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

means to come..

Clo. I have no mind to Isbel fince 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 money, with no ftomach. Count. What have we here? Clo. In that you have there.

Countess reads a letter..

[Exit.

I have fent you a daughter-in-law: the hath recocovered the King, and undone me. I have wedded her, not bedded her; and sworn to make the not eternal. You hall bear I am run away; know it before the re-port 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, rafh and unbridled boy,
To fly the favours of fo good a King,
To pluck his indignation on thy head,
By the mifprifing of a maid, too virtuous+
For the contempt of empire.

Enter Clown.

Bertram

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

Count. 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.

Count. 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 tot; 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.

SCENE III.

Enter Helena and two Gentlemen.

Gen. Save you, good madam.

Hel. Madam, my ford is gone, for ever gone. 2 Gen. Do not fay fo.

Count. Think upon patience: 'pray you, gentlemen, I've felt fo many quirks of joy and grief,

That the first face of neither on the ftart

Can woman me unto't. Where is my son?

2 Gen. Madam, he's gone to ferve the Duke of Florence.

We met him thitherward, from thence we came;
And after fome 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 fhall 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.

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 engroffeft all the griefs as thine,

Thou robb'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 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 speed. Hel. 'Till I have no wife, I have nothing in France. Tis bitter

[Reading. Count

Count. Find you that there?

Hel. Yes, madam.

1 Gen. 'Tis but the boldness of his hand happily which his heart was not confenting to.

Count. Nothing in France until he have no wife 2
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 mistress. Who was with him?
1 Gen. A fervant only, and a gentleman.
Which I have fome time known...
Count. Parolles, was't not?

1 Gen. Ay, my good lady, he..

Count. A very tainted fellow, 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, which holds him much to have.

Count. Y'are welcome, gentlemen; I will intreat you, when you fee my fon, to tell him that his fword can never win the honour that he lofes :: more I'll intreat you written to bear along.

2 Gen. We ferve you, madam, in that and all your worthieft affairs.

Count. Not fo, but as we change our courtefies. Will you draw near ?;

[Ex..Count, 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 haft thou all again. Poor lord! 'is't I
That chafe thee from thy country, and expofe
Those tender limbs of thine to the event
Of the none-sparing war and is it I,

That drive thee from the fportive court; where thou
Waft fhot at with fair eyes, to be the mark
Of fmoaky muskets? O you leaden meffengers,
That ride upon the violent fpeed of fire,

3

If

my

lord:

Fly with falfe aim, move the ftill-piercing air.
That dfings with piercing, do not touch
Whoever hoots at him, I fet him there.
Whoever charges on his forward breast,
I am the caitiff that do hold him to it,
And tho' I kill him not, I am the cause
His death was fo effected. Better 'twere
I met the rav'ning lion when he roar'd
With fharp conftraint of hunger: better 'twere
That all the miferies which nature, owes

Were mine at once. No, come thou home, Roufillon,
Whence honour but of danger wins a scar,

As oft it loofes 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 fteal away." [Exitį

SCENE V.

FLORENCE.

Flourish. Enter the Duke of Florence, Bertram, drum and trumpets, foldiers, Parolles.

Duke. Great in our hope, lay our beft love and HE general of our horfe thou art, and we

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 th' extream edge of hazard.

Duke, Then go forth,

And fortune play upon thy profp'rous helm,
As thy aufpicious miftrefs.

a ftings

Ber.

Great Mars, I put my felf into thy file;

Make me but like my thoughts, and I fhall proveð A lover of thy drum; hater of love.

Count.

A

SCENE VI.

Roufillon in France.

Enter Countess and Steward.

[Exeunt

Las! and would you take the letter of her? Might you not know fhe would do, as fhe has done,

By fending me a letter? Read it again.

That

LETTER.

I am St. Jaques' pilgrim, thither gone;
Ambitious love hath fe in me
fo offended,
plod I the cold ground upon,
With fainted vow my faults to have amended.
Write, write, that from the bloody courfe of war,
My dearest mafter, your dear fon, may hie;
Bless him at home in peace, whilst I from far
His name with zealous fervour fanctifie.
His taken labours bid him me forgive;
I his defpightful Juno fent him forth

From courtly friends, with camping foes to live,
Where death and danger dog the beets of worth...
He is too good and fair for death and me,
Whom I my felf embrace, to fet him free.

Ah what sharp ftings are in her mildeft words?
Rynaldo, you did never lack advice fo much,
As letting her pafs fo; had I fpoke with her,
I could have well diverted her intents,
Which thus the hath prevented.

Stew. Pardon, madam,

If I had given you this at over-night

She