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Hel. Pray, sir, your pardon.

Ber. Well, what would you say ?

Hel. I am not worthy of the wealth I owe;
Nor dare I say, 'tis mine; and yet it is;

But, like a timorous thief, most fain would steal
What law does vouch mine own.

Ber. What would you have?

Hel. Something; and scarce so much :-nothing, indeed.

I would not tell you what I would: my lord-'faith, yes ;Strangers, and foes, do sunder, and not kiss.

Ber. I pray you, stay not, but in haste to horse.

Hel. I shall not break your bidding, good my lord. Ber. Where are my other men, monsieur ?-Farewell. [Exit HELENA. Go thou toward home; where I will never come, Whilst I can shake my sword, or hear the drum :—

Away, and for our flight.

Par. Bravely, coragio!

ACT III.

[Exeunt.

SCENE I.-Florence. A Room in the Duke's Palace. Flourish. Enter the Duke of Florence, attended; two French Lords, and others.

Duke.

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

Whose great decision hath much blood let forth,
And more thirsts after.

1 Lord. Holy seems the quarrel

Upon your grace's part; black and fearful

On the opposer.

Duke. Therefore we marvel much, our cousin France Would, in so just a business, shut his bosom

Against 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 self-unable motion: therefore dare not

[4] i. e. One not in the secret of affairs. WARBURTON.
So innard is familiar, admitted to secrets. JOHNSON.

Say what I think of it; since I have found
Myself in my uncertain grounds to fail
As often as I guess'd.

Duke. Be it his pleasure.

2 Lord. But I am sure, the younger of our nature," That surfeit on their ease, will, day by day, Come here for physic.

Duke. Welcome shall they be ;

And all the honours, that can fly from us,

Shall on them settle. You know your places well;
When better fall, for your avails they fell:
To-morrow to the field.

[Flourish. Exeunt.

SCENE II.

Rousillon. A Room in the Countess's Palace. Enter Countess

and Clown.

Count. It hath happened all as I would have had it, save, 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 observance, I pray you?

Clo. Why, he will look upon his boot, and sing; mend the ruff, and sing; ask questions, and sing; pick his teeth, and sing: I know a man that had this trick of melancholy, sold a goodly manor for a song.

Count. Let me see what he writes, and when he means to come. [Opening a letter.

Clo. I have no mind to Isbel, since 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 brains of my Cupid's knocked out; and I begin to love, as an ol man loves money, with no stomach.

Count. What have we here?
Clo. E'en that you have there.

[Exit.

Count. [Reads.] I have sent you a daughter-in-law: she hath recovered the king, and undone me. I have wedded her, not bedded her; and sworn to make the not eternal. You shall hear, I am run away; know it,

[5] i. e. as we say at present, our young fellows. STEEVENS.

[6] The tops of the boots, in our author's time, turned down, and hung loosely over the leg. The folding is what the Clown means by the ruff. Ben Jonson calls it ruffle; and perhaps it should be so here. "Not having leisure to put off my silver spurs, one of the rowels catch'd hold of the ruffle of my boot." Every Man out of his Humour, Act IV. sc. vi. WHALLEY.

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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 so good a king;
To pluck his indignation on thy head,
By the misprizing of a maid too virtuous
For the contempt of empire.

Re-enter Clown.

BERTRAM.

Clo. O madam, yonder is heavy news within, between two soldiers and my young lady.

Count. What is the matter?

Clo. Nay, there is some comfort in the news, some comfort; your son will not be killed so soon as I thought he would.

Count. Why should he be kill'd?

:

Clo. So say I, madam, if he run away, as I hear he does the danger is in standing to't; that's the loss of men, though it be the getting of children. Here they come, will tell you more: for my part, I only hear, your [Exit Clown.

son was run away.

Enter HELENA and two Gentlemen.

1 Gent. Save you, good madam.

Hel. Madam, my lord is gone, for ever gone.
2 Gent. Do not say so.-

Count. Think upon patience.-'Pray you, gentlemen,-I have felt so many quirks of joy, and grief,

That the first face of neither, on the start,

Can woman me unto't :-Where is my son, I pray you?
2 Gent. Madam, he's gone to serve the duke of Florence
We met him thitherward; from thence we came,
And, after some despatch in hand at court,

Thither we bend again.

Hel. Look on this letter, madam; here's my passport. [Reads] When thou canst get the ring upon my finger, which never shall come off, and show me a child begotten of thy body, that I am father to, then call me husband: but in such a then I write a never!

This is a dreadful sentence.

Count. Brought you this letter, gentlemen?

1 Gent. Ay, madam;

And, for the contents' sake, are sorry for our pains.
Count. I pr'ythee, lady, have a better cheer;

If thou engrossest all the griefs are thine

Thou robb'st 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 Gent. Ay, madam.

Count. And to be a soldier?

2 Gent. Such is his noble purpose: and, believe't, The duke will lay upon him all the honour That good convenience claims.

Count. Return you thither?

1 Gent. Ay, madam, with the swiftest wing of speed. Hel. Till I have no wife, I have nothing in France. 'Tis bitter.

Count. Find you that there?

Hel. Ay, madam.

[Reading:

1 Gent. 'Tis but the boldness of his hand, haply, which His heart was not consenting to.

Count. Nothing in France, until he have no wife!
There's nothing here, that is too good for him,
But only she; and she deserves a lord,

That twenty such rude boys might tend upon,
And call her hourly, mistress.

Who was with him?

1 Gent. A servant only, and a gentleman Which I have some time known.

Count. Parolles, was't not?

1 Gent. Ay, my good lady, he.

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

With his inducement.

1 Gent. Indeed, good lady,

The fellow has a deal of that, too much,
Which holds him much to have.7

Count. You are welcome, gentlemen.

I will entreat you, when you see my son,
To tell him, that his sword can never win
The honour that he loses more I'll entreat you,
Written to bear along.

:

2 Gent. We serve you, madam,

In that and all your worthiest affairs.

Count. Not so, but as we change our courtesies.

Will you draw near?

[Exe. Countess and gentlemen.

[7] That is, his vices stand him in stead. Helen had before delivered this thought in all the beauty of expression:

"I know him a notorious liar;

Think him a great way fool, solely a coward;

Yet these fix'd evils sit so fit in him,

That they take place, when virtue's steely bones
Look bleak in the cold wind."

WARBURTON.

Hel. Till I have no wife, I have nothing in France.
Nothing in France, until he has no wife!
Thou shalt have none, Rousillon, none in France,
Then hast 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-sparing war? and is it I

That drive thee from the sportive court, where thou
Wast shot at with fair eyes, to be the mark
Of smoky muskets? O you leaden messengers,
That ride upon the violent speed of fire,
Fly with false aim; move the still-piercing air,
That sings with piercing, do not touch my lord!
Whoever shoots at him, I set him there;
Whoever charges on his forward breast,
I am the caitiff, that do hold him to't;
And, though I kill him not, I am the cause
His death was so effected: better 'twere,"
I met the ravin lion when he roar'd

With sharp constraint of hunger; better 'twere
That all the miseries, which nature owes,

Were mine at once: No, come thou home, Rousillon,
Whence honour but of danger wins a scar,

As oft it loses all; I will be gone :

My being here it is, that holds thee hence:
Shall I stay here to do't? no, no, although
The air of paradise did fan the house,
And angels offic'd all: I will be gone;
That pitiful rumour may report my flight,

To consolate thine ear. Come, night; end, day!
For, with the dark, poor thief, I'll steal away.

SCENE III.

[Exit.

Florence. Before the Duke's Palace. Flourish. Enter the Duke of Florence, BERTRAM, Lords, Officers, Soldiers, and others.

Duke. The general of our horse thou art; and we, Great in our hope, lay our best love and credence, Upon thy promising fortune.

Ber. Sir, it is

A charge too heavy for my strength; but yet
We'll strive to bear it for your worthy sake,

[8] i. e. the ravenous or ravening lion. To ravin is to swallow voraciously.

VOL. IV

MALONE

C

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