And Fortune play upon thy profp'rous helm,
As thy aufpicious miftrefs!

Ber. This very day,

Great Mars, I put myself into thy file;
Make me but like my thoughts, and I shall
A lover of thy drum; hater of love.

prove

[Exeunt.

SCENE VI. Changes to Rovfillon in France.
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 fending 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 fainted vow my faults to have amended.
Write, write, that from the bloody courfe of war
My dearest mafter, your dear fon, may bie;
Blefs him at home in peace, whilst I from far
I
His name with zealous fervour fandlify.
His taken labours bid him me forgive;
I, his defpiteful Funo, fent 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 fet him free.

Ah, what sharp ftings are in her mildest words?
Rynaldo, you did never lack advice fo much,
As letting her pafs fo; had I fpoke with her,
I could have well diverted her intents,
Which thus fhe hath prevented.

Stew. Pardon, Madam,

If I had given you this at over-night,

She might have been o'er-ta'en; and yet fhe writes,
Purfuit would be but vain.

Count. What angel fhall

Bless this unworthy hufband? he cannot thrive,

Unless her prayers, whom Heaven delights to hear,

And

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,
Though little he do feel it, fet down sharply.
Dispatch the moft convenient meffenger;
When, haply, he shall hear that she is gone,
He will return, and hope I may, that he,
Hearing fo much, will fpeed her foot again,
Led hither by pure

love. Which of them both

Is dearest to me, I've no fkill in fenfe

To make diftinétion; provide this meffenger;

My heart is heavy, and mine age is weak;

Grief would have tears, and forrow bids me speak.

SCENE VII.

Changes to a public place in Florence.

A tucket afar off

[Exeunt.

Enter an old Widow of Florence, Diana, Violenta, and Mariana, with other citizens.

Wid. Nay, come.

For if they do approach the city, we fhall lofe all the fight.

Dia. They fay the French Count has done most honourable fervice.

Wil. It is reported, that he has ta'en their greatest commander; and that with his own hand he flew the Duke's brother. 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 honefty.

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

Mar. I know that knave, (hang him!) one Parolles; a filthy officer he is in thofe fuggestions for the young Earl; beware of them, Diana; their promifes, enticements,

enticements, oaths, tokens, and all these engines of lust, are the things they go under; many a maid hath been feduced by them; and the mifery 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 advise you further; but I hope your own grace will keep you where you are, though there were no further danger found but the modefty which is fo lost.

Dia. You fhall not need to fear me.

Enter Helena, difguis'd like a pilgrim.

Wid. I hope fo

-Look, here comes a pilgrim; I know fhe will lie at my houfe; thither they send one an other: I'll queftion her: God fave you, pilgrim! whither are you bound?

He. To St. Jaques le Grand. Where do the palmers lodge, I do befeech you?

Wid. At the St. Francis, befide 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 I will conduct you where you fhall be lodg'd;

The rather, for I think I know your hoftefs

As ample as myself.

Hel. Is it yourfelf?

Wid. If you fhall please fo, pilgrim.

Hel. I thank you, and will ftay upon your leisure.
Wid. You came, I think, from France.

Hel. I did fo.

Wid. Here you fhall fee a countryman of yours, That has done worthy fervice.

Hel. His name, I pray you?

[by,

Dia. The Count Roufillon: 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,
As 'tis reported; for the King had married him
Against his liking. Think you it is fo?

Hel. Ay, furely, merely truth; I know his lady.

Dia

Dia. There is a gentleman that ferves the Count, Reports but coarsely of her.

Hel. What's his name?

Dia. Monfieur Parolles.~

Hel. Oh, I believe with him,

In argument of praife, or to the worth
Of the great Count himself: fhe is too mean
To have her name repeated; all her deferving
Is a referved honefty, 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. Ah! right; good creature! wherefoe'er the is Her heart weighs fadly; this young maid might do her A fhrewd turn, if the pleas'd.

Hel. How do you mean?
May be the am'rous Count folicits her

In the unlawful purpose.

Wid. He does indeed;

And brokes with all that can in fuch a fuit
Corrupt the tender honour of a maid:

But he is arm'd for him, and keeps her guard
In honefteft defence.

SCENE VIII. Drum and Colours.

Enter Bertram, Parolles, Officers and Soldiers attending

Mar. The gods forbid elfe!

Wid. So now they come:

That is Antonio, the Duke's eldest fon;

That, Efcalus.

Hel. Which is the Frenchman?

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 handfome gentleman?

Hel. I like him well.

Dia. 'Tis pity he is not honeft; yond's that fame

knave,

That

That leads him to these places: were I his lady,
I'd poifon that vile rafcal.

Hel. Which is he?

Dia. That jack-an-apes with fearfs. Why is he melancholy!

Hel. Perchance he's hurt i' th' battle.

Par. Lofe our drum! well..

Mar. He's fhrewdly vex'd at fomething. Look, he hath fpied us.

Wid. Marry, hang you!

[Exeunt Bertram, Parolles, Sc. Mar. And your courtefy, for a ring-carrier!

Wid. The troop is pafs'd. Come, pilgrim, I will bring

you

Where you fhall hoft: Of injoin'd penitents.

There's four or five, to great St. Jaques bound,
Already at my house.

Hel. I humbly thank you:

Please it this matron, and this gentle maid

To eat with us to-night, the charge and thanking
Shall be for me: and to requite you further,

I will beftow fome precepts on this virgin

Worthy the note.

Both. We'll take your offer kindly.

SCENE IX.

Enter Bertram, and the two French Lords.

[Exeunt

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 refpect.

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

Ber. Do you think I am fo far deceiv'd in him?

I Lord. Believe it, my Lord, in mine own direct knowledge, without any malice, but to fpeak of him as my kinfman; 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.

2 Lord. It were fit you knew him, left, repofing too far in his virtue, which he hath not, he might

at