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As you are now, for you are cold and stern;
And now you should be as your Mother was,
When your sweet self was got.

Dia. She then was honeft.
Ber. So should


Dia. No.
My Mother did but duty; such, my Lord,
As you owe to your Wife.

Ber. No more o' that!
I prythee, do not strive against my vows:
I was compelld to her, but I love thee
By love's own sweet constraint, and will for ever
Do thee all rights of service,

Dia. Ay, so you serve us,
'Till we serve you: but when you have our roses,
You barely leave our thorns to prick our selves,
And mock us with our bareness.

Ber. How have I sworn !

Dia. 'Tis not the many oaths, that make the truth; But the plain single vow, that is vow'd true; What is not holy, that we swear not by, But take the High'st to witness: then, pray tell me, If I should swear by Jove's great Attributes I lov'd you dearly, would you believe my oaths, When I did love you ill? this has no holding, To swear by him whom I protest to love, That I will work against him. Therefore your oaths Are words, and poor conditions but unseal'd; At least, in my opinion,

Ber. Change it, change it : Be not so holy-cruel. Love is holy, And my integrity ne'er knew the crafts, That you do charge men with: stand no more off, But give thy self unto my sick desires, Which then recover. Say, thou art mine; and ever My love, as it begins, shall sa persever.

Dia. I see, that men make hopes in such affairs That we'll forsake our felves. Give me that ring.

Ber. I'll lend it thee, my Dear, but have no power To give it from me,

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Dia. Will you not, my Lord ?

Ber. It is an Honour 'longing to our House,
Bequeathed down from many Ancestors;
Which were the greatest obloquy i' th' world
In me to lose.

Dia. Mine Honour's such a ring;
My chastity's the jewel of our House,
Bequeathed down from many Ancestors;
Which were the greatest obloquy i'th' world
In me to lose. Thus your own proper wisdom
Brings in the champion Honour on my part,
Against your vain assault.

Ber. Here, take my ring.
My House, my Honour, yea, my life be thine,
And I'll be bid by thee.
Dia. When midnight comes, knock at my chamber

window; I'll order take, my Mother shall not hear. Now will I charge you in the band of truth, When you have conquer'd my yet maiden bed, Remain there but an hour, nor speak to me: My reasons are most strong, and you shall know them, When back again this ring shall be deliver'd; And on your finger, in the night, I'll put Another ring, that, what in time proceeds, May token to the future our past deeds. Adieu, 'till then; then, fail not: you have won A Wife of me, tho' there my hope be done. Ber. A heav'n on earth I've won by wooing thee.

[Exit. Dia. For which live long to thank both heav'n and me. You may so in the end. My Mother told me just how he would woo, As if she fate in's heart; she says, all men Have the like oaths: he had sworn to marry me, When his Wife's dead : therefore I'll lye with him, When I am buried. (32) Since Frenchmen are so braid, Marry 'em that will, I'd live and die a maid ;

Only, (32)

Since Frenchmen are fo braid,
Marry that will, I'll live and dje a Maid.] This is certainly the


Y ter?

Only, in this disguise, I think't no fin
To cozen him, that would unjustly win. [Exit.
SCENE changes to the French Camp in

Enter the two French Lords, and two or three Soldiers.
i Lord.

OU have not given him his Mother's fet

ter? 2 Lord. I have deliver'd it an hour fince; there is something in't, thar stings his nature ; for, on the reading it, he chang'd almost into another mán.

i Lord. He has much worthy blame laid upon him for shaking off fo good a wife, and so sweet a lady,

2 Lord. Especially, he hath incurred the everlasting displeasure of the King, who had even tun'd his bounty to sing happiness to him. I will tell you a thing, but you thall let it dwell darkly with you.

i Lord. When you have spoken it, 'tis dead, and I am the grave of it,

2 Lord. He hach perverted a young Gentlewoman here in Florence, of a moft chaste renown ; and this night he fleshes his will in the spoil of her honour ; he hath given her his monumental ring, and thinks himself made in the unchafte compofition.

Lord. Now God delay our rebellion ; as we are our selves, what things are we! most cruel Resolution, that ever poor Wench made. What! because Frenchmen were false, She, that was an Italian, would marry Nobody. But it is plain, as refind as this Reasoning is, her Mother did not underftand the Delicacy of the Conclufion ; for afterwards She comes into Helen's Project, on the Promise of a good round Dow'ry of 3000 Crowns, to help her Daughter to a Husband. In short, the Text is, without all Question, corrupted'; and we should read is thus.

Since Frenchmen are so braid, Marry 'em tbat will, I'de live and dye a Maid. i. e. fince Frenchmen prove so crooked and perverse in their Manners, let who will marry them, I had rather live and die a Maid than venture upon them. This she says with a view to Helen, who appear'd so fond of her Husband, and went thro' fó many Difficulties to obtain him. I dare fay, the fair Sex will think this Emendation most agreeable to the Rules of Logic, as well as to the less erring Dictates of Natare.

Mr. Warburton.

2 Lord.


2 Lord. Meerly our own traitors; and as in the common course of all treasons, we still see them reveal themselves, 'till they attain to their abhorr'd ends; so he, that in this action contrives against his own Nobility, in his proper stream o'erflows himself.

I Lord. Is it not meant damnable in us to be the trumpeters of our unlawful intents ? we shall not then have his company to night?

2 Lord. Not 'till after midnight; for he is dieted to his hour.

I Lord. That approaches apace: I would gladly have him see his company anatomiz'd, that he might take a measure of his own judgment, wherein so curiously he had set this counterfeit.

2 Lord. We will not meddle with him 'till he come; for his presence must be the whip of the other.

1 Lord. In the mean time, what hear you of these Wars?

2 Lord. I hear, there is an overture of Peace.
i Lord. Nay, I assure you, a Peace concluded,

2 Lord. What will Count Roufllon do then? will he travel higher, or return again into France?

i Lord. I perceive by this demand, you are not altogether of his Council.

2 Lord. Let it be forbid, Sir! fo should I be a great deal of his act.

i Lord, Sir, his Wife fome two months since fled from his House, her pretence is a Pilgrimage to St. Jaques le Grand; which holy Undertaking, with most austere sanctimony, she accomplish'd; and there refiding, the tenderness of her nature became as a prey to her grief; in fine, made a groan of her last breath, and now The fings in heaven.

2. Lord. How is this juftified ?

i Lord. The stronger part of it by her own letters, which makes her story true, even to the point of her death, her death it felf (which could not be her office to say, is come) was faithfully confirm'd by the Rector of the place.

? Lord. Hąth the Count all this intelligence?

I Lord.

i Lord. Ay, and the particular confirmations, point from point, to the full arming of the verity.

2 Lord. I am heartily sorry, that he'll be glad of this.

i Lord. How mightily sometimes we make us comforts of our losses !

2 Lord. And how mightily some other times we drown our gain in tears ! the great dignity, that his valour hath here acquired for him, shall at home be encounter'd with a shame as ample.

i Lord. The web of our life is of a mingled yarn, good and ill together: our virtues would be proud, if our faults whipt them not; and our crimes would despair, if they were not cherish'd by our virtues.

Enter a Servant. How now? where's your Master ?

Ser. He met the Duke in the street, Sir, of whom he hath taken a solemn leave : his Lordship will next morning for France. The Duke hath offered him letters of commendations to the King.

2 Lord. They shall be no more than needful there, if they were more than they can commcnd.

Enter Bertram. i Lord. They cannot be too sweet for the King's tartness : here's his Lordship now. How now, my Lord, is't not after midnight?

Ber. I have to night dispatch'd fixteen businesses, a month's length a-piece, by an abstract of success I have congied with the Duke, done my adieu with his neareft; buried a wife, mourn'd for her ; writ to my lady mother, I am returning; entertain'd my convoy; and, between these maia parcels of dispatch, effected many nicer needs : the last was the greatest, but That I have not ended yet.

2 Lord. If the business be of any difficulty, and this morning your departure hence, it requires halte of

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your Lordship.


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