A very serious business calls on him.

The great prerogative and rite of love,
Which, as your due,time claims,he does acknowledge;
But puts it off by a compell'd restraint,

Ber. There's letters from my mother; what the im-Whose want, and whose delay is strewed with sweets,
port is,

Which they distil now in the curbed time,
To make the coming hour o'erflow with joy,

Par. Ay, that would be known. To the wars, my boy, And pleasure drown the brim.

Hel, What's his will else?

Par. That you will take your instant leave o'the king,
And make this haste as your own good proceeding,
Strengthen'd with that apology, you think

May make it probable need.

Clo. One, that she's not in heaven, whither God send her quickly! the other, that she's in earth,from whence God send her quickly!

Hel. What more commands he?

Par. That, having this obtain'd, you presently
Attend his further pleasure.

Par. Bless you, my fortunate lady! Hel. I hope, sir, I have your good will to have mine own good fortunes.

Par. You had my prayers to lead them on; and to keep them on, have them still. O, my knave! How does my old lady?

Clo. So that you had her wrinkles, and I her money,
I would she did as you say.
Par. Why, Isay nothing.

Clo. Marry, you are the wiser man; for many a man's tongue shakes out his master's undoing. To say no- Laf. You have made shift to run into't, boots and thing, to do nothing, to know nothing, and to have no-spurs and all, like him that leaped into the custard; thing, is to be a great part of your title; which is within a very little of nothing.

Par. Away, thou'rt a knave!

Clo. You should have said, sir, before a knave thon art a knave; that is, before me thou art a knave: this had

Par. Go to, thou art a witty fool, I have found thee. Clo. Did you find me in yourself, sir? or were you taught to find me? The search, sir, was profitable; and much fool may you find in you, even to the world's pleasure, and the increase of laughter.

Par. A good knave, i'faith, and well fed. Madam, my lord will go away to-night;

Par. Why, do you not know him?

Ber. Yes, I do 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 desires
Some private speech with you.

Ber. I shall obey his will.

You must not marvel, Helena, 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 such a business; therefore am I found

So much unsettled. This drives me to entreat you,
That presently you take your way for home;
And rather muse, than ask, why I entreat you:
For my respects are better than they seem,
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!

Ber. Let that go:

My haste is very great. Farewell! hie home!
Hel. Pray, sir, your pardon.

Ber. Well, what would you say?

Hel. I am not worthy of the wealth Iowe;
Nor dare I say, 'tis mine; and yet it is;

But, like a timorous thief, most fain would steal
What law does vouch mine own.

Ber. What would you have?

Hel. Something; and scarce so much:- nothing, indeed.

I would not tell you what I would: my lord — 'faith,

- Florence. A room in the Duke's palace. Flourish. Enter the Duke of Florence, attended; two French lords, and others.

Duke.So that from point to point, now have you heard
The fundamental reasons of this war,

Whose great decision hath much blood let forth,
And more thirsts after.

1 Lord. Holy seems the quarrel

Upon your grace's part; black and fearful

On the opposer.

SCENE II.-Rousillon. A room in the Countess's palace.

Enter Countess and Clown.

Count. It hath happened all as 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?

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

Count. Let me see what he writes, and when he [Opening a letter,

means to come.

Clo. I have no mind to Isbel, since I was at court: our old ling and our Isbels o'the country are nothing like your old ling and your Isbels o'the court: the brains of my Cupid's knocked out; and I begin to love, as an old man loves money, with no stomach.

Count. What have we here?
Clo. E'en that you have there.

[Exit.

Count. [Reads.] I have sent you a daughter-in-law: she hath recovered the king, and undone me. I have wedded her, not bedded her; and sworn 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 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 killed 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 come, will tell you more: for my part, I only hear, your of men, though it be the getting of children. Here they [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!

son was run away.

Duke. Therefore we marvel much, our cousin France I have felt so many quirks of joy, and grief,

Count.Think upon patience!-'Pray you, gentlemen,

Would, in so just a business, shut his bosom

Against our borrowing prayers.

2 Lord. Good my lord,

The reasons of our state I cannot yield,

But like a common and an outward man,
Thatthe great figure of a council frames

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 Flo

rence:

We met him thitherward: from thence we came,
And, after some dispatch in hand at court,

Thither webend again.

That all the miseries, which nature owes, Hel. Look on his letter, madam; here's my passport. Were mine at once. No, come thou home, Rousillon, [Reads.]When thou canst get the ring upon my fing-Whence honour but of danger wins a scar,

er, 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. 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,
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.

2 Gent. Av, madam.

Count. And to be a soldier?

Towards Florence is he?

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 Gent. A servant only, and a gentleman,

Which I have some time known.

Count. Parolles, was't not?

1 Gent. Ay, my good lady, he.

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, day!
For, with the dark, poor thief, I'll steal away. [Exit.

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. Iam Saint Jaques' pilgrim, thither gone;
Ambitious love hath so in me offended,

Count. A very tainted fellow, and full of wickedness. That bare-foot plod I the cold ground upon,

My son corrupts a well-derived nature

With his inducement.

1 Gent. Indeed, good lady,

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

Count. You are welcome, gentlemen;
I will entreat you, when you see my son,
To tell him, that his word can never win
The honour that he loses: more I'll entreat you
Written to bear along.

2 Gent. We serve you, madam,
In that and all your worthiest affairs.

Count. Not so, but as we change our courtesies.
Will you draw near? [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,
That ride upon the violent speed of fire,
Fly with false aim; move the still-piercing 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't;
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

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;
I, his despiteful Juno, sent him forth
From courtly friends, with camping foes to live,
Where death and danger dog the heels of worth:
He is too good and fair for death and me;
Whom I myself embrace, to set him free.
Count. Ah, what sharp stings are in her mildest

words!

Rinaldo, you did never lack advice so much,
As letting her pass so; had I spoke with her,
I could have well diverted her intents,
Which thus she hath prevented.

Stew. Pardon me, madam!

If I had given you this at over-night,
She might have been o'erta'en; and yet she writes,
Pursuit would be in vain.

Count. What angel shall

Bless this unworthy husband? he cannot thrive,
Unless her prayers, whom heaven delights to hear,
And loves to grant, reprieve him from the wrath
Of greatest justice. -Write, write, Rinaldo,
To this unworthy husband of his wife;
Let every word weigh heavy of her worth,
That he does weigh too light: my greatest grief,
Though little he do feel it, set down sharply.
Despatch the most convenient messenger!—
When, haply, he shall hear that she is gone,
He will return; and hope I may, that she,
Hearing so much, will speed her foot again,

SCENE VI.-Camp before Florence. Enter BERTRAM, and the two French Lords. 1 Lord. Nay, good my lord, put him to't; let him have his way!

2 Lord. If your lordship find him not a hilding, hold me no more in your respect.

1 Lord. On my life, my lord, a bubble.

Ber. Do you think, I am so far deceived in him? 1 Lord. Believe it, my lord, in mine own direct knowledge, without any malice, but to speak of him as my kinsman, he's a most notable coward, an infinite and endless liar, an hourly promise-breaker, the owner of no one good quality worthy your lordship's entertain

ment.

far in his virtue, which he hath not, he might, at some
great and trusty business, in a main danger, fail you.
Ber. I would, I knew in what particular action to try
him.
2 Lord.None better than to let him fetch off his drum,
which you hear him so confidently undertake to do.
1 Lord. I, with a troop of Florentines, will suddenly
surprise him; such I will have, whom, I am sure, he
knows not from the enemy: we will bind and hood-
wink him so, that he shall suppose no other but that he
is carried into the leaguer of the adversaries, when we
bring him to our tents. Be but your lordship present at
his examination; if he do not, for the promise of his
life, and in the highest compulsion of base fear, offer
to betray you, and deliver all the intelligence in his
power against you, and that with the divine forfeit of
his soul upon oath, never trust my judgement in any
thing!

2 Lord. O, for the love of laughter, let him fetch his drum; he says, he has a stratagem for't: when your lordship sees the bottom of his success in't, and to what metal this counterfeit lump of ore will be melted, if you give him not John Drum's entertainment, your inclining cannot be removed. Here he comes.

Enter PAROLLES.

2 Lord. You do not know him, my lord, as we do:
certain it is, that he will steal himself into a man's fa-
your,and, for a week, escape a great deal of discoveries;
but when you find him out, you have him ever after.
Ber. Why, do you think, he will make no deed at all
of this,that so
so seriously he does address himself'unto?
1 Lord. None in the world, but return with an in-
vention, 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.

1 Lord. O, for the love of laughter, hinder not the humour of his design; let him fetch off his drum in any hand.

Ber. How now, monsieur? this drum sticks sorely in your disposition.

2 Lord. A pox on't, let it go; 'tis but a drum.
Par. But a drum! Is't but a drum? A drum so lost!-
There was an excellent command! to charge in with
our horse upon our own wings, and to rend our own
soldiers.

2 Lord. That was not to be blamed in the command
of the service; it was a disaster of war that Caesar him-
self could not have prevented, if he had been there to
command.

Ber. Well, we cannot greatly condemn our success: some dishonour we had in the loss of that drum; but it is not to be recovered.

Par. It might have been recovered.
Ber. It might, but it is not now.

2 Lord. We'll 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.[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 once,
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 re-send;
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.

I

Enter HELENA and Widow.
Hel. If you misdoubt me that I am not she,
know not, how I shall assure you further,
But I shall lose the grounds I work upon.
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;

You are great in fortune.

Par. It is to be recovered: but that the merit of ser-
vice is seldom attributed to the true and exact perform-For you have show'd me that, which well approves,
er, I would have that drum or another, or hie jacet.
Ber. Why, if you have a stomach to't, monsieur, if
you think your mystery in stratagem can bring this in-
strument of honour again into his native quarter, be
magnanimous in the enterprize, and go on; I will grace
the attempt for a worthy exploit: if you speed well in
it, the duke shall both speak of it, and extend to you
what further becomes his greatness, even to the utmost
syllable of your worthiness.

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 cer-
tainty, put myself into my mortal preparation, and, by
midnight, look to hear further from me.

Ber. 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.

Ber. I know, thou art valiant ; and, to the possibility of thy soldiership, will subscribe for thee. Farewell. Par. I love not many words.

.

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

Hel. Take this purse of gold,
And let me buy your friendly help thus far,
Which I will over-pay, and pay again,
When I have found it. The count he wooes 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. Now I see

The bottom of your purpose.

Hel. You see it lawful then. It is no more,
But that your daughter, ere she seems as won,
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.