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In most rich choice; yet in his idle fire,
To buy his will, it would not seem too dear,
Howe'er repented after.

Wid. Now I fee the bottom of your purpose.
Hel. You fee it lawful then. It is no more,
But that your daughter, ere she seems as won,
Defires this ring; appoints him an encounter ;
In fine, delivers me to fill the time,

Herself most chaftly absent: after this,

To marry her, I'll add three thousand crowns
To what is paff already.

Wid. I have yielded:

Inftruct my daughter how the fhall perfevere,
That time and place, with this deceit so lawful,
May prove coherent. Every night he comes
With mufick of all forts, and fongs compos'd
To her unworthiness: it nothing fteads us
To chide him from our eaves, for he perfifts,
As if his life lay on't.

Hel. Why then, to night

Let us affay our plot; which if it fpeed,
Is wicked meaning in a lawful deed;
And lawful meaning in a lawful act,
Where both not fin, and yet a finful fact.
But let's about it

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SCENE, Part of the French Camp in Florence.

Enter one of the French Lords, with five or fix


Soldiers in ambush.


E can come no other way but by this hedge-corner; when you fally upon him, speak what terrible language you will; though you understand it not your felves, no matter; for we muft not seem to understand him, unless fome one amongst us, whom we muft produce for an interpreter.

Sol. Good captain, let me be th' interpreter.

Lord. Art not acquainted with him? knows he not thy voice?

Sol. No, Sir, I warrant you.

Lord. But what linfie-woolfie haft thou to speak to us again?

Sol. Ev'n fuch as you speak to me.

Lord. He must think us fome band of ftrangers i'th' adverfaries' entertainment. Now he hath a smack of all neighbouring languages, therefore we must every one be a man of his own fancy; not to know what we speak one to another, fo we seem to know, is to know straight our purpose: chough's language, gabble enough, and good enough. As for you, interpreter, you must seem very politick. But couch, hoa! here he comes, to beguile two hours in a fleep, and then to return and fwear the lies he forges.

Enter Parolles.

Par. Ten o'clock; within these three hours 'twill be time enough to go home. What shall I fay, I have


done? it must be a very plaufive invention that carries it. They begin to fmoak me, and difgraces have of late knock'd too often at my door; I find, my tongue is too fool-hardy; but my heart hath the fear of Mars before it and of his creatures, not daring the reports of my tongue.

Lord. This is the first truth that e'er thine own tongue was guilty of. [Afide. Par. What the devil fhould move me to undertake the recovery of this drum, being not ignorant of the impoffibility, and knowing I had no fuch purpofe? I muft give my felf fome hurts, and fay, I got them in exploit; yet flight ones will not carry it. They will fay, came you off with fo little? and great ones I dare not give; wherefore what's the inftance? Tongue, I muft put you into a butter-woman's mouth, and buy my felf another of Bajazet's mule, if you prattle me into thefe perils.

Lord. Is it poffible, he should know what he is, and be that he is?

[Afide. Par. I would, the cutting of my garments would ferve the turn, or the breaking of my Spanish (word. Lord. We cannot afford you fo.

[Afide. Par. Or the baring of my beard, and to say, it was

in ftratagem.

Lord. 'Twould not do.

Par. Or to drown my cloaths, and fay, I was ftript.


Lord, Hardly ferve.


Par. Though I fwore, I leap'd from the window of

the citadel

Lord. How deep?


Par. Thirty fathom.

Lord. Three great oaths would scarce make that be believed.


Par. I would, I had any drum of the enemies; I would fwear, I recover'd it.

Lord. You fhall hear one anon.


Par. A drum now of the enemies! [Alarum within.
Lord. Throco movoufus, cargo, cargo, cargo.
All. Cargo, cargo, villiando par corbo, cargo.



Par. Oh! ransom, ranfom:-do not hide mine eyes. [They feize him and blindfold him.

Inter. Boskos thromuldo boskos..

Par. I know, you are the Muskos regiment,
And I fhall lofe my life for want of language.
If there be here German, or Dane, low Dutch,
Italian, or French, let him fpeak to me,

I'll difcover That which fhall undo the Florentine.

Inter. Boskos vauvado; I understand thee, and can fpeak thy tongue; Kerelybonto,Sir, betake thee to thy faith, or feventeen poniards are at thy bofom.. Par. Oh!

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Int. Oh, pray, pray, pray.
Mancha ravancha dulche.

Lord. Ofceoribi dulchos volivorco.

Int. The General is content to fpare thee yet,
And, hood-winkt as thou art, will lead thee on
To gather from thee. Haply thou may'st inform
Something to fave thy life.

Par. Oh let me live,

And all the fecrets of our Camp I'll fhew;
Their force, their purposes: nay, I'll speak That
Which you will wonder at.

Int. But wilt thou faithfully?
Par. If I do not, damn me.
Int. Acordo linta.

Come on, thou art granted space.

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[Afhort alarum within. Lord. Go, tell the Count Rouillon and my brother, We've caught the woodcock, and will keep him muffled

'Till we do hear from them.

Sol. Captain, I will.

Lord. He will betray us all unto our felves,

Inform 'em That.

Sol. So I will, Sir.

Lord. 'Till then I'll keep him dark and fafely lockt.




SCENE changes to the Widow's Houfe.

Enter Bertram, and Diana.

HEY told me, that your name was Fontibell.
Dia. No, my good Lord, Diana.

Ber. Titled Goddess,

And worth it with addition! but, fair foul,
In your fine frame hath love no quality?
If the quick fire of youth light not your mind,
You are no Maiden, but a Monument:
When you are dead, you should be fuch a one
As you are now, for
you are cold and ftern ;
And now you should be as your Mother was,
When your sweet felf was got.

Dia. She then was honeft.
Ber. So fhould you be.

Dia. No.

My Mother did but duty; fuch, my Lord,
As you owe to your Wife.

-Ber. No more o' that!

I pr'ythee do not strive against my vows:
I was compell'd to her, but I love thee

By love's own fweet constraint, and will for ever
Do thee all rights of service.

Dia. Ay, fo you ferve us,

'Till we serve you; but when you have our rofes, You barely leave our thorns to prick our felves,

And mock us with our bareness.

Ber. How have I fworn!

tell me,

Dia. 'Tis not the many oaths, that make the truth; But the plain fingle vow, that is vow'd true; What is not holy, that we fwear not by, But take the High'ft to witnefs: then, pray If I should fwear by Jove's great Attributes I lov'd you dearly, would you believe my oaths, When I did love you ill? this has no holding, To fwear by him whom I proteft to love, That I will work against him. Therefore your oaths Are words, and poor conditions but unfeal'd;


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