Strangers, and foes, do sunder, and not kiss.

When I should take possession of the bride,—
And, ere I do begin,-

Laf. A good traveller is something at the latter end of a dinner; but one that lies three-thirds, and uses a known truth to pass a thousand nothings with, should be once heard, and thrice beaten.-God save you, captain.

Ber. Is there any unkindness between my lord and you, monsieur?

Par. I know not how I have deserved to run into my lord's displeasure.

Laf. You have made shift to run into't, boots and spurs and all, like him that leaped into the custard ; and out of it you'll run again, rather than suffer question for your residence.

Ber. It may be, you have mistaken him, my lord. Lef. And shall do so ever, though I took him at his prayers. Fare you well, my lord; and believe this of me, There can be no kernel in this light nut; the soul of this man is his clothes: trust him not in matter of beavy consequence; 1 have kept of them tame, and know their natures.-Farewell, monsieur: I have spoken better of you, than you have or will deserve at my hand; but we must do good against evil. [Exit. Par. An idle lord, I swear.

Ber. I think so.

Par. Why, do you not know him?

Ber. Yes, I do know him well; and common speech Gives him a worthy pass. Here comes my clog.

Enter Helena.

Hel. I have, sir, as I was commanded from you, Spoke with the king, and have procur'd his leave For present parting; only, he desires Some private speech with you.

Ber.

I shall obey his will.
You must not marvel, Helen, at my course,
Which holds not colour with the time, nor does
The ministration and required office

On my particular: Prepar'd I was not
For such a business; therefore am I found

So much unsettled: This drives me to entreat you,
That presently you take your way for home;
And rather muse, than ask, why I entreat you:
For my respects are better than they seem;
And my appointments have in them a need,
Greater than shows itself, at the first view,

Το you that know them not. This to my mother:
[Giving a letter.
Twill be two days ere I shall see you; so
I leave you to your wisdom.

Hel.

Sir, I can nothing say,
But that I am your most obedient servant.
Ber. Come, come, no more of that.
Hel.
And ever shall
With true observance seek to eke out that,
Wherein toward me my homely stars have fail'd

To equal my great fortune.
Ber.

Let that go:

My haste is very great: Farewell; hie home.

Hel. Pray, sir, your pardon.

Ber.

Well, what would you say? Hel. I am not worthy of the wealth I owe ;

Nor dare I say, 'tis mine; and yet it is;

But like a timorous thief, most fain would steal
What law does vouch mine own.

Ber.
What would you have?
Hel. Something; and scarce so much :--nothing,
indeed-

I would not tell you what I would:-my lord-'faith,

SCENE II-Rousillon. A Room in the Countess's

Palace. Enter Countess and Clown. Count. It hath happened all as I would have had it, save, that he comes not along with her.

Clo. By my troth, I take my young lord to be a very melancholy man.

Count. By what observance, I pray you?

means to come.

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. 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 stoinach. Count. What have we here? Clo. E'en that you have there.

[Exit.

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.

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 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, [Exit Clown.

your son was run away.

Enter Helena and two Gentlemen.

1 Gent. Save you, good madam.

Hel. Madam, my lord is gone, for ever gone.

2 Gent. Do not say so.

2 Gent.

We serve you, madam, In that and all your worthiest affairs.

Count. Not so, but as we change our courtesies. Will you draw near? [Exe. Count, 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

rence.

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

Hel. Look on this letter, madam; here's my passport. [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 honour

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.

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 lion when he roar'd

With sharp constraint of hunger; better 'twere
That all the miseries, which nature owes,
Where mine at once: No. come thou home, Rousillon,
Whence honour but of danger win 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. [Exit.
SCENE III-Florence. Before the Duke's Palace,
Flourish. Enter the Duke of Florence, Bertram;
Lords, Officers, Soldiers, and others.

Duke. The general of our horse thou art; and we, Great in our hope, lay our best love and credence, Upon thy promising fortune.

Ber.

Sir, it is

SCENE IV-Rousillon. A Room in the Countess's

Palace. 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.

bring you

Where you shall host; of enjoin'd penitents
There's four or five, to great Saint Jaques bound,
Already at my house.

Hel.
I humbly thank you:
Please it this matron, and this gentle maid,
To eat with us to-night, the charge, and thanking,
Shall be for me; and, to requite you further,
I will bestow some precepts on this virgin,
Worthy the note.

Both.
We'll take your offer kindly. [Exe.
SCENE VI-Camp before Florence. Enter Bertram,
and the two French Lords.

1 Lord. Nay, good my lord, put him to't; let him have his way.

2 Lord. If your lordship find him not a hilding, hold me no more in your respect.

1 Lord. On my life, my lord, a bubble.

Ber. Do you think, I am so far deceived in him? 1 Lord. Believe it, my lord, in mine own direet knowledge, without any malice, but to speak of him as my kinsman, he's a most notable coward, an infinite and endless liar, an hourly promise-breaker, the owner of no one good quality worthy your lordship's entertainment.

2 Lord. It were fit you knew him; lest, reposing too far in his virtue, which he hath not, he might at some great and trusty business, in a main danger fail you. Ber. I would, I knew in what particular action to try him.

2 Lord. None better than to let him fetch off his drum, which you hear him so confidently undertake to do.

you give him not John Drum's entertainment, your inclining cannot be removed. Here he comes.

Enter Parolles.

1 Lord. O, for the love of laughter, hinder not the humour of his design; let him fetch off his drum in any hand.

Ber. How now, monsieur? this drum sticks sorely in your disposition.

2 Lord. A pox on't, let it go; 'tis but a drum.

Par. But a drum! Is't but a drum? A drum so lost! There was an excellent command! to charge in with our horse upon our own wings, and to rend our own soldiers.

2 Lord. That was not to be blamed in the command of the service; it was a disaster of war that Cæsar himself could not have prevented, if he had been there to command.

Ber. Well, we cannot greatly condemn our success: some dishonour we had in the loss of that drum; but it is not to be recovered.

Par. It might have been recovered.
Ber. It might, but it is not now.

Par. It is to be recovered: but that the merit of service is seldom attributed to the true and exact performer, I would have that drum or another, or hic jacet.

Ber. Why, if you have a stomach to't, monsieur, if you think your mystery in stratagem can bring this instrument of honour again into his native quarter, be magnanimous in the enterprize, and go an; I will grace the attempt for a worthy exploit: if you speed well in it, the duke shall both speak of it, and extend to you what further becomes his greatness, even to the utmost syllable of your worthiness.

Par. By the hand of a soldier, I will undertake it.
Ber. But you must not now slumber in it.

Par. I'll about it this evening: and I will presently pen down my dilemmas, encourage myself in my certainty, put myself into my mortal preparation, and, by midnight, look to hear further from me.

Ber. May I be bold to acquaint his grace, you are gone about it?

Par. I know not what the success will be, my lord; but the attempt I vow.

Ber. I know, thou art valiant; and, to the possibili ty of thy soldiership, will subscribe for thee. Farewell. [Exit. Par. I love not many words.

1 Lord. No more than a fish loves water-Is not this a strange fellow, my lord? that so confidently seems to undertake this business, which he knows is not to be done; damns himself to do, and dares better be damned, than to do't?

2 Lord. You do not know him, my lord, as we do! certain it is, that he will steal himself into a man's fa

ries; but when you find him out, you have trim ever after.

Ber. Why, do you think, he will make no deed at all of this, that so seriously he does address himself unto?

1 Lord. None in the world; but return with an invention, and clap upon you two or three probable lies: but we have almost embossed him, you shall see his fall to-night; for, indeed, he is not for your lordship's respect.

2 Lord. We'll make you some sport with the fox, ere we case him. He was first smoked by the old lord La feu: when his disguise and he is parted, tell me what a sprat you shall find him; which you shall see this very night.

ACT IV.

Enter

SCENE I-Without the Florentine Camp.
first Lord, with five or six Soldiers in ambush.
1 Lord.

HE can come no other way but by this hedge's cor ner: When you sally upon him, speak what terrible language you will; though you understand it not yourselves, no matter: for we must not seem to understand him; unless some one among us whom we must produce for an interpreter.

1 Sol. Good captain, let me be the interpreter.

1 Lord. Art not acquainted with him? knows he not

1 Sol. No, sir, I warrant you.

Bel.

Nor would I wish you.

Lays down his wanton siege before her beauty,
Resolves to carry her; let her, in fine, consent,
As we'll dircet her how 'tis best to bear it,
Now his important blood will nought deny
That she'll demand: A ring the county wears,
That downward hath succeeded in his house,
From son to son, some four or five descents
Since the first father wore it: this ring he holds
In most rich choice; yet, in his idle fire,
To buy his will, it would not seem too dear,
Howe'er repented after.

Wid. Now I see the bottom of your purpose. Hel. You see it lawful then: It is no more, But that your daughter, ere she seems as won, Desires this ring; appoints him an encounter; In fine, delivers me to fill the time,

Herself most chastely absent: after this,

To marry her, I'll add three thousand crowns
To what is past already.

Wid.
I have yielded:
lastruct my daughter how she shall persever,
That time and place, with this deceit so lawful,
May prove coherent. Every night he comes
With musics of all sorts, and songs compos'd
Ta her unworthiness: It nothing steads us,
To chide him from our eaves; for he persists,
As if his life lay on't.

Hel.
Why then, to-night
Let us assay our plot; which, if it speed,
Is wicked meaning in a lawful deed,
And lawful meaning in a lawful act ;
Where both not sin, and yet a sinful fact:
But let's about it.

[Exeunt.

1 Lord. But what linsy-woolsy hast thou to speak to us again?

1 Sol. Even such as you speak to me.

1 Lord. He must think us some band of strangers i' the adversary's entertainment. Now he hath a smack of all neighbouring languages; therefore we must eve ry one be a man of his own fancy, not to know what we speak one to another; so we seem to know, is to know straight our purpose: chough's language, gab. ble enough, and good enough. As for you, interpre ter, you must seem very politic.-But couch, ho! here he comes; to beguile two hours in a sleep, and then to return and swear the lies he forges.

Enter Parolles.

Par. Ten o'clock: within these three hours 'twill be time enough to go home. What shall I say I have done? It must be a very plausive invention that carries it: They begin to smoke me; and disgraces have of late knocked too often at my door. I find, my tongue before it, and of his creatures, not daring the reports is too fool-hardy; but my heart hath the fear of Mars of my tongue.

1 Lord. This is the first truth that e'er thine own tongue was guilty of. [Aside.

Par. What the devil should move me to undertake the recovery of this drum; being not ignorant of the impossibility, and knowing I had no such purpose? I must give myself some hurts, and say, I got them in exploit: yet slight ones will not carry it: They will say, Came you off with so little? and great ones I dare not give. Wherefore? what's the instance? Tongue, I must put you into a butter-woman's mouth, and buy another of Bajazet's mule, if you prattle me into these perils.

1 Lord. Is it possible, he should know what he is, and be that he is? [Aside. Par. I would the cutting of my garments would serve the turn; or the breaking of my Spanish sword. 1 Lord. We cannot afford you so. [Aside. Par. Or the baring of my beard; and to say, it was in stratagem.

[Aside.

1 Lord. 'Twould not do. Par. Or to drown my clothes, and say, I was stripped. 1 Lord. Hardly serve.

[dside.

Par. Though I swore I leaped from the window of the citadel