Puslapio vaizdai
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Strangers and foes do funder, and not kiss.
Ber. I pray you, stay not; but in hafte to horfe.
Hel. I shall not break your bidding, good my Lord.
[Exit Helena.

Ber. Where are my other men, Monfieur?-farewell.
Go thou tow'rd home, where I will never come,
Whilft I can shake my sword, or hear the drum:
Away, and for our flight.

Par. Bravely, Couragio!

АСТ III.

[Exeunt.

SCENE Ι.

The Duke's court in Florence.

Flourish. Enter the Duke of Florence, two French Lords, with foldiers.

Duke.

So

O that, from point to point, now have you

The fundamental reasons of this war,

Whofe great decifion hath much blood let forth,
And more thirsts after.

I Lord. Holy feems the quarrel

Upon your Grace's part; but black and fearful

On the oppofer.

[heard

Duke. Therefore we marvel much our coufin France
Would, in fo just a business, shut his bosom
Againft 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 felf-unable motion; therefore dare not
Say what I think of it, fince I have found
Myself in my uncertain grounds to fail
As often as I guess'd.

Duke. Be it his pleafure.

2 Lord. But I am fure the younger of our nation, That furfeit on their ease, will day by day

Come here for phyfic.

Duke. Welcome shall they be:

And all the honours that can fly from us,

Shall on them fettle. You know your places well.
VOL. III.

D

When

When better fall, for your avails they fell;
To-morrow, to the field.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II. Changes to Roufillon in France.

Enter Countess and Clown.

Count. It hath happen'd, all as I would have had it; fave 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?

Clo. Why, he will look upon his boot, and fing; mend his ruff, and fing; ask questions, and fing; pick his teeth, and fing. I knew a man that had this trick of melancholy, fold a goodly manor for a fong.

Count. Let me fee what he writes, and when he means [Reads the letter.

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 Isbel's 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 stomach.

Count. What have we here?

Clo. E'en that you have there.

Countess reads a letter.

[Exit.

I have fent you a daughter-in-law: The hath recovered the King, and undone me. I have wedded her, not bedded her; and sworn to make the not eternal. You shall bear 1 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 fo good a King,
To pluck his indignation on thy head;
By the misprifing of a maid, too virtuous
For the contempt of empire.

ReRe-enter Clown.

Clo. O Madam, yonder is heavy news within, between

two foldiers and my young lady.

Count. What is the matter?

Clo. Nay, there is fome comfort in the news, some comfort; your fon will not be kill'd fo foon as I thought he would.

Count. Why should he be kill'd?

Clo. So fay I, Madam, if he run away, as I hear he does; the danger is in standing to't; 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.

1 Gent. Save you, good Madam.

Hel. Madam, my Lord is gone, for ever gone. 2 Gent. Do not say 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 start,

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

2 Gent. Madam, he's gone to serve the Duke of

Florence.

We met him thitherward, for thence we came;

And, after some dispatch in hand at court,

Thither we bend again.

Hel. Look on this letter, Madam; here's my pafsport.

When thou canst get the ring upon my finger, which never fhall come off; and flew 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 Gent. 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 Gent. Ay, Madam.

Count. And to be a foldier?

2 Gent. 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 Gent. Ay, Madam, with the swifteft wing of speed. Hel. Till I have no wife, I have nothing in France.

'Tis bitter.

Count. Find you that there?

Hel. Yes, Madam.

[Reading.

1 Gent. 'Tis but the boldness of his hand, haply, 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 the; and she deferves a Lord
That twenty such rude boys might tend upon,
And call her hourly Mistress. Who was with him?
I Gent. A fervant only, and a gentleman

Which I have fometime known.

Count. Parolles, was't not?

1 Gent. Ay, my good Lady, he.

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

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

1 Gent. We ferve you, Madam, in that and all your worthiest affairs. Count. Not fo, but as we change our courtefies. [Exeunt Countess and Gent.

Will you draw near?

SCENE IV.

Hel. Till I have no wife, I have nothing in France.
Nothing in France, until he has no wife!
Thou shalt have none, Roufillon, none in France;
Then haft thou all again. Poor Lord! is't 1

That

i

That chafe 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 fmoaky muskets? O you leaden messengers,
That ride upon the violent speed of fire,
Fly with false aim; pierce the still-moving air,
That fings with piercing, do not touch my Lord.
Whoever shoots at him, I set him there:
Whoever charges on his forward breaft,
I am the caitiff that do hold him to it;
And though I kill him not, I am the caufe
His death was so effected. Better 'twere
I met the rav'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, Roufillon;
Whence honour but of danger wins a fear;
As oft it lofes 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 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 steal away.

SCENE V.

Changes to the Duke's court in Florence.

[Exit.

Flourish. Enter the Duke of Florence, Bertram, Drum and
Trumpets, Soldiers, Parolles.

Duke. The General of our Horse thou art, and we,

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

Ber. Sir, it is

A charge too heavy for my strength; but yet

We'll ftrive to bear it for your worthy fake,

To th' extreme edge of hazard.

Duke. Then go forth,

D 3

And

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