SCENE, the Duke's Court in Florence.

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

DUKE.

O that, from point to point, now have you heard
The fundamental reasons of this war,

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

1 Lord. Holy feems the quarrel

Upon your Grace's part; but black and fearful

On the oppofer.

Duke. Therefore we marvel much, our coufin France Would, in fo just a business, shut his bofom

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 incertain grounds to fail
As often as I guest.

Duke. Be it his pleasure.

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

Come here for phyfick.

Duke. Welcome shall they be:

And all the honours, that can fly from us,

Shall on them fettle. You know your places well.

When better fall, for

your avails they fell;

To-morrow, to the field.

SCENE changes to Roufillon, in France.

Τ

Enter Countefs, 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 obfervance, I pray you?

Clo. Why, he will look upon his boot, and fing; mend his ruff, and fing; ask queftions, 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 to come. [Reads the letter: 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 Isbels o'th' court: the brain of my Cupid's knock'd out; and I begin to love, as an old man loves mony, with no ftomach.

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: she hath recovered the King, and undone me. I have wedded her, not bedded ber ; and fworn 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 Son,

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

Bertram.

Re-enter

Re-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, fome comfort; your fon will not be kill'd fo foon as I thought he would.

Count. Why fhould he be kill'd?

Clo. So fay I, Madam, if he run away, as I hear he does; the danger is in ftanding 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.

Enter Helena, and two Gentlemen

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 fo many quirks of joy and grief,

That the firft face of neither, on the ftart,

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

2 Gen. Madam, he's gone to ferve the Duke of Fle

rence.

We met him thitherward, for thence we came;
And, after fome dispatch in hand at court,
Thither we bend again.

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

When thou canst get the ring upon my finger, which ne ver fhall come off; and fhew 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,
VOL. III.

C

Thou

Thou robb'ft 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 foldier?

2 Gen. Such is his noble purpofe; 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 swiftest 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 fhe; and fhe deferves a lord,

That twenty fuch rude boys might tend upon,
And call her hourly mistress. Who was with him?
1 Gen. A fervant only, and a gentleman
Which I have fome time known.
Count. Parolles, was't not?

1 Gen. Ay, my good lady, he.

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

With his inducement.

1 Gen. Indeed, good lady, the fellow has a deal of that too much, which holds him much to have,

you

my

Count. Y'are welcome, gentlemen; I will intreat you, when fee fon, to tell him, that his sword can never win the honour that he loses: more I'll intreat you written to bear along.

2 Gen. We ferve you, Madam, in that and all your worthiet affairs.

Count. Not fo, but as we change our courtefies. Will you draw near? [Exeunt Countess and Gentlemen. Hel. 'Till I have no wife, I have nothing in France. Nothing in France, until he has no wife!

Thou

Thou shalt have none, Roufillon, 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 war? and is it I,

That drive thee from the fportive court, where thou
Waft fhot at with fair eyes, to be the mark
Of fmoaky muskets? O you leaden meffengers,
That ride upon the violent speed of fire,
Fly with falle aim; move the ftill-piercing air,
That fings with piercing, do not touch my lord:
Whoever shoots at him, I fet him there,
Whoever charges on his forward breast,
I am the caitiff, that do hold him to it;
And tho' I kill him not, I am the cause
His death was fo effected. Better 'twere,
I met the rav'ning lion when he roar'd
With fharp constraint of hunger: better 'twere,
That all the miferies, which nature owes,

Were mine at once. No, come thou home, Roufillon ;
Whence honour but of danger wins a scar;
As oft it lofes 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 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.

[Exit.

SCENE changes to the Duke's Court in Florence.

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

Duke.

HE General of our Horfe thou art, and

THE

we,

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