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and out of it you'll run again, rather than suffer question for your refidence.

Ber. It may be, you have mistaken him, my Lord.

Laf. And shall do so ever, tho' I took him at's prayers. Fare you well, my Lord, and believe this of me, there can be no kernel in this light nut: the foul of this man is his clothes. Trust him not in matter of heavy consequence: I have kept of them tame, and know their natures. Farewel, Monfieur, I have spoken better of you, than you have or will deserve at my hand, but we must do good against evil. [Exit.

Par. An idle lord, I swear.

Ber. I think so.

Par. Why, do you not know him?
Ber. Yes, I know him well, and common speech
Gives him a worthy pass. Here comes my clog.

Enter Helena.

Hel. I have, Sir, as I was commanded from you,
Spoke with the King, and have procur'd his leave
For present parting; only, he defires
Some private speech with you.
Ber. I shall obey his will.

You must not marvel, Helen, at my course,
Which holds not colour with the time; nor does
The ministration and required office
On my particular. Prepar'd I was not
For fuch a business; therefore am I found
So much unfettled: this drives me to intreat you,
That presently you take your way for home,
And rather muse, than ask, why I intreat you;
For my respects are better than they feem,
And my appointments have in them a need
Greater than shews itself at the first view,
To you that know them not. This to my mother.

[Giving a letter.

'Twill be two days ere I shall see you, fo
I leave you to your wisdom.

Hel. Sir, I can nothing say,
But that I am your most obedient servant.

Ber.

Ber. Come, come, no more of that.
Hel. And ever shall

With true observance feek to eke out That,
Wherein tow'rd me my homely stars have fail'd

To equal my great fortune.

Ber. Let That go :

My haste is very great.

Farewel; hie home.

Hel. Pray, Sir, your pardon.

Ber. Well, what would you say?

Hel. I am not worthy of the wealth I owe;

Nor dare I say, 'tis mine, and yet it is;

But, like a tim'rous thief, most fain would steal

What law does vouch mine own.

Ber. What would you have?

Hel. Something, and scarce so much

indeed

nothing,

I would not tell you what I would, my Lord 'faith,

yes;

Strangers and foes do sunder, and not kiss.

Ber. I pray you, stay not but in hafte to horse. Hel. (18) I shall not break your bidding, good my [Exit Helena.

Lord.

Ber. Where are my other men, Monfieur?-farewel. Go thou tow'rd home, where I will never come, Whilft I can shake my sword, or hear the drum : Away, and for our flight.

Par. Bravely, Couragio!

[Exeunt.

(18) Hel. I shall not break your Bidding, good my Lord : Where are my other Men Monfieur, farewel.

Ber. Go thou toward home, where I will never come,] What other Men is Helen here enquiring after ? Or who is She suppos'd to ask for them? The old Countess, 'tis certain, did not send her to the Court without some Attendants: but neither the Clown, nor any of her Retinue, are now upon the Stage: Bertram, observing Helen to linger fondly, and wanting to thift her off, puts on a Shew of Hafte, asks Parolles for his Servants, and then gives his wife an abrupt Dismission.

ACT

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SCENE, the Duke's Court in Florence.

Flourish. Enter the Duke of Florence, two French Lords, with Soldiers.

S

DUKE.

O that, from point to point, now have you heard
The fundamental reasons of this war,

Whose great decifion hath much blood let forth,

And more thirsts after.

I Lord. Holy seems the quarrel

Upon your Grace's part; but black and fearful
On the oppofer.

Duke. Therefore we marvel much, our cousin France
Would, in so just a business, shut his bosom
Against our borrowing prayers.

2 Lord. Good my Lord,
The reasons of our ftate I cannot yield,
But like a common and an outward man,
That the great figure of a council frames
By self-unable motion; therefore dare not
Say what I think of it, fince I have found
Myself in my incertain grounds to fail
As often as I guest.

Duke. Be it his pleasure.

2 Lord. But I am fure, the younger of our nation, That surfeit on their ease, will day by day Come here for physick.

Duke. Welcome shall they be:

And all the honours, that can fly from us,
Shall on them fettle. You know your places well.

When better fall, for your avails they fell;
To-morrow, to the field.

[Exeunt. SCENE

1

SCENE changes to Rousillon, in France.

Count.

Enter Countess, and Clown.

T hath happen'd, all as

IT

I would have had it;

save, that he comes not along with her. Clo. By my troth, I take my young Lord to be a

very melancholy man.

Count. By what observance, I pray you?

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

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

to come.

[Reads the letter.

Clo. I have no mind to Isbel, since I was at court. Our old ling, and our Isbels o'th' country, are nothing like your old ling, and your Isbels o'th' court: the brain of my Cupid's knock'd out; and I begin to love, as an old man loves mony, with no ftomach. Count. What have we here?

Clo. E'en That you have there.

Countess reads a letter.

[Exit.

I have sent you a daughter-in-law: she hath recovered the King, and undone me. I have wedded her, not bedded her; and fivorn 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 Son,

Bertram.

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

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 comfort; your son 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, gentlemen,

I've 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 fon?

2 Gen. Madam, he's gone to serve the Duke of Flo

rence.

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 shall come off; and shew 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 sentence.

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.

If thou engrossest all the griefs as thine,

VOL. III.

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