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Det auch'd on every tomb; on every grave,
A lying trophy; and as oft is dumb,

Where dust, and damn'd oblivion, is the tomb
Of honour'd bones indeed. What should be said?
If thou canst like this creature as a maid,
I can create the rest: virtue, and she,

Is her own dower; honour, and wealth, from me. Ber. I cannot love her, nor will strive to do't. king. Thou wrong'st thyself, if thou shouldst strive to choose.

Hel. That you are well restored, my lord, I am glad;

Let the rest go.

King. My honour's at the stake; which to defeat, I must produce my power: here, take her hand, Proud scornful boy, unworthy this good gift; That dost in vile misprision shackle up My love, and her desert; that canst not dream, We, poizing us in her defective scale, Shall weigh thee to the beam; that wilt not know, It is in us to plant thine honour, where We please to have it grow check thy contempt; Obey our will, which travails in thy good : Believe not thy disdain, but presently Do thine own fortunes that obedient right, Which both thy duty owes, and our power claims; Or I will throw thee from my care for ever, Into the staggers, and the careless lapse

Of youth and ignorance; both my revenge and hate,

Loosing upon thee in the name of justice,
Without all terms of pity :-Speak; thine answer.
Ber. Pardon, my gracious lord; for I submit
My fancy to your eyes: when I consider,
What great creation, and what dole of honour,
Flies where you bid it, I find, that she, which late
Was in my nobler thoughts most base, is, now
The praised of the king; who, so ennobled
Is, as 'twere, born so.

King. Take her by the hand,

And tell her, she is thine: to whom I promise
A counterpoise; if not to thy estate,
A balance more replete.

Ber. I take her hand.

King. Good fortune, and the favour of the king, Smile upon this contract; whose ceremony Shall seem expedient on the new-born brief, And be perform'd to-night: the solemn feast Shall more attend upon the coming space, Expecting absent friends. As thou lovest her, Thy love's to me religious; else, does err. [Exeunt King, Bertram, Helena, Lords, and Attendants. Laf. Do you hear, Monsieur? A word with you. Par. Your pleasure, Sir?

Laf. Your lord and master did well to make his recantation.

Pur. Recantation? My lord? My master? Laf. Ay; is it not a language, I speak? Par. A most harsh one; and not to be understood without bloody succeeding. My master?

Laf. Are you companion to the count Rousillon? Pur. To any count; to all counts; to what is man. Laf. To what is count's man; count's master is of another style.

Par. You are too old, Sir; let it satisfy you, you are too old.

Laf, I must tell thee, sirrah, I write man; to which title age cannot bring thee.

Par. What I dare too well do, I dare not do. Laf. I did think thee, for two ordinaries, to be a pretty wise fellow; thou didst make tolerable vent of thy travel; it might pass: yet the scarfs, and the bannerets, about thee, did manifoldly dissuade me from believing thee a vessel of too great a burden. I have now found thee; when I lose thee again, I care not yet art thou good for nothing but taking up; and that thou art scarce worth.

Par. Hadst thou not the privilege of antiquity upon thee,—

Laf. Do not plunge thyself too far in anger, lest thou hasten thy trial; which it-Lord have mercy on thee for a hen! So, my good window of lattice, fare thee well; thy casement I need not open, for I look through thee. Give me thy hand.

Par. My lord, you give me most egregious indignity

Lof. Ay, with all my heart; and thou art worthy

of it.

Par. I have not, my lord, deserved it.

i. c. While I sat twice with thee at dinner.

Laf. Yes, good faith, every dram of it; and i will not bate thee a scruple.

Par. Well, I shall be wiser.

Laf. E'en as soon as thou canst, for thou hast to pull at a smack o' the contrary. If ever thou be'st bound in thy scarf, and beaten, thou shalt find what it is to be proud of thy bondage. I have a desire to hold my acquaintance with thee, or rather my knowledge; that I may say, in the default, he is a man I know.

Par. My lord, you do me most insupportable vexation.

Laf. I would it were hell-pains for thy sake, and my poor doing eternal: for doing I am past; as I will by thee, in what motion age will give me leave.


Par. Well, thou hast a son shall take this dis grace off me; scurvy, old, filthy, scurvy lord!Well, I must be patient; there is no fettering of authority. I'll beat him, by my life, if I can meet him with any convenience, an he were double and double a lord. I'll have no more pity of his age, than I would have of-I'll beat him, an if I could but meet him again.

Re-enter LAFEU.

Laf. Sirrah, your lord and master's married, there's news for you; you have a new mistress. Par. I most unfeignedly beseech your lordship to make some reservation of your wrongs: he is my good lord: whom I serve above, is my master. Laf. Who? God?

Par. Ay, Sir.

Laf. The devil it is, that's thy master. Why dost thou garter up thy arms o' this fashion? Dost make hose of thy sleeves? Do other servants so? Thou wert best set thy lower part where thy nose stands. By mine honour, if I were but two hours younger, I'd beat thee: methinks, thou art a general offence, and every man should beat thee. I think, thou wast created for men to breathe + themselves upon thee. Par. This is hard and undeserved measure, my lord.

Laf. Go to, Sir; you were beaten in Italy for picking a kernel out of a pomegranate; you are a vagabond, and no true traveller: you are more saucy with lords, and honourable personages, than the heraldry of your birth and virtue gives you commission. You are not worth another word, else I'd call you knave. I leave you. [Exit.


Par. Good, very good; it is so then.-Good, very good; let it be conceal'd a while.

Ber. Undone, and forfeited to cares for ever! Par. What is the matter, sweet heart? Ber. Although before the solemn priest I have sworn, I will not bed her.

Par. What? What, sweet heart?

Ber. O my Parolles, they have married me :I'll to the Tuscan wars, and never bed her. Par. France is a dog-hole, and it no more merits The tread of a man's foot: to the wars! Ber. There's letters from my mother; what the import is,

I know not yet.

Par. Ay, that would be known:-To the wars, my boy, to the wars!

He wears his honour in a box unseen,
That hugs his kickey-wicksy here at home;
Spending his manly marrow in her arms,
Which should sustain the bound and high curvet
Of Mars's fiery steed :-To other regions!
France is a stable: we that dwell in't, jades:
Therefore, to the war!

Ber. It shall be so; I'll send her to my house,
Acquaint my mother with my hate to her,
And wherefore I am fled; write to the king
That which I durst not speak :-His present gift
Shall furnish me to those Italian fields,
Where noble fellows strike:-War is no strife
To the dark house, and the detested wite.

Par. Will this capricio hold in thee, art sure? Ber. Go with me to my chamber, and advise me. I'll send her straight away :-To-morrow I'll to the wars, she to her single sorrow, Par. Why, these balls bound; there's noise in it. 'Tis hard;

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A young man, married, is a man that's marr'd:
Therefore away, and leave her bravely; go:
The king has done you wrong; but, hush! 'Tis so.

SCENE IV.-The same-Another Room in the same.


Hel. My mother greets me kindly:-Is she well? Clo. She is not well; but yet she has her health; she's very merry; but yet she is not well: but thanks be given, she's very well, and wants nothing i' the world; but yet she is not well.

Hel. If she be very well, what does she ail, that she's not very well?

Clo. Truly, she's very well indeed, but for two things.

Hel. What two things?

Clo. One, that she's not in heaven, whither God send her quickly! The other, that she's in earth, from whence God send her quickly?


Par. Bless you, my fortunate lady! Hel. I hope, Sir, I have your good will to have mine own good fortunes.

Par. You had my prayers to lead them on; and to keep them on, have them still.--0, my knave! How does my old lady?

Clo. So that you had her wrinkles, and I her money, I would she did as you say.

Par. Why, I say nothing.

Clo. Marry, you are the wiser man; for many a man's tongue shakes out his master's undoing :-To say nothing, to do nothing, to know nothing, and to have nothing, is to be a great part of your title; which is within a very little of nothing.

Par. Away, thou'rt a knave.

Clo. You should have said, Sir, before a knave thou art a knave; that is, before me thou art a knave: this had been truth, Sir

Par. Go to, thou art a witty fool, I have found thee.

my heart to repent. Here he comes; I pray you, make us friends, I will pursue the amity.


Par. These things snall be done, Sir. [To Bertram.
Laf. 'Pray you, Sir, who's his tailor?
Par. Sir?

Laf. O, I know him well: ay, Sir; he, Sir, is a good workman, a very good tailor.

Ber. Is she gone to the king? [Aside to Parolles. Par. She is.

Ber. Will she away to night?

Par. As you'll have her.

Ber. I have writ my letters, casketed my treasure Given order for our horses; and to night, When I should take possession of the bride,And, ere I do begin,

Laf. A good traveller is something at the latter end of a dinner; but one that lies three thirds, and uses a known truth to pass a thousand nothings with, should be once heard, and thrice beaten.-God save you, captain.

Ber. Is there any unkindness between my lord and you, Monsieur?

Par. I know not how I have deserved to run into my lord's displeasure.

Laf. You have made shift to run into't, boots and spurs and all, like him that leap'd into the custard; and out of it you'll run again, rather than suffer question for your residence.

Ber. It may be, you have mistaken him, my lord. Laf. And shall do so ever, though I took him at his prayers. Fare you well, my lord and believe this of me, There can be no kernel in this light nut; the soul of this man is his clothes: trust him not in matter of heavy consequence; I have kept of them tame, and know their natures.-Farewell, Monsieur: I have spoken better of you, than you have or will deserve at my hand; but we must do good against evil.

Par. An idle lord, I swear.
Ber. I think so.


Par. Why, do you not know him? Clo. Did you find me in yourself, Sir? Or were Ber. Yes, I do know him well; and common you taught to find me? The search, Sir, was profit-speech gives him a worthy pass. Here comes my able; and much fool may you find in you, even to clog. the world's pleasure, and the increase of laughter.

Par. A good knave, i' faith, and weil fed. Madam, my lord will go away to-night;

A very serious business calls on him.

The great prerogative and right of love,



Hel. I have, Sir, as I was commanded from you Spoke with the king, and have procured his leave For present parting; only he desires

Which, as your due, time claims, he does acknow- Some private speech with you.


But puts it off by a compell'd restraint;

Whose want and whose delay, is strew'd with sweets,

Which they distil now in the curbed time,
To make the coming hour o'erflow with joy,
And pleasure drown the brim.

Hel. What's his will else?

Par. That you will take your instant leave ofthe king,

And make this haste as your own good proceeding,
Strengthen'd with what apology you think
May make it probable need *.

Hel. What more commands he?

Par. That, having this obtain'd, you presently Attend his further pleasure.

Hel. In every thing I wait upon his will.
Par. I shall report it so.

Hel. I pray you.-Come, sirrah.


SCENE V.-Another Room in the same.


Laf. But, I hope, your lordship thinks not him a soldier.

Ber. Yes, my lord, and of very valiant approof. Laf. You have it from his own deliverance. Ber. And by other warranted testimony. Laf. Then my dial goes not true; I took this lark for a bunting t.

Ber. I do assure you, my lord, he is very great in knowledge, and accordingly valiant.

Laf. I have then sinned against his experience, and transgress'd against his valour; and my state that way is dangerous, since I cannot yet find in

A specious appearance of necessity.

The bunting nearly resembles the sky-lark; but has little or no song, which gives estimation to the sky-lark.

Ber. I shall obey his will.

You must not marvel, Helen, at my course,
Which holds not colour with the time, nor does
The ministration and required office

On my particular: prepared I was not
For such a business; therefore am I found
So much unsettled. This drives me to entreat you,
That presently you take your way for home;
And rather muse*, than ask, why I entreat you:
For my respects are better than they seem;
And my appointments have in them a need,
Greater than shews itself, at the first view,
To you that knows them not. This to my mother:
[Giving a Letter.

Twill be two days ere I shall see you; so
I leave you to your wisdom.

Hel. Sir, I can nothing say,

But that I am your most obedient servant.
Ber. Come, come, no more of that.
Hei. And ever shall

With true observance seek to eke out that,
Wherein toward me my homely stars have fail'd
To equal my great fortune.

Ber. Let that go:

My haste is very great: farewell; hie home.
Hel. Pray, Sir, your pardon.

Ber. Well, what would you say?

Hel. I am not worthy of the wealth I owet; 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.

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On the opposer.

Duke. Therefore we marvel much, our cousin

Would, in so just a business, shut his bosom
Against our borrowing prayers.

1 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
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



Count. It hath happen'd 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 rufft, 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.

means to come.

Count. Let me see what he writes, and when he [Opening a Letter. Clo. I have no mind to Isbel, since I was at court: our old ling and our Isbels o' the country are nothing like your old ling and your Isbels o' the court: the brains of my Cupid's knock'd out; and I begin to love, as an old 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, und 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, before the report hold a long distance. My duty come. there be breadth Your unfortunate son,

in the

to you.

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.


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

• As we say at present, our young fellows. The folding at the top of the boot.

comfort; your son will not be kill'd 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 son was run away. [Exit Clown.

Enter HELENA and two Gentlemen.

1 Gen. Save you, good madam.
Hel. Madam, my lord is gone, for ever gone.
2 Gen. Do not say so.

Count. Think upon patience-Pray you, gentle


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This is a dreadful sentence.

Count. Brought you this letter, gentlemen?
1 Gent. Ay, madam;

And, for the contents' sake, are sorry for our pain.
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 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.

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

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IIis heart was not consenting to.

Count, Nothing in France, until he bave no wife! There's nothing here that is too good for him, But only she; and she deserves a lord, And call her hourly, mistress. Who was with him? That twenty such rude boys might tend upon, Which I have some time known. Gen. A servant only, and a gentleman

Count. Parolles, was't not?

1 Gen. Ay, my good lady, he.

Count. A very tainted fellow, and full of wicked


My son corrupts a well-derived nature
With his inducement.

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

Count. You are welcome, gentlemen.

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

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,

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, in your possession.

If thou keepest all thy sorrows to thyself.

In reply to the gentlemen's declaration, that they are her servants, the countess auswers ne otherwise than as she returns the same offices of civility.

Hel. Till I have no wife, I have nothing in France. Nothing in France, until he has no wife!

Thou shalt have none, Rousilien, none in France,
Ther hast thou all again. Poor lord! is't k
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 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,

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 angel's officed 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. [Exit.
SCENE III.—Florence.-Before the Duke's Palace.
Flourish. Enter the Duke of FLORENCE, BERTRAM,
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

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Might you not know, she would do as she has done, By sending me a letter? Read it again.

Stew. I am Saint Juques' 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 1 from far, His name with zealous fervour sanctify: His taken labours bid him me forgive;

1, 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.

Of greatest justice.-Write, write, Rinaldo,
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, set down sharply.
Despatch the most convenient messenger :—
When, haply, he shall hear that she is gone,
He will return; and hope I may, that she,
Hearing so much, will speed her foot again,
Led hither by pure love: which of them both
Is dearest to me, I have no skill in sense
To make distinction:-Provide this messenger:-
My heart is heavy, and mine age is weak;
Grief would have tears, and sorrow bids me speak.

SCENE V.-Wthout the Wall of Florence.

A Tucket afar off-Enter an old WIDOW of FLO RENCE, DIANA, VIOLENTA, MARIANA, and other Citizens.

Wid. Nay, come; for if they do approach the city, we shall lose all the sight.

Dia. They say, the French count has done most honourable service.

Wid. It is reported that he has taken their greatest commander; and that with his own hand he slew 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 our selves 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. been solicited by a gentleman, his companion. Wid. I have told my neighbour, how you have

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, enticements, oaths, tokens, and all these engines of Just, are not the things they go under: many a maid hath been seduced by them; and the misery is, example, that so terrible shews in the wreck of maidenhood, cannot for all that dissuade 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 knowo, but the modesty which is so lost.

Dia. You shall not need to fear me.

Enter HELENA, in the Dress of a Pilgrim. Wid. I hope so.--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 Saint Jaques le grand.

Where do the palmers lodge, I do beseech you? Wid. At the Saint Francis here, beside the port. Hel. Is this the way?

Wid. Ay, marry, is it.-Hark you!

A march afar of They come this way:-If you will tarry, holy pil


But till the troops come by,

I will conduct you where you shall be lodged; The rather, for, I think, I know your hostess As ample as myself.

Hel. Is it yourself?

Wid. If you shall please so pilgrim.

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

Hel. I did so.

Wid. Here you shall see a countryman of yours,

Count. Ah, what sharp stings are in her mildest | That has done worthy service.


Rinaldo, you did never lack advice 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,

Hel. His name, I pray you.

Dia. The count Rousillon:-Know you such 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,

She might have been o'erta'en; and yet she writes, As 'tis reported, for the king had ma: ried him Pursuit would be in vain.

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Against his liking :-Think you it is so?

Weigh, here means to value or esteem. + Temptations.

They are not the things for which their names would make them pass.

Pilgrims; so called from a staff or bough of palm they were wont to carry.

1 Because.

Hel. Ay, surely, mere the truth; I know his lady.

Dia. There is a gentleman, that serves the count, Reports but coarsely of her,

Hel. What's his name?

Dia. Monsieur Parolles.

Hel. O, 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 deserving
Is a reserved honesty, and that

I have not heard examined.

Dia. Alas, poor lady!

Tis a hard bondage, to become the wife
Of a detesting lord.

Wid. A right good creature: wheresoe'er she is, Her heart weighs sadly this young maid might do her

A shrewd turn, if she pleased.

Hel. How do you mean?

May be, the amorous count solicits her

In the unlawful purpose.

Wid. He does, indeed;

And brokes with all that can in such a suit
Corrupt the tender honour of a maid:

But she is arm'd for him, and keeps her guard
In honestest defence.

Enter with Drum and Colours, a Party of the Florentine Army, BERTRAM, and PAROLLES.

Mar. The gods forbid else!

Wid. So, now they come :—

That is Antonio, the duke's eldest son;
That, Escalus.

Hel. Which is the Frenchman ?
Dia. He;

That with the plume: 'tis a most gallant fellow;
I would, he loved his wife; if he were honester,
He were much goodlier :-Is't not a handsome gen-

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Ber. I would, I knew in what particular action to try him.

2 Lord. None better than to let him fetch off his drum, which you hear him so confidently undertake to do.

1 Lord. I with a troop of Florentines, will sud denly surprize him; such I will have, whom, I am sure, he knows not from the enemy: we will bind and hood-wink him so, that he shall suppose no other but that he is carried into the leaguer⚫ of the adversaries, when we bring him to our tents:-Be but your lordship present at his examination ; !f he do not, for the promise of his life, and in the highest compulsion of base fear, offer to betray you, and deliver all the intelligence in his power against you, and that with the divine forfeit of his soul upon oath, never trust my judgment in any thing.

2 Lord. O for the love of laughter, let him fetch his drum; he says, he has a stratagem for't: when your lordship sees the bottom of his success in't, and to what metal this counterfeit lump of ore will be melted, if you give him not John Drum's entertainment, your inclining cannot be removed. Here he comes.


1 Lord. O for the love of laughter, hinder not the humour of his design; let him fetch off his drum in any hand.

Ber. How now, Monsieur? sorely in your disposition.

This drum sticks

2 Lord. A pox on't, let it go; 'tis but a drum. Par. But a drum! Is't but a drum? A drum so lost! There was an excellent command! To charge in with our horse upon our own wings, and to rend our own soldiers.

2 Lord. That was not to be blamed in the com mand of the service; it was a disaster of war that Cæsar himself could not have prevented, if he had been there to command.

Ber. Well, we cannot greatly condemn our suc cess: some dishonour we had in the loss of that drum; but it is not to be recover'd.

Par. It might have been recover'd.
Ber. It might; but it is not now.

Par. It is to be recover'd: but that the merit of

Dia. That Jack-an-apes with scarfs :-Why is he service is seldom attributed to the true and exact melancholy?

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

Par. Lose our drum !-Well.

performer, I would have that drum or another, or hic jacet +.

Mar. He's shrewdly vexed at something :-Look, if you think your mystery in stratagem can bring be has spied us.

Wid. Marry, hang you!

Mar. And your courtesy, for a ring-carrier? [Exeunt Bertram, Parolles, Officers, and Soldiers.

Wid. The troop is past :-Come, pilgrim, I will bring you

Where you shall host: of enjoin'd penitents There's four or five, to great Saint 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 bestow some precepts on this virgin,
Worthy the note.

Both. We'll take your offer kindly.

SCENE VI.-Camp before Florence.


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 lordship 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 deceived in him? 1 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 liar, an hourly promisebreaker, the owner of no one good quality worthy your lordship's entertainment

2 Lord. It were fit you knew him; lest, reposing too far in his virtue, which he hath not, he might, at some great and trusty business, in a main danger, fail you.

The exact, the entire truth.
Deals with panders.

A paluy fellow, a coward.

Ber. Why, if you have a stomach to't, Monsieur, this instrument of honour again into his native quarter, be magnanimous in the enterprize, and go on; I will grace the attempt for a worthy exploit: if you speed well in it, the duke shall both speak of it, and extend to you what further becomes his greatness, even to the utmost syllable of your wor


Par. By the hand of a soldier, I will undertake it. Ber. But you must not now slumber in it.

Par. I'll about it this evening and I will presently pen down my dilemas ‡, encourage myself in my certainty, put myself into my mortal preparation, and, by midnight, look to hear further from


Ber. May I be bold to acquaint his grace, you are gone about it?

Par. I know not what the success will be, my lord; but the attempt I vow.

Ber. I know, thou art valiant; and, to the pos sibility of thy soldiership, will subscribe for thee. Farewell.

Par. I love not many words.


1 Lord. No more than a fish loves water.-Is not this a strange fellow, my lord? That so confidently seems to undertake this business, which he knows is not to be done; damns himself to do, and dares better be damn'd that to do't.

2 Lord. You do not know him, my lord, as we do: certain it is, that he will steal himself, into a man's favour, and, for a week, escape a great deal of discoveries; but when you find him out you have him ever after.

Ber. Why, do you think he will make no deed at all of this, that so seriously he does address himself unto?

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