Enter Countefs, and Steward. Cou. Alas! and would you take the letter of her? Might you not know, fhe would do as she has done, By fending me a letter? Read it again. Ste. I am faint Jacques' pilgrim, thither gone; That bare-foot plod I the cold ground upon, Cou. Ah, what fharp ftings are in her mildeft words! Rinaldo, you ne'er lack'd advice fo much, As letting her pafs fo; had I fpoke with her, Which thus the hath prevented. Ste. Pardon me, madam : If I had given you this at over-night, She might have been o'er-ta'en; and yet she writes, Purfuit would be but vain, Cou. What angel fhall Blefs this unworthy husband? he cannot thrive, To this unworthy husband of his wife; SCENE V. Without the Walls of Florence. and other Citizens. Wid. Nay, come; for if they do approach the city, we shall lose all the fight. DIA. They fay, the French count has done most hohourable fervice. Wid. It is reported, that he has taken their greateft commander; and that with his own hand he flew the duke's brother. [Tucket.] We have loft our labour; they are gone a contrary way: hark! you may know by their trumpets. MAR. Come, let's return again, and fuffice 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 fo rich as honesty, Wid, I have told my neighbour, how you have been follicited by a gentleman his companion. MAR. I know that knave; hang him! one Parolles : a filthy officer he is in those fuggeftions for the young earl. Beware of them, Diana; their promises, inticements, oaths, tokens, and all these engines of luft, are not the things they go under: many a maid hath been feduc'd by them; and the misery is, example, that fo terrible fhews in the wreck of maidenhood, cannot for all that diffuade fucceffion, 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, though there were no further danger known, but the modefty which is fo loft. DIA. You fhall not need to fear me. Enter HELENA, habited like a Pilgrim. Wid. I hope fo. Look, here comes a pilgrim: I know she will lye at my house: thither they send one another: I'll queftion her. — God fave you, pilgrim! Whither are you HEL. To faint Jaques le grand. bound? Where do the palmers lodge, I do befeech you? Wid. Ay, marry, is it. Hark you! [Tucket. They come this way :-If you will tarry, pilgrim, I will conduct you where you fhall be lodg'd; HEL. Is it yourself? Wid. If you fhall please fo, pilgrim. HEL. I thank you, and will stay upon your leisure. 10 threatens 25 tarrie holy Pilgrime Wid. You came, I think, from France? HEL. I did fo. Wid. Here you fhall fee a countryman of yours, That has done worthy service. HEL. His name, I pray you? DIA. The count Rofillion; Know you fuch a one? HEL. But by the ear, that hears most nobly of him ; His face I know not. DIA. Whatfoe'er he is, He's bravely taken here. He ftole from France, HEL. Ay, furely, meer the truth; I know his lady. DIA. There is a gentleman that serves the count, Reports but coarfely of her. HEL. What's his name? DIA. Monfieur Parolles. HEL. O, I believe with him, In argument of praise, or to the worth Of the great count himself, she is too mean Is a reserved honesty, and that I have not heard examin'd. DIA. Alas, poor lady! 'Tis a hard bondage, to become the wife Of a detefting lord. Wid. Ay, right:- Good creature! wherefoe'er fhe is, Her heart weighs fadly: this young maid might do her A fhrewd turn, if she pleas'd. HEL. How do you mean? May be, the amorous count follicits her Wid. He does, indeed; And brokes with all that can in fuch a fuit But fhe is arm'd for him, and keeps her guard MAR. The gods forbid elfe! Enter, with Drum and Colours, marching, the Florentine Army, BERTRAM, and PAROLLES. Wid. So, now they come : That is Antonio, the duke's eldest son; DIA. He; That, with the plume: 'tis a moft gallant fellow; I would, he lov'd his wife: if he were honefter, He were much goodlier: Is't not a handsome gentleman ? HEL. I like him well? [knave, DIA. 'Tis pity, he's not honeft: Yond's † that fame That leads him to these paces; were I his lady, I'd poison that vile rascal. HEL. Which is he? [lancholy? DIA. That jack-an-apes with fcarfs: Why is he meHEL. Perchance, he's hurt i'the battle. PAR. Lose our drum! well. [has fpy'd us. MAR. He's fhrewdly vex'd at fomething: Look, he Wid. Marry, hang you! [Parolles bonus to them. MAR. and your courtesy, for a ring-carrier! [Exeunt Army, BER. PAR. &c. Wid. The troop is paft: Come, pilgrim, I will bring Where you fhall hoft: of enjoin'd penitents There's four, or five, to great faint Jaques bound, [you 19 places |