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Flurish. Enter the Duke of Florence, two French Lords,

with foldiers.


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 opposer.

Duke. Therefore we marvel much, our cousin France
Would, in so just a business, fut 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,
That the great figure of a council frames
By self-unabled motion; therefore dare not
Say what I think of it, since I have found
My self in my incertain grounds to fail
As often as I guest.

Duke. Be it his pleasure.

2 Lord. But I am sure, 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 settle. You know your places well.
When better fall, for your avails they fell;
To-morrow, to the field.

[Exeunt, VOL, III,



SCENE changes to Rousillon, in France.

Enter Counters, and Clown.
T hath happen'd, all as I would have had it;



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 sing; mend his ruff, and fing; 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 song.

Count. Let me see what he writes, and when he means to come.

[Reads the Letter. Clo. I have no mind to Ifbel, fince I was at court. Our old ling, and our Ifbels o'th' country, are nothing like your old ling, and your Ippels o'ih' court: the brain of my Cupid's knock'd 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.


Countess reads a Letter. I have sent you a daughter-in-law: the hath recovered the King, and undone me. I have wedded her, not bedded her; and Sivorn 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,

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 mifprizing of a maid, too virtuous For the contempt of empire.


Re-enter Clown. Clo. O Madam, yonder is heavy news within be. tween 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 Gentkmex. i 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 son ?

2 Gen. Madam, he's gone to serve the Duke of Florence. We met him thitherward, from thence we came; And after some dispatch in hand at court. Thither we bend again.

Hel. Look on his letter, Madam ; here's my passport. When thou canst get the ring upon my finger, which ne

ver shall come off ; and phew me a child begotten of thy tody 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 Gen. Ay, Madam, and, for the contents fake, are sorry for our pains.

Count. I pr’ythee, Lady, have a better cheer. If thou engrosseft all the griefs as 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. Towards Florence is he?

2 Gen. Ay, Madam.
Count. And to be a soldier ?

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. Find you that there? Hel. Yes, Madam.

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

Count. Nothing in France, until he have no wife? There's nothing here, that is too good for him, But only she ; and the deserves a Lord, That twenty such rude boys might tend upon, And call her hourly mistress. Who was with him ?

! Gen. A fervant only, and a gentleman Which I have some time known.

Count. Parolles, was't not ?
1 Gen. Ay, my good Lady, he.

Count. A very tainted fellow, and full of wickedness :
My son corrupts a well-derived nature
With his inducement.

i Gen. (27) 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 see my son, to tell him, that his sword

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(27) Indeed, good Lady, the fellow has a deal of that too mucb, which bolds him much to bave.] This is somewhat obscure in the expreilion; but the meaning must be this, The fellow, indeed, has a deal too much vanity, lying, boasting; but it holds him much to have such qualities ; i. e. it stands him in great stead, is of great Lervice to him, and what he cannot do without. For these were the arts that Parolles used to get into Bertram's favour ; and when once they were discover'd, he was set a-drift, and undone.


can never win the honour that he loses : more I'll intreat you written to bear along.

2 Gen. We serve you, Madam, in that and all your worthieft affairs.

Count. Not so, but as we change our courtesies. Will you draw near ? [Exeunt 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 chase thee from thy country, and expose Those tender limbs of thine to the event Of the none-fparing wars and is it I, That drive thee from the sportive court, where thou Waft shot at with fair eyes, to be the mark Of smoaky muskets? O you leaden messengers, That ride upon the violent speed of fire, Fly with false aim ; move the ftill-piercing air, That sings with piercing, do not touch my Lord : Whoever fhoots at him, I set him there. Whoever charges on his forward breast, I am the caitif, that do hold him to it; And tho' I kill him not, I am the cause His death was so effected. Better 'twere, I met the ray’ning lion when he roar'd With sharp constraint of hunger: better 'twere, That all the miseries, which Nature owes, Were mine at once. No, come thou home, Rousillon, 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 Paradise 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. (Exit:

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