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If thou engrofleft all the griefs ' as 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 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 swiftest wing of speed.

Hel. 'Till I have no wife, I have nothing in France. 'Tis bitter.

[Reading. Count. Find you that there? Hel. Ay, madam.

i 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 the ; and she deserves a lord,
That twenty such rude boys might tend upon,
And call her hourly, mistress. Who was with him?

i Gen. A fervant only, and a gentleman Which I have some time known.

Count. Parolles, was't 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.

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i Gen. Indeed, good lady, The fellow has a deal * of that, too much,

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k of that, too much, which holds him much to have. 1-Of that villainy, which stands him in good stead of that ignorance, which judges him to have much in him,


Which holds him much to have.

Count. You are welcome, gentlemen.
I will intreat you, when you see my son,
To tell him, that his sword can never win
The honour that he loses : more I'll intreat you
Written to bear along.

2 Gen. We serve you, madam,
In that and all your worthiest affairs.

Count. 'Noc so, but as we change our courtesies.
Will you draw near ? [Exeunt Countess and gentlemen.

Hel. 'Till I bave no wife, I have nothing in France.
Nothing in France, until he has no wife!
Thou shalt have none, Rousillon, 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
Waft 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 fings with piercing, do not touch my lord !
Whoever shoots at him, I see 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,

Not fo, but as we change our courtefies.]-No further than our mu. tual civilities may extend. ** ftill-piering ]-closing after seperation.

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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. [Exit.


The Duke's Court in Florence.
Flourish. Enter the Duke of Florence, Bertram, drum and

trumpets, foldiers, &c.
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 fake,
To the extream edge of hazard.

Duke. Then go forth;
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.


* Whence, &c.]–From the wars, that abode of danger, where the fairest trophy of honour is a scar, it's frequent fortune, death.



Raufillon in France.

Enter Countess and Steward. Count. Alas! and would you take the letter of her? Might you not know, she would do as she has dones By sending me a letter? Read it again. Stew. I am St. Jaques' pilgrim, thither gone ;

Ambitious love bath 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 hye ; Bless him at home in peace, whilft I from far,

His name with zealous fervour fan£tify:
°His taken labours bid bim me forgive ;

I, bis despightful Juno, fent bim 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. .....
Ah, what sharp stings are in her mildest words !
Rinaldo, you did never lack Radvice 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'er-ta'en; and yet the writes,

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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, fet down sharply.
Dispatch 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.


Without the walls of Florence.

A tucket afar off.
Enter an old Widow of Florence, Diana, and Mariana, with

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

Dia. They say, the French count has done moft honourable service. 9 I have no fkill in fenje to make diftin&tior :) ) am unable to deter


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