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

Ber. This very day,

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

[Exeunt.

SCENE VI. Changes to Roufillon 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 so 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 master, your dear fon, may hie;
Bless him at home in peace, whilst I from far
His name with zealous fervour fanctify.
His taken labours bid him me forgive;

I, his despiteful funo, sent 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 set him free.

Ah, what sharp stings are in her mildest 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 she hath prevented.
Stew. Pardon, Madam,

If I had given you this at over-night,

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

Count. What angel shall

Bless 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 messenger;
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 dearest to me, I've no skill in sense
To make diftinction; provide this messenger;
My heart is heavy, and mine age is weak;
Grief would have tears, and forrow bids me speak.

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[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 say the French Count has done most honourable service.

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 lost our labour, they are gone a contrary way: hark, you may know by their trumpets.

Mar. Come, let's return again, and suffice 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 so rich as honesty.

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 those suggestions for the young Earl; beware of them, Diana; their promises,

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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 misery is, example, that fo terrible shews in the wreck of maidenhood, cannot for all that diffuade succession, 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 modefty which is so loft. Dia. You shall not need to fear me.

Enter Helena, disguis'd like a pilgrim.

Wid. I hope fo-Look, here comes a pilgrim; I know she will lie at my house; thither they send one another; I'll question her : God save you, pilgrim! whither are you bound ?

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

Wid. At the St Francis, beside 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 shall be lodg'd;

The rather, for I think I know your hoftess

As ample as myself.

Hel. Is it yourself?

Wid. If you shall please so, 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 shall fee a countryman of your's,

That has done worthy service.

Hel. 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. Whatsoe'er he is,

He's bravely taken here. He stole from France,
As 'tis reported; for the King had married him
Againft his liking. Think you it is so ?

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

i

!

Dia. There is a gentleman that ferves the count,

Reports but coursely of her.

Hel. What's his name?

Dia. Monfieur Parolles.

Hel. Oh, I believe with him,

In argument of praise, or to the worth
Of the great Count himself: she is too mean
To have her name repeated; all her deferving

Is a referved honesty, and that

I have not heard examin'd.

Dia. Alas, poor lady!

'Tis a hard bondage, to become the wife

Of a detesting Lord.

Wid. Ah! right; good creature! wherefoe'er she is Her heart weighs fadly; this young maid might do her A shrewd 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 such a fuit
Corrupt the tender honour of a maid :

But she is arm'd for him, and keeps her guard

In honestest 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 son;
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 gentle]

man?

Hel. I like him well.

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

knave,

That leads him to these places; were I his lady,
I'd poison that vile rascal.

Hel. Which is he?

Dia. That jack-an-apes with scarfs. Why is he

melancholy?

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

Par. Lose our drum! well.

Mar. He's shrewdly vex'd at something. Look, he

hath spied us.

Wid. Marry, hang you!

[Exeunt Bertram, Parolles, &c.

Mar. And your courtesy, for a ring-carrier!

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

you

Where you shall 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.

I Lord. Nay, good my Lord, put him to't: let him have his way.

2 Lord. If your Lordthip find him not a hilding, hold me no more in your respect.

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

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

I Lord. Believe it, my Lord, in mine own direct knowledge, without any malice, but to speak of him as my kinsman; he's a most 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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