Strangers, and foes, do sunder, and not kiss. When I should take possession of the bride,— 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. On my particular: Prepar'd I was not So much unsettled: This drives me to entreat you, Το you that know them not. This to my mother: Hel. Sir, I can nothing say, To equal my great fortune. 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 Ber. 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, 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, Count. Think upon patience.-'Pray you, gentle- That drive thee from the sportive court, where thou rence. We met him thitherward; from thence we came, 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. If thou engrossest all the griefs are thine, And thou art all my child.-Towards Florence is he? 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 I am the caitiff, that do hold him to it; With sharp constraint of hunger; better 'twere 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. Stew. I am Saint Jaques' pilgrim, thither gone; 1, his despiteful Juno, sent him forth Count. Ah, what sharp stings are in her mildest -Rinaldo, you did never lack advice so much, As letting her pass so; had I spoke with her, I could have well diverted her intents, What angel shall Count. 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, though there were no further danger known, but the modesty which is so lost. Dia. You shall not need to fear me. Enter Helena, in the dress of a pilgrim. Wid. I hope so.-Look, here comes a pilgrim: I know, she will lie at my house: thither they send one another: I'll question her. God save you, pilgrim! Whither are you bound? Where do the palmers lodge, I do beseech you? I will conduct you where you shall be lodg'd; Dia. Monsieur Parolles. What's his name? O, I believe with him, In argument of praise, or to the worth SCENE V-Without the walls of Florence. A tuckOf the great count himself, she is too mean et afar off. Enter an old Widow of Florence, DiaTo have her name repeated; all her deserving na, Violenta, Mariana, and other Citizens. Is a reserved honesty, and that Wid Nay, come; for if they do approach the city, I have not heard examin'd. we shall lose all the sight. Dia. They say, the French count has done most honourable service. Wid. It is reported that he has taken their greatest commander: and that with his own hand he slew the duke's brother. We have lost 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 so rich as honesty. Wid. I have told my neighbour, how you have been solicited by a gentleman, his companion. Mar. I know that knave; hang him! one Parolles: a filthy officer he is in those suggestions for the young earl-Beware of them, Diana; their promises, encements, caths, tokens, and all these engines of lust, are not the things they go under: many a maid hath been seduced by them; and the misery is, example, that so terrible shows in the wreck of maidenhood, cannot for all that dissuade succession, but that they Dia. Alas, poor lady! Wid. A right good creature: wheresoe'er she is, Hel. Wid. Enter with drum and colours, a party of the Floren- So, now they come :-- Which is the Frenchman? bring you Where you shall host; of enjoin'd penitents Hel. Both. 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. 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. 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? 2 Lord. I, with a troop of Florentines, will sudden-vour, and, for a week, escape a great deal of discovely surprise him; such I will have, whom, Tam sure, he knows not from the enemy: we will bind and hoodwink him so, that he shall suppose no other but that he is carried into the leaguer of the adversaries, when we bring him to our tents: Be but your lordship present at his examination; if he do not, for the promise of his life, and in the highest compulsion of base fear, offer to betray you, and deliver all the intelligence in his power against you, and that with the divine forfeit of his soul upon oath, never trust my judgement in any thing. 2 Lord. O for the love of laughter, let him fetch his drum; he says, he has a stratagem for't: when your lordship sees the bottom of his success in't, and to what metal this counterfeit lump of ore will be melted, if 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. 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. 2 Lord. With all my heart, my lord. [Exeunt.thy voice? SCENE VII.-Florence. A Room in the Widow's house. Enter Helena and Widow. Hel. If you misdoubt me that I am not she, I know not how I shall assure you further; But I shall lose the grounds I work upon. Wid. Though my estate be fallen, I was well born And would not put my reputation now Bel. Nor would I wish you. Lays down his wanton siege before her beauty, 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 Wid. Hel. [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 |