we seem to know, is to know straight our purpose:10 chough's language, gabble enough and good enough. As for you, interpreter, you must seem very politic. But couch, ho! here he comes; to beguile two hours in a sleep, and then to return and swear the lies he forges:

Enter PAROLLES.

Par. Ten o'clock: within these three hours 'twill be time enough to go home. What shall I say I have done? It must be a very plausible invention that carries it: They begin to smoke me; and disgraces have of late knocked too often at my door. I find my tongue is too fool-hardy; but my heart hath the fear of Mars before it, and of his creatures, not daring the reports of my tongue.

1 Lord. This is the first truth that e'er thine own tongue was guilty of

[Aside.

Par. What the devil should move me to undertake the recovery of this drum; being not ignorant of the impossibility, and knowing I had no such purpose? I must give myself some hurts, and say, I got them in exploit: Yet slight ones will not carry it: They will say, Came you off with so little? and great ones I dare not give. Wherefore?

7 From under our windows.

1 That is, almost run him down. An emboss'd stag is one so hard chased that it foams at the mouth. 8 This gingling riddle may be thus briefly explained. note on The Induction to The Taming of the Shrew Bertram's is a wicked intention, though the act he com2 Before we strip him naked, or unmask him. mits is lawful. Helen's is both a lawful intention and a This proverbial phrase is noted by Ray, p. 216, ed. lawful deed. The fact as relates to Bertram was sin 1737. It is thus explained by old Cotgrave: Estre surful, because he intended to commit adultery; yet nei vent, To be in the wind, or to have the wind of. To get the wind, advantage, upper hand of; to have a man under his lee.'

ther he nor Helena actually sinned.

9 i. e. foreign troops in the enemy's pay. 10 The sense of this very obscure passage appears, from the context, to be: 'we must each fancy a jargon for himself, without aiming to be understood by each other; for, provided we appear to understand, that will be sufficient. I suspect that a word or two is omitted. 11 A bird of the jack-daw kind

what's the instance? Tongue, I must put you SCENE II. Florence. A Room in the Widow's into a butterwoman's mouth, and buy another of Bajazet's mute, if you prattle me into these perils. 1 Lord. Is it possible, he should know what he is, and be that he is?

1 Lord. He will betray us all unto ourselves;-In me to lose: Thus your own proper wisdom Inform 'em that.