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Count. [Reads.] I have sent you a daughter-in-law: 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,
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 killed ?
Clo. So say 1, 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.
Enter HELENA and two Gentlemen. 1 Gent. Save you, good madam. Hel. Madam, my lord is gone, forever gone. 2 Gent. 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 me unto't.-Where is my son, I pray you? 2 Gent._Madam, he's gone to serve the duke of
We met him thitherward; from thence we came,
port. [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 Gent.
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 Gent. Ay, madam. Count.
And to be a soldier ? 2 Gent. Such is his noble purpose; and, believe't, The duke will lay upon him all the honor That good convenience claims. Count.
Return you thither ? 1 Gent. 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?
Ay, madam. 1 Gent. '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 she; and she deserves a lord
1 An elliptical expression for “ all the griefs that are thine."
That twenty such rude boys might tend upon,
i Gent. A servant only, and a gentleman
Parolles, was't not? 1 Gent. Ay, my good lady, he.
Count. A very tainted fellow, and full of wickedness. My son corrupts a well-derived nature With his inducement. 1 Gent.
Indeed, good lady,
Count. You are welcome, gentlemen.
We serve you, madam,
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 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 O you leaden messengers, That ride upon the violent speed of fire, Fly with false aim ; move the still-peering air, That sings with piercing, do not touch my lord !
1 This passage as it stands is very obscure; something appears to be omitted after much. Warburton interprets it, “That his vices stand him in stead of virtues.”
2 The countess answers-no otherwise than as she returns the same offices of civility.
Whoever shoots at him, I set him there;
SCENE III. Florence. Before the Duke's Palace
Enter the Duke of Florence, BERTRAM, Lords, Offi
cers, Soldiers, and others.
Sir, it is
thou forth; And fortune play upon thy prosperous helm, As thy auspicious mistress!
1 That is, the ravenous or ravening lion.
2 The sense is, “ From that place, where all the advantages that honor 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 alí, even life itself.”
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
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'' 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.
I, his despiteful Juno, sent him forth
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
1 At Orleans was a church dedicated to St. Jaques, to which pilgrims formerly used to resort, to adore a part of the cross pretended to be found there. See Heylin's France Painted to the Life, 1656, p. 270_6.
2 Alluding to the story of Hercules. 3 i. e. discretion or thought.