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Say what I think of it, fince I have found
My felf in my incertain grounds to fail
As often as I gueft.

Duke. Be it his pleasure.

2 Lord. But I am fure the younger of our Nation, That furfeit on their ease, will day by day Come here for Phyfick.

Duke. Welcome shall they be be:

And all the Honours that can fly from us,

Shall on them fettle. You know your places well,

When better fall, for your avails they fell.

To morrow to the Field.

Enter Countess and Clown.

[Exeunt.

Count. It hath happen'd as I would have had it, fave 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 obfervance, I pray you?

Clo. Why he will look upon his Boot, and fing; mend his Ruff, and fing; ask Questions, and fing; pick his Teeth, and fing: I knew a Man that had this Trick of Melancholy, fold a goodly Manor for a Song.

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

come.

Our

Clo. I have no mind to Isbel fince I was at Court. old Ling, and our Isbel's o'th' Country, are nothing like your old Ling, and your Isbel's o'th' Court: The Brains 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?
Cle. In that you have there.

A Letter.

[Exit.

I have sent you a Daughter-in-Law: She hath recovered the King, and undone me. I have wedded her, Not bedded her, and fworn to make the Not eternal. You shall hear I am run away; know it before the Report come, if there be breadth enough in the World, I will hold a long distance. My Duty to you.

Your unfortunate Son,

Bertram.

This is not well, rafh and unbridled Boy,
To fly the Favours of fo good a King,
To pluck his Indignation on thy Head,
By the mifprifing of a Maid, too virtuous
For the Contempt of Empire.

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, fome comfort, your Son will not be kill'd fo foon as I thought he would.

Count. Why should he be kill'd?

Cle. So fay I, Madam, if he run away, as I hear he does, the danger is in ftanding to't; that's the lofs 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.

Gen. Save you, good Madam.

Hel. Madam, my Lord is gone, for ever gone.

2 Gen. Do not fay fo.

Count. Think upon Patience: 'Pray you, Gentlemen, I have felt fo many quirks of Joy and Grief,

That the firft face of neither on the ftart

Can Woman me unto't. Where is my Son, I pray you?

2 Gen. Madam, he's gone to ferve the Duke of Florence. We met him thitherward, from thence we came ; And, after fome dispatch in hand at Court,

Thither we bind again.

Hel. Look on this Letter, Madam, here's my Pasport.

When thou canst get the Ring upon my Finger, which never hall come off, and fhew me a Child begotten of thy Body that I am Father to, then call me Husband: But in fuch a [Then] I write a [Never,]

This is a dreadful Sentence.

Count. Brought you this Letter, Gentlemen?

1 Gen. Ay, Madam, and, for the Contents fake, are forry

for our Pains.

Count

Count. I prethee, Lady, have a better Cheer,
If thou engroffeft all the Griefs as thine,
Thou robb'ft 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.

Count. Find you that there?

Hel. Yes, Madam.

[Reading.

I Gen. 'Tis but the boldness of his hand happily, 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 fhe, and the deserves a Lord,

That twenty fuch rude Boys might tend upon,
And call her hourly Mistress. Who was with him?

I Gen. A Servant only, and a Gentleman which I have fometimes known.

Count. Parolles, was it 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 entreat you, when you fee my Son, to tell him that his Soul can never win the Honour that he loses: More I'll entreat you written to bear along.

2 Gen. We ferve you, Madam, in that, and all your worthieft Affairs.

Count. Not fo, but as we change our Courtefies, Will you draw near? [Exit Count. and Gentlemen.

Hel

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Hel. 'Till I have no Wife, I have nothing in France.
Nothing in France until he has no Wife!.
Thou shalt have none, Roffilion, none in France,
Then haft thou all again. Poor Lord! is't I
That chafe thee from thy Country, and expose
Those tender Limbs of thine, to the event
Of the none fparing War? And is it I,

That drives thee from the fportive Court, where thou
Waft fhot at with fair Eyes, to be the mark
Of fmoaky Mufquets? O you leaden Meffengers,
That ride upon the violent fpeed of Fire,
Fly with falfe aim, move the ftill piercing Air
That ftings with piercing, do not touch my Lord:
Whoever shoots at him, I fet 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 fo effected. Better 'twere
I met the raving Lion when he roar'd

With fharp conftraint of Hunger: Better 'twere,
That all the Miferies which Nature owes

Were mine at once. No, come thou home, Roflion,
Whence Honour but of danger wins a Scar,
As oft it lofes all. I will be gone:

My being here it is, that holds thee hence,
Shall I ftay here to do't? No, no, although
The Air of Paradife did fan the Houfe,
And Angels offic'd all; I will be gone,
That pitiful Rumour may report my flight
To confolate thine Ear. Come Night and Day,
For with the Dark, poor Thief, I'll steal away.

[Exit.

Flourish. Enter the Duke of Florence, Bertram, Drum and
Trumpets, Soldiers, Parolles.

Duke. The General of our Horse thou art, and we
Great in our hope, lay our beft Love and Credence
Upon thy promising Fortune.

Ber. Sir, it is

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

Duke,

Duke. Then go thou forth,

As thy aufpicious Mistress.

And Fortune play upon thy profperous Helm,

Ber. This very day,

Great Mars, I put my felf into thy File,

Make me but like my Thoughts, and I fhall prove
A lover of thy Drum; hater of Love.

Enter Countess and Steward.

[Exeunt.

Count. Alas! and would you take the Letter of her? Might you not know fhe would do, as fhe has done, By fending me a Letter. Read it again.

LETTER.

I am St. Jaques Pilgrim, thither gone;
Ambitious Love hath fo 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 Mafter, your dear Son, may hie;
Bless him at home in Peace, whilst I from far,
His Name with zealous Fervour fanctifie.
His taken Labours bid him me forgive;
I his defpightful Juno fent 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 my self embrace, to set him free.

Ah what sharp Stings are in her mildest words?
Rynaldo, you did never lack advice fo much,
As letting her pass so; had I fpoke with her,
I could have well diverted her intents,
Which thus the hath prevented.

Stew. Pardon me, Madam,

If I had given you this over night,

She might have been o'erta'en; and yet she writes
Purfuit would be but vain.

Count. What Angel fhall

Bless this unworthy Husband? He cannot thrive,
Unless her Prayers, whom Heav'n delights to hear,
And loves to grant, reprieve him from the Wrath

Of

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