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SCENE II. Rofillion. A Room in the Count's Palace. Enter Countefs, and Clown.

Cou. It hath happen'd all as I would have had it, save, that he comes not along with her. Clo. By my troth, I take lord to be a very melancholy man.

my young

Cou. By what observance, I pray you ?

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

to come.

Cou. Let me fee what he writes, and when he means [opening the Letter. Clo. I have no mind to Isbel, fince I was at court: our old ling, and our Isbels, o'the country, are nothing like your old ling, and your Isbels of the court: the brains of my Cupid's knock'd out; and I begin to love, as an old man loves money, with no ftomack.

Cou. What have we here?

Clo. E'en that you have there. [Exit Clown. Cou. [reads.] I have fent you a daughter-in-law: She hath recovered the king, and undone me: I have wedded her, not bedded her; 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 unbridl'd boy,
To fly the favours of fo good a king;
To pluck his indignation on thy head,
By the mifprising of a maid too virtuous

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Bertram.

For the contempt of empire.

Re-enter Clown.

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

Cou. What is the matter?

Clo. Nay, there is fome comfort in the news, fome comfort; your fon will not be kill'd fo foon as I thought he would.

Cou. Why fhould 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. [Exit Clown. Enter HELENA, and two Gentlemen.

2. G. Save you, good madam.

HEL. Madam, my lord is gone, for ever gone. 1. G. Do not fay fo.

Cou. Think upon patience. Pray you, gentlemen, I have felt fo many quirks of joy, and grief,

That the firft face of neither, on the start,

Can woman me unto't, where is my fon, I pray you?
1. G. Madam, he's gone to ferve the duke of Florence:
We met him thitherward; for thence we came,
And, after fome dispatch in hand at court,

Thither we bend again.

HEL. Look on his letter, madam, here's my paffport. [reads.] When thou can't get the ring upon my finger, which never shall come off, and fhew me a child begotten of thy body, that I am father to, then call me husband: but in fuch a then I write a never. This is a dreadful fentence.

Cou. Brought you this letter, gentlemen?

1. G. Ay, madam;

And, for the contents' fake, are forry for our pains.

Cou. I pr'ythee, lady, have a better cheer;
If thou engroffeft all the griefs are thine,
Thou rob'ft 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? 1. G. Ay, madam.

Cou. And to be a foldier?

1. G. Such is his noble purpose: and, believe't, The duke will lay upon him all the honour That good convenience claims.

Cou. Return you thither?

2. G. Ay, madam, with the swifteft wing of speed. HEL. [reads.] 'Till I have no wife, I have nothing in France. 'Tis bitter.

Cou. Find you that there?
HEL. Ay, madam.

2. G. 'Tis but the boldness of his hand, haply, which His heart was not confenting to.

Cou. Nothing in France, until he have no wife! There's nothing here, that is too good for him,

But only fhe; and the deserves a lord,

That twenty fuch rude boys might tend upon, And call her hourly miftrefs. Who was with him? 2. G. A fervant only, and a gentleman'

Which I have fometime known.

Cou. Parolles, was't not?

2. G. Ay, my good lady, he.

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

With his inducement.

2. G. Why, indeed, good lady,

The fellow has a deal of that, too much,
Which holds him much to have.

Cou. You're welcome, gentlemen.
I will intreat you, when you fee my son,
To tell him, that his fword can never win
The honour that he loses : more I'll intreat you
Written to bear along.

1. G. We serve you, madam,

In that and all your worthieft affairs.

Cou. Not fo, but as we change our courtefies.

Will you draw near?

[Exeunt Cou. and Gen.

HEL. 'Till I have no wife, I have nothing in France.

Nothing in France, until he has no wife !

Thou shalt have none, Rofillion, none in France,

Then haft thou all again. Poor lord, is't I

That chace thee from thy country, and expose
Those tender limbs of thine to the event

Of the none-fparing war? and is it I

That drive thee from the fportive court, where thou
Wast shot at with fair eyes, to be the mark
Of smoky muskets? O you leaden meffengers,
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't;
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

25 move the still-piercing

With fharp conftraint of hunger; better 'twere,

That all the miseries, which nature owes,

Were mine at once: No, come thou home, Rofillion,
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 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. [Exit.

SCENE III. Florence. Before the Duke's Palace. Flourish. Enter the Duke of Florence, BERTRAM, Lords, Officers, Soldiers, and Others.

Duk. 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 the extream edge of hazard.

Duk. Then go thou forth;

And fortune play upon thy profperous helm,

As thy aufpicious miftrefs!

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.

[Exeunt.

SCENE IV. Rofillion. A Room in the Count's Palace.

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