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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 fhall prove

A lover of thy drum; hater of love.

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[Exeunt.

Changes to Roufillon in France.

Enter Countefs and Steward.

Count. Alas! and would you take the letter of her? Might you not know, fhe would do, as fhe 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 course of war
My dearest mafter, your dear fon, may hie;
Blefs him at home in peace, whilst I from far
His name with zealous fervour fanctify.
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 mildeft words?
Rynaldo, you did never lack advice fo much,
As letting her pass so; had I spoke 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

Blefs this unworthy husband? he cannot thrive,
Unless her prayers, whom Heaven delights to hear,

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.
Difpatch the most convenient meffenger;
When, haply, he shall hear that she is gone,
He will return, and hope I may, that she,
Hearing fo much, will speed her foot again,
Led hither by pure love. Which of them both
Is deareft to me, I've no fkill in fenfe

To make diftinction; provide this meffenger;
My heart is heavy, and mine age is weak;

Grief would have tears, and forrow bids me speak.

SCENE

VII.

[Exeunt.

Changes to a public place in Florence.
A tucket afar off.

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

Wid. Nay, come. For if they do approach the city, we shall lofe all the fight.

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

Wid. 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 fuggeftions for the young Earl; beware of them, Diana; their promises,

A& 111. enticements, oaths, tokens, and all these engines of luft, 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 to advise you further; but I hope your own grace will keep you where you are, though there were no further danger found but the modesty 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 she will lie at my houfe; thither they send one another; I'll queftion her: God fave you, pilgrim ! whither are you bound?

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

If

Wid. At the St Francis, befide the port.

Hel. Is this the way?

Wid. Ay, marry, is 't.

way.

[A march afar off.

Hark you, they come this

you will tarry, holy pilgrim, but till the troops come I will conduct you where you fhall be lodg'd;

The rather, for 1 think I know your hoftefs

As ample as myself.

Hel. Is it yourfelf?

Wid. If you fhall pleafe fo, pilgrim.

[by,

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

Hel. I did fo.

Wid. Here you fhall fee a countryman of your's,

That has done worthy fervice.

Fel. His name, I pray you?

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

Againft his liking. Think you it is fo?

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

Dia. There is a gentleman that ferves the count,
Reports but courfely of her.
Hel. What's his name?
Dia. Menfieur 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 she 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 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 the 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 handsome gentle man?

Hel. I like him well.

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

That leads him to thefe places; were I his lady,

I'd poifon that vile rascal.

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, &c. 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

[Exeunt,

IX.

Enter Bertram, and the two French Lords.

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 respect.

I 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 moft notable coward, an infinite and endless lyar, an hourly promife-breaker, the owner of no one good quality worthy your Lordship's entertainment.

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

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