But take the High'ft to witness: then, pray tell me,
If I fhould fwear by Jove's great Attributes
I lov'd you dearly, would you believe my oaths,
When I did love you ill? this has no holding,
To fwear by him whom I proteft to love,

That I will work against him. Therefore your oaths

Are words, and poor conditions but unseal'd ;
At leaft, in my opinion.

Ber. Change it, change it:

Be not fo holy-cruel. Love is holy,
And my integrity ne'er knew the crafts,
That you

do charge men with: ftand no more off, But give thyself unto my fick defires,

Which then recover. Say, thou art mine; and ever My love, as it begins, fhall fo perfever.

Dia. I fee, that men make hopes in fuch affairs That we'll forfake ourselves. Give me that ring. Ber. I'll lend it thee, my Dear, but have no power To give it from.me.

Bertram for fwearing by a Being not holy, but for fwearing to an unholy purpose; as is evident from the preceeding lines,

'Tis not the many oaths, that make the Truth;

But the plain fimple vow, that is vow'd true.

The line in question, therefore, is evidently corrupt, and should be read thus,

What is not boly, that we fwear, not.' BIDES,

i. e. If we fwear to an unholy purpose the oath abides not, but is diffolved in the making. This is an answer to the purpose. She fubjoins the reason two or three lines after,

this has no holding,

To fear by bim, whom I proteft to love,
That I will work against him.

i. e. That oath can never hold, whofe fubject is to offend and difpleafe that Being, whom, I profefs, in the act of fwearing by him, to love and reverence.-- What may have mifled the editors into the common reading was, perhaps, mistaking Bertram's words above,

By love's own feet conftraint,—to be an oath; whereas it

only fignifies, being conftrained by love.

Dia. Will you not, my Lord?

Ber. It is an Honour longing to our House,
Bequeathed down from many Ancestors;
Which were the greateft obloquy i'th' world
In me to lofe.

Dia. Mine Honour's fuch a ring;

My chastity's the jewel of our House,
Bequeathed down from many Ancestors;
Which were the greateft obloquy i'th' world
In me to lofe. Thus your own proper wisdom
Brings in the champion Honour on my part,
Against your vain affault.

Ber. Here, take my ring.

My House, my Honour, yea, my life be thine,
And I'll be bid by thee.

Dia. When midnight comes knock at my chamber window;

I'll order take, my Mother fhall not hear.
Now will I charge you in the band of truth,
When you have conquer'd my yet maiden-bed,
Remain there but an hour, nor fpeak to me:
My reafons are most strong, and you fhall know them,
When back again this ring fhall be deliver'd;
And on your finger, in the night, I'll put
Another ring, that, what in time proceeds,
May token to the future our paft deeds.
Adieu, 'till then; then, fail hot: you have won
A wife of me, tho' there my hope be done.
Ber. A heav'n on earth I've won by wooing thee.

[Exit: Dia. For which live long to thank both heav'n

and me.

You may fo in the end.

My Mother told me just how he would woo,
As if the fat in's heart; fhe fays, all men
Have the like oaths: he had fworn to marry me,
When his Wife's dead: therefore I'll lye with him,

When

When I am buried.

Since Frenchmen are fo braid, Marry 'em that will, I'd live and die a maid; Only, in this disguife, I think't no fin

To cozen him, that would unjustly win..

SCENE III.

[Exit.

Changes to the French Camp in Florence.

Enter the two French Lords, and two or three Soldiers:

1 Lord. Yo

OU have not given him his Mother's letter ?

2 Lord. I have deliver'd it an hour fince; there is fomething in't, that ftings his nature; for, on the reading it, he chang'd almoft into another man.

1 Lord. He has much worthy blame laid upon him for fhaking off fo good a wife, and fo fweet a lady.

2 Lord. Efpecially, he hath incurred the everlafting difpleasure of the King, who had even tun'd his bounty to fing happiness to him. I will tell you a thing, but you fhall let it dwell darkly with you.

1 Lord. When you have spoken it, 'tis dead, and I am the grave of it.

2 Lord. He hath perverted a young Gentlewoman here in Florence, of a moft chafte renown; and this night he fleshes his will in the fpoil of her honour; he

Since Frenchmen are fo braid,

Marry that will, I'll live and die a Maid;]

What! because Frenchmen were falfe, fhe, that was an Italian, would marry nobody. The text is corrupted; and we fhould read, Since Frenchmen are fo braid,

Marry 'em that will, I'll live and die a maid.

i. e. fince Frenchmen prove fo crooked and perverfe in their mânners, let who will marry them, I had rather live and die à maid, than venture upon them. This the fays with a view to Helen, who appeared fo fond of her husband, and went thro' so many difficulties to obtain him.

hath

hath given her his monumental ring, and thinks himfelf made in the unchafte compofitión.

2 Lord. Now God delay our rebellion; as we are qur felves, what things are we!

2 Lord. Meerly our own traitors; and, as in the common courfe of all treafons, we ftill fee them reveal themselves, 'till they attain to their abhorr'd ends; fo he, that in this action contrives against his own Nobility, in his proper ftream o'erflows himself.

I Lord. Is it not meant damnable in us to be the trumpeters of our unlawful intents? we fhall not then have his company to night?

2 Lord. Not till after midnight; for he is dieted to his hour.

I Lord. That approaches apace: I would gladly have him fee his company anatomiz'd, that he might take a measure of his own Judgment, wherein fo curiously he had fet this counterfeit.

2 Lord. We will not meddle with him 'till he come; for his prefence muft be the whip of the other.

wars?

Lord. In the mean time, what hear you of these

2 Lord. I hear, there is an overture of Peace. 1 Lord. Nay, I affure you, a Peace concluded. 2. Lord. What will Count Roufillon do then? will he travel higher, or return again into France?

1 Lord. I perceive by this demand, you are not altogether of his Council.

2 Lord. Let it be forbid, Sir! fo fhould I be a great deal of his act.

I Lord. Sir, his Wife fome two months fince filed from his House, her pretence is a Pilgrimage to St. Jaques le Grand; which holy Undertaking, with most auftere fanctimony, the accomplish'd; and there refiding, the tenderness of her nature became as a prey to her grief; in fine, made a groan of her laft breath, and now the fings in heaven.

2 Lord.

2 Lord. How is this juftified?

I Lord. The ftronger part of it by her own letters, which makes her ftory true, even to the point of her death; her Death it felf (which could not be her office to fay, is come) was faithfully confirm'd by the Rector of the place.

2 Lord. Hath the Count all this intelligence?

1 Lord. Ay, and the particular confirmations, point from point, to the full arming of the verity.

2 Lord. I am heartily forry that he'll be glad of this.

1 Lord. How mightily fometimes we make us comforts of our loffes!

2 Lord. And how mightily fome other times we drown our gain in tears! the great dignity, that his valour hath here acquired for him, thall at home be encounter'd with a fhame as ample.

1 Lord. The web of our life is of a mingled yarn, good and ill together: our virtues would be proud, if our faults whipt them not; and our crimes would de fpair, if they were not cherish'd by our virtues.

Enter a Servant.

How now? where's your Mafter?

Ser. He met the Duke in the street, Sir, of whom he hath taken a folemn leave: his Lordship will next} morning for France. The Duke hath offered him letters of commendations to the King.

2 Lord. They fhall be no more than needful there, if they were more than they can commend.

S CEN E IV.

Enter Bertram.

1 Lord. They cannot be too fweet for the King's tartnefs: here's his Lordship now. How now, my Lord, is't not after midnight?

Ber.