Count. Think upon patience.-'Pray you, gentle

men,

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 Gen. 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 his letter, madam; here's my pass

port.

[Reads.] When thou canst get the ring upon my fingert, which never shall come off, and show me a child begotten of thy body, that I am futher 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 Gen. And, for the contents' sake, are sorry for our pains. Ay, madam; Count. I pr'ythee, lady, have a better cheer; If thou eugrossest 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 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 swiftest wing of speed.

i. e. Affect me suddenly and deeply, as our sex are usually affected.

ti. e. When you can get the ring, which is on my finger, into your possession.

If thou keepest all thy sorrows to thyself. VOL. III.

D

Hel. [Reads.] Till I have no wife, I have nothing in France.

'Tis bitter.

Count..

Hel.

Find you that there?

Ay, madam.

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

Count.

Parolles, was't not?

1 Gen. Ay, my good lady, he.

Count. A very tainted fellow, and full of wicked

ness.

My son corrupts a well-derived nature

With his inducement,

Indeed, good lady,.

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

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 Gen.

We serve you, madam,

In that and all your worthiest affairs.

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

Will you draw near?

[Exeunt Countess and Gentlemen.

In reply to the gentlemen's declaration, that they are her servants, the countess answers-no otherwise than as she returns the same offices of ci vility.

Hel. Till I have no wife, I have nothing in

France.

Nothing in France, until he has no wife!

Thou shalt have none, Rousillon, noue in France,
Then hast thou all again. Poor lord! is't I
That chase thee from thy country, and
Those tender limbs of thine to the event

Of the none-sparing war? and is it I

expose

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-piecing 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, 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.

Ravenous.

[Exit.

SCENE III.

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,
To the extreme edge of hazard.

Duke.

thou forth;

Then go And fortune play upon thy prosperous helm, As thy auspicious 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 IV.

Rousillon. A room in the Countess's Palace.

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 sending me a letter? Read it again.

Stew. I am Saint Jaques' pilgrim, thither gone;
Ambitious love hath so in me offended,
That bare-foot plod I the cold ground upon,
With sainted vow my faults to have amended.
Write, write, that, from the bloody course of war,
My dearest master, your dear son may hie;
Bless him at home in peace, whilst I from far,
His name with zealous fervour sanctify:
His taken labours bid him me forgive;

I, his despiteful Juno*, 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.

Count. Ah, what sharp stings are in her mildest words!

Rinaldo, you did never lack advicet so 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 me, madam:

If I had given you this at over-night,

She might have been o'erta'en; and yet she writes, Pursuit would be in vain.

Count.

What angels 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, Rinaldo, To this unworthy husband of his wife; Let every word weigh heavy of her worth, That he does weight too light: my greatest grief, Though little he do feel it, set down sharply. Despatch the most convenient messenger:-When, haply, he shall hear that she is gone,

Alluding to the story of Hercules.

↑ Discretion or thought.

Weigh, here means to value or esteem.