I will entreat you, when you see my son, The honour that he loses: more I'll entreat you Written to bear along. 2 Gen. We serve you, madam, In that and all your worthiest affairs. 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, Of the none-sparing war? and is it I That drive thee from the sportive court, where thou I met the ravin lion when he roar'd With sharp constraint of hunger; better 'twere Were mine at once: No, come thou home, Rou sillon, Whence honour but of danger wins a scar, My being here it is, that holds thee hence: To consolate thine ear. Come, night; end, day! SCENE III. [Exit. 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 A charge too heavy for my strength; but yet Duke. Then go thou forth; And fortune play upon thy prosperous helm, As thy auspicious mistress! Ber. 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 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, Stew. I am Saint Jaques' pilgrim, thither gone; That bare-foot plod I the cold ground upon, I, his despiteful Juno, sent him forth Whom I myself embrace, to set him free. Count. Ah, what sharp stings are in her mildest words! Rinaldo, you did never lack advice so much, Which thus she hath prevented. Stew. Pardon me, madam; If I had given you this at over-night, She might have been o'erta'en; and yet she writes, Pursuit would be but vain. What angel shall Count. Let every word weigh heavy of her worth, [Exeunt. SCENE V. WITHOUT THE WALLS OF FLORENCE. A tucket afar off. Enter an old Widow of Florence, Diana, Violenta, Mariana, and other Citizens. Wid. Nay, come; for if they do approach the city, 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, enticements, oaths, 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 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. |