Chapter 54

Par. Well, thou hast a sonne shall take this disgrace off me; scuruy, old, filthy, scuruy Lord: Well, I must be patient, there is no fettering of authority. Ile beate him (by my life) if I can meete him with any conuenience, and he were double and double a Lord. Ile haue no more pittie of his age then I would haue of- Ile beate him, and if I could but meet him agen. Enter Lafew.

Laf. Sirra, your Lord and masters married, there's newes for you: you haue a new Mistris

Par. I most vnfainedly beseech your Lordshippe to make some reseruation of your wrongs. He is my good Lord, whom I serue aboue is my master

Laf. Who? God

Par. I sir

Laf. The deuill it is, that's thy master. Why dooest thou garter vp thy armes a this fashion? Dost make hose of thy sleeues? Do other seruants so? Thou wert best set thy lower part where thy nose stands. By mine Honor, if I were but two houres yonger, I'de beate thee: mee-think'st thou art a generall offence, and euery man shold beate thee: I thinke thou wast created for men to breath themselues vpon thee

Par. This is hard and vndeserued measure my Lord

Laf. Go too sir, you were beaten in Italy for picking a kernell out of a Pomgranat, you are a vagabond, and no true traueller: you are more sawcie with Lordes and honourable personages, then the Commission of your birth and vertue giues you Heraldry. You are not worth another word, else I'de call you knaue. I leaue you.

Exit

Enter Count Rossillion.

Par. Good, very good, it is so then: good, very good, let it be conceal'd awhile

Ros. Vndone, and forfeited to cares for euer

Par. What's the matter sweet-heart? Rossill. Although before the solemne Priest I haue sworne, I will not bed her

Par. What? what sweet heart? Ros. O my Parrolles, they haue married me: Ile to the Tuscan warres, and neuer bed her

Par. France is a dog-hole, and it no more merits, The tread of a mans foot: too'th warres

Ros. There's letters from my mother: What th' import is, I know not yet

Par. I that would be knowne: too'th warrs my boy, too'th warres: He weares his honor in a boxe vnseene, That hugges his kickie wickie heare at home, Spending his manlie marrow in her armes Which should sustaine the bound and high curuet Of Marses fierie steed: to other Regions, France is a stable, wee that dwell in't Iades, Therefore too'th warre

Ros. It shall be so, Ile send her to my house, Acquaint my mother with my hate to her, And wherefore I am fled: Write to the King That which I durst not speake. His present gift Shall furnish me to those Italian fields Where noble fellowes strike: Warres is no strife To the darke house, and the detected wife

Par. Will this Caprichio hold in thee, art sure? Ros. Go with me to my chamber, and aduice me. Ile send her straight away: To morrow, Ile to the warres, she to her single sorrow

Par. Why these bals bound, ther's noise in it. Tis hard A yong man maried, is a man that's mard: Therefore away, and leaue her brauely: go, The King ha's done you wrong: but hush 'tis so.

Exit

Enter Helena and Clowne.

Hel. My mother greets me kindly, is she well? Clo. She is not well, but yet she has her health, she's very merrie, but yet she is not well: but thankes be giuen she's very well, and wants nothing i'th world: but yet she is not well

Hel. If she be verie wel, what do's she ayle, that she's not verie well? Clo. Truly she's very well indeed, but for two things Hel. What two things? Clo. One, that she's not in heauen, whether God send her quickly: the other, that she's in earth, from whence God send her quickly. Enter Parolles.

Par. Blesse you my fortunate Ladie

Hel. I hope sir I haue your good will to haue mine owne good fortune

Par. You had my prayers to leade them on, and to keepe them on, haue them still. O my knaue, how do's my old Ladie? Clo. So that you had her wrinkles, and I her money, I would she did as you say

Par. Why I say nothing

Clo. Marry you are the wiser man: for many a mans tongue shakes out his masters vndoing: to say nothing, to do nothing, to know nothing, and to haue nothing, is to be a great part of your title, which is within a verie little of nothing

Par. Away, th'art a knaue

Clo. You should haue said sir before a knaue, th'art a knaue, that's before me th'art a knaue: this had beene truth sir

Par. Go too, thou art a wittie foole, I haue found thee

Clo. Did you finde me in your selfe sir, or were you taught to finde me? Clo. The search sir was profitable, and much Foole may you find in you, euen to the worlds pleasure, and the encrease of laughter

Par. A good knaue ifaith, and well fed. Madam, my Lord will go awaie to night, A verie serrious businesse call's on him: The great prerogatiue and rite of loue, Which as your due time claimes, he do's acknowledge, But puts it off to a compell'd restraint: Whose want, and whose delay, is strew'd with sweets Which they distill now in the curbed time, To make the comming houre oreflow with ioy, And pleasure drowne the brim

Hel. What's his will else? Par. That you will take your instant leaue a'th king, And make this hast as your owne good proceeding, Strengthned with what Apologie you thinke May make it probable neede

Hel. What more commands hee? Par. That hauing this obtain'd, you presentlie Attend his further pleasure

Hel. In euery thing I waite vpon his will

Par. I shall report it so.

Exit Par.

Hell. I pray you come sirrah.

Exit

Enter Lafew and Bertram.

Laf. But I hope your Lordshippe thinkes not him a souldier

Ber. Yes my Lord and of verie valiant approofe

Laf. You haue it from his owne deliuerance

Ber. And by other warranted testimonie

Laf. Then my Diall goes not true, I tooke this Larke for a bunting

Ber. I do assure you my Lord he is very great in knowledge, and accordinglie valiant

Laf. I haue then sinn'd against his experience, and transgrest against his valour, and my state that way is dangerous, since I cannot yet find in my heart to repent: Heere he comes, I pray you make vs freinds, I will pursue the amitie. Enter Parolles.

Par. These things shall be done sir

Laf. Pray you sir whose his Tailor? Par. Sir? Laf. O I know him well, I sir, hee sirs a good workeman, a verie good Tailor

Ber. Is shee gone to the king? Par. Shee is

Ber. Will shee away to night? Par. As you'le haue her

Ber. I haue writ my letters, casketted my treasure, Giuen order for our horses, and to night, When I should take possession of the Bride, And ere I doe begin

Laf. A good Trauailer is something at the latter end of a dinner, but on that lies three thirds, and vses a known truth to passe a thousand nothings with, should bee once hard, and thrice beaten. God saue you Captaine

Ber. Is there any vnkindnes betweene my Lord and you Monsieur? Par. I know not how I haue deserued to run into my Lords displeasure

Laf. You haue made shift to run into't, bootes and spurres and all: like him that leapt into the Custard, and out of it you'le runne againe, rather then suffer question for your residence

Ber. It may bee you haue mistaken him my Lord

Laf. And shall doe so euer, though I tooke him at's prayers. Fare you well my Lord, and beleeue this of me, there can be no kernell in this light Nut: the soule of this man is his cloathes: Trust him not in matter of heauie consequence: I haue kept of them tame, & know their natures. Farewell Monsieur, I haue spoken better of you, then you haue or will to deserue at my hand, but we must do good against euill

Par. An idle Lord, I sweare

Ber. I thinke so

Par. Why do you not know him? Ber. Yes, I do know him well, and common speech Giues him a worthy passe. Heere comes my clog. Enter Helena.

Hel. I haue sir as I was commanded from you Spoke with the King, and haue procur'd his leaue For present parting, onely he desires Some priuate speech with you

Ber. I shall obey his will. You must not meruaile 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 businesse, therefore am I found So much vnsetled: This driues me to intreate you, That presently you take your way for home, And rather muse then aske why I intreate you, For my respects are better then they seeme, And my appointments haue in them a neede Greater then shewes it selfe at the first view, To you that know them not. This to my mother, 'Twill be two daies ere I shall see you, so I leaue you to your wisedome

Hel. Sir, I can nothing say, But that I am your most obedient seruant

Ber. Come, come, no more of that

Hel. And euer shall With true obseruance seeke to eeke out that Wherein toward me my homely starres haue faild To equall my great fortune

Ber. Let that goe: my hast is verie great. Farwell: Hie home

Hel. Pray sir your pardon

Ber. Well, what would you say? Hel. I am not worthie of the wealth I owe, Nor dare I say 'tis mine: and yet it is, But like a timorous theefe, most faine would steale What law does vouch mine owne

Ber. What would you haue? Hel. Something, and scarse so much: nothing indeed, I would not tell you what I would my Lord: Faith yes, Strangers and foes do sunder, and not kisse

Ber. I pray you stay not, but in hast to horse

Hel. I shall not breake your bidding, good my Lord: Where are my other men? Monsieur, farwell.

Exit

Ber. Go thou toward home, where I wil neuer come, Whilst I can shake my sword, or heare the drumme: Away, and for our flight

Par. Brauely, Coragio.

Actus Tertius.

Flourish. Enter the Duke of Florence, the two Frenchmen, with a troope of Souldiers.

Duke. So that from point to point, now haue you heard The fundamentall reasons of this warre, Whose great decision hath much blood let forth And more thirsts after

1.Lord. Holy seemes the quarrell Vpon your Graces part: blacke and fearefull On the opposer

Duke. Therefore we meruaile much our Cosin France Would in so iust a businesse, shut his bosome Against our borrowing prayers

French E. Good my Lord, The reasons of our state I cannot yeelde, But like a common and an outward man, That the great figure of a Counsaile frames, By selfe vnable motion, therefore dare not Say what I thinke of it, since I haue found My selfe in my incertaine grounds to faile As often as I guest

Duke. Be it his pleasure

Fren.G. But I am sure the yonger of our nature, That surfet on their ease, will day by day Come heere for Physicke

Duke. Welcome shall they bee: And all the honors that can flye from vs, Shall on them settle: you know your places well, When better fall, for your auailes they fell, To morrow to'th the field.

Flourish.

Enter Countesse and Clowne.

Count. It hath happen'd all, as I would haue had it, saue that he comes not along with her

Clo. By my troth I take my young Lord to be a verie melancholly man

Count. By what obseruance I pray you

Clo. Why he will looke vppon his boote, and sing: mend the Ruffe and sing, aske questions and sing, picke his teeth, and sing: I know a man that had this tricke of melancholy hold a goodly Mannor for a song

Lad. Let me see what he writes, and when he meanes to come

Clow. I haue no minde to Isbell since I was at Court. Our old Lings, and our Isbels a'th Country, are nothing like your old Ling and your Isbels a'th Court: the brains of my Cupid's knock'd out, and I beginne to loue, as an old man loues money, with no stomacke

Lad. What haue we heere? Clo. In that you haue there.

Exit

A Letter.

I haue sent you a daughter-in-Law, shee hath recouered the King, and vndone me: I haue wedded her, not bedded her, and sworne to make the not eternall. You shall heare I am runne away, know it before the report come. If there bee bredth enough in the world, I will hold a long distance. My duty to you. Your vnfortunate sonne, Bertram. This is not well rash and vnbridled boy, To flye the fauours of so good a King, To plucke his indignation on thy head, By the misprising of a Maide too vertuous For the contempt of Empire. Enter Clowne.

Clow. O Madam, yonder is heauie newes within betweene two souldiers, and my yong Ladie

La. What is the matter

Clo. Nay there is some comfort in the newes, some comfort, your sonne will not be kild so soone as I thoght he would

La. Why should he be kill'd? Clo. So say I Madame, if he runne away, as I heare he does, the danger is in standing too't, that's the losse of men, though it be the getting of children. Heere they come will tell you more. For my part I onely heare your sonne was run away. Enter Hellen and two Gentlemen.

French E. Saue you good Madam

Hel. Madam, my Lord is gone, for euer gone

French G. Do not say so

La. Thinke vpon patience, pray you Gentlemen, I haue felt so many quirkes of ioy and greefe, That the first face of neither on the start Can woman me vntoo't. Where is my sonne I pray you? Fren.G. Madam he's gone to serue the Duke of Florence, We met him thitherward, for thence we came: And after some dispatch in hand at Court, Thither we bend againe

Hel. Looke on his Letter Madam, here's my Pasport. When thou canst get the Ring vpon my finger, which neuer shall come off, and shew mee a childe begotten of thy bodie, that I am father too, then call me husband: but in such a (then) I write a Neuer. This is a dreadfull sentence

La. Brought you this Letter Gentlemen? 1.G. I Madam, and for the Contents sake are sorrie for our paines

Old La. I prethee Ladie haue a better cheere, If thou engrossest, all the greefes are thine, Thou robst me of a moity: He was my sonne, But I do wash his name out of my blood, And thou art all my childe. Towards Florence is he? Fren.G. I Madam

La. And to be a souldier

Fren.G. Such is his noble purpose, and beleeu't The Duke will lay vpon him all the honor That good conuenience claimes

La. Returne you thither

Fren.E. I Madam, with the swiftest wing of speed

Hel. Till I haue no wife, I haue nothing in France, 'Tis bitter

La. Finde you that there? Hel. I Madame

Fren.E. 'Tis but the boldnesse of his hand haply, which his heart was not consenting too

Lad. Nothing in France, vntill he haue no wife: There's nothing heere that is too good for him But onely she, and she deserues a Lord That twenty such rude boyes might tend vpon, And call her hourely Mistris. Who was with him? Fren.E. A seruant onely, and a Gentleman: which I haue sometime knowne

La. Parolles was it not? Fren.E. I my good Ladie, hee

La. A verie tainted fellow, and full of wickednesse, My sonne corrupts a well deriued nature With his inducement

Fren.E. Indeed good Ladie the fellow has a deale of that, too much, which holds him much to haue

La. Y'are welcome Gentlemen, I will intreate you when you see my sonne, to tell him that his sword can neuer winne the honor that he looses: more Ile intreate you written to beare along

Fren.G. We serue you Madam in that and all your worthiest affaires

La. Not so, but as we change our courtesies, Will you draw neere? Enter.

Hel. Till I haue no wife I haue nothing in France. Nothing in France vntill he has no wife: Thou shalt haue none Rossillion, none in France, Then hast thou all againe: poore Lord, is't I That chase thee from thy Countrie, and expose Those tender limbes of thine, to the euent Of the none-sparing warre? And is it I, That driue thee from the sportiue Court, where thou Was't shot at with faire eyes, to be the marke Of smoakie Muskets? O you leaden messengers, That ride vpon the violent speede of fire, Fly with false ayme, moue the still-peering aire That sings with piercing, do not touch my Lord: Who euer shoots at him, I set him there. Who euer charges on his forward brest I am the Caitiffe that do hold him too't, And though I kill him not, I am the cause His death was so effected: Better 'twere I met the rauine Lyon when he roar'd With sharpe constraint of hunger: better 'twere, That all the miseries which nature owes Were mine at once. No come thou home Rossillion, Whence honor but of danger winnes a scarre, As oft it looses all. I will be gone: My being heere it is, that holds thee hence, Shall I stay heere to doo't? No, no, although The ayre of Paradise did fan the house, And Angels offic'd all: I will be gone, That pittifull rumour may report my flight To consolate thine eare. Come night, end day, For with the darke (poore theefe) Ile steale away. Enter.

Flourish. Enter the Duke of Florence, Rossillion, drum and trumpets, soldiers, Parrolles.

Duke. The Generall of our horse thou art, and we Great in our hope, lay our best loue and credence Vpon thy promising fortune

Ber. Sir it is A charge too heauy for my strength, but yet Wee'l striue to beare it for your worthy sake, To th' extreme edge of hazard

Duke. Then go thou forth, And fortune play vpon thy prosperous helme As thy auspicious mistris

Ber. This very day Great Mars I put my selfe into thy file, Make me but like my thoughts, and I shall proue A louer of thy drumme, hater of loue.

Exeunt. omnes Enter Countesse & Steward.

La. 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. Reade it agen.

Letter.

I am S[aint]. Iaques Pilgrim, thither gone: Ambitious loue hath so in me offended, That bare-foot plod I the cold ground vpon With sainted vow my faults to haue amended Write, write, that from the bloodie course of warre, My deerest Master your deare sonne, may hie, Blesse him at home in peace. Whilst I from farre, His name with zealous feruour sanctifie: His taken labours bid him me forgiue: I his despightfull Iuno sent him forth, From Courtly friends, with Camping foes to liue, Where death and danger dogges the heeles of worth. He is too good and faire for death, and mee, Whom I my selfe embrace, to set him free. Ah what sharpe stings are in her mildest words? Rynaldo, you did neuer lacke aduice so much, As letting her passe so: had I spoke with her, I could haue well diuerted her intents, Which thus she hath preuented

Ste. Pardon me Madam, If I had giuen you this at ouer-night, She might haue beene ore-tane: and yet she writes Pursuite would be but vaine

La. What Angell shall Blesse this vnworthy husband, he cannot thriue, Vnlesse her prayers, whom heauen delights to heare And loues to grant, repreeue him from the wrath Of greatest Iustice. Write, write Rynaldo, To this vnworthy husband of his wife, Let euerie word waigh heauie of her worth, That he does waigh too light: my greatest greefe, Though little he do feele it, set downe sharpely. Dispatch the most conuenient messenger, When haply he shall heare that she is gone, He will returne, and hope I may that shee Hearing so much, will speede her foote againe, Led hither by pure loue: which of them both Is deerest to me, I haue no skill in sence To make distinction: prouide this Messenger: My heart is heauie, and mine age is weake, Greefe would haue teares, and sorrow bids me speake.

Exeunt.

A Tucket afarre off.

Enter old Widdow of Florence, her daughter Violenta and Mariana, with other Citizens.

Widdow. Nay come, For if they do approach the Citty, We shall loose all the sight

Diana. They say, the French Count has done Most honourable seruice

Wid. It is reported, That he has taken their great'st Commander, And that with his owne hand he slew The Dukes brother: we haue lost our labour, They are gone a contrarie way: harke, you may know by their Trumpets

Maria. Come lets returne againe, And suffice our selues with the report of it. Well Diana, take heed of this French Earle, The honor of a Maide is her name, And no Legacie is so rich As honestie

Widdow. I haue told my neighbour How you haue beene solicited by a Gentleman His Companion

Maria. I know that knaue, hang him, one Parolles, a filthy Officer he is in those suggestions for the young Earle, beware of them Diana; their promises, entisements, oathes, tokens, and all these engines of lust, are not the things they go vnder: many a maide hath beene seduced by them, and the miserie is example, that so terrible shewes in the wracke of maiden-hood, cannot for all that disswade succession, but that they are limed with the twigges that threatens them. I hope I neede not to aduise you further, but I hope your owne grace will keepe you where you are, though there were no further danger knowne, but the modestie which is so lost

Dia. You shall not neede to feare me. Enter Hellen.

Wid. I hope so: looke here comes a pilgrim, I know she will lye at my house, thither they send one another, Ile question her. God saue you pilgrim, whether are bound? Hel. To S[aint]. Iaques la grand. Where do the Palmers lodge, I do beseech you? Wid. At the S[aint]. Francis heere beside the Port

Hel. Is this the way?

A march afarre.

Wid. I marrie ist. Harke you, they come this way: If you will tarrie holy Pilgrime But till the troopes come by, I will conduct you where you shall be lodg'd, The rather for I thinke I know your hostesse As ample as my selfe

Hel. Is it your selfe? Wid. If you shall please so Pilgrime

Hel. I thanke you, and will stay vpon your leisure

Wid. You came I thinke from France? Hel. I did so

Wid. Heere you shall see a Countriman of yours That has done worthy seruice

Hel. His name I pray you? Dia. The Count Rossillion: know you such a one? Hel. But by the eare that heares most nobly of him: His face I know not

Dia. What somere he is He's brauely taken heere. He stole from France As 'tis reported: for the King had married him Against his liking. Thinke you it is so? Hel. I surely meere the truth, I know his Lady

Dia. There is a Gentleman that serues the Count, Reports but coursely of her

Hel. What's his name? Dia. Monsieur Parrolles

Hel. Oh I beleeue with him, In argument of praise, or to the worth Of the great Count himselfe, she is too meane To haue her name repeated, all her deseruing Is a reserued honestie, and that I haue not heard examin'd

Dian. Alas poore Ladie, 'Tis a hard bondage to become the wife Of a detesting Lord

Wid. I write good creature, wheresoere she is, Her hart waighes sadly: this yong maid might do her A shrewd turne if she pleas'd

Hel. How do you meane? May be the amorous Count solicites her In the vnlawfull purpose

Wid. He does indeede, And brokes with all that can in such a suite Corrupt the tender honour of a Maide: But she is arm'd for him, and keepes her guard In honestest defence.

Drumme and Colours. Enter Count Rossillion, Parrolles, and the whole Armie.

Mar. The goddes forbid else

Wid. So, now they come: That is Anthonio the Dukes eldest sonne, That Escalus

Hel. Which is the Frenchman? Dia. Hee, That with the plume, 'tis a most gallant fellow, I would he lou'd his wife: if he were honester He were much goodlier. Is't not a handsom Gentleman Hel. I like him well

Di. 'Tis pitty he is not honest: yonds that same knaue That leades him to these places: were I his Ladie, I would poison that vile Rascall

Hel. Which is he? Dia. That Iacke-an-apes with scarfes. Why is hee melancholly? Hel. Perchance he's hurt i'th battaile

Par. Loose our drum? Well

Mar. He's shrewdly vext at something. Looke he has spyed vs

Wid. Marrie hang you

Mar. And your curtesie, for a ring-carrier. Enter.

Wid. The troope is past: Come pilgrim, I wil bring you, Where you shall host: Of inioyn'd penitents There's foure or fiue, to great S[aint]. Iaques bound, Alreadie at my house

Hel. I humbly thanke you: Please it this Matron, and this gentle Maide To eate with vs to night, the charge and thanking Shall be for me, and to requite you further, I will bestow some precepts of this Virgin, Worthy the note

Both. Wee'l take your offer kindly.

Exeunt.

Enter Count Rossillion and the Frenchmen, as at first.

Cap.E. Nay good my Lord put him too't: let him haue his way

Cap.G. If your Lordshippe finde him not a Hilding, hold me no more in your respect

Cap.E. On my life my Lord, a bubble

Ber. Do you thinke I am so farre Deceiued in him