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Clo. Why, he will look upon his boot, and sing; mend the ruff,' 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 knocked 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-inlaw: she hath recovered the king, and 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 come. If there be breadth enough in the world, I will hold a long distance. My duty to you.

Your unfortunate son,

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.

BERTRAM.

mend the ruff,] The tops of the boots, in our author's time, turned down, and hung loosely over the leg. The folding is what the Clown means by the ruff. Ben Jonson calls it ruffle; and perhaps it should be so here.

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 comfort; your son will not be killed 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

men,—

I have felt so many quirks of joy, and grief,
That the first face of neither, on the start,
Can woman me2 unto't:-Where is my son,
you?

I pray

2 Gent. Madam, he's gone to serve the duke of Florence:

We met him thitherward; from thence we came, And, after some despatch in hand at court,

Thither we bend again.

Hel. Look on his letter, madam; here's my passport.

Can woman me-] i. e. affect me suddenly and deeply, as my sex are usually affected.

[Reads.] When thou canst get the ring upon my finger, which never shall come off, and show me a child begotten of thy body, that I am father to, then call me husband: but in such 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' sake, are sorry for our pains. 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 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. [Reads.] Till I have no wife, I have nothing in France.

"Tis bitter.

Count. Find you that there?

Hel.

Ay, madam. 1 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!

*3 When thou canst get the ring upon my finger,] i. e. When thou canst get the ring, which is on my finger, into thy possession. + If thou engrossest all the griefs are thine, &c.] This sentiment is elliptically expressed. If thou keepest all thy sorrows to thyself, i. e. "all the griefs that are thine," &c.

There's nothing here, that is too good for him,
But only she; and she deserves a lord,

That twenty such rude boys might tend upon,
And call her hourly, mistress. Who was with him?
1 Gen, A servant only, and a gentleman
Which I have some time known.

Count.

Parolles, was't not? 1 Gen. Ay, my good lady, he.

Count. A very tainted fellow, and full of wicked

ness.

My son corrupts a well-derived nature

With his inducement.

1 Gen.

Indeed, good lady,

The fellow has a deal of that, too much,
Which holds him much to have."

Count. You are welcome, gentlemen,
I will entreat you, when you see my son,
To tell him, that his sword can never win
The honour that he loses: more I'll entreat you
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. Hel. Till I have no wife, I have nothing in France.

Nothing in France, until he has no wife!

Thou shalt have none, Rousillon, none in France,
Then hast thou all again. Poor lord! is't I
That chase thee from thy country, and expose

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Which holds him much to have.] That is, his vices stand him in stead.

6 Not so, &c.] The gentlemen declare that they are servants to the Countess; she replies,-No otherwise than as she returns the same offices of civility. JOHNSON.

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-piecing 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 lions 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, Rou

sillon,

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.

7

move the still-piecing air,

[Exit.

That sings with piercing,] Warburton says the words are here oddly shuffled into nonsense; but the commentators have not succeeded in making sense of them.

8 the ravin lion -] i. e. the ravenous or ravening lion. To ravin is to swallow voraciously.

Whence honour but of danger, &c.] The sense is, from that abode, where all the advantages that honour usually reaps from the danger it rushes upon, is only a scar in testimony of its bravery, as, on the other hand, it often is the cause of losing all, even life itself. HEATH.

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