SCENE, the Duke's Court in Florence, Flourish. Enter the Duke of Florence, two French

Lords, with Soldiers.

DU K E.

0

The fundamental reasons of this war,

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

i Lord. Holy seems the quarrel Upon your Grace's part ; but black and fearful On the opposer.

Duke. Therefore we marvel much, our cousin France
Would, in so just a business, fhut his bosom
Against our borrowing prayers.

2 Lord. Good my Lord,
The reasons of our itate 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
Say what I think of it, since 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 sure, the younger of our nation, That surfeit on their ease, will day by day Come here for physick.

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.

[Exeunt. SCENE

SCENE changes to Rousillon, in France.

Enter Counters, and Clown. Count. TT hath happen'd, all as I would have had it;

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 his ruff, and fing; ask questions, and fing; pick his teeth, and sing. I knew a man that had this trick of melancholy, fold a goodly manor for a song.

Count. Let me see what he writes, and when he means to come.

[Reads the letter. Cle. 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 brain of my Cupid's knock'd out ; and I begin to love, as an old man loves mony, with no stomach.

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

(Exit. Countess reads a letter. I have sent you a daughter-in-law : she hath recovered the King, and undone me. I have wedded her, not bedded ber; and frivorn to make the not eternal. You shall bear, I am run away; know it, before the report come. If there be breadth enough in the world, I will hold a long diftance. My duty to you.

Your unfortunate Son,

Bertram.
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

for ever gone.

:

Re-enter Clown. 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 kill'd so soon as I thought he would.

Count. Why should he be killd ?

Cle. 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 son was run away.

Enter Helena, and two Gentlemen.
1 Gen. Save you, good Madam.
Hel. Madam, my

Lord is

gone, 2 Gen. Do not say so.

Count. Think upon patience : 'pray you, gentlemen, I've 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 ?

2 Gen. Madam, he's gone to serve the Duke of FloWe met him thitherward, for thence we came; And, after some dispatch in hand at court, · Thither wę bend again.

Hel. Look on this letter, Madam ; here's my passport. When thou canst get the ring upon my finger, which ne

ver fall come off; and Jhew 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 ?

i Gen. Ay, Madam, and, for the contents' fake, are forry for our pains.

Count. I prythee, lady, have a better cheer.
If thou engrosseft all the griefs as thine,
VOL. III.

C

Thou

rence.

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 Gen. Ay, Madam.
Count. And to be a soldier ?

2 Gen. 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 Gen. Ay, Madam, with the swifteft 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.

i Gen. 'Tis but the boldness of his hand, happ'ly, 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 the deserves a lord, That twenty such rude boys might tend upon, And call her hourly mistress. Who was with him?

1 Gen. A servant only, and a gentleman Which I have fome time known.

Count. Parolles, was't not?
i Gen. Ay, my good lady, he.

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

i Gen. Indeed, good lady, the fellow has a deal of that too much, which holds him much to have, Count. Y'are welcome, gentlemen ; I will intreat you,

see my 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 serve you, Madam, in that and all your worthiest affairs. Count. Not so, but as we change our courtesies. 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

when you

Will you

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-sparing war ? and is it I,
That drive thee from the sportive court, where thou
Waft shot at with fair eyes, to be the mark
Of smoaky muskets? O you leaden messengers,
That ride upon the violent speed of fire,
Fly with fasse 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 it;
And tho' I kill him not, I am the cause
His death was so effected. Better 'twere,
I met the rav'ning lion when he roar'd
With sharp constraint of hunger : better 'twere,
That all the miseries, wh 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 confolate thine ear. Come, night; end, day!
For with the dark, poor thief, I'll iteal away. [Exit.

SCENE changes to the Duke's Court in Florence. Flourish. Enter the Duke of Florence, Bertram, Drum

and Trumpets, Soldiers, Parolles. Duke. THE

HE General of our Horse thou art, and Great in our hope, lay our best love and credence Upon thy promising fortune.

C 2

Ber.

we,