1 Lord. How deep?

Par. Thirty fathom.

1 Lord. Three great oaths would scarce make that be believed.

Par. I would I had any drum of the enemy's; I would swear I recover'd it.

1 Lord. You shall hear one anon.

Par. A drum now of the enemy's!

1 Lord.

[Alarum within. They rush out of the ambush.

Throca movousus, cargo, cargo, cargo. All. Cargo, cargo, cargo, villianda par corbo, cargo.

Par. O! ransom, ransom: do not hide mine eyes. [They seize him and blindfold him. Boskos thromuldo boskos.

1 Sold.

Par. I know you are the Muskos' regiment, And I shall lose my life for want of language: If there be here German, or Dane, Low Dutch, Italian, or French, let him speak to me;

I will discover that which shall undo

The Florentine.

1 Sold.

Boskos vauvado :

I understand thee, and can speak thy tongue :
Kerelybonto: Sir,

Betake thee to thy faith, for seventeen poniards
Are at thy bosom.

1 Sold. The general is content to spare thee yet; And, hoodwink'd as thou art, will lead thee on To gather from thee: haply thou may'st inform Something to save thy life.

O, let me live,

Par.

And all the secrets of our camp I'll shew,

Their force, their purposes: nay, I'll speak that
Which you will wonder at.

1 Sold.

But wilt thou faithfully?

Par. If I do not, damn me. 1 Sold.

Come on, thou art granted space.

Acordo linta.

[Exit, with PAROLLES guarded. 1 Lord. Go tell the Count Rousillon, and my

brother,

We have caught the woodcock, and will keep him

muffled

Till we do hear from them.

2 Sold.

Captain, I will.

1 Lord. He will betray us all unto ourselves; Inform on that.

1 Lord. Till then I'll keep him dark, and safely lock'd.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

Florence. A Room in the Widow's House.

Enter BERTRAM and DIANA.

Ber. They told me that your name was Fontibell. Dia. No, my good lord, Diana.

Ber.

Titled goddess;
And worth it, with addition! But, fair soul,
In your fine frame hath love no quality?
If the quick fire of youth light not your mind,
You are no maiden, but a monument:

When you are dead you should be such a one
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 honest.

Ber.

Dia.

So should you be.

No;

My mother did but duty, — such, my lord,
As you owe to your wife.

Ber.

No more o' that!

I pr'ythee do not strive against my vows:
I was compell'd 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 ourselves, 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 you, tell

me,

If I should swear by Love's great attributes

lov'd you dearly, would you believe my oaths, When I did love you ill? This has no holding, To swear by him, when 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 thyself unto my sick desires,

Who then recover: say thou art mine, and ever
My love, as it begins, shall so persever.

Dia. I see that men men make rope's in such a

scarre,

That we'll forsake ourselves. Give me that ring. Ber. I'll lend it thee, my dear, but have no

power

To give it from me.

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, mine 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, though there my hope be done.
Ber. A heaven on earth I have won, by wooing

thee.

[Exit. Dia. For which live long to thank both Heaven and me!

You may so in the end.

My mother told me just how he would woo,

As if she sat in 's heart: she says all men
Have the like oaths. He has sworn to marry me
When his wife's dead; therefore I'll lie with him
When I am buried. Since Frenchmen are so braid,
Marry that will, I live and die a maid:
Only, in this disguise, I think 't no sin
To cozen him that would unjustly win.

[Exit.

SCENE III.

The Florentine Camp.

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

1 Lord. You have not given him his mother's letter?

2 Lord. I have deliver'd it an hour since: there is something in 't that stings his nature; for, on the reading it, he chang'd almost into another man.

1 Lord. He has much worthy blame laid upon him for shaking off so 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 shall let it dwell darkly with you.