Hel. T

PILLI have no wife, I have nothing in France.
Nothing in France, until he has no wife!
Thou shalt have none, Roufilion, 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 drive thee from the sportive court, where thou
Waft fhot at with fair eyes, to be the mark
Of fmoky mufkets? O you leaden messengers,
That ride upon the violent speed of fire,

Fly with false aim; * pierce the ftill-moving air,
That fings with piercing, do not touch my lord:
Whoever shoots at him, I fet him there.
Whoever charges on his forward breast,
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 rav'ning 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, Roufillon;
Whence honour but of danger wins a fcar;

As oft it lofes all. I will be gone:

My being here it is, that holds thee hence.
Shall I fay here to do't? no, no, although
The air of paradife did fan the house,
And angels offic'd all; I will be gone;

That fings with piercing-] The Words are here odly fhusfied. We fhould read,

pierce the ftill moving air,

That fings with piercing,

i. e. pierce the Air, which is in perpetual Motion, and fuffers no

Injury by piercing,

That

That pitiful rumour may report my flight,

To confolate thine ear. Come, night; end, day! For with the dark, poor thief, I'll steal away. [Exit.

Changes to the Duke's Court in Florence.

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

HE General of our Horse thou art, and we,

Duke. T Great in our hope, lay our best love and

credence

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

Duke. Then go forth,

And fortune play upon thy profp'rous helm,
As thy aufpicious mistress!

Ber. This very day,

Great Mars, I put myself into thy file;

Make me but like my thoughts, and I fhall prove

A lover of thy drum; hater of love.

Changes to Roufillon in France.

Enter Countess and Steward.

[Exeunt.

Count. Might you not know, she would do, as fhe
A
LAS! and would you take the letter of her?

has done,

By fending me a letter? Read it again.

LETTE R.

I am St. Jaques' pilgrim, thither gone;
Ambitious love hath fo in me offended,

VOL. III.

That bare-foot plod I the cold ground upon,
With fainted vow my faults to have amended.
Write, write, that from the bloody courfe of war
My dearest mafter, your dear fon, may hie;
Blefs him at home in peace, whilft I from far
His name with zealous fervour fanctify.
His taken labours bid him me forgive;
I, his defpiteful 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 myself embrace, to fet him free.

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

Stew. Pardon, Madam,

If I had given you this at over-night

She might have been o'er-talen; and yet fhe writes, Purfuit would be but vain.

Count. What angel fhall

Blefs this unworthy hufband? he cannot thrive,
Unless her prayers, whom heaven delights to hear,
And loves to grant, reprieve him from the wrath
Of greatest juftice. Write, write, Rynaldo,
To this unworthy husband of his wife;
Let every word weigh heavy of her worth,
That he does weigh too light: my greatest grief,
Tho' little he do feel it, fet down fharply.
Dispatch the moft convenient messenger;
When, haply, he shall hear that he is gone,
He will return, and hope I may, that she,
Hearing fo much, will speed her foot again,
Led hither by pure love. Which of them both
Is dearest to me, I've no fkill in fenfe
To make diftinction; provide this messenger;

My

My heart is heavy, and mine age is weak;
Grief would have tears, and sorrow bids me speak.

[Exeunt.

Changes to a public Place in Florence.

A Tucket afar off.

Enter an old Widow of Florence, Diana, Violenta, and Mariana, with other Citizens.

Wid. N city, we fhall lofe all the fight.

TAY, come. For if they do approach the

Dia. They fay, the French Count has done most honourable fervice.

Wid. It is reported, that he has ta'en their greatest commander; and that with his own hand he flew the Duke's brother. We have loft our labour, they are gone a contrary way: hark, you may know by their trumpets.

Mar. Come, let's return again, and suffice ourselves with the report of it. Well, Diana, take heed of this French Earl; the honour of a maid is her name, and no legacy is fo rich as honefty.

Wid. I have told my neighbour, how you have been folicited by a gentleman his companion.

Mar. I know that knave, (hang him!) one Parolles; a filthy officer he is in thofe fuggeftions for the young Earl; beware of them, Diana; their promises, enticements, oaths, tokens, and all thefe engines of luft, are the things they go under; many a maid hath been feduced by them; and the misery is, example, that fo terrible fhews in the wreck of maidenhood, cannot for all that diffuade fucceffion, but that they are limed with the twigs that threaten them. I hope, I need not to advise you further; but, I hope, your own grace will keep you where you are, tho' there

L 2

were

were no further danger found, but the modefty which is fo loft.

Dia. You fhall not need to fear me.

Enter Helena, difguis'd like a Pilgrim.

Wid. I hope foLook, here comes a pilgrim; I know, fhe will lie at my houfe; thither they fend one another; I'll queftion her: God fave you, pilgrim! whither are you bound?

Hel. To St. Jaques le Grand. mers lodge, I do befeech you?

Where do the pal

Wid. At the St. Francis, befide the port.
Hel. Is this the way?

[À march afar off.

Wid. Ay, marry, is't. Hark you, they come this

way.

[come by, If you will tarry, holy pilgrim, but 'till the troops I will conduct you where you fhall be lodg'd; The rather, for, I think, I know your hoftess As ample as myself.

Hel. Is it yourself?

Wid. If you fhall please so, pilgrím.

Hel. I thank you, and will ftay upon your leifure. Wid. You came, I think, from France.

Hel. I did fo.

Wid. Here you fhall fee a countryman of yours, That has done worthy fervice.

Hel. His name, I pray you?

Dia. The Count Roufillon: know you fuch a one? Hel. But by the ear, that hears moft nobly of him; His face I know not.

Dia. Whatfoe'er he is,

He's bravely taken here. He stole from France,
As 'tis reported; for the King had married him
Against his liking. Think you, it is fo?

Hel. Ay, furely, merely truth; I know his lady. Dia. There is a gentleman that ferves the Count, Reports but courfely of her.

Hel. What's his name?
Dia. Monfieur Parolles.

Hel.