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
Wast 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 false aim; move the still-piercing air,
That fings with piercing, do not touch my lord :
Whoever shoots at him, I set him there.
Whoever charges on his forward breaft,
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, which nature owes,
Were mine at once. No, come thou home, Roufillon;
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 paradife 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 steal away.

[Exit.

SCENE changes to the Duke's Court in Florence.

Flourish. Enter the Duke of Florence, Bertram, Drum

and Trumpets, Soldiers, Parolles.

Duke.

T

HE General of our Horse thou art, and

we,

Great in our hope, lay our best love and credence
Upon thy promifing fortune.

Ber. Sir, it is

A charge too heavy for my strength; but yet
We'll strive to bear it for your worthy fake,
To th' extream edge of hazard.

Duke. Then go forth,

And fortune play upon thy prosp'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.

Count.

[Exeunt.

SCENE changes to Rousillon in France.

A

Enter Countess and Steward.

Las! 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.

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 bie;
Bless him at home in peace, whilst I from far
His name with zealous fervour sanctifie.
His taken labours bid him me forgive;

1, his despightful 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 fet him free.

Ah, what sharp stings are in her mildest words?
Rynaldo, 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 the hath prevented.

Stew. 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,
'Tho' little he do feel it, fet down sharply.
Dispatch the most convenient meffenger;
When, haply, he shall hear that the is gone,
He will return, and hope I may, that the,
Hearing so 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 distinction; provide this messenger;
My heart is heavy, and mine age is weak;
Grief would have tears, and forrow bids me speak.

[Exeunt.

SCENE changes to a publick Place in Florence.

A Tucket afar off.

Enter an old Widow of Florence, Diana, Violenta, and Mariana, with other Citizens.

Wid.

NAYitycome

For if they do approach the

city, we shall lose 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 loft 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 follicited 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, enticements, oaths, tokens, and all these engines of luft, are not the things they go under; many a maid hath been feduced 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, tho' there were no further danger known, but the modesty 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 lye 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.

lodge, I do beseech you?

Where do the palmers

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 by,

I will conduct you where you shall be lodg'd;

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 fo.

Wid. Here you shall see a countryman of yours,

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
Against his liking. Think you, it is so?

Hel. Ay, furely, meer the truth; I know his lady.
Dia. There is a gentleman, that serves 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 deserving

Is a reserved 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! wheresoe'er she is Her heart weighs sadly; this young maid might do her A shrewd turn, if the pleas'd.

Hel. How do you mean?

May be, the am'rous Count sollicits 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.

Drum and Colours. Enter Bertram, Parolles, Officers

and Soldiers attending.

Mar. The Gods forbid else !

Wid. So, now they come :

C4

That