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SCENE changes to the Duke's Court in

Florence.

Flourish. Enter the Duke of Florence, Bertram, Drum

and Trumpets, Soldiers, Parolles. Duke. T!

HE general of our horse thou art, and we,

Great in our hope, lay our best love and Upon thy promising, fortune.

[credence
Ber. Sir, it is
A change too heavy for my strength; but yet
We'll strive to bear it for your worthy fake,
To th' extreme edge of hazard.

Duke. Then go forth,
And fortune play upon thy prosp?rous helm,
As thy auspicious mistress !

Ber. This very day,
Great Mars, I put myself into thy file;
Make me but like my thoughts, and I shall prove
A lover of thy drum; hater of love. [Exeunt.

SCENE changes to Roufillon in France.

Enter Countess and Steward.
Las! and would you take the letter of her i

Count.

A

has done, By sending me a letter Read it again.

LETTER:
I am St. Jaques' pilgrim, thither gone;

Ambitious love hath fo in me offended,
That bare-foot plod I the cold ground upon,

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 fan&tify.

His taken labours bid him me forgive ;

I, his despightful 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.
Ah, what sharp ftings are in her mildet words?
Rynaldo, you did never lack advice so much,
As letting her pass fo; had I spoke with her,
I could have well diverted her intents,
Which thus she hath prevented.

Stew. Pardon, Madam,
If I had given you this at over-night
She might have been o'er-ta'en ; and yet the writes,
Pursuit would be but vain.

Count. What angel shall
Bless this unworthy husband ? he cannot thrive,
Unless her prayers, whom Heav'n delights to hear,
And loves to grant, reprieve him from the wrath
Of greatest justice. Write, write, Rynaldo,
To this unworthy husband of his wife ;
Let

every word weigh heavy of her worth,
That he does weigh too light: my greatest grief,
Tho' little he do feel it, let down sharply.
Dispatch the most convenient mefienger;
When, haply, he shall hear that the is gone,
He will return ; and hope I may, that she,
Hearing so much, will speed her foot again,
Led hither by pure love. Which of them both
Is dearest to be, I've no kill in sense
To make distinction; provide this messenger ;
My heart is heavy, and mine age is weak;
Grief would have tears, and sorrow bids me fpeak.

[Exeunt.

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SCENE changes to a publick place in Florence:

A Tucket afar off. Enter an old widow of Florence, Diana, Violenta, and

Mariana, with other citizens. Wid. AY, come. For if they do approach the

city, we shall lose all the fight. Dia. They say, the French Count has done most honourable service.

Wid. It is reported, that he has ta’en their greatest commander ; and that with his own hand he slew the Duke's brother. We have lost our labour, they are gone a contrary way: hark, you may know by their trumpets.

Mar. Come, let's return again, and suffice ourselves with the report of it. Well, Diana, take heed of this French Earl; the honour of a maid is her name, and no. legacy is so rich as honesty.

Wid. I have told my neighbour, how you have been sollicited by a gentleman his companion.

Mar. I know that knave, (hang him !) one Parolles ; a filthy officer he is in those suggestions for the young Earl ; beware of them, Diana ; (28) their promises,,

(28) Their promises, enticements, oaths, tokens, and all these engines of luft, are not the things they go under ;] i. e. They are not in reality so true and sincere, as in appearance they seem to be. This will be helt explain’d by another paliage in Hamlet, where Polonius is counselling his daughter.

I do know,
When the blood burns, how prodigal the soul
Lends the tongue vows. These blazes, oh, my daughter,
Giving more light than heat, extinct in both
Ev’n in their promise as it is a making,
You must not take for fire.

In few, Ophelia,
Do not believe his vows, for they are brokers
Not of that dye which their investments Mhew,
But mere implorers of unholy suits,
Breathing, like fanctified and hoiy bawds,
The better to beguile,

enticements,

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enticements, oaths, tokens, and all these engines of
luft, are not the things they go under; many a maid
hath been feduced by them, and the misery is, exam-
ple, that so terrible thews in the wreck of maidenhood,
cannot for all that dissuade succession, but that they
are limed with the twigs that threaten them. I hope,
I need not to advise you further ; but, I hope, your
own grace will keep you where you are, tho' there
were no further danger known, but the modefty which
is so loft.
Dia. You shall not need to fear me.

Enter Helena, disguis'd like a Pilgrim ;
Wid. I hope so. Look, here comes a Pilgrim; I
know, she will lie at my house; thither they send one
another ; I'll question her: God save you, pilgrim!
whither are you bound?

Hel. To S. Jacques le Grand. Where do the Palmers lodge, I do beseech you?

Wid. At the St. Francis, beside the port.
Hel. Is this the
way

(A march afar off
Wid. Ay, marry, is't. Hark you, they come this way.
If you will tarry, holy Pilgrim, but 'till the troops
come by,
I will conduct

you
where

you

shall be lodg'd ;
The rather, for, I think, I know your hostess
As ample as my self.

Hel. Is it yourself?
Wid. If you shall please fo, Pilgrim,
Hel. I thank you, and will stay upon your leisure,
Wid. You came, I think, from France ?
Hel. I did fo.

Wid. Here you shall see a countryman of yours,
That has done worthy service.

Hel. His name, I pray you ?
Dia. The Count Rousillon : know you such a one?
Hel. But by the ear, that hears most nobly of him ;
His face I know not.

Dia. Whatsoe'er he is,
He's bravely taken here. He stole from France,

As 'tis reported; for the King had married him
Against his liking. Think you, it is for
Hel. Ay, surely, mere the truth; I know his Lady..

Dia. There is a Gentleman, that serves the County. Reports but coarsely of her.

Hel. What's his name?
Dia. Monsieur Parolles..

Hel. Oh, I believe with him,
In argument of praise, or to the worth
Of the great Count himself, she is too mean
To have her name repeated; all her deserving
Is a reserved honesty, and that
I have not heard examin'd.

Din. Alas, poor Lady!
'Tis a hard bondage, to become the wife
Of a detesting Lord.

Wid. Ah! right; good creature! wherefoe'ér fheis, Her heart weighs fadly; this young maid might do her A shrewd turn, if the pleas’d. Hel. How do

you mean? May be, the am'rous Count sollicites her In the unlawful purpole.

Wid. He does, indeed ; And brokes with all, that can in such a suit: Corrupt the tender honour of a maid ; But she is arm’d for him, and keeps her guard In honefteft defence. Drum and Colours, Enter Bertram, Parolles, Officers

and Soldiers attending. Mar. The gods forbid else! - Wid. So, now they come : That is Antonio, the Duke's eldest son ; That, Escalus.

Hel. Which is the Frenchmon?

Dia. He; That with the plume ; 'tis a most gallant fellow ; I would, he lov'd his wife ! if he were honefter, He were much goodlier. Is't not a handsome gentleman? Hiel. I like him well.

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