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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’i pilgrim, thither gone;

Ambitious love hath so in me offended, That barefoot 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 fervor sanctify. His taken labors 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.
Count. Ah, what sharp stings are in her mildest

words!
Rinaldo, you did never lack advice 3 so much,
As letting her pass so; had I spoke with her,
I could have well diverted her intents,
Which thus she hath prevented.

1 At Orleans was a church dedicated to St. Jaques, to which piigrims formerly used to resort, to adore a part of the cross pretended to be found there. See Heylin's France Painted to the Life, 1056, p. 270-0.

2 Alluding to the story of Hercules. 3 i. e. discretion or thought.

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 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, 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.

[Exeunt.

SCENE V.

Without the Walls of Florence.

Tucket afar off

Enter an old Widow of Florence, 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 honorable 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 labor; they are gone a contrary way: hark! you may know by their trumpets.

Mar. Come, let's return again, and suffice ourselves

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with the report of it. Well, Diana, take heed of this French earl: the honor of a maid is her name; and no legacy is so rich as honesty.

Wid. I have told my neighbor how you have been solicited 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 lust, are not the things they go under.” Many a maid hath been seduced by them; and the misery is, example, that so terrible shows 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 known, 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 palmers3 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 off They come this way.-If you will tarry, holy pilgrim, But till the troops come by, I will conduct you where you shall be lodged;

1 Suggestions are temptations.

2 They are not the things for which their names would make them pass. To go under the name of so and so is a common expression.

3 Pilgrims; so called from a staff or bough of palm they were wont to carry, especially such as had visited the holy places at Jerusalem.

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